♡ Jikook's Kitty⁷ ♡

That was the first lesson.

The second was that someone always had to catch what was left.

Dick had built a life out of becoming that someone. He caught teammates before they hit concrete. Caught civilians before buildings collapsed. Caught the Titans when they spiralled, caught Bruce when he vanished too far inside the Bat, caught Jason’s anger when nobody else could hold it without bleeding, caught Tim’s exhaustion before it became a body bag, caught Damian’s sharp edges and pretended they did not cut.

He smiled. He joked. He opened his arms and made himself the net. It was easier that way.

People trusted nets. People did not ask if nets were tired.

You did, though.

That was one of the first things that unsettled him about you.

You always asked.

“Shoulder?” you said, appearing beside him before he had even fully made it through the medbay doors.

Dick looked down at the red line slicing through his suit, just under the joint. “Hello to you too.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is it the shoulder?”

“It is deeply rude that you know that from ten feet away.”

“It’s my entire thing.”

“Your entire thing is being bossy and magical.”

“My entire thing is healing idiots who think flirting counts as a treatment plan.”

He gasped and pressed his uninjured hand to his chest. “You think I’m flirting?”

“I think you’re bleeding on my floor.”

“That’s not a no.”

You gave him a look.

Dick smiled.

It was easy with you.

That was the problem. Most things with you felt easy, even when they weren’t. Even in the aftermath of horror, with sirens in the distance and smoke still clinging to everyone’s suits, you had a way of lowering the temperature in a room. You came in with steady hands, soft eyes, and a voice like warm water over bruised skin.

You were the Titans’ miracle.

Not that you liked being called that. Gar had tried once, dramatically, from a medbay cot after you healed three cracked ribs and a bruised spleen.

“My angel,” he had declared, one hand thrown over his forehead. “My saviour. My divine little first-aid kit.”

You had thrown a roll of gauze at his head.

Vic had laughed for a full minute.

Kory had kissed your cheek in gratitude.

Raven had watched you with that quiet, knowing look of hers.

Dick had watched too. He watched more than he should have.

He watched the way your face tightened for half a second after you healed someone. The way you always turned slightly away before taking a breath. The way you flexed your fingers like you were shaking off static. The way you insisted on cleaning up alone afterwards.

At first, he thought healing took energy. That made sense. Every power had a cost. Every body had limits.

You told them yours was fatigue.

Dick believed you.

Not because he was careless.

Because he wanted to. Because after years of watching good people stay hurt, there was something dangerously addictive about watching wounds vanish under your hands.

When Raven came back from a mission with psychic backlash clawing through her mind, and you pressed your fingers to her temples until her breathing evened out, Dick did not ask why you spent the next hour sitting alone in the dark.

When Gar twisted his knee badly enough that the sound made everyone in the room wince, and you healed him before the panic really hit, Dick did not ask why you limped afterwards.

When Kory took a blast meant for a child, and her skin split gold-bright across her ribs, Dick did not ask why your own hand shook as you helped her sit up.

He noticed. But noticing was not knowing.

That was what he told himself later. Over and over. Like repetition could turn guilt into absolution.

He noticed. He just didn’t know.

Not yet.

The night everything changed began with rain.

Blüdhaven rain was different from Gotham rain. Gotham rain fell like a verdict. Cold, black, heavy with memory. Blüdhaven rain came down silver beneath neon signs, slicking the streets until every alley looked like it had been painted in oil. It turned rooftops treacherous, fire escapes slippery, windows into mirrors.

Dick loved it anyway.

It was his city. Bruised, stubborn, trying. A little ugly in the right light. A little beautiful in the wrong one.

The Titans had come because the call was too big for one vigilante and too strange for local police. A new metahuman trafficking ring had gotten its hands on alien tech and old magic, which was never a combination that suggested anyone involved had made good life choices.

By midnight, the docks were burning. By twelve-thirty, three warehouses had partially collapsed. By one, the sky above Blüdhaven was full of drones shaped like metal wasps, each one armed with sonic emitters strong enough to rupture glass and destabilise inner ears.

“Tell me again why crime can’t be normal,” Gar shouted over comms.

Dick flipped over a drone, brought both escrima sticks down, and sent it sparking into the rain-slick rooftop. “You want normal crime?”

“I want crime that doesn’t make my teeth vibrate.”

“You have teeth right now?” Vic asked.

“I have emotional teeth.”

“That tracks,” you said over comms.

Dick smiled despite himself. Your voice always did that to him. Cut through the noise. Found him.

“You’re supposed to be behind the barricade,” he said, ducking under a burst of sonic fire.

“I am behind the barricade.”

“You’re too calm.”

“I’m very calm behind the barricade.”

Raven’s voice came in, flat as ever. “They are not behind the barricade.”

Dick exhaled sharply. “Of course they’re not.”

“I’m near the barricade,” you corrected.

Kory flew overhead, a streak of orange through the storm. “Friend healer, there are many injured civilians near the west warehouse.”

“I see them.”

Dick’s attention snapped toward the west side of the docks.

Through the rain, he saw you moving below.

Not at the barricade. Not near the barricade. Running straight toward the worst of the damage, because apparently, self-preservation was not included in the miracle package.

“Absolutely not,” Dick said.

“You sound like Bruce.”

“That was cruel and unnecessary.”

“You’ll live.”

“Not if you keep sprinting into active combat zones.”

“Then stop watching me and stop the drones.”

A drone screamed toward you.

Dick moved before thought could catch up. He launched himself from the rooftop, grapple line firing, body arcing low through rain and smoke. The drone’s emitter pulsed once. Pain stabbed through his ears. His vision blurred.

He released the line. Dropped. Twisted.

His boot connected with the drone hard enough to crack the metal shell. It spun away and exploded against the side of a warehouse in a shower of blue sparks.

Dick landed in front of you, one knee down, rain streaming off his hair.

You stared at him.

He looked up with his best smile. “Hi.”

Your eyes narrowed. “That was incredibly dramatic.”

“I’m a performer.”

“That was incredibly stupid.”

“I’m also Batman-adjacent.”

“Unfortunately accurate.”

Behind you, a civilian groaned.

Your expression shifted instantly.

There was the healer.

The softness vanished into focus. You moved past Dick and dropped beside a woman pinned beneath a collapsed beam. Her leg was crushed at an angle that made Dick’s stomach turn. Her breathing came in panicked sobs.

“Hey,” you said gently, all teasing gone. “Look at me. Not the leg. Me.”

The woman grabbed your wrist with shaking fingers. “I can’t—I can’t feel—”

“I know. I’ve got you.”

Dick watched you place both hands over the injury.

He watched your shoulders rise as you inhaled.

Then the woman gasped.

The beam shifted. Dick lifted it enough for Vic to pull her free.

Her leg was whole. Bruised, but whole.

She started crying.

You smiled at her.

Then, very subtly, your left knee buckled.

Dick caught it.

Not much. Just one hand at your elbow, enough to steady you.

You went stiff beneath his touch.

“You okay?” he asked.

You smiled too quickly. “Fine.”

There it was. That word.

Dick hated it when Bruce used it. Hated it when Jason spat it through bloodied teeth. Hated it when Tim said it without looking up from a laptop.

He hated it most from you.

Because you made it sound kind.

Another drone shrieked overhead before he could say anything.

The docks trembled.

Raven’s voice cut through comms. “Nightwing, the central warehouse is rigged. There are people inside.”

“How many?”

“Too many.”

Dick looked up. The central warehouse stood at the edge of the pier, half its roof torn open, old brick walls glowing with intermittent blasts of alien-blue light. Through the broken windows, he saw movement.

Civilians. Hostages.

The structure groaned. Then the upper floor exploded outward.

Kory shouted. Dick ran.

You called his name.

He ignored you.

He heard you following anyway.

Of course he did.

Inside, the warehouse was chaos.

Smoke. Screaming. Sprinklers raining dirty water from cracked pipes. Drones buzzing between support beams like insects. Civilians huddled behind shipping containers while armed traffickers tried to retreat through a back exit.

Nightwing moved through them like a blade wrapped in blue light.

Strike. Dodge. Flip. Disarm. Smile, because fear spread faster when people saw the hero afraid.

“Exit to the south!” he shouted. “Go! Go now!”

Kory blew a hole through a side wall for evacuation. Vic ripped open jammed doors. Raven shielded a group of children from falling debris. Gar, currently a gorilla, blocked a collapsing beam with both massive hands and yelled, “I would like everyone to appreciate my core strength!”

You were everywhere you should not be. Healing a burned firefighter. Pressing a hand to a child’s forehead. Closing the wound across a police officer’s side. Calm, quick, relentless.

Too relentless.

Dick saw your face pale. He saw the way you pressed one hand briefly to your ribs after healing the officer.

Something in him tightened.

Then the floor screamed.

Not cracked.

Screamed.

The alien tech at the centre of the warehouse pulsed, drawing power from the old magical sigils carved beneath the concrete. The combination sent a shockwave through the building.

Every support beam lit blue.

Raven’s shield shattered. Kory slammed into a wall. Gar lost his grip.

The ceiling began to come down.

Dick saw it happen in pieces.

A family trapped near the upper catwalk. A little boy separated from his mother. The metal walkway beneath them twisting loose.

No time for the grapple. No time for a plan.

Just the fall.

Dick launched himself upward, using a stack of containers as steps. His boots hit metal. His body moved on instinct, rainwater and smoke and adrenaline turning the world sharp.

He grabbed the boy first and tossed him toward Kory, trusting her to catch him.

She did. Of course she did.

The mother screamed as the catwalk tilted.

Dick caught her wrist.

For half a second, they hung there over open air.

“Don’t look down,” he told her.

She looked down.

They always looked down.

A support cable snapped. The catwalk dropped. Dick twisted, threw the woman upward with everything he had, and felt Vic’s metal hand close around her coat.

Then the world gave way beneath him.

Falling was supposed to be familiar.

This was not.

The sonic emitters went off all at once.

His inner ear shattered into static. The building spun wrong. His grapple fired but missed the broken beam by inches. His fingers closed on nothing. His shoulder clipped metal hard enough to tear a shout from his throat.

Then he hit a lower catwalk.

Pain cracked across his back.

He bounced. Fell again.

He tried to turn. Tried to tuck.

Couldn’t.

There were too many angles. Too much debris. Too much noise.

The ground rushed up.

For the first time in years, Dick Grayson did not know how to fall.

He hit concrete.

And everything stopped.

At first, there was no pain.

That was how Dick knew it was bad. Pain was information. Pain told you what was damaged and how much time you had before the body started making executive decisions without you.

No pain meant the body had gone quiet. No pain meant the damage had passed language.

He stared up at the broken ceiling. Rain fell through the hole in the roof, silver and soft against his face.

Someone was screaming his name. Maybe several someones.

Dick tried to move.

Nothing happened.

Not his legs. Not his right hand. His chest moved, barely. Breath scraping in shallow and wrong.

Ah. That was bad.

A shadow fell over him.

You.

Your face appeared above his, wet with rain, streaked with soot, eyes wide with a terror that did not belong on you.

“Dick,” you said.

He tried to smile. He wasn’t sure if it worked.

“Hey,” he breathed.

It came out broken.

Your hands hovered over him, trembling.

That scared him more than the fall. You never trembled.

“Don’t move,” you said.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Your face twisted.

Bad joke. Wrong moment. Classic Grayson.

He tried to lift his hand to touch your face.

Nothing.

Your eyes flicked down.

You saw.

He saw you see.

“Talk to me,” you said.

“Can’t feel…”

He stopped.

Your lips parted.

He did not want to finish the sentence.

He had spent his life moving. Flying. Running rooftops. Dancing along edges so narrow most people could not stand on them without shaking. His body was not just a tool. It was memory. Family. Language. A living echo of the Flying Graysons.

He could not feel half of it.

“Dick,” you whispered.

The building groaned around you. Distantly, Kory shouted for you both. Vic cursed. Raven’s power surged dark and bright somewhere behind the smoke.

You cupped Dick’s face. Your hands were warm despite the rain.

“I’m here,” you said.

He believed you. That was the danger.

“Don’t,” he managed.

Your expression shifted.

He was not Bruce. He had not figured it out fully. Not yet. But something old and instinctive in him understood the shape of sacrifice when it leaned too close.

You had looked pale after healing people. You had limped after fixing Gar’s knee. You had hidden your hand after Damian broke his wrist on a mission with the Supersons. You had smiled through it all.

“You’re hurt,” he said.

You shook your head. “You’re dying.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t.”

Your eyes filled. “Dick—”

“Please.”

That word hurt more than the fall. Please was not a word Nightwing used often in the field. Please belonged to civilians, to scared children, to moments too human for masks.

Your face broke. Only for a second.

Then you leaned down and pressed your forehead to his.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

His heart lurched.

“No,” he said, or tried to.

Your hands slid beneath his shoulders.

And then the pain came.

Not his.

Yours.

He knew because it came with your scream. It tore through the warehouse, raw and animal and absolute.

Dick’s body snapped back into itself. Sensation flooded his legs. His fingers. His lungs. Pain, yes, but normal pain. Bruises. Strains. Things he knew how to name.

His spine straightened. His ribs expanded. His right hand clenched.

He gasped and rolled onto his side, coughing through smoke.

For one impossible second, relief hit him.

Then he saw you.

You were on the concrete beside him, twisted at the same angle he had been. Your back arched unnaturally. Blood spread beneath you. One of your legs lay still, too still. Your hand curled against the ground, fingers shaking like they were trying to remember how to move.

Your mouth opened. No sound came out.

Dick’s world narrowed.

“No,” he said.

It did not sound like him.

He crawled to you, hands skidding in water and blood.

“No, no, no.”

Your eyes found his.

You looked relieved. Relieved. Like seeing him move was worth what had happened to you.

Something terrible opened inside him.

“Why would you do that?” he choked.

Your lips moved.

He leaned closer.

“Caught you,” you whispered.

Dick broke.

Not loudly. Not at first. The sound that left him was small. Fractured. A child’s sound buried under a man’s voice.

He gathered you into his arms with shaking hands, trying not to jostle your spine, trying not to touch anywhere wrong, trying not to look at the blood, the angle of your body, the proof.

The proof.

He had fallen. You had become the fall.

“Kory!” he screamed.

The name tore through his throat.

Orange light flashed.

Kory landed beside him hard enough to crack concrete. Her eyes went wide when she saw you.

“Oh, beloved healer,” she breathed.

Dick looked up at her, wild. “We need medevac.”

Vic’s voice came through comms, tight with horror. “Already calling it.”

Raven appeared from the smoke, her hood torn, shadows curling violently around her.

She looked at you. Then at Dick.

Her expression went white.

Not pale.

White. Like she had felt something nobody else could.

“She took it,” Raven whispered.

Dick stared at her. “What?”

Raven’s voice shook. “The injury. She took it from you.”

The warehouse seemed to tilt.

No. No, he knew that. He had seen it. He had felt his body become whole as yours broke.

But hearing it made it real in a way his mind had been refusing to allow.

Gar, shifted back into human form, stumbled toward them. “What do you mean took it?”

Raven swallowed. “Their power doesn’t erase wounds.”

Dick looked down at you.

Your eyes were half-closed now.

No.

No.

No.

“It transfers them,” Raven said.

No one spoke. Even the burning warehouse seemed to go quiet.

Dick pressed his fingers to your throat.

Pulse there.

Fast. Weak. Too weak.

“Stay with me,” he said, voice shaking. “Hey. Look at me. Come on, look at me.”

Your eyelids fluttered.

He smiled because he did not know how to do anything else with terror.

“There you are,” he whispered. “Stay with me, okay? I’ve got you.”

Your lips twitched faintly.

“Net,” you breathed.

“What?”

“You’re… always the net.”

Dick’s vision blurred.

“Yeah,” he said, voice breaking. “Yeah, baby. I’m the net. So you don’t get to fall through. You hear me?”

Your eyes closed.

Dick’s smile vanished. “No. No, no. Open your eyes. Open your eyes.”

Kory knelt beside him and placed one glowing hand carefully against your shoulder, not healing, not touching the wound, just there.

“Dick,” she said softly.

He shook his head. “They’re not dying.”

“No,” Kory agreed, though her voice trembled. “They are not.”

Dick looked down at you in his arms.

He had caught you.

Too late.

But he had caught you.

And he would not let go.

Titan Tower’s medbay had seen bad nights.

This was worse.

The room was full of people trying not to fall apart loudly.

Kory stood by the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her glow dimmed to a low, anxious pulse beneath her skin. Gar sat on the floor with his back against the wall, knees pulled to his chest. Vic kept running diagnostics, jaw clenched, his human eye red. Raven stood in the corner with her hood up, shadows tucked close around her like grief with teeth.

Dick sat beside your bed and held your hand.

He had been told to leave twice.

He had not.

The first time, a nurse tried gentle concern.

The second time, Donna tried command voice.

Neither worked.

Finally, Raven had looked at everyone and said, “Let him stay.”

So he stayed.

You lay still beneath white sheets and too many wires, your body strapped carefully to prevent movement. Spinal stabilizers ran along your back. An oxygen line curved beneath your nose. Your face looked wrong without expression. Too empty. Too quiet.

Dick kept staring at your mouth. Waiting for it to quirk. Waiting for you to make a joke about his bedside manner. Waiting for you to open your eyes and call him dramatic.

His suit was still on. Torn, wet, stained with your blood and his own, though technically the blood was all yours now in the ways that mattered. Someone had thrown a blanket over his shoulders.

Probably Kory. Maybe Donna.

He did not remember.

He remembered your scream. He remembered your body twisting. He remembered Raven saying, It transfers them.

His hand tightened around yours. Your fingers did not move.

“Dick.”

Donna’s voice came from the doorway.

He did not look up.

“How long?” he asked.

She was quiet for a second. “The doctors don’t know.”

He nodded once.

Meaningless.

His gaze stayed on your face.

Donna came closer. “They said the injury may not behave like a normal spinal trauma. Their body processes transferred wounds differently.”

“May,” Dick repeated.

“Yes.”

“May not.”

“Yes.”

He laughed once. It was ugly.

Donna’s hand settled on his shoulder.

That almost undid him.

Dick bowed his head over your hand.

“I should have known,” he said.

Donna did not answer.

He hated her for that. Loved her for it too.

“I noticed things,” he continued, voice low. “After they healed people. I noticed.”

“Dick.”

“I noticed and I let it go.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I should have.”

Donna squeezed his shoulder. “That is Bruce talking.”

His head snapped up.

She looked at him steadily.

“You are allowed to be hurt without making guilt useful,” she said.

Dick stared at her.

Then he looked back at you.

“Useful is all I’ve got right now.”

Donna’s expression softened.

Behind them, Gar made a broken sound.

“I let them heal me last week,” he said.

Everyone looked at him.

He stared at the floor. “My knee. It was nothing. Like, yeah, it hurt, but it wasn’t—” His voice cracked. “It wasn’t worth that.”

Raven closed her eyes. Kory turned away sharply.

Vic’s metal hand curled into a fist. “They healed my neural interface after Psimon fried half my systems.”

“They helped me after Trigon,” Raven said quietly.

Silence fell.

Not empty.

Crowded.

Every person in the room was remembering.

Every hand you had held. Every wound you had closed. Every time you had smiled afterward and said you were tired.

Only tired.

Dick felt sick.

Not because you had lied.

Because all of them had been relieved enough to believe you.

The door opened again.

Clark Kent stepped in, rain-dark hair mussed, glasses absent, Superman suit visible beneath a jacket he had clearly thrown on in a hurry.

He looked around the room once. Then at you.

His face changed.

“Oh,” he said softly.

That was all.

Just oh.

Dick wanted to stand. Wanted to say something. Wanted to be Nightwing, team leader, eldest brother, person who knew how to make everyone breathe again.

He couldn’t.

Clark came to the other side of your bed.

“I came as soon as I heard,” he said.

Dick nodded.

Clark’s eyes lowered to your still hand in Dick’s grip.

“They healed me yesterday,” Clark said.

Dick’s breath caught.

“Kryptonite burn,” Clark continued quietly. “They looked pale afterwards. Bruce noticed. He told them to rest.”

A horrible laugh escaped Dick. “Of course he did.”

Clark looked at him with infinite gentleness. “Bruce didn’t know either.”

Dick shut his eyes.

He could imagine Bruce finding out. The silence. The rage. The way he would turn terror into protocols and guilt into surveillance. The way he would blame himself first, hardest, longest.

Dick had learned from the best. Unfortunately.

“Can you hear anything?” Dick asked.

Clark’s face tightened.

Heartbeats. That was what Dick meant.

Clark nodded. “Their heart is steady for now.”

For now.

The phrase lodged under Dick’s ribs.

He looked down at you.

“Good,” he said, like the word had weight, like saying it could make it true. “That’s good.”

Clark stayed for a while.

So did everyone else.

One by one, though, they drifted out. Not far. Never far. Titans did not abandon their own. They lingered in hallways, in waiting rooms, in corners with vending machine coffee and red-rimmed eyes.

Eventually, only Dick remained.

He was good at vigils. He hated that too.

Hours passed in monitor beeps and the low hum of machines.

Your hand was warm in his.

That became his whole world.

Warm meant alive. Warm meant here. Warm meant not yet.

Near dawn, your fingers twitched.

Dick nearly came out of his chair.

“Hey,” he said, leaning forward. “Hey, I’m here.”

Your eyelids fluttered.

He forgot how to breathe.

Then your eyes opened. Unfocused at first. Cloudy with pain and medication.

Then they found him.

You smiled. Barely.

It devastated him.

“Hi, pretty bird,” you rasped.

Dick made a sound between a laugh and a sob.

“You’re not allowed to be charming right now,” he said.

Your brow furrowed faintly. “M’dying?”

“No.”

“Then I’m allowed.”

His mouth trembled.

You blinked slowly, gaze shifting around the room. “Tower?”

“Yeah.”

“Everyone okay?”

There it was. First question.

Not, Am I okay? Not, What happened?

Everyone.

Dick had never loved and hated anything more.

He leaned closer.

“No,” he said.

Your eyes came back to him.

“They’re not okay. I’m not okay. You scared the hell out of us.”

Your expression shifted with slow understanding.

Then memory returned.

He watched it happen.

The warehouse. The fall. The choice.

Your eyes filled. “Dick—”

“No.” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard and tried again. “No, don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t make it easier. Please don’t make it easier.”

You went quiet.

He pressed your hand to his forehead.

His shoulders shook once. Only once.

“I watched you become the fall,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched.

“You were—” He stopped, unable to finish. “You were on the ground. Like me. Because of me.”

“Not because of you.”

“You took my injury.”

“Yes.”

The honesty punched the air out of him.

No deflection. No lie. No, I’m fine.

Just yes.

Dick lifted his head. His eyes burned.

“How long?”

Your gaze slid away.

His stomach dropped. “How long have you been doing that?”

You were quiet.

Too quiet.

Dick understood before you answered.

“All of it?” he asked.

Your mouth trembled.

“Most of it,” you whispered.

Dick stood so fast the chair slammed backward.

You flinched.

He froze immediately.

Regret flashed through him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” He pushed both hands through his hair and turned away, pacing once before spinning back to you. “It’s not okay. None of this is okay.”

Your face had gone pale.

He forced himself to lower his voice. “You took Gar’s knee.”

You closed your eyes.

“Raven’s psychic backlash.”

A tear slipped down your temple into your hair.

“Kory’s burn.”

“Dick…”

“Vic’s neural damage. Clark’s kryptonite poisoning. Jason’s bullet wounds. Tim’s concussions. Damian’s broken bones. Mine.”

Your silence confirmed every word.

Dick felt like the room had tilted beneath him.

“How are you alive?” he whispered.

Your eyes opened.

There was something old in them then. Older than your face. Older than your smile.

“I heal faster than most people.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

“That sounds like something Bruce would say.”

A weak breath of laughter escaped you.

Dick did not smile.

The laugh died.

“I didn’t want you to know,” you said.

“No kidding.”

“Dick.”

His name in your voice hurt.

He came back to the chair slowly and sat down because standing made him want to run through walls.

You turned your head toward him.

The movement was tiny. It still cost you. He saw the pain ripple over your face.

“Don’t,” he said quickly.

You stilled.

He hated this. He hated all of it. The bed. The machines. Your body trapped under injury. His body whole because yours wasn’t.

“I need to know why,” he said.

“You know why.”

“No.” His voice came out sharper than intended. “No, I really don’t.”

Your eyes searched his face.

He let you see it. All of it. The fear. The anger. The betrayal. The love he had been carrying like a secret too fragile to name.

You looked away first.

“I didn’t want anyone to choose pain,” you said.

Dick stared at you.

“Everyone I work with is the same,” you continued. “The League. The Titans. The Outlaws. All of you. If I told you what healing costs me, you’d refuse unless you were unconscious or dying. Maybe even then.”

“Yes,” Dick said. “Because we’re not monsters.”

“You’re martyrs.”

He went still.

You looked back at him. Softly, exhaustedly furious.

“You are,” you said. “Every single one of you. You’d let yourselves bleed out if it meant I didn’t have to feel it. You’d call that noble. I call it stupid.”

Dick let out a stunned laugh. “You cannot be serious right now.”

“I am extremely serious.”

“You are lying in a medbay because you took a broken spine from me.”

“And I’d do it again.”

The room went silent.

Dick’s face crumpled before he could stop it.

You saw. Of course you saw.

Regret passed over your features.

“Dick—”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, don’t say that.”

“I can’t lie to you anymore.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I know.”

“You don’t get to almost die for me and then tell me you’d do it again.”

“I love you.”

Dick stopped. Everything stopped.

The monitors kept beeping. Somewhere outside, someone walked down the hall. Rain tapped lightly against the Tower windows.

But inside Dick, every moving part went still.

You looked terrified now.

Not of death.

Of him. Of what he would do with the truth.

Your eyes glistened.

“I love you,” you said again, voice breaking. “And I know that’s not an excuse. I know it doesn’t make lying okay. I know it doesn’t make taking the choice away okay. But it’s the reason.”

Dick could not move. He had imagined hearing those words from you more times than he would ever admit. Usually in softer places. A kitchen at two in the morning. His apartment. A rooftop under a kinder sky. Your hand in his, your smile warm enough to make the world feel less like a thing that constantly needed saving.

Not here. Not with your spine braced. Not with your blood still dried under his fingernails.

“You can’t say that,” he whispered.

Your face went blank.

Dick realised what it sounded like and reached for you immediately.

“No. No, that’s not—” He sat on the edge of the chair, one hand hovering near yours. “That’s not what I mean.”

You looked at his hand.

He waited.

This time, he waited.

After a moment, you moved your fingers weakly toward him.

Permission.

Dick took your hand like it was made of light.

“You can’t say you love me like that,” he said, voice shaking. “Like it means your life is automatically worth less than mine.”

Your eyes filled again. “I don’t think that.”

“You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do,” he said, gentler now. “Because I know that trick. I invented that trick. I perfected that trick. I have a whole family of emotionally repressed vigilantes who could give a TED Talk on that trick.”

A watery laugh escaped you.

Dick’s thumb moved over your knuckles.

“I know what it looks like when someone calls self-destruction devotion,” he said.

Your smile faded.

He swallowed hard. “I know because I do it all the time.”

You looked at him for a long moment.

Then you whispered, “Yeah.”

He laughed once, and this time it was almost real. “Rude.”

“Accurate.”

“Still rude.”

Your fingers twitched against his palm.

He lowered his head until his forehead rested against your hand.

“I love you too,” he whispered.

Your breath caught.

He held onto you tighter.

“I love you,” he said again, because now that the words were out, he could not bear to let them stand alone. “I love you so much I don’t know what to do with it. And I am so angry at you that I can barely breathe.”

You made a small sound.

He lifted his head.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I only wanted you alive.”

His face twisted.

“I know,” he said.

That was the worst part. He knew.

There was no cruelty in what you had done. No malice. No carelessness.

Only love. Misdirected. Secretive. Devastating love. The kind that looked too much like his own.

Dick leaned forward and pressed his lips to your knuckles.

Your eyes closed.

He stayed there.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer.

“We have to tell everyone.”

Your eyes opened. Fear flickered.

“They already know some of it,” he continued. “Raven felt it. She told us what happened.”

You looked toward the door.

Dick followed your gaze.

Through the small window, shadows moved in the hallway.

The Titans.

Waiting. Hurting. Loving you.

Your mouth trembled. “They’re going to hate me.”

Dick shook his head immediately. “No.”

“They should.”

“No.”

“I lied to them.”

“Yeah,” he said. “And they’re going to be upset. They’re going to be scared. Gar is probably going to cry on you, so prepare emotionally for dampness.”

Despite everything, your lips twitched.

“Vic is going to pretend he’s fine and then build you seventeen medical devices,” Dick continued. “Raven is going to stare into your soul until you confess every symptom you’ve ever hidden. Kory might actually lift a car.”

“She wouldn’t.”

“She might. For emphasis.”

Your smile faded, but some of the terror went with it.

“And you?” you asked.

Dick breathed in.

“I’m going to stay mad for a while,” he admitted.

You nodded.

“But I’m also going to stay.”

Your face cracked open.

He leaned closer.

“I’m not leaving because this is hard,” he said. “I’m not leaving because you scared me. I’m not leaving because you made a bad choice trying to save me.”

Your eyes searched his.

“I need you to promise me something,” he said.

“Dick…”

“No secret healing. Not with us. Not anymore.”

Your jaw tightened. “Emergency circumstances—”

“We’ll define them.”

“You sound like Batman.”

“I know. I’m devastated too.”

A weak laugh.

His heart nearly buckled under the sound.

“I mean it,” he said. “You have to tell people what they’re agreeing to.”

You looked down. “I know.”

“And you have to let us take care of you afterwards.”

“That’s harder.”

“I know.”

“I’m bad at it.”

“Baby, you are catastrophically bad at it.”

You huffed.

He smiled faintly, then sobered. “But we’re going to practice.”

“We?”

“Yeah.” His thumb brushed your hand. “We.”

Your eyes glistened.

“Okay,” you whispered.

It was not enough.

But it was a beginning.

Dick could work with beginnings.

He was a circus kid. A vigilante. A Robin. A Nightwing. A man who had lost the ground and learned to trust the air anyway.

Beginnings were just another kind of leap.

The Titans entered one at a time. Gar cried first, obviously. He tried very hard not to, which made it worse. He stood beside your bed with his arms crossed, lower lip trembling, eyes too bright.

“I’m mad at you,” he said.

Your face softened. “I know.”

“I’m, like, really mad.”

“I know.”

“And sad. And mad. And also really glad you’re not dead, which is making the mad part complicated.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“It is.” His voice cracked. “You took my knee.”

Your eyes lowered.

Gar wiped his face with his sleeve. “It was just my knee.”

“Gar…”

“No, it was. It hurt, yeah, but I would’ve been fine. It wasn’t worth you hurting.”

You looked at Dick. He said nothing.

This was yours to answer.

You swallowed.

“At the time,” you said carefully, “it felt worth it to me.”

Gar looked stricken.

“I know that doesn’t make it okay,” you added quickly. “I know I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

Gar sniffled. Then he leaned down very carefully and hugged the top of your head.

Dick almost told him to be careful.

He did not.

You closed your eyes.

Gar whispered, “You’re not allowed to die. I already decided.”

“Okay,” you whispered back.

“Cool.”

Then he backed away, crying harder.

Vic came next.

He did not cry. He brought a tablet.

“I’ve got three ideas,” he said, voice too controlled, “for a biofeedback system that can warn before a transfer exceeds safe neurological load.”

You stared at him.

“Hello to you too,” you said.

Vic’s mouth twitched.

Dick smiled despite himself.

“Also,” Vic added, “I’m mad.”

“Noted.”

“And I’m building the thing anyway.”

“Also noted.”

Vic’s expression cracked slightly. “You should’ve told us.”

“I know.”

“I would’ve let you help,” he said quietly. “Sometimes. Maybe. But I would’ve wanted to know when helping me hurt you.”

Your eyes filled again.

“I know,” you whispered.

Vic nodded once.

Then he set the tablet on your bedside table like an offering.

Raven came after him.

She stood beside your bed, silent and pale, shadows moving slowly around her wrists.

You looked nervous.

Raven looked at you for a long time.

Then she said, “You took more than injuries.”

Your face went still.

Dick’s attention sharpened.

Raven’s eyes did not leave yours. “Emotional pain too. Psychic pain. Fear. Grief.”

You swallowed.

“Sometimes,” you said.

Dick felt like the floor had dropped again.

Of course. Of course there was more.

Raven’s expression tightened. “Mine?”

You closed your eyes. The silence answered.

Raven inhaled sharply.

Dick started to reach for her, but she lifted one hand.

You opened your eyes. “Only when it was too much. Only when I thought—”

“That I couldn’t survive it?” Raven asked.

You flinched.

Raven looked away.

For a moment, she was very young.

Then she stepped closer and placed two fingers lightly against your hand.

“I understand why,” Raven said. Your tears spilled over. “But do not do it again without asking me.”

“I won’t,” you whispered.

Raven nodded.

Then, after a pause, she added, “You are loved for more than your usefulness.”

You broke then. Quietly. Completely.

Dick stood, but Raven was already there, leaning carefully over you, touching your forehead with hers.

Not a hug. Not exactly.

Something quieter. Something sacred.

Kory came last.

She tried to be gentle.

Kory’s gentleness had always been a force of nature trying to fit through a doorway.

Her eyes shone bright green as she took your hand.

“My beloved friend,” she said, voice trembling, “you have carried pain alone when you had an army.”

You gave a wet laugh. “When you say it like that, it sounds very stupid.”

“It was,” Kory said.

Everyone blinked.

Kory’s chin lifted. “It was brave. It was loving. It was also stupid.”

Gar made a tiny sound. “She said the thing.”

Kory ignored him.

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You will not do this alone again,” she said.

You nodded, crying too hard to speak.

Dick watched them surround you.

Not crowding. Not demanding.

Just there. A net, woven from people who loved you enough to be angry.

For the first time since the warehouse, something inside him loosened.

Not healed. Not yet.

But held.

Recovery was slow. Not as slow as normal spinal trauma, because your body was strange and stubborn and apparently determined to give medical science a migraine.

But not fast either.

Feeling returned in fragments. Left foot. Right toes. Thighs. Hips. Pain followed each return like lightning learning your name.

You hated it.

Dick loved every sign because it meant you were still there, still fighting, still coming back.

He also hated it because every gasp from you felt like punishment.

He spent most days at your bedside.

At first, he tried to make himself useful. He brought food. Adjusted pillows. Read medical updates. Ran interference when too many worried heroes wanted to visit. Smuggled in snacks Alfred absolutely did not approve of but definitely knew about because Alfred knew everything and permitted crimes selectively.

Then you caught him reorganising the medbay supply cabinet at three in the morning.

“Dick.”

He froze with a roll of bandages in each hand.

You stared at him from the bed, unimpressed. “What are you doing?”

“Inventory.”

“This is not your medbay.”

“Organisation helps.”

“You alphabetised antiseptic.”

“Antiseptic deserves respect.”

“You need sleep.”

“So do you.”

“I was asleep until you started stress-cleaning gauze.”

He looked down at the bandages. Then back at you.

“You were in pain.”

Your expression softened.

He hated how easily you saw through him.

“I’m often in pain right now,” you said gently.

His hands tightened.

“Don’t do that,” you said.

“Do what?”

“Make my pain your failure.”

He laughed once, humourless. “Kind of hard not to, considering.”

“Dick.”

He looked away.

You sighed. “Come here.”

He put the bandages down and came to your bedside.

You patted the edge of the mattress.

He gave you a look. “Absolutely not.”

“Sit.”

“I could hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“I’m not risking your spine because you want cuddles.”

“I do want cuddles.”

His expression flickered.

You smiled faintly. “That one got you.”

“Cruel.”

“Effective.”

He compromised by dragging the chair close enough that his knees touched the bed. You reached for him, and he gave you his hand.

It had become familiar now. His hand in yours. Your pulse under his fingers. Your life, stubborn and warm.

“You’re doing the thing,” you said.

“What thing?”

“The smile.”

Dick blinked. “I’m not smiling.”

“The inside smile. The fake one. The one that says, ‘I’m fine, don’t look too closely, I’m very handsome and emotionally functional.’”

He stared at you. “You think I’m handsome?”

“You heard the rest.”

“I prioritised.”

Your mouth twitched.

Dick’s smile came easier this time. Realer.

Then it faded.

“I don’t know how to stop seeing it,” he admitted.

Your thumb moved weakly against his hand.

“The fall?” you asked.

He nodded.

Your face gentled.

“When I close my eyes,” he said, voice low, “I see you on the floor.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No.” He leaned forward. “I’m not telling you so you apologise. I’m telling you because we said no more hiding.”

You absorbed that.

Then nodded slowly.

“Okay,” you whispered. “No more hiding.”

His throat tightened.

You looked down at your joined hands.

“I still feel it sometimes,” you said.

Dick went still.

“The fall,” you clarified. “Not the full injury anymore. But echoes. Like my body remembers impact that wasn’t mine.”

Dick could not speak.

You continued, because apparently both of you had chosen emotional destruction as a bonding activity.

“I don’t regret saving you.” He closed his eyes. “But I’m starting to understand that not regretting it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt you.”

His eyes opened.

You looked at him, open and tired and honest. “I’m sorry for that part.”

Dick breathed in carefully.

Then out.

“I don’t regret being alive,” he said.

Your lips parted.

“I need you to know that. I don’t regret it. I don’t wish you hadn’t saved me if the alternative was dying in that warehouse.”

Your eyes filled.

“But I hate that you paid for it alone,” he continued. “I hate that I didn’t get to say yes. I hate that you thought love meant making yourself the place pain goes to disappear.”

You nodded, tears spilling silently.

“I’m learning,” you whispered.

He kissed your hand. “Me too.”

You studied him. “What are you learning?”

Dick huffed softly. “That apparently I have control issues.”

Your brows rose. 

“I know. Shocking. Alert the media.”

“Front-page news.”

“And,” he continued, “that being the net all the time is not actually the same as being loved.”

Your expression changed.

He swallowed. “I think I liked being needed because it felt safer than being wanted.”

You went very still.

Dick looked down at your hand.

“If people need you, you have a job. A role. Something to do. Something to offer. You can earn your place over and over.” His mouth twisted. “But being wanted? Just because you’re you? That’s terrifying.”

Your voice was soft. “Yeah.”

He looked up. Your eyes were wet.

“I know,” you said.

And there it was.

The mirror. Two people who had made themselves useful enough to avoid asking if they were loved.

Dick smiled sadly. “We’re a pair, huh?”

“A disastrous one.”

“Hot.”

You laughed. This time, it did not sound broken.

Dick felt the laugh settle into his chest like sunrise.

He leaned closer, giving you time to refuse.

You did not.

His lips touched yours softly. Carefully.

There was nothing dramatic about it. No collapsing warehouse. No blue fire. No scream. Just his hand in yours, your mouth warm beneath his, and the quiet, astonishing fact that you were both still alive.

When he pulled back, your eyes were closed.

“Was that okay?” he asked.

Your eyes opened slowly. “You’re asking after?”

“I panicked.”

“Adorable.”

“I can do better.”

“I know.”

He smiled.

You tugged weakly at his hand. “Again.”

This time, he laughed before kissing you.

The first time you stood again, everyone cried.

Gar denied it. He was lying.

Vic recorded the whole thing and claimed it was for medical documentation. Also lying.

Kory hovered with both hands out like she intended to catch you, the bed, Dick, and possibly the entire Tower if necessary. Raven stood nearby, pretending calm while her shadows formed nervous little curls at her feet.

Dick stood in front of you.

Not behind. Not beside.

In front, hands open.

A net. But not the only one.

“You’ve got this,” he said.

You glared at him. “If I fall, I’m haunting you.”

“Reasonable.”

“As a poltergeist.”

“Mean, but fair.”

“I’ll move all your cereal into different boxes.”

Gar gasped. “That’s evil.”

“I contain multitudes.”

Dick’s grin trembled.

You saw. Your expression softened.

“Hey,” you said quietly. He focused on you. “I’m here.”

He nodded.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “You are.”

You took one step. Your knees shook.

Dick did not grab you. It took everything in him. Every instinct screamed. Every memory of your body broken on concrete rose up sharp and hungry.

But he did not grab you. He let you choose the step. Let you own the balance. Let you move.

You took another.

Then another.

Then your strength failed.

Dick caught you.

So did Kory.

So did Vic.

Raven’s shadows braced your legs.

Gar cheered and cried openly this time.

You ended up laughing against Dick’s chest while everyone crowded in, careful and loud and ridiculous.

The pain had gone somewhere. The fear had too.

Not away. Never fully away.

But spread out. Held by more hands.

That was the secret none of you had known at first.

Pain did not become lighter because one person carried all of it.

It became survivable when everyone carried a piece.

Later, after the others left and you were back in bed, exhausted but smiling, Dick sat beside you and traced idle circles over your palm.

“You caught me,” you said.

He looked up.

“In the warehouse,” you continued. “After.”

His face sobered. “I was too late.”

“No.” You squeezed his hand. “You caught me.”

Dick swallowed hard.

“You caught me too,” he said.

Your smile faded into something tender. “I broke all your rules when I did.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m trying not to romanticise that.”

“Good.”

“But I did catch you.”

His mouth curved despite himself.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “You did.”

You looked at him in the soft medbay light. “Now what?”

Dick leaned back in his chair, still holding your hand. “Now we learn how to do the next part without almost dying.”

“Sounds improbable.”

“We can try.”

“Are there snacks?”

“Definitely.”

“Then I’m in.”

He laughed.

There it was again. That bright thing. That impossible thing.

Joy, growing stubbornly in the aftermath.

Dick Grayson still knew how to fall. He always would. But now, when he looked at you, when he felt your fingers threaded through his, when he remembered the warehouse and the scream and the terrible miracle of being saved, he understood something he had spent his whole life avoiding.

Catching someone did not mean never falling. Being loved did not mean never hitting the ground.

Sometimes love was the hand reaching down afterwards. Sometimes it was the person who stayed through recovery. Sometimes it was telling the truth when the lie would be easier. Sometimes it was a whole team gathered around a bed, furious and crying and refusing to let one person become the only place pain could live.

And sometimes, impossibly, it was you.

Alive. Healing. Learning. Smiling at him like the world was still worth saving.

Dick lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“I love you,” he said.

Your eyes softened. “I love you too, pretty bird.”

His heart stumbled. “Still not over that nickname.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

You smiled wider.

Outside the Tower windows, Blüdhaven glittered beneath the rain.

Messy. Bruised. Trying.

Still standing.

So were you. So was he.

ding

You pick up your phone, seeing a DM notification from Twitter. As you open the app you smile — it's exactly who you hoped would be messaging you.

@/xcalibur_: wowwww you look amazing in the new vid 😍

It's Nico — one of your mutuals. Due to the nature of the content you put out, and the fact that you choose to remain anonymous online — posting everything under a pseudonym, Berrie — you are constantly having to balance casually flirting with other adult content creators to build your network while also not getting too close to anybody. It's good business, and also for your own safety. But you and Nico have followed each other for a few months now, and he seems like a genuinely sweet guy. It also doesn't help that he is outrageously hot, and has the prettiest cock you've ever seen. You should probably be ashamed by how many times you've cum to his videos, but shame surrounding sex is something you left behind a long time ago.

@/strawberriebaby: thanks love😘 your new pics are sooo hot btw @/xcalibur_: thank you gorgeous ;) i didn't think the bulge pics would be so popular tbh but people seem to love it @/strawberriebaby: it's the gray sweatpants babe, that'll drive any girl crazy in a heartbeat @/xcalibur_: that's good to know, i'll keep that in mind 😏 hey btw, if you ever want any free personalized content from me lmk. i've cum to your videos so many times, so i definitely owe you haha

That last sentence makes your stomach do an excited flip. Sure, you post porn on Twitter. Of course other people are going to be jerking it to your videos. But something about hearing it from him specifically is really fucking hot.

@/strawberriebaby: that's crazy bc i cum to YOUR videos all the time too 🥰 @/xcalibur_: wow, what an honor to hear that from my favorite account holy shit 😍 @/strawberriebaby: lol i'll bet you say that to everyone @/xcalibur_: nope, not at all. just you baby ❤️ @/strawberriebaby: alright then, prove it. send me a video of you jerking off right now 😊 @/xcalibur_: say less 🫡

A proud grin creeps across your face. Your thighs instinctively squeeze together, excitement flooding your senses at the prospect of receiving a personal video from Nico. Figuring you'd give him a few minutes, you decide to get up and start some laundry in the meantime. By the time you've sorted your clothes and started the first load in the washer, you already have a new DM in your notifications.

Excitedly you make your way to your bedroom, figuring you might as well enjoy yourself as you watch. Plopping onto your bed, you open Twitter and click on your chat with Nico. Sure enough, you are greeted with a seven minute-long video attachment, with a blurry image of what appears to be his bulge in the thumbnail, and an accompanying message that simply says for my favorite girl❤️.

You click play, immediately being greeted with soft moans from behind the camera as you watch him stroke himself through his sweatpants, the thick bulge heavy beneath his grasp. He's already growing hard, the soft fabric doing little to hide the shape of his cock as he touches himself, the delicate sighs escaping his lips sounding whiny already. You feel a rush of heat in your core as you watch him; he may be fully clothed still, but that doesn't stop your mouth from watering at the salacious sight.

Before long he has a full-blown erection; reaching into his pants, he takes his length in his hand, letting out a hiss at the sensation. Slipping the waistband of his sweats down he frees it from the confines of his underwear, revealing the thick, veiny shaft you've committed to memory at this point. He begins to jerk himself off, slow, measured strokes as he grips his cock tightly in his fist.

"F-fuck," you hear him groan from behind the camera. "I'm so fucking horny right now."

Grinning, you slip out of your pants with one hand, the other holding your phone as your eyes remain fixed on the pretty cock on its screen. You recline into your pillows, lightly dragging your fingertips over your pussy, discovering yourself to be much wetter than you expected. You collect your pooled arousal and spread it over your clit, sighing softly as your fingers graze the sensitive bud.

"Feels so good," he whines. "Wish it was your mouth, baby. Fuck…"

He begins to stroke himself faster now, his hand pumping up and down his length with urgent need. You slip your fingers into your pussy, fucking yourself as you watch; you start slow, but the pitiful sounds coming out of him soon have your hand flying as fast as his is. You feel like you could cum already, but you want to wait until he does. Your stomach tightens as you picture the savory sight of that in your head; checking the timestamp on the video, you're about halfway through. Just a few more minutes to go. The time seems to pass at a painfully slow pace, forcing you to pause more than once, taking the time to catch your breath as you watch Nico getting himself off with uninhibited pleasure. Your clit throbs, aching for the release of your orgasm. Finally, his whimpers begin to turn utterly pathetic — sharp cries and loud moans escaping him — and you can tell he's about to cum. Thank god, you think to yourself. You don't know how much longer you can wait.

You watch the shiny dribble of precum drip down the head of his cock, which is turning an angry shade of red as his climax begins to overtake him.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he cries. He vigorously pumps his length, cock throbbing in his grasp, until finally — he releases. With a vulgar groan white ropes of cum spurt from his tip, shooting into the air before falling onto his hand and stomach. The sight is enough to send you over the edge — your palm presses into your clit as your fingers fuck into your cunt, and you cum too. Your head falls back, eyes tearing up at the bursts of pleasure rolling through your body, but you don't take them off the screen for a second. You ride out your high, chest heaving with deep breaths as you stare at the delicious mess of cum all over Nico.

As you drift back down to earth, you watch as he lets go of his spent cock; it twitches against his stomach as he shows off his cum-coated hand, the sticky white substance dripping all over his fingers and the silver ring on his pinky. You've seen his hands plenty of times by now, and you've always thought they were exceptionally pretty. However, for some reason in this moment they seem… familiar. His long thick fingers, his pretty nails, and also the ring, too. You swear you've seen it somewhere before. You figure it's just from watching so many of his videos, but something in the back of your mind is telling you otherwise. But your mind is spinning, and it's hard to think straight right now anyway, so you push that thought aside.

You take a picture of your soaked cunt and DM it back to him.

@/strawberriebaby: that was so fucking hot, thank youuu 😘

Your phone dings as he replies immediately.

@/xcalibur_: fuck, need that pussy so bad

Maybe it's just the high from your orgasm, but his message practically has you swooning. The typing bubble pops up again right away. You watch him type for a minute, then stop. It pops up again a few moments later. You wait patiently to see what he has to say, and finally you receive another message.

@/xcalibur_: i'm not sure if you're open to collabs, so no pressure at all, but if you're ever interested lmk ;) more than willing to travel for u lol

Your heart nearly skips a beat. You've had other creators ask to collab before, but you've politely turned them all down. It's something you've definitely considered, but you don't want to do it with just anybody. It would have to be with the right person — and honestly, Nico would be perfect for the job.

@/strawberriebaby: i've never done one before, but i've been considering it tbh👀 i'm kinda nervous about it though @/xcalibur_: that's totally fair, it's a big ask! i've also never done one, mostly for privacy reasons. might end my career if anybody finds out i do this lol @/strawberriebaby: i'm a freelance artist, so that matters less for me haha. i'm just mostly nervous because i've never done a face reveal before @/xcalibur_: you wouldn't have to do one if you don't want! @/strawberriebaby: oh yeah, i mean more like… what if i met somebody irl and they weren't into me :/ @/xcalibur_: i can guarantee that won't happen if we meet, i promise :) @/strawberriebaby: i'm just kind of an awkward person 😭 @/xcalibur_: that doesn't matter to me. you're hot and i'm very into you 🙂‍↕️ @/strawberriebaby: you haven't even seen my face though!! @/xcalibur_: but i know you're fucking beautiful. and i'm not just saying that!

This conversation is a lot flirtier than you usually have with people on Twitter, even your mutuals that you know fairly well. Normally if a man was talking to you like this, you would just assume it's business as usual, just another stranger on the internet trying to get into your pants. But Nico is… different. Maybe you're delusional — maybe he talks like this to everyone he wants to fuck and you're not special. But your instinct tells you he's being genuine.

@/strawberriebaby: you're crazy, but fortunately i'm into that lol @/xcalibur_: that's great news for me😌 but fr, if you're ever in the bay area hit me up. i'll clear my fucking schedule @/strawberriebaby: wait, you're in the bay area?? @/xcalibur_: born and raised! @/strawberriebaby: no fucking way. i'm also in the bay area! @/xcalibur_: omg @/xcalibur_: not to jump the gun but this might be destiny idk @/strawberriebaby: well, one way to find out @/xcalibur_: does this mean you want to collab :) @/strawberriebaby: let me sleep on it, but good chance the answer might be yes @/xcalibur_: YAYYYYY @/xcalibur_: i mean uh, yeah that's cool. totally a good business decision. @/strawberriebaby: oh, totally, for sure. well i have to go now, i'm meeting a friend for dinner. pleasure doing business with you ;) @/xcalibur_: you too babe 😘 enjoy your dinner!

Between your orgasm and your conversation with Nico, you're feeling very hot and bothered — so you decide to take a quick shower. You feel much better afterward; you get ready and head out to meet your friend, and you end up having a really nice night. But you'd be lying if you said you didn't spend the whole rest of the evening with thoughts of your potential collab lingering in the back of your mind.

On Saturday, you have a gig as a wedding photographer — one of the many hats you wear. The wedding isn't until the afternoon, but you're supposed to be there by 11am to get set up and run through the schedule with the wedding planner. You're running slightly behind, but you're still on time — as long as you leave by 10:30, you'll be fine.

At 10:25am you are on your way out of your apartment. As you lock the door behind you, you spot a figure out of the corner of your eye approaching from down the hallway. Turning your head, you see that it's your neighbor, Seokmin.

"Hey y/n!" he tells you cheerfully. "Haven't seen you in a minute!"

Seokmin lives down the hall from you, so you run into him fairly frequently in passing. You usually don't go out of your way to talk to other people in your building outside of polite small talk, and you don't know Seokmin all that well truthfully. You pretty much only know that he's a lawyer, and apparently a pretty good one at that — but with his gregarious nature and bright smile, he's easily one of the nicest people you've ever met.

"Hey Seokmin," you smile back, giving him a small wave. "Yeah, I've been working odd jobs lately, so my schedule is kind of all over the place."

Seokmin reaches his front door. Still facing you, he rummages around in his bag, presumably for his keys.

"Nice, where are you off to today?"

"Photography gig," you answer. "I'm working a wedding."

"Oh, fun!" he beams at you, his arm still digging around the bottom of his bag. Finally, his hand closes around the small cluster of metal; he pulls the keys out, turning to the door to raising his hand to the lock. As he does so, you notice a silver ring around his pinky, and suddenly you realize where you've seen this exact same hand before.

Your eyes widen, staring at Seokmin's hand, looking for anything to tell you you're wrong, that can't be the same hand… You blink, hoping you're just imagining things — but deep down you know your eyes do not deceive you.

Seokmin peers back at you, about to say something else, but you look like you've seen a ghost.

"Are you okay?" he asks, slightly concerned.

"I just— I forgot something," you say in a panic, plastering a faux smile on your face. You spin on your heel and rush back into your apartment before he can ask any more questions. "Catch you later!"

"Bye!" Seokmin shouts after you. He turns and enters his apartment, not thinking anything of it.

You, however, are now spiraling. You pace around your apartment as you take your phone out and open Twitter, scrolling to your DMs with Nico and playing back the video he sent you the other night. You fast forward to the end, stopping when you see his cum-coated hand in frame. Without a doubt, it looks just like Seokmin's. You might've been able to convince yourself that they just look similar, that there's no chance in hell they belong to the same person — but the presence of the identical ring makes it undeniable.

"What the fuck," you mutter under your breath, trying to process this information. Sure, Seokmin is objectively an attractive man — but you've never thought of him like that before. But the more you think about it, the way Nico talks and his amicable, sweet nature match Seokmin's demeanor perfectly. And he does have the exact same build you've seen fully nude from the shoulders down dozens of times on your phone screen.

But you don't have time to stand here and freak out about this right now. You have to get to work. You peek out your peephole, just to make sure he's not still out there for any reason, but the hallway is vacant. You lock the door behind you and make your exit as quickly as possible.

Fortunately, the wedding setup and the ceremony itself keep you busy enough to keep your mind off the fact that Nico is your literal neighbor. After the reception ends, you head home, but decide to stop at the CVS on your way back. You grab the couple items you need from your list and head to check out, but on your way to the register you pass the condom section. You stop for a second; you do have a box at home already, but Nico/Seokmin's video drifts to the front of your mind, reminding you just how fucking huge his cock is.

Stop it, you think to yourself. You didn't even say you'd collab with him yet. Do you even want to do that now that you know he's been living across the hall from you this whole time?? But you know in your heart that the answer is a resounding yes.

With a sigh, you grab a box of XL condoms off the shelf and toss it in your basket.

You spend the whole evening trying not to think about Seokmin, to no avail. You even put on Howl's Moving Castle, hoping that your favorite movie will be a good distraction, but even that isn't enough to get your mind of that fucking video he sent you. You can't even blame him, because you're the one who asked him to send it in the first place.

Idiot, you chastise yourself. He did say he was also in the Bay Area, but so are seven million other people; never in your wildest dreams would you have expected him to live in your exact building — because what are the fucking odds of that? But regardless, it's true, and now you have to figure out what the hell you are going to do about it. You pretty much have two options: tell him you know, or pretend like you don't. Neither one is very good — the latter would probably be the smarter option, but it doesn't change the fact that you still want to hit like so bad.

Your phone buzzes. Looking down, you see a DM from Nico pop up in your notifications.

"Speak of the devil…" you mumble to yourself. You pick up the phone and open it to his message.

@/xcalibur_: heyyyy cutie ❤️ how was your day?

You stare at the screen for a minute, deliberating, but eventually you decide to respond.

@/strawberriebaby: honestly i had such a weird fucking day 😭 @/xcalibur_: oh no! what happened? (if you don't mind me asking) @/strawberriebaby: nothing bad, just… weird. can i ask you something? @/xcalibur_: of course baby @/strawberriebaby: what would you do if i said i think we might know each other irl?

Your heart races as you hit send. You have no idea how he's going to respond, but you decide fuck it. Worst case scenario it'll make things so awkward you will have to move, but that's a problem for later. You watch the typing bubble anxiously as you await his reply.

@/xcalibur_: wait, seriously? how so? @/strawberriebaby: i recognized your ring in the video. @/xcalibur_: i'm sure a lot of guys have a ring like mine tho, maybe it just looks similar to someone you know? @/strawberriebaby: that's what i was thinking. but then i saw you in the hallway this morning when i was on my way to work

The typing bubble does not pop up again. A few minutes pass, and you start to wonder if you've royally fucked up — but then you hear a knock at your front door.

You get up and walk over to the peephole, peering out to see none other than Seokmin standing there, wearing grey sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt that puts his thick biceps on full display. You open the door, coming face to face with him; you stare at each other for a moment, neither of you knowing what to say.

"You…" he finally starts, but you just grab him by the wrist and pull him inside. Door shutting behind him, you are now alone together, standing far to close to one another in the entryway of your home.

"It is you," he says in a hushed tone, staring at you with sparkling brown eyes. "You're Berrie." You nod, locking eyes with him, making your stomach do a nervous flip.

"And you're Nico," you reply softly. He nods back, a bewildered look coloring his face.

"This is crazy," he laughs incredulously. "I've always thought you were so pretty, but I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything."

"Well, turns out we've already seen each other naked," you point out. He lets out a laugh.

"Yeah, I suppose so…"

You stare at each other for a moment, the tension in the room turning palpable.

"Well, my offer still stands, you know," he says, suddenly turning a bit flushed. "About the collab. If you want."

"Do you mean… right now?" you ask, taking a step forward.

"Yeah," he whispers, also stepping forward to bridge the gap between the two of you. "I do." Slowly he raises his right hand, cradling your cheek in his palm as he holds your face, the metal of his ring cool against your cheek. You let out a soft gasp; your hands drift to his torso, pressing them against his muscular abs, sliding them up across his chest before you take his shirt in your fists, yanking him toward you closer still.

"Kiss me," you tell him, and without a moment of hesitation his lips are crashing into yours.

His hand drifts from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling your face into his so he can kiss you with unrestrained vigor. His other hand drifts to your waist, rubbing your hip slowly as he tastes you, his lips tugging on yours in sheer desperation. You kiss him back, grabbing him by his sides as you press your body into him.

"Fuck," he grumbles, barely taking his lips off you as he grabs your ass, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh."You're so perfect."

The stiffening in his pants is undeniable, pressing against your stomach as he holds you close. You want nothing more than to rip your clothes off and throw yourself at him, but you know that teasing him for a bit first would be enticing for the both of you — and you want to savor this.

You break the kiss, staring up at him sweetly, before you take his hand in yours and start pulling him toward your bedroom.

"C'mon," you say, looking back at him as you tug him along. He grins, gazing at you excitedly at he eagerly follows. Entering your room, he lets out a chuckle.

"Wow, so this is where the magic happens, huh?" he asks, gesturing at your ring light and tripod set up at the foot of your bed.

"Sure is," you smile. "I was planning on filming tonight, let me move this real quick—"

"Wait," Seokmin says, grabbing hold of your wrist. You turn to face him again, his soft brown eyes staring at you lustfully. "You should go ahead and film."

"It's okay, I can do it tomorrow—" you start, but he grabs you by the chin, tilting your face up to his so he can kiss you again.

"I want to watch," he mutters into your lips. A smile spreads across your face.

"Okay," you beam at him.

Grabbing your phone, you set it up on the tripod, the video camera open and ready. You strip your clothes off as you make your way over to your bed, plopping into the center and making yourself comfortable. You spread your legs, revealing your bare pussy, already glimmering with arousal in the dim lighting.

"Ready?" Seokmin asks, his finger hovering above the record button.

"More than," you grin.

He taps the button, and the video begins.

Slowly you slide your hand down your body, dipping your fingers into your cunt, pulling them out again to show off the stick mess of juices dripping out of you. Seokmin licks his lips, palming himself through his sweatpants as he quickly starts to grow hard. You touch yourself lazily, staring up at him as you start to get yourself off; you were planning on taking your sweet time, but having him watch you like this is making you unbearably horny. Soft moans escape your lips as you begin to play with your clit, causing him to grip his bulge in his fist tightly as he takes a deep breath. Your other hand grasps at your breast, squeezing it as your fingers start to move faster. The sight is too much for Seokmin. Mouth watering, he pulls his pants down and frees his cock, stroking it slowly in his large hand. You've seen it dozens of times, so you knew exactly what to expect — and yet seeing the sheer size of his cock with your own two eyes has you clenching around nothing. You swear you've never craved anything more in your life.

Your fingers begin to work faster, flicking back and forth over your clit, hips rocking slowly as a burning heat begins to fill your gut. Watching Seokmin masturbate as he watches you masturbate has to be the hottest thing you've ever experienced. His eyes don't leave you for a second, his gaze flickering from your pussy to your breasts to your pretty face, savoring the sight of every inch of you. Soon, he's stroking himself with a sense of urgency, his hand working his cock faster and faster, egged on by your incessant whimpering as you approach your high. Your body writhes against the mattress as an explosive orgasm suddenly overtakes you — your legs tremble, your head falls back into the pillows as you release, crying out with pleasure as the shockwaves of your climax pulse through you.

Your mind spins as you come down, your chest rising and falling with deep breaths as you try to recover. Your eyes flutter open again, seeing Seokmin still standing there, staring at you like he wants to devour you. His hand has stilled, gripping his thick hard cock tightly, his tip glistening with his leaking juices.

"Turn that off and come fuck me already," you tell him, grinning eagerly. He stops the video and walks over to your bed, climbing over you and pressing a long kiss against your lips. You reach for his cock, but he's already scooting back down, positioning himself between your legs.

"I will," he replies, suddenly grabbing you by the thighs and folding you in half, making you gasp. "But first…"

You cry out as he drags his tongue over your cunt, groaning as he laps up the pool of juices.

"Fuck, even better than I imagined."

He slips his tongue into your hole, fucking it in and out as his nose bumps against your swollen clit, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine.

"Oh my god—" you moan, brushing your fingers through his dark hair and grasping onto it. You hold his head in place, but he had no plans of pulling away anyway. He eats you out slowly, savoring every drop of you, his tongue running through your folds and over your clit until you feel the pressure of a second orgasm building inside you. Your hips begin to rock against his face, rubbing your clit over his nose, until you are cumming again. His hands grip your thighs as he doesn't stop, licking your pussy as you ride out your high.

"Fuck," you gasp for air as you pry his head off of you. He grins at you sheepishly, his entire chin dripping.

"Sorry, got a bit carried away," he admits.

"No, don't apologize," you smile at him. "That was fucking amazing."

He dives in one more time to press a soft kiss into your spent clit. Crawling back up to you, you pull him in for a kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth to taste yourself on him.

"Now will you fuck me?" you tease as your lips part.

"Of course, baby," he says with one more kiss. "I didn't bring any protection though, I kinda ran out the door without thinking…"

"It's okay, I have some," you tell him. Reaching into your drawer you pull out the unopened box of XL condoms you're grateful you bought on a whim. As you open the package, he gives you a quizzical look.

"Do you always keep these on hand?" he asks teasingly.

"Nope," you reply. "Bought them today."

"Oh," he says softly, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face. "So you bought these specifically for me, then."

"Yes," you answer matter-of-factly, making his cheeks turn flushed.

"I guess we're kinda obsessed with each other then, huh?" he asks, grinning widely.

"Seems that way," you beam back at him.

You pull one of the small packets out, tossing the box aside and ripping it open. You pull the condom out and reach for Seokmin's cock. You give it a few pumps, making him groan.

"God, it's so fucking hot to have you actually touching me."

"Good," you grin. You take the condom and stretch it over his tip, rolling it down his length. You grab his cock and guide it to your entrance, rubbing his head over your folds. He moves his hips, pressing it in gently, but you're so soaked that it slips in with ease. You gasp, staring at his cock as it disappears into your cunt, filling you up like never before.

"Oh my god you're huge," you say mouth ajar. You gaze back up, meeting his eyes as he stares at you hungrily. Slowly he begins to fuck you, pulling his cock out and pushing it all the way back in.

"You feel incredible," he mutters as he leans his head in, kissing the side of your neck delicately. You let out a soft, involuntary whine, making Seokmin's head spin more than it already is.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he groans. "Keep making those noises baby, I like it."

"Feels so good," you whimper as he fucks into you harder.

"You're taking me so well," he coos, his hand drifting to your nipple and tugging on it lightly. "Such a good girl."

"Harder," you plead. He smirks, then starts fucking you faster, giving you exactly what you asked for.

"Oh my god, I wanna cum," he moans, leaning in to kiss you, tugging on your bottom lip. He slows to a stop, breathing heavily above you. "Will you please ride me?" he asks, staring deep into your eyes. You nod eagerly, making him grin excitedly. He gently pulls out of you, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him. You straddle him, rubbing your cunt over his cock. You pause for a second, giving him a curious look.

"What is it, love?" he asks softly.

"Let me take it off," you say, dragging your fingertip over his wrapped length. "I want you to cum in me."

His eyes widen. "You're gonna be the death of me," he says with a laugh.

"Is that a yes?" you ask, tugging lightly at the tip of the condom.

"Yeah," he nods. "Absolutely."

You giggle excitedly as you remove the barrier, discarding it and quickly positioning yourself over his cock. It slides in with ease as you sit on it, making you groan as you take his full length inside you.

"Holy fucking shit your pussy feels so good," he moans, his jaw dropping. "Oh my god…"

You begin to ride him, slowly gliding yourself up and down his length, but before long you're fully bouncing up and down on him, crying out from pleasure as his cock reaches deep inside you.

"F-fuck," you whine, pressing your hands against his chest to support yourself as you ride his perfect cock.

"Don't stop," he begs. "I'm so close."

Obediently you keep up your pace, tears welling in your eyes as you stare down at Seokmin. His head drops against the pillow, his eyes rolling back as you feel his cock start to pulse inside you.

"I'm cumming, baby," he groans. He cries out as he releases, and you feel his hot ropes of cum shooting against your walls as a string of delectable moans drifts from his lips. He grabs your hips, squeezing them tight in his grasp as he holds you in place, fucking his cock up into you with careless abandon. His cock twitches as he gives you all of his cum; eventually his hips begin to slow, coming to a stop, his hands still holding a strong grip on your sides.

"Wow," he sighs as he comes back to earth. He smiles, letting out a giggle as he opens his eyes to look at you again. "You're fucking perfect. Let me see," he says, gesturing to your filled pussy. You lift yourself off his length, letting the cum drip out of you, coating his cock and stomach with the sticky mess. Collecting the remainder of his cum from your cunt on your fingers, you lift your hand to your mouth, licking them clean.

"Goddamn," he mumbles as he watches you. You unstraddle him and lean over, licking up the cum from his abdomen as well. He watches you through heavy eyelids, petting your hair as you clean him up.

"C'mere," he says when you finish, pulling you up into his embrace. You snuggle in next to him as he wraps his broad arms around you, holding you tight as he kisses your forehead. You rest there for a few silent moments, breathing together as he gently rubs your back.

"I suppose we could've filmed that," you say after a few minutes, lifting your head out of the crook of his neck to look at him. "But I didn't even think of that. I was too distracted by your huge fucking cock."

Seokmin laughs. "That's okay," he replies sweetly. "Besides, I wanted you all to myself. But we can do this again, if you want."

"Absolutely," you nod.

"Good," he says as he smiles brightly. He pulls you into a tight hug, kissing you again, kissing you over and over for as long as you'll let him — which is very long time, but neither of you mind it one bit.

[TWO WEEKS LATER]

You wake up to thousands of notifications, all from Twitter.

You think you're seeing things at first, but as you scroll you confirm that, indeed, you have more notifications right now than you've ever seen in your life. Smiling, you go to your text messages and open your chat with Seokmin, who has already texted you this morning.

Seokmin: wow, i guess people liked the video :)

You open Twitter and go to your profile, looking at the video you have pinned. The caption reads: We finally collabed @/xcalibur_ 💕 Full video on OF. The clip is a preview of the nearly 30-minute-long sex tape you uploaded to your OnlyFans account — your first official collab with Nico.

Since the first time you fucked, it actually took the both of you about six more times before one of you remembered to turn a camera on. You've been too busy being utterly and completely obsessed with each other, fucking on seemingly every possible surface in both of your apartments. But finally, you decided to film it for real, and it appears Twitter is having a fucking field day with it. Overnight alone, the tweet gained over 5,000 retweets and 12,000 likes. You decide to scroll through the replies to see what people are saying.

holy shit this was so hottttt The collab of a LIFETIME!!! omg my two favorites in one video?? i'm in heaven 😍 bro i just nutted in 1 minute wtf pls make more videos together 🙏 y'alls chemistry is FIRE

Smiling, you return to your texts and reply to Seokmin.

You: i guess so ;) i can't believe we went viral lol Seokmin: i can. that video was so hot ☺️ You: you're so right Seokmin: what are you doing tonight? You: you, hopefully Seokmin: oh for sure!! but, i was actually hoping to take you out to dinner. it's about time i took you on a proper date You: wait, are you're saying you want to date me? 🥺 Seokmin: absolutely i do. if you want, of course You: i'd love nothing more ❤️ Seokmin: YAY :)))

taglist: @kyeomiis @hannieween @smiileflower @hanniebub

@luvseungcheol @escoupsue @shininghoshstar @coupsv 

Beauty had always been your burden as much as your blessing. Tales of it traveled farther than merchants and faster than ravens, crossing borders until even distant courts spoke your name with a mixture of admiration and longing. Princes penned verses in your honor without ever meeting you. Even seasoned knights, men hardened by war and duty, often found themselves disarmed by nothing more than a smile.

With your coronation fast approaching, the kingdom stood on the brink of celebration. It would be the grandest event seen in decades, drawing princes, dignitaries from every corner of the continent. Some would arrive seeking alliances. Most would arrive seeking you.

The prospect amused you more than it excited you.

“Protecting my daughter is not merely a matter of strength,” your father’s voice boomed through the hall. “It demands unyielding discipline and absolute loyalty. You will each face three trials. The princess herself will accompany you, so that you may prove your worth in her presence.”

Your eyes swept slowly across the line of knights standing before the throne, a faint mask of boredom kissing your beautiful face, certain that none of them would truly be able to handle you.

For years, entertaining yourself at the expense of knights had become something of a pastime. A lingering touch against a gauntleted hand, a mere whispered compliment that left disciplined warriors suddenly forgetting their own names. Watching them struggle to maintain their composure was endlessly amusing.

You had notoriously toyed with men like this, living wildly beneath the weight of your royal title, and your father knew this better than anyone. That was precisely why he had designed these trials.

He wasn’t simply looking for the strongest sword arm. He wanted a knight with sharp intellect and the rare ability to withstand your constant attempts to live life on your terms rather than as a perfectly mannered princess.

A small, intrigued smile played on your lips when the first few knights stepped forward. They were impressive in brute force, but you could already tell they would crumble the moment you decided to play.

Then he stepped forward.

Sir Jeon Jungkook.

Even fully armored, with only his dark, piercing eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet, once his unflinching gaze met yours for a brief second, a strange spark ignited low in your belly. You tilted your head, studying those dark eyes with growing interest.

The first trial took place that very evening in the smaller banquet hall. Only a select few courtiers were present. You sat at the high table beside your father, sipping from a jeweled goblet.

Unknown to the competing knights, the King had arranged for one of the wine pitchers to be laced with a powerful sleeping draught. Harmless, but potent enough to leave the princess disoriented and vulnerable. Only the King, a few trusted advisors, and the princess herself knew of the plan.

The knights had been given only one instruction: protect the princess. No further details.

As the evening progressed, the effects of the draught began to take hold. Your thoughts grew pleasantly hazy, movements slower. The jeweled goblet nearly slipped from your grasp once before you caught it. A second time, you laughed at something that had not been particularly funny.

Several knights noticed. Some were too busy trying to appear vigilant, eyes constantly scanning the room for imaginary assassins.

A few noticed your condition and drew dangerously close. One insisted on helping you stand despite the fact that you had not asked for assistance. Another rested a hand against your lower back almost inappropriately while guiding you through the room. One knight even smiled when he realized how heavily you leaned upon him after stumbling.

The courtiers watched everything. So did the King.

You were beginning to feel genuinely annoyed when a tall figure stepped silently between you and yet another overeager knight.

Sir Jeon Jungkook.

Unlike the others, he had not hovered around you all evening. He had remained where a royal protector belonged, close enough to intervene, distant enough to respect your space.

Dark eyes studied your face through the narrow opening of his helmet. “The princess has had enough wine,” he declared.

The knight beside you scoffed. “She seems perfectly fin—”

“She does not.”

You watched surprise flicker across the other knight’s face.

Sir Jungkook’s hand briefly closed around your forearm as you swayed, steadying you before immediately letting go the moment your balance returned.

Within moments he had summoned two ladies-in-waiting to accompany you back to your chambers. When another knight offered to carry you himself, Sir Jungkook declined on your behalf before you could even answer.

“Her reputation is as important as her safety.”

For the first time all evening, genuine curiosity stirred within you.

Most men saw opportunity when they looked at you. Some saw beauty, a few saw a future crown. Yet somehow, Sir Jeon Jungkook seemed to see only his duty.

As the ladies guided you toward the doorway, you glanced back over your shoulder.

“How noble of you, Sir Jungkook,” you teased, voice softened by the draught. “Are you always so resistant to temptation?”

His gaze never wavered. “My duty is to protect Your Highness.”

For reasons you could not quite explain, that response lingered in your thoughts far longer than any flirtatious remark ever had.

The final trial was, by all appearances, the simplest.

After weeks of staged attacks, hidden tests, the remaining candidates expected one final demonstration of skill. Some anticipated a duel. Others believed they would be sent to defend the princess from another fabricated threat. Instead, the King announced that the last trial would consist of a single week of personal duty beside the princess. No further explanation was offered.

The knights were disappointed.

You, however, knew exactly what your father was doing.

The trial was not designed to test strength or intelligence. It was designed to test restraint.

Most of the candidates failed within days. Some became overly eager whenever you requested their company.

Others ignored palace protocol the moment you suggested bending the rules. One knight allowed you to wander through the city market without informing the royal guard because he was too eager to please you. Another accepted an invitation to share wine in one of the palace balconies despite knowing perfectly well how improper it appeared. Every failure was carefully observed and quietly recorded.

Only one knight remained infuriatingly impossible.

Sir Jeon Jungkook.

The more you watched him, the more determined you became to discover his weakness. Surely he had one. Everyone did.

At first, your attempts were harmless. During walks through the palace gardens, you lingered beside him instead of remaining ahead as protocol dictated. During meals, you directed most of your conversation toward him. More than once, you deliberately brushed your fingers against the steel of his gauntlet while speaking. Other knights would have turned crimson. Some would have stumbled over their own words.

Sir Jungkook merely stepped aside and continued his duties as though nothing had happened.

Perhaps it was the way every other knight had spent the past weeks attempting to impress you, the King, or the court.

Where others sought favor, he sought only to fulfill his duty. And thus, when the day of the final judgment arrived, the outcome surprised absolutely no one.

Your father rose slowly from his seat.

“Sir Jeon Jungkook,” he declared, voice echoing through the hall. “You have successfully completed all trials. You have shown not only strength and intellect, but the rare ability to anticipate danger and resist… temptation.” His gaze flicked briefly to you. “From this day forward, you are hereby appointed as the princess’s personal royal knight and protector. Guard her with your life. And may the gods help you.”

A murmur rippled through the court.

You turned toward Sir Jeon Jungkook, stepping just close enough that your crimson gown brushed his armor.

“Welcome to my service, Sir Jungkook,” you whispered so only he could hear. “I do hope you’re prepared. Resisting me may prove to be your greatest trial yet.”

His dark eyes held yours with unshakable strength. “I was under the impression I had already passed that one, Your Highness.”

—

Having Sir Jeon Jungkook follow you around all day wasn’t ideal.

It had not even been three months since his appointment as your royal knight, yet his constant, silent presence had already begun to grate on your nerves. He was always a towering shadow in dark armor, never more than a few steps behind. What annoyed you most was his utter lack of reaction.

No matter how boldly you flirted, no matter how you tightened your corset in front of him until your breasts nearly spilled over, no matter how many times you “accidentally” brushed against him, he remained perfectly composed.

What bothered you most of all was that you still had no idea what he looked like. Only those dark, intense eyes visible through the narrow slit of his helmet. The rest of him remained hidden behind steel, a constant, frustrating mystery.

The journey to the neighboring kingdom for the grand alliance celebration had been long and stifling. You rode in the royal ornate covered carriage borne by four strong horses and guarded on all sides. The extravagant gown you wore was beautiful but suffocating, the tight corset pressing against your ribs and making every breath feel like a struggle. Boredom weighed on you like lead.

Your dearest friend, Lady Isolde rode beside you in her own litter. She was to be wed in a month, and the two of you had spent the journey giggling like girls again, whispering behind silk curtains.

“He’s so tall,” Isolde teased, peeking through the gap toward where Sir Jeon Jungkook rode steadily beside your litter. “And those eyes… I wonder what the rest of him looks like under all that steel. Do you think he’s handsome, or just another brute?”

You laughed softly, though your gaze lingered on the narrow slit of Jungkook’s helmet, where those dark, intense eyes remained fixed forward.

“As if,” you replied mockingly, bored. “He’s far too proper. I could tighten my corset until my breasts nearly spill, and he wouldn’t even glance.”

Isolde giggled. “You should try. For science.”

Sir Jungkook’s eyes flicked toward the litter for the briefest second before returning forward. You smirked. Annoyed as you were by his constant, unflinching presence… you were also undeniably intrigued.

That night, after the feasting and music had died down and the royal party made camp near the forest’s edge, you slipped away, desperate for even a moment of peace, and determined to test just how far his restraint could stretch.

The air had grown chilly, carrying the faint bite of early autumn as you made your way to the forbidden stretch of the deep bend where the river water ran swift and dangerously deep. No one was permitted here after dark, especially not the princess.

You knew he would follow.

The heavy footsteps of armor soon echoed behind you on the rocky bank.

“Your Highness,” Sir Jungkook’s deep voice rang out, firm. “This area is strictly prohibited at night. The currents are treacherous and the water is far too cold. We must return to the palace at once.”

You barely looked at him. Your eyes were fastened upon the vast expanse of the river, moonlight dancing across its dark surface like scattered diamonds. You wanted nothing more than to feel the cool waves kissing your bare skin, to swim freely under the moon with no eyes judging you in, except his.

A small, unusually kind smile touched your lips as you turned toward him.

“Why don’t you join me, Sir Jungkook?” you asked softly, your voice carrying on the gentle night breeze. “Just for a little while. The water looks so peaceful tonight.”

Sir Jungkook stood like a statue in his dark armor. “Your Highness… that would be highly improper,” he replied low. “I am here to protect you, not to… bathe with you.”

You let out a soft, melodic laugh and began walking toward the river’s edge, the hem of your gown brushing the grass.

“Well, I suppose then…” you bit your lip, your fingers moving to the laces of your gown with aching slowness. “I shall swim, and you will stand guard like the loyal knight you are.”

You could feel his intense eyes watching through the narrow slit of his helmet as you loosened the ties. The rich fabric slid from your shoulders like liquid silk, pooling at your feet.

Completely bare under the moonlight, you wore nothing beneath. Your skin glowed luminous and your full breasts rose and fell with each breath, nipples already stiff from the cold night air. The curve of your waist flared into soft hips, and the smooth, delicate skin between your thighs was on full display.

Sir Jungkook immediately turned his head sharply away, staring fixedly into the dark trees.

“Your Highness!” His voice was strained. “This is highly inappropriate. I cannot allow—”

“You don’t have to allow anything,” you cut him off, dripping with defiance. “You’re not permitted to touch me while I’m bare. So you’ll just have to stand there.”

You waded into the river with a soft gasp. The icy water bit into your skin, but the thrill of rebellion pushed you forward. You swam out deeper, the cold making your body hypersensitive.

You glanced back at the bank. Sir Jungkook stood like a statue, head turned away, refusing to look at your naked form even once. His armored fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

A thrill of satisfaction ran through you.

You felt exhilarated. Free. And wickedly aware that the most disciplined man in the kingdom was standing on the bank, fighting not to look at you.

“Are you really going to stand there all night, Sir Jungkook? The water feels wonderful… and I’m all alone out here.” You swam further out, the cold water caressing every inch of your bare skin. A soft, content sigh escaped your lips.

It would be a plain lie if you said you weren’t at least a little relieved that he had followed you. The deep bend was no joke. its treacherous currents and deadly depth were feared even by The King. Yet here you were, aching to tear down the walls of the knight who refused to bend to your charms.

You floated lazily on your back, letting the moonlight kiss your bare skin. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, you took your chance.

Once a subtle current tugged at your legs, you gasped dramatically, flailing your arms and letting out a soft, helpless cry. “Oh—!”

You fought back a giggle, pretending to be a damsel in distress, knowing the current wasn’t strong enough to truly endanger you. You wanted to see if you could finally crack his composure.

But the gods had other plans.

Without warning, a far more treacherous undercurrent slammed into you like a living beast. It dragged you under violently, twisting your body, filling your mouth and nose with icy water. Real panic surged through you as you lost your breath and sight in the black depths.

“Jungkook!” you screamed, the sound barely coherent as water rushed into your lungs. This time, it was no act.

Sir Jeon Jungkook did not hesitate for even a fraction of a second. He plunged into the river fully armored, cutting through the violent current with powerful strokes. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, yanking your naked body against his steel chest as he fought the river with raw, expert strength. You clung to him desperately, coughing and gasping as he dragged you back to the rocky bank.

The moment he pulled you ashore, his helmet caught on a low hanging branch and was ripped clean off.

You lay on the grass, gasping for air, when your eyes finally focused on the man hovering above you.

And you forgot how to breathe.

Sir Jeon Jungkook was devastatingly, unfairly handsome.

Wet raven black hair clung to his forehead and sharp, sculpted cheekbones. Water droplets traced the strong line of his jaw and dripped from sensual lips. His dark eyes, now fully exposed, were intense and beautiful, framed by long lashes and thick brows. A faint scar graced his left eyebrow, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise perfect masculine beauty.

Before you could speak, he swiftly grabbed his crimson cloak and draped it over your naked body, covering you completely with careful reverence. His gaze remained locked strictly on your face, never once drifting to your exposed skin.

“Are you okay, Your Highness?” he asked, voice rough with concern. A faint blush colored his cheeks as he noticed the way you were staring at his now-bare face.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The combination of the dangerous current, the shock of nearly drowning, and the overwhelming sight of your knight’s true face left you dizzy and speechless.

Your vision blurred. You passed out in his arms.

Sir Jungkook pulled you closer against his armored chest, one large hand gently brushed your wet hair away from your face, his touch surprisingly tender. He lifted you effortlessly, cradling you like a warrior carrying his lady, your head resting against his broad shoulder, body wrapped securely in his cloak, legs draped over his arm as he carried you back to his mare.

He mounted carefully, keeping you nestled safely against him as the horse began the journey back to the palace through secret paths.

You woke briefly as he laid you down on the thick rug before the hearth in your royal chambers. The fire was already roaring. You were still wrapped in his cloak, beneath it only a thin silk bandeau now clung to your body, the delicate material barely containing your breasts, pressing them together in a deep, soft cleavage that rose and fell with each shaky breath.

You trembled from the cold and the lingering shock of the river.

Sir Jeon Jungkook remained kneeling by the fire, his movements precise as he stoked the flames. Water dripped from his raven hair onto his armoured shoulders. Then he rose to his full, imposing height, towering, broad shouldered.

Without a word, he reached for his helmet, which rested upon a nearby oak chest, clearly intending to conceal his face once more.

“No,” you whispered, your voice soft yet commanding as you pushed yourself up on one elbow. “Do not put it back on.”

The knight paused, gloved hand hovering above the helm. His dark eyes met yours, intense and conflicted.

“Your Highness… it is not fitting for me to stand before you unveiled,” he said, his voice carrying the formal cadence of a sworn knight. “I must maintain the dignity of my position.”

You sat up fully, the cloak slipping slightly from one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin and the edge of the silk bandeau. Despite the cold still clinging to your bones, warmth bloomed low in your belly as you gazed upon his face, truly beheld it for the first time.

“Come closer,” You rose to your knees on the rug, the cloak parting further as you reached for him. “Let me see you properly.”

He hesitated, every line of his powerful frame taut with restraint. Yet he obeyed, lowering himself once more to kneel before you. Even on his knees, he remained nearly at your eye level, so tall and broad was he.

You lifted a delicate hand and brushed your fingers through his damp raven locks, pushing them back from his forehead. A contented sigh escaped your lips.

“You are far too pleasing to look upon, Sir Jungkook,” you whispered, almost in awe. “I had wondered what lay beneath that steel. Never did I imagine such a face.”

Sir Jungkook remained perfectly still on his knees before you. His hands rested tensely on his armoured thighs as he fought to keep his gaze fixed on your face and not the way your breasts strained against the thin silk bandeau.

“You flatter me, Your Highness,” he replied, voice low. “But I am your knight. Nothing more. Please allow me to restore my helmet.”

You shook your head slowly, refusing to let him hide again. Instead, you leaned closer, your fingers still buried in his damp raven hair.

A new, overwhelming wave of admiration and obsession washed over you. This man... this mature, hardened, breathtakingly handsome knight was kneeling before you like a devotee. The realization sent a fresh rush of heat between your thighs.

“You’re older than me, aren’t you?” you murmured softly, continuing to caress his hair with gentle strokes. “Hardened by battles and years I haven’t yet seen.”

You wondered how many more scars he carried beneath that heavy armor hidden across his broad chest, his strong back.

“I am twenty eight, Your Highness,” he answered quietly, his deep voice carrying that disciplined tone you were growing addicted to.

“Tell me something personal,” you said, your voice turning playful yet curious. Your fingers trailed from his hair down to trace his cheekbone once more. “Have you ever been with a woman, Sir Jeon? Truly been with one?”

His jaw tightened visibly. The question crossed every boundary a knight was sworn to respect.

“Your Highness… such questions are not appropriate for me to answer,” he replied. You leaned in even closer, still stroking his hair tenderly, your breath brushing against his skin.

“But I want to know,” you whispered. “Have you ever touched a woman the way a man touches a lover? Ever kissed one?”

Jungkook’s breathing grew slightly heavier. His dark eyes stayed locked on yours with iron discipline, though you could clearly see the storm brewing behind them.

“I have not, Your Highness,” he finally answered, voice low and honest. “My duty has always come first.”

A thrill ran through you at his confession. You let your fingers drift lower, brushing along his sharp jawline. “And if a woman wanted you… desperately?” your voice dropped to a near whisper. “If she wanted your mouth between her thighs… your tongue tasting her, would you deny her?”

The impure question hung heavy in the air between you. You shocked even yourself with how boldly it slipped out, but the vivid image, his devastatingly handsome face trapped between your legs, mouth glistening with your arousal made the heat bloom even more slick between your thighs.

Sir Jungkook’s hands clenched tighter on his armored thighs. A faint flush colored the tips of his ears and neck, but he remained on his knees.

“Your Highness,” he said, reverently, “I am sworn to protect you. Not to… indulge in such thoughts.”

You smiled softly. Then you leaned back on the bed, letting the crimson cloak fall open completely. The thin silk bandeau was the only thing left covering you, and even that felt too much now.

“Then I command you,” You looked down at him, this powerful knight on his knees before you, and felt a rush of pure need. “I want your mouth on me, Jungkook. Right now.”

“Your Highness, I—”

“Touch me,” you breathed, cutting him off. “Please, Jungkook…”

You reached down and grabbed his gloved hand, bringing it to your chest. Slowly, you pressed his large palm over the thin silk bandeau, letting him feel the soft, heavy weight of your breast. Your nipple was already painfully hard beneath the fabric.

Sir Jungkook’s breath hitched sharply. His entire body tensed, the muscles in his arm flexing under the armor as he fought against every instinct.

You didn’t stop there, dragging his hand lower, sliding it down your stomach until his fingers rested between your thighs. You were soaked. your petals slick and hot against his gloved fingers.

“Feel how damp you make me,” you whispered, voice shaking with need.

Sir Jungkook let out a low, strained groan. His dark eyes were fixed on your face, but you could see the violent war happening behind them.

The most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on — the princess, the future queen, was laid out before him in nothing but a flimsy silk bandeau, legs spread, pressing his hand against her dripping cunt.

“Your Highness…” he rasped, albeit desperate. “This is beyond forbidden. You are royalty. I am sworn—”

“I don’t care,” you whimpered, grinding slowly against his gloved fingers. “I need you. I’ve never felt this way before. Touch me now, my knight. Please.”

His hand trembled. For a long moment, he simply rested there, feeling your wetness soak through the leather of his glove. Then, with a broken exhale that sounded like surrender, his fingers moved.

He stroked along your soaked folds, parting the delicate petals of your most secret flower. And what a flower it was... a lush, glistening rosebud blooming only for him. Your outer lips were soft and swollen with need, flushed deep, delicate like the first blush of dawn.

As he gently spread you open, the inner petals revealed themselves: silky, and impossibly tender, layered like the finest rose in full bloom after a summer rain. At the center lay your sweetest nectar, dripping and honeyed, flowing abundantly from your aching entrance.

The knight didn’t know what came over him, but your pulsing heat and slick, puckering folds had him utterly entranced. His breathing grew ragged. You could see the way his throat worked, the way his tongue unconsciously darted out to wet his lips. He was drooling.

“May I lick you, Your Highness?” he asked hoarsely, voice thick with barely contained hunger. “Please… allow me to taste you.”

The desperate plea from such a disciplined man sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you.

“Yes,” you breathed, spreading your thighs wider for him, your voice trembling with raw need. “Use your mouth on me, Jungkook. Lick your princess until she cannot think.”

The moment the words left your lips, something in him broke. Sir Jungkook leaned in and dragged his hot, wet tongue slowly up your soaked slit. The first full taste of you pulled a deep, guttural groan from his chest. You were intoxicatingly sweet and dripping with arousal. He licked you again, slower this time, savoring every slick fold as if he were drinking the finest wine in the kingdom.

You cried out sharply, back arching off the bed as overwhelming pleasure flooded your body. The sensation was brand new, so intense it made your legs twitch violently.

“Oh... Jungkook!” you moaned, fingers digging into his raven hair.

The knight’s tongue circled your swollen clit before sucking it gently into his mouth, then plunged inside your tight heat, ravishing you with slow, deep strokes. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth eagerly eating you echoed through the chamber, obscene, and shameless.

The most beautiful woman he had ever known, the future queen, was thrashing beneath him, legs shaking uncontrollably around his head, soft whimpers and loud moans spilling from her pretty lips.

Your hips rolled desperately against his face, coating his tongue, lips, and chin with your sweet release. Sir Jungkook drank every drop you gave him, groaning against your cunt as his own cock strained painfully against his armor.

He had never tasted anything so addictive.

You were already twitching, gasping, legs trembling so hard they threatened to close around his head. The pleasure was too much, too new, too overwhelming for your body.

Suddenly, Sir Jungkook pulled back slightly, his lips glistening with your juices. His dark eyes looked up at you, breathing ragged.

“Should I continue, Your Highness?” he asked hoarsely, voice thick with lust and devotion. “Tell me… do you want more?”

You could barely form words. Your body was shaking, pussy throbbing, dripping onto the mattress beneath you.

“Please don’t stop,” you whimpered desperately. “Keep licking me... please...”

The knight obeyed instantly. He buried his face back between your thighs and attacked your clit with relentless strokes of his tongue. Two thick fingers pushed inside you, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot while he sucked hard on your swollen pearl.

The pleasure hit you like a storm.

Your entire body seized up. A loud, broken scream tore from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you violently. Your thighs clamped around his head, hips bucking wildly against his mouth as you gushed on his tongue. Wave after wave of intense pleasure ripped through you, leaving you shaking uncontrollably, vision blurring at the edges.

You nearly passed out from the sheer intensity of it. body twitching, chest heaving, soft cries still falling from your lips as the pleasure refused to let go.

Sir Jungkook stayed between your thighs through every tremor, drinking down every last drop of your release like a man who had finally found salvation.

When your body finally went limp, trembling and oversensitive, he gently kissed your inner thigh before pulling back, his handsome face flushed and glistening with your arousal.

You could barely speak, still catching your breath as you stared at the sight of your proud, disciplined knight with your release shining on his lips.

—

“The Princess requires her knight’s escort to the eastern tower for stargazing.”

The message was innocent enough on paper. But the court had begun to notice how often you summoned Sir Jeon Jungkook for these private “duties.” Some whispered that the Princess trusted no one else. Others envied the knight who had earned such unwavering favor from the realm’s greatest beauty.

They had no idea what really happened once the tower door was bolted.

In the eastern tower under the stars, you would push Sir Jungkook against the cold stone wall and demand his mouth on you again. He always hesitated at first, “Your Highness, we mustn’t…” but the moment you looked at him with those wide, needy eyes and whispered “Please, Jungkook… I ache for you,” his resolve crumbled.

He would drop to his knees in full armor, push your skirts up to your waist, and bury his face between your thighs. The sounds he made while devouring you were filthy and desperately loud. wet slurps and deep groans as he drank every drop of your arousal. You quickly learned to muffle your loud moans against your own arm or his shoulder, thighs shaking violently around his head as he brought you to shattering orgasm after orgasm.

He never asked for anything in return at first. But one night, after he had made you come so hard you saw stars, you dropped to your knees in front of him, hands trembling as you freed his thick, aching cock from his breeches.

You had never seen the knight fully bare, but you had tasted him.

You took him into your mouth with clumsy but eager hunger, sucking and licking until he was groaning your name like a prayer, his gloved hand gently cradling the back of your head. When he spilled down your throat, you swallowed every drop, looking up at him with wide, adoring eyes.

The tension between you only grew hotter, more forbidden.

You began creating excuses just to be close to him.

You “accidentally” wandered into dangerous parts of the forest during hunts. You “lost” your way in the palace corridors at night. You deliberately teased foreign dignitaries until they grew too bold, all so Sir Jungkook would have to step in, pull you protectively against his armored chest, and hold you there while scolding you with his low voice.

Each time, you nestled your head against his chest plate, breathing in his scent, feeling safe in a way you had never felt with anyone else.

One quiet afternoon in the royal rose gardens, while the other knights kept their distance. The summer blooms were at their peak, rows upon rows of crimson roses spilling over marble trellises in a riot of color and fragrance. Courtiers often compared them to you. You had heard the comparison so many times throughout your life that it had long since lost all meaning.

Your attention was elsewhere when Sir Jungkook paused beside a rose bush heavy with crimson blooms. Reaching out, he selected a single flower and turned it thoughtfully between his fingers before approaching.

“A gift?” you asked.

“If Your Highness would accept it.”

The answer surprised a smile from you.

He stepped forward and tucked the rose behind your ear. His gloved fingers lingered only for a second before withdrawing, but even that brief touch seemed to affect him more than he wished to admit.

When you looked up, his gaze was fixed upon the flower. “Beautiful things are dangerous,” he said quietly.

You laughed. “I believe roses are dangerous for everyone except gardeners.”

His expression didn’t change.

“I wasn’t speaking about the rose.”

Your heart fluttered so violently you had to look away. it was becoming impossible to deny how deeply you were falling for him.

The kisses grew sloppier, more desperate with every stolen moment.

In the abandoned library, your knight would press you against the bookshelves, helmet removed, and kiss you like he was drowning, tongue sliding against yours, hands gripping your waist as if afraid you might vanish. You kissed him back just as hungrily, tugging at his hair, moaning softly into his mouth while your hand palmed the hard bulge in his breeches.

Your hunger for him was insatiable. You ached for his presence constantly. The court noticed how you lit up when he entered a room, how you instinctively moved closer to him during gatherings. They saw devotion, they saw trust.

They never saw the way you both held each other’s eyes like lovers who knew their time was stolen.

The relationship was utterly forbidden. Your father would banish him, or worse, if he ever discovered the truth. But neither of you could stop. Something real was blossoming between you.

The knight admired your wild, rebellious spirit. You admired his quiet strength and unwavering honor. In the darkness, you were no longer just princess and knight. You were becoming each other’s secret salvation. And it was only a matter of time before the tension finally snapped.

—

The Coronation.

The kingdom was in full celebration. Banners of the finest gold flew from every tower. The greatest event in decades had arrived, your coronation as Queen.

Princes from across the realms had come in droves, each more eager than the last to win your hand and the throne beside you. They brought lavish gifts, performed in grand tournaments, and showered you with compliments. The entire court watched with bated breath, waiting for you to choose.

You sat upon the raised dais in a breathtaking gown of white, looking every bit the ethereal queen-to-be. But your eyes kept drifting to the tall, armored figure standing silently behind your throne, Sir Jeon Jungkook.

He had become even more composed in public, yet you could feel the storm raging beneath his helmet. Especially when you decided to play your cruel little game.

Prince Min of Veina leaned close during the feast, whispering sweet nothings about your beauty. You laughed brightly, placing a hand on his arm, letting your fingers linger, leaning in just enough for your neckline to offer him a generous view of your breasts.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Sir Jungkook’s gloved hand tighten around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.

Another prince, a golden haired lord from the eastern isles, offered you a rose during the garden promenade. You accepted it with a coy smile, twirling it between your fingers while glancing toward your knight.

Sir Jungkook’s dark eyes burned behind the helmet. You could feel his jealousy like a living thing, hot and barely contained.

That night, after the feasting and dancing, you summoned him to the eastern tower under the usual pretense.

The moment the door closed, he was on you.

The knight pinned you against the cold stone wall. The single rose you’d been idly twirling between your fingers, a gift from one of the many princes, fell forgotten to the floor.

Sir Jungkook’s dark eyes burned with something almost feral.

“You will be wed off soon?” he growled dangerously, breath hot against your ear.

You looked up at him, heart racing. Your long, wavy hair had finally been let down after the long day, cascading over your shoulders and hips like dark silk. The tight corset of your white coronation gown was already loosened, the fabric slipping slightly off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of your skin.

“What do you think about Prince Min?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head. “I think he’s quite lovely. So charming. He even said he would worship me every night once we’re wed.”

Sir Jungkook’s jaw clenched so hard you heard it crack. The jealousy that had been simmering all day threatening to explode.

“Doesn’t it drive you mad, Sir Jeon?” You leaned in closer, letting your breasts brush against his armored chest. “Knowing your princess, the one you’ve been secretly devouring every night, is wanted by so many powerful men? That they all dream of putting a ring on my finger and taking me to their beds?”

“It is exquisite torture, Your Highness,” he growled, eyes burning. “Watching them look at you like they have any right to you. Knowing I’m the only one who’s ever tasted you, the only one who’s ever made you scream.”

His raw honesty sent a sharp thrill through you. You bit your lip, loving the way jealousy sharpened his features, making his dark eyes appear even more intense. He was possessive and barely holding himself back. And you wanted to push him further.

You stepped away from the wall with a teasing smile, walking over to the tall, gilded mirror that stood near the fireplace. The white gown still clung to your body, hair cascading in long, wild waves down your back. You picked up a silver brush and began slowly running it through it, watching him in the reflection.

Sir Jungkook followed you like a shadow, stopping just behind you. His tall, powerful frame loomed in the mirror, twice your size, radiating heat and restrained fury.

“Does that bother you, my knight?” A teasing smile played on your lips. “Knowing that soon I might have to let another man—”

You didn’t get to finish. Sir Jungkook’s large hand closed around your wrist, stopping the brush mid stroke. He plucked it from your fingers and set it down with a deliberate clack. His other hand gripped your hip, pulling your back flush against his armored chest.

Your breath hitched. The playful boldness you’d been wielding all night vanished in an instant.

“Enough,” he growled low against your ear, “You’ve teased me enough tonight, Your Highness.”

His dark eyes burned into yours through the mirror. The intensity there made your knees weak. This wasn’t the restrained, obedient knight anymore. This was a man who had finally reached his limit.

He reached around you and slowly began unlacing the rest of your corset. The white gown loosened further, slipping down your shoulders. You watched in the mirror as he tugged it lower, exposing your full breasts to the cool air and the warm firelight. Your nipples were hard, flushed, and sensitive.

Sir Jungkook’s hand cupped one breast possessively, squeezing it as his thumb brushed over the stiff peak. You gasped, arching into his touch.

“Look at yourself,” he ordered quietly, voice rough. “Look how beautiful you are. How perfect. And yet you let them think they could ever have this.”

He pinched your nipple, rolling it between his fingers until you whimpered. His other hand slid down, gathering the fabric of your gown and pulling it up to your waist, fully exposing your bare cunt in the mirror.

Your face bloomed bright red as you instinctively tried to close your legs, suddenly overwhelmed with shyness at the sight of yourself so lewdly displayed, flushed and completely bare in the golden firelight.

But Sir Jungkook wouldn’t allow it. His large hand gripped your thigh firmly, spreading you open again as he pressed his body harder against your back.

“Don’t hide,” His dark eyes met yours in the mirror, intense and commanding. “Look how filthy and wet you are for me.”

You shivered, unable to tear your eyes away from the reflection. The contrast was obscene, your ethereal white gown bunched around your waist, breasts exposed and heaving, legs spread wide while his armored body loomed behind you like a dark, possessive shadow.

Sir Jungkook’s hand returned between your thighs. Two thick fingers slid through your slick folds, parting them slowly so you could see everything in the mirror. You whimpered at the sight, embarrassed yet unbearably aroused.

“So beautiful,” he breathed as he circled your swollen clit with his fingertip. “This is what belongs to me. Not to any prince. Not to anyone else.”

He pushed two fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as he began ravishing you with slow, deliberate strokes that made wet, obscene sounds echo in the quiet tower.

You tried to close your legs again, overwhelmed, but he held them open with ease, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Watch,” he ordered softly, voice dark with lust. “Watch how easily I can make my princess fall apart.”

Your eyes stayed glued to the mirror as his fingers plunged in and out of your soaked cunt, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your cheeks were flushed deep crimson, lips parted in shameless moans, breasts bouncing slightly with every thrust of his hand.

The pleasure built fast and merciless. Your legs started shaking, thighs trembling violently as you fought to stay upright.

Sir Jungkook’s fingers curled deeper, stroking that perfect spot inside you while his thumb pressed firm circles on your swollen clit.

You came hard with a broken cry, arousal gushing down his wrist and dripping onto the stone floor beneath you. Your head fell back against his armored shoulder, body convulsing as wave after wave of intense pleasure tore through right after.

The knight dragged his arousal coated fingers from your pulsing heat and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean while his dark eyes stayed locked on yours in the mirror. The obscene sight made you whimper, legs pressing together instinctively. This time, he allowed it.

You pulled away from him shyly, legs unsteady as you walked toward the wide couch near the fireplace. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover your bare breasts, suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment.

Sir Jungkook approached you ever so slowly. His heart was pounding. you could see it in the rise and fall of his broad chest. The way your flushed cheeks and shy posture made you look so adorable only made his desire burn hotter.

He stopped in front of you, towering over your smaller frame. Without a word, he gently uncrossed your arms, exposing your breasts again. You tried to cover them once more, but he caught your wrists softly.

“You’re too beautiful to hide, my love.” he murmured, voice low.

He leaned down and took one sensitive nipple into his hot mouth, sucking gently at first, then harder. You gasped sharply, hands flying to his shoulders as overwhelming sensitivity shot through you.

“Jungkook... it’s too much...” you whimpered, lightly pushing at his shoulders, cheeks burning with shyness.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark with lust and affection. “You’re so sensitive here,” he whispered, almost in awe. He flicked his tongue over your nipple again, watching your reaction closely. “So angelic when you tremble like this.”

He sucked harder, alternating between your breasts, licking and biting softly until you were a whimpering mess, pushing at him weakly while your body arched into his mouth.

You grew frustrated at the unfairness, nearly naked while he was still fully armored. With a small, determined huff, you pushed him back slightly and began tugging at the straps of his armor.

“It is not fair,” you muttered, cheeks still flushed. “You get to see all of me, but I still haven’t seen you.”

The knight let you undress him, helping you remove piece after piece until he stood completely bare before you for the first time.

Your breath caught.

He was magnificent. Broad shoulders, powerfully sculpted chest marked with old scars, some long and faded, others newer. A few dark tattoos adorned his left pectoral and ribs. His abdomen was ridged with muscle, leading down to narrow hips. His cock hung heavy between his legs, thick and already hard.

You stepped closer, running your hands over his bare chest, tracing every scar with reverent fingers, exploring the strong lines of his back, more scars mapping his battles. He stood perfectly still, letting you admire him, though his breathing had grown heavier.

“You are… so manly, my knight,” you breathed, barely coherent, as your hands returned to his chest, sliding down the hard ridges of his abdomen. “So big… so perfect.”

The room had grown hotter, heavier. The air between you felt charged with months of suppressed longing. Your breaths mingled as you stared into each other’s eyes... yours wide with awe and desire, his dark with barely restrained hunger.

Sir Jungkook’s control finally snapped. He lifted you and laid you down on the wide couch near the fireplace, pinning your exploring hands above your head with one large hand, holding them there firmly before his body hovered over yours, powerful and imposing, thick cock resting heavy against your inner thigh.

“Look at me,” he commanded, voice low and rough.

You did, heart hammering.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, eyes burning into yours.

You squirmed beneath him, aching and desperate. “Take me,” you pleaded, trembling. “Please, Jungkook… give it to me. I need you inside me.”

Sir Jungkook let out a low groan at your words. He positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against your soaked folds. He was big, almost intimidatingly so. You felt the stretch even before he pushed in.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Your Highness,” he whispered, voice strained with worry and barely contained lust. His dark eyes searched yours, torn between desire and restraint. “You’re so tight...”

You trembled beneath him, legs parted wide around his hips. “Please,” you begged softly, cupping his face. “Don’t hold back. I need you. All of you.”

The knight exhaled shakily and began to push inside.

The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply as the thick head of his cock breached you, slowly forcing your walls open. Inch by thick inch, he sank deeper, filling you in a way you had never experienced before. It burned sweetly, bordering on too much, making your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Ah... Jungkook…” you whimpered, tears pricking your eyes at the overwhelming fullness.

He paused halfway, breathing hard, jaw clenched tight. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, rough. “I’ll stop. I swear it.”

But you shook your head, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded, voice breaking. “I need you deeper… please.”

With a low groan, he pushed the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt. The fullness was devastating. You felt so stretched, so completely claimed, that for a moment you could barely breathe.

Sir Jungkook stayed still, letting you adjust, pressing soft kisses to your tear stained cheeks.

“You’re taking me so well,” he murmured, voice filled with awe and lust. “Such a good girl for me.”

When the burn finally melted into aching pleasure, you rolled your hips experimentally.

“Move,” you whispered. “Please… ruin me.”

That was all it took.

Sir Jungkook’s control snapped completely. He pulled back and thrust into you hard, setting a deep, punishing rhythm. Jealousy and months of pent up desire fueled every powerful stroke. The wet, filthy sound of his thick cock slamming into your soaked cunt filled the tower, mixing with your loud, broken moans.

He was a knight sworn to protect the crown, now utterly ruining the very sovereign he had pledged his life to shield.

“Mine,” Sir Jungkook growled, biting down on your neck hard enough to leave a dark mark. “Not theirs. Never theirs.”

He ravished you relentlessly, claiming you, marking you. His mouth was everywhere: sucking bruises into your breasts, biting your collarbone, licking the tears from your cheeks. He pinned your wrists above your head again, hips snapping against yours with raw need.

You came hard the first time, screaming his name as your walls clenched violently around his thick length. But he didn’t stop. He took you through it, then flipped you onto your hands and knees, on the wide couch.

First, he worshipped.

The knight dropped to his knees behind you, his large hands spreading your cheeks reverently. He leaned in and pressed slow, open mouthed kisses along the curve of your royal backside, lingering presses of his lips that made your breath hitch. He kissed lower, then lower still, until his tongue dragged hot and wet over your soaked folds from behind.

“So beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot and heavy. “So divine. And yet I am going to ruin every sacred inch of you.”

Then the worship turned into ruin.

He rose, gripping your hips with white knuckled force, and thrust into you from behind in one deep, devastating stroke. You cried out sharply at the stretch, the thick length of his cock forcing your walls open, filling you so completely it stole your breath.

You sobbed in pleasure, fingers clawing at the cushions as he drove into you relentlessly. The power he exerted over you was intoxicating. this hardened warrior, dominating you utterly while still worshipping every tremble of your body.

“You belong to me,” he rasped, ruining you with slow, devastating strokes now. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whimpered, voice breaking. “Only yours, Jungkook... ahh!”

By the third round, you were a sobbing, whimpering mess, tears streaming down your face from overwhelming pleasure, body covered in his marks, cunt swollen and dripping with your combined release.

He took you in every way he could: against the wall, bent over the couch, riding him as he sat on the edge of the seat, then finally on your back again with your legs over his shoulders as he drove impossibly deep.

All night long, the tower echoed with your moans, his deep groans, the obscene wet sounds of your bodies joining. He claimed you utterly and completely devoted.

When he finally came for the last time, buried deep inside you, he held you tight, spilling pulse after pulse of hot seed into your womb, filling you until you felt impossibly full, claimed from the inside out.

Sir Jeon Jungkook pressed his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against yours with every word.

“You command the entire kingdom, my lady,” he whispered reverently, “but here in this hidden place… you are mine to ruin.”

You could only tremble in his arms, utterly spent, legs wrapped around his waist, heart pounding wildly as the fire crackled beside you.

The weight of what you had just done, and what it meant for both of you settled uncomfortably in the air. But in that moment, wrapped in his powerful arms, marked and filled by your knight, nothing else in the kingdom mattered.

The days that followed were a delicate illusion of peace.

It was late morning when you found yourself in the secluded royal bathing pool fed by a gentle river, surrounded by floating lily pads and white blossoms that drifted lazily on the current. The water was warm, scented with rose and lavender oils poured in by your maids. Sunlight filtered through the overhanging willow branches, casting soft, dappled light across the surface.

You leaned back against the smooth stone edge, your long dark hair floating around you like ink in water. Your body still carried the secret marks of the previous night, faint bruises on your hips, love bites hidden beneath the waterline, and a persistent, delicious ache between your thighs that reminded you with every shift who had claimed you so thoroughly.

Your maids, Elara, Verra, and old, wise Selyse moved around you carefully. They had raised you since you were a babe, more mothers than servants. They knew you better than anyone.

Elara poured another stream of warm water over your shoulders, her sharp eyes catching the faint flush that still lingered on your cheeks.

“You are glowing again this morning, my lady,” she said lightly, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “One might think the moon itself had kissed your skin.”

Verra, younger and bolder, laughed softly as she massaged oil into your scalp. “Or perhaps a certain tall, dark eyed knight has been keeping you… well attended.”

You felt your face heat, but you couldn’t stop the small, secret smile that curved your lips.

Selyse, the eldest, clicked her tongue but her eyes were soft with affection. “Hush, you two. Our princess has always been radiant. Though…” she tilted her head, studying you, “there is a new light in her eyes these days. And a certain weariness in her step that speaks of long nights.”

You bit your lip, sinking a little lower into the water as lily pads brushed against your skin.

“It is nothing,” you murmured, though the flush in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Nothing?” Vera teased, wading closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially.

“We have seen you grow from a wild little girl into this breathtaking woman. We know your heart. And we know it does not belong to any of those puffed up princes parading through the halls.”

You reached out, squeezing Elara’s hand, then Verra’s, your voice dropping to a shy, trembling whisper.

“It is true,” you confessed, cheeks burning hotter than the midday sun. “I have given myself to Sir Jeon. Body and heart. He is the only man I have ever wanted. The only one who has ever touched me.”

For a heartbeat, silence fell over the bathing pool. Then came the gasps.

Elara’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth. Verra let out a delighted little squeak, nearly dropping the oil vial. Even old Selyse, usually so composed, looked momentarily stunned before her face broke into a warm, knowing smile.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Elara breathed, scandalized, thrilled. “You wicked little thing! With your own knight? Right under the King’s nose?”

Verra giggled uncontrollably, splashing water playfully in your direction. “And here we thought you were simply fond of him! All those late night ‘stargazing’ trips… you minx! Was he gentle? Was he… big?”

“Verra!” Selyse scolded, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. She turned to you with motherly affection. “Though I must admit, we have suspected for some time. The way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching… that man is utterly gone for you, my lady.”

You buried your face in your hands, mortified but unable to stop the shy, giddy smile spreading across your lips. Your gaze drifted across the river to where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard a respectful distance away, half hidden among the willow trees.

Even from here, you could feel the weight of his stare. He stood tall and imposing in his armor, but his dark eyes were fixed on you with a quiet, burning intensity that always made your stomach flutter.

You bit your lip, still flushed from both the warm water and the memory of his mouth, his hands, his body claiming you so thoroughly the night before.

“He is… everything,” you whispered dreamily, more to yourself than the maids. “Strong. Honorable. And when we are alone… he worships me like I am his entire world.”

Verra let out another delighted laugh. “As he should! Our princess deserves nothing less. Though if the King ever finds out…”

Selyse gently squeezed your shoulder, her voice softening with both love and concern.

“Then we will protect your secret as fiercely as we have protected you all these years,” she said. “You deserve to love who you love, my dear. Crown or no crown.”

You looked back at Sir Jungkook again. He hadn’t moved from his post among the willow trees, tall and steadfast in his armor, but your heart ached with a sharp mix of fear and wonder.

If The King ever discovered the truth, he would not spare your knight. Sir Jungkook would be banished, or worse. And you… you would be married off immediately to seal the wound.

The thought disturbed you deeply.

You turned back to the water, forcing a smile for your maids, but the warmth of the bath could no longer chase away the chill settling in your chest.

—

The rumors had begun to spread like fire through the palace corridors.

A lesser knight claimed he had seen “suspicious movement” near the eastern tower. One of the visiting princes mentioned, with a sly smile, that the Princess seemed unusually attached to her personal guard. Nothing concrete, nor proven. But the whispers were growing louder.

Your maids noticed your distraction immediately. During your morning dressing, Verra fastened the laces of your gown with unusually tight pulls, her voice urgent.

“My lady… you must be more careful,” she whispered. “Some of the king’s men have been asking questions about Sir Jeon. They say he spends too many nights away from the barracks. And one of Prince Min’s retainers swears he saw a tall figure slipping into your wing after midnight.”

Elara’s hands paused on your hair. “The knight is being cautious now. He avoids being seen with you as much. But you… you still look at him like he hung the moon. It is only a matter of time before the King hears something he cannot ignore.”

Selyse placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her eyes full of love and worry. “You are playing with fire, sweet girl. And fire does not care how much you love it.”

Your heart clenched with fear. You hadn’t seen your knight alone in a week. He had been deliberately distant, protecting you both by keeping his distance. The absence gnawed at you like hunger.

That night, you sent for him under the pretense of needing extra security for a private walk in the inner courtyard.

The moment the hidden door to your chambers closed behind him, you were on him.

You pushed Sir Jungkook against the wall, frustration and fear pouring out of you in a desperate kiss. Your hands fisted in his tunic, tugging him closer.

“Where have you been?” you demanded between kisses, voice shaking. “I was scared. I thought something had happened to you. I thought my father had already—”

“I’m here,” he whispered against your lips, rough with emotion. He pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you. “I’m right here, my love.”

But then he pulled back slightly, forehead pressed to yours. His dark eyes were filled with pain.

“I cannot stay,” he said quietly. The words hit you like a blow. “Your father has ordered me to lead a company to the western borders. There have been reports of raiders. He says it is to prove my devotion to protecting the realm… and you. He also made it clear I can no longer linger so closely around you. The rumors are growing too loud.”

You stared at him, heart shattering.

“No,” you whispered, then louder, “No. You cannot leave me. Not now. Not after everything.”

Tears stung your eyes as the hurt poured out.

“After our first night, you pulled away. You kept your distance like I was poison. And now you’re leaving entirely? What if something happens to you out there? What if I lose you forever? I can’t take it, Jungkook. I won’t survive it.”

Your hands moved frantically, tugging at the straps of his armor with desperate, angry fingers.

“I don’t care about the king. I don’t care about the borders. I only care about you.”

Piece by piece, you stripped him. The armor fell to the floor with heavy clangs until he stood completely bare before you, broad chest, scarred skin, powerful frame looking every bit of the warrior he was. You shoved him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.

Sir Jungkook’s hands moved instinctively to the laces of your corset, trying to free you fully, but you slapped his hand away, tears already glistening in your eyes.

But the knight was patient. He sat up slowly, your legs still wrapped tightly around his waist, and gently cupped your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed away the tears on your cheeks with heartbreaking tenderness.

“My love,” he whispered, voice soothing, “Let me worship you. Let me take care of you tonight. Please.”

He leaned in and captured one of your sensitive breasts in his mouth, sucking slowly. His tongue swirled around your stiff nipple, drawing a shaky moan from you. He moved to the other, giving it the same devoted attention, sucking and licking until your back arched and fresh tears slipped down your cheeks, this time from overwhelming sensation and emotion.

Holding you close, then gently but firmly, Sir Jungkook leaned back, gripping your hips and guiding you upward. In one rapid motion, he pulled you over his face, settling you directly onto his waiting mouth. Your soaked folds pressed flush against his lips and tongue, your thighs framing his head as he looked up at you with pure hunger.

“Use me,” he growled against your dripping folds, the vibration sending sparks through your core. “Pleasure yourself on my tongue love. I want to drown in you.”

You hesitated for half a second, still shy and nervous, cheeks burning hot even as your body screamed for more. But the frantic ache between your legs won out. You lowered yourself more fully, your slick cunt sliding over his mouth, his nose buried against your clit. He groaned loudly, the sound muffled and obscene as he immediately speared his tongue deep inside you, licking and sucking at your juices like a man starved.

You started moving almost desperately, grinding down with frantic little rocks of your hips. Shyness still flickered in your chest, making you whimper and bite your lip, but the pleasure overrode everything. Your hands braced on the headboard as wet, filthy sounds filled the room, the slick slide of your cunt over his tongue, his eager slurping and moaning, the way he sucked your swollen clit between his lips and flicked it mercilessly.

“Oh gods...” you gasped. Your thighs trembled around his head as you grew bolder, grinding harder, smearing your arousal all over his face. He gripped your cheeks, spreading them, holding you down so you could use him exactly how you needed. His tongue ravished in and out of your dripping hole, then flattened to lap broad strokes from your entrance to your clit, devouring every drop.

But it wasn’t enough.

You lifted off his face with a wet pop, strings of your arousal connecting you to his glistening mouth. His eyes were dark, lips swollen and shiny with your juices. Before he could speak, you slid down his body impatiently.

You straddled his hips, wrapped your hand around his thick, throbbing cock, and sank down onto him in one frantic motion.

The stretch made you cry out, but you didn’t stop. You rode him hard, bouncing on his length with frantic, emotional need, your breasts bouncing heavily with every harsh drop of your hips.

“Don’t leave me,” you sobbed, riding him faster, tears falling onto his chest. “Please, Jungkook… I can’t lose you. Not after this. Not after you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

He thrust up to meet you, matching your desperate rhythm, his strong hands gripping your hips to guide you deeper.

“I don’t want to go,” he rasped, voice breaking with the same pain. “But I must. Your father commands it. I have to prove my loyalty… so I can stay by your side.”

You leaned down, kissing him messily through your tears, riding him like you could keep him here forever if you just moved fast enough.

“Then stay inside me,” you begged, voice cracking. “Fill me up. So deep that a part of you stays with me even when you’re gone. I want to carry you with me when they try to take you away.”

Sir Jungkook groaned deeply. His hands tightened on your hips as he suddenly flipped you onto your back, pinning you beneath his powerful body.

He made love to you then, with deep, devastating strokes that reached the very core of you. His mouth never left your skin, sucking marks into your neck, whispering promises between every thrust.

“You are mine,” he breathed against your lips, hips rolling deeply. “I will come back to you. I will fill you again and again until you swell with our future.”

You wrapped your arms and legs around him, clinging desperately as another orgasm built inside you. When it finally crashed over you, you sobbed his name, walls pulsing tightly around his thick cock.

Sir Jungkook followed right after, burying himself as deep as possible with a low, guttural groan. He came hard, flooding your womb with thick, pulsing ropes of his seed, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to merge your souls together.

Even after, he stayed buried inside you, pressing soft kisses to your damp forehead, your cheeks, your trembling lips.

“I don’t want you to go,” you whispered, small and broken. “I love you too much.”

Sir Jungkook pressed a soft kiss to your temple, his arms never loosening. “I know, my love,” he murmured. “And that is why I must return to you. No matter what.”

The weeks following Sir Jungkook’s departure had stretched into an endless gray fog.

You moved through your royal duties like a ghost wearing a crown. You sat through council meetings with a straight spine and a hollow smile, listening to nobles bicker about alliances, trade routes while your mind wandered back to your knight’s strong arms. Every night since, your bed felt too large, too cold. You would press your face into the pillow he had once used and fight the ache in your chest.

You missed him with a desperation that bordered on madness.

This morning was no different. You had barely kept your breakfast down before the maids helped you into a heavy velvet gown the color of deep wine for yet another assembly with potential suitors. The princes and lords from neighboring kingdoms were growing impatient. Your coronation was only a month away, and the pressure to choose a consort was mounting like a noose around your throat.

By midday, the nausea returned with a vengeance. You barely made it through the formal greetings before excusing yourself to the private solar, hand pressed to your mouth.

Elara followed quickly with a basin. You retched violently into it, eyes watering.

“Your Highness…” she whispered, rubbing gentle circles on your back.

“I’m fine,” you rasped, waving her away. “Just… something I ate.”

But it wasn’t.

Later that evening, after the day’s obligations were finally over, Vera and Selyse insisted on the usual massage to ease the tension in your shoulders. They helped you out of your gown until you lay on the wide cushioned table in nothing but a thin silk shift.

The moment Selyse’s skilled hands moved over your breasts, the older maid froze.

Verra, who was working on your legs, also stilled.

“…Your Highness,” Selyse said carefully, “Your breasts… they are fuller. Tender, yes?”

Your breath hitched. You had noticed it days ago but had tried to ignore the swelling, the sensitivity. The way even the softest fabric sometimes made you wince.

Verra’s hands gently pressed against your lower belly, not quite a touch, more an assessment. “And the sickness every morning… the fatigue… the way you’ve been crying in your chambers…”

Your eyes filled with tears. You turned your face into your folded arms, shoulders shaking.

Selyse knelt beside the table, taking your hand gently. “My lady… are you with a child?”

You didn’t answer at first. Then a broken sob escaped you.

“I think so,” you whispered. “I… I don’t know for certain, but the timing…” Your voice cracked. “It would be his. Sir Jungkook’s.”

Both maids exchanged a heavy glance. This changed everything.

Verra spoke softly, “My lady... with your coronation approaching. The lords are already circling like vultures, pushing their sons at you. If this comes out before you choose a prince…”

“I know,” you said, voice muffled. Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks. “I know what it means. But I can’t… I can’t just marry one of them. Not when I’m carrying the child of the only man I’ve ever loved.”

You sat up slowly, clutching the silk shift to your chest, arms wrapped protectively around your still flat stomach.

“My dear knight...” you sniffled. “He is out there fighting gods-know-what, and I’m here pretending to be the perfect princess while my body betrays our secret.”

Selyse brushed a strand of hair from your face with motherly tenderness. “We can hide it a little longer, Highness. Looser gowns. Ginger tea for the sickness. But you must decide soon what path you will take. The child… it will not stay hidden forever.”

You nodded, but your heart was breaking all over again. The thought of choosing one of those cold, ambitious princes while carrying Sir Jungkook’s child made you feel ill all over again.

Selyse pressed a kiss to the top of your head, her voice firm with loyalty. “We pray he returns soon, my lady. And until then, we will guard you and this little one with our lives.”

—

The weeks blurred into months as winter settled over the kingdom like a heavy white shroud. Snow blanketed the towers and gardens, turning the world soft and silent, yet inside your chest, the storm only grew louder.

Sir Jeon Jungkook had not returned.

Your belly had swelled noticeably now, a gentle but undeniable curve that marked the life growing within you. With the help of Elara, Verra, and Selyse, you hid it beneath layers of loose, flowing gowns and heavy cloaks lined with fur.

The rich fabrics concealed the truth for now, but you could no longer ignore the way your body changed, the tender fullness of your breasts, the occasional flutter of movement beneath your skin, and the constant, bone deep exhaustion.

You had begun excusing yourself from the suitors’ assemblies more frequently, claiming headaches or matters of state. But the King, grew increasingly impatient.

In the grand throne room one frost laced afternoon, he fixed you with a stern gaze as snow fell outside the tall windows. “You cannot delay any longer, daughter,” he spoke, heavy with royal command. “Prince Min of Viena is a strong candidate. The coronation is weeks away. You must choose a consort soon. The realm needs stability.”

You bowed your head, hands clasped tightly over your hidden belly beneath the voluminous velvet. “Yes, Father,” you murmured, the lie tasting like ash. Inside, your heart screamed for the only man you wanted.

Every few days, with your maids’ help, you sent letters. Verra would sneak them to a trusted rider, sealed with your private wax. You poured your soul onto the parchment; how much you missed him, the way your body was changing, the secret you carried, your love that only deepened with every passing day. Yet no responses ever came. The silence gnawed at you, feeding nightmares of him lying wounded on some distant battlefield or worse.

The worry became unbearable.

One bitter winter morning, wrapped in a thick hooded cloak that concealed your swollen middle, you slipped away from the castle with only Elara and Selyse accompanying you. The three of you rode through the snow dusted forest to a modest stone cottage on the outskirts of the kingdom, the home where Sir Jungkook had grown up.

When the door opened, an older woman with kind eyes and streaks of silver in her dark hair stood before you. Sir Jungkook’s mother. She froze at the sight of the princess on her doorstep, her hand flying to her chest.

“Your Highness…?” she whispered, stunned. “Surely I do not deserve to be blessed with your presence at my humble door. Please, come inside before the cold takes you.”

She ushered you, Elara, and Selyse quickly into the warm cottage, the scent of pinewood and baking bread wrapping around you like an embrace. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth as she helped you remove your snow dusted cloak. Only when you were seated by the fire did her gaze drop to the unmistakable swell of your belly beneath the loose gown.

You took a steadying breath, your hands resting protectively over your rounded stomach.

“I carry his child,” you said softly, trembling with emotion. “Your son’s. Sir Jungkook’s. He does not know yet… he has not returned, and I… I needed to feel close to him somehow.”

Jungkook’s mother, Maera, stood completely still for a long moment, her eyes wide with shock. Then her hand flew to her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes.

“Oh… gods above,” she breathed, her voice cracking. “A grandchild…? From my Jungkook?” Fresh tears flowed freely as she dropped to her knees in front of you, taking your hands in hers with deep reverence. “My lady… my princess. You honor me beyond words. You honor my son. To think that you, a royal daughter, would carry his child… I am stunned. Truly stunned. And so deeply moved.”

She pressed her forehead to your knuckles, weeping quietly with pure joy and emotion. When she lifted her head again, her eyes shone with fierce affection.

“You are already family to me,” she whispered. “Come here, sweet child.” She rose and pulled you into a warm embrace, cradling you gently as if you were made of glass. “You must be so frightened, carrying this secret alone while he is away. But you are not alone anymore. Not while I draw breath.”

You felt safe in her arms, the weight on your heart easing just a little as winter wind howled softly outside the cottage walls.

After composing herself, Maera wiped her tears and fetched a small wooden chest from a shelf. She sat beside you, opening it with trembling hands.

“Look,” she said tenderly, pulling out several treasured items. She showed you a faded sketch of a chubby baby with dark, serious eyes —Sir Jungkook as an infant. Another portrait showed him as a sturdy little boy of four, holding a wooden sword with determination. There was even a lock of his soft baby hair tied with a ribbon.

“He was always so intense, even as a babe,” she said with a watery laugh. “Strong and quiet… but when he smiled, the whole world lit up. Just like I imagine your little one will.”

You traced the portraits with gentle fingers, tears slipping down your own cheeks. Seeing these glimpses of him as a child made your love for the knight swell even deeper. You could so clearly picture your baby with his eyes, his strength, his rare smile. The thought made your heart ache with both joy and longing.

Maera kept one hand over yours, cherishing you openly. “Thank you for coming to me,” she murmured. “For trusting me with this precious news. We will wait for him together, my daughter. And when he returns, he will be the happiest man alive.”

The two of you sat by the fire for a long while — his mother and the mother of his child, talking softly as snow continued to fall outside, bound by love for the same man.

The days after your visit to Maera’s cottage only deepened the ache in your soul. Winter grew harsher, and so did your impatience. Every morning you woke with your hands on your swelling belly, feeling the strong kicks of his child, and the longing became unbearable.

One evening in the royal chambers, you fell to your knees before the King, tears streaming down your face. “Father, please… I beg you. Bring Sir Jungkook back. I need him. I cannot do this without him.”

The King frowned, confused by your desperation. “Daughter, he is leading my forces on the border. The realm needs him there. Why this sudden insistence on one knight?”

You could not tell him the truth. “I just… need him,” you whispered brokenly. “Please.”

He did not relent. The pressure to choose a suitor only intensified.

And then the sickness took hold.

Your body ached constantly. deep soreness in your back, hips, and breasts that made every movement painful. The baby’s kicks, once a comfort, now left you breathless. You grew feverish and weak.

Elara, Verra, and Selyse rarely left your side, forcing herbal teas and bitter medicines down your throat while piling warm blankets over you. For nearly a week you were bedridden, barely able to leave your chambers, hidden away from the court under the excuse of a winter chill.

One cold, silent night, as snow tapped gently against the window panes, you drifted in and out of a fevered haze. The herbs made the world soft and blurry around the edges.

You thought it was a dream when the heavy door to your chambers opened with a quiet creak and a tall, familiar figure stepped inside, shedding his snow dusted cloak. The firelight caught on his sharp jawline and those intense dark eyes.

Strong arms slipped beneath you, lifting you carefully as he climbed into your grand bed. A warm, calloused hand gently cradled your swollen belly. You felt the press of soft, reverent lips against the curve of your stomach.

“My love…” The knight’s deep voice whispered against your skin, rough with emotion. “I’m here. I finally came back to you.”

“Jungkook…?” you murmured drowsily, eyelids heavy, unsure if this was real or another cruel dream born of longing and medicine.

“It’s me,” he breathed, pulling your body flush against his solid chest. He was real. warm, solid, smelling of snow, leather, and the faint scent of campfires. “I’ve been aching for you every single day. Your touch, your voice… it kept me alive out there.”

His large hand stroked slow, soothing circles over your rounded belly, feeling the baby shift and kick beneath his palm. He lowered his head, pressing his lips directly to the taut skin.

You let out a tired, broken sound. “You left me… You promised you’d come back sooner. Look at me… I’m so sore, so heavy with your child, and you weren’t here…”

Sir Jungkook chuckled softly, the sound warm against your skin, even as his eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I know, my princess. I deserve your scolding. I’m deeply sorry.” He kissed your belly again and again, soft open mouthed presses wherever he could reach. Then he trailed his lips higher, attaching his mouth gently to the swollen, aching curve of your breasts, sucking lightly and kissing away the soreness with such care that you whimpered in relief.

His hands never stopped moving, massaging the deep ache in your lower back, cupping and gently holding your heavy breasts to ease their weight, stroking your hips and thighs. He intertwined his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly as if afraid you might vanish.

“You are unreal, my love.” he murmured, voice hoarse with awe as he looked at you. “Your glow… it’s deeper now. The way pregnancy has changed you… you’re beyond anything I could have imagined. You shine like starlight. Carrying our child has only made you more radiant, more mine.”

You clung to him weakly, drowsy but desperate for his touch. “The baby… it kicks so much. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl… but it feels like you. Strong and stubborn.”

Jungkook smiled against your temple, one hand still resting warmly over your belly. “This child is the product of our love. A piece of both of us. I already love them more than life.” He kissed you deeply, slowly, pouring months of aching into it. “Every battle, every cold night, I thought only of coming home to you like this… holding you, feeling our baby move, worshipping the body that’s creating our future.”

He continued kissing every place that ached... the sides of your breasts, the curve of your belly, the inside of your wrist, his mouth soft and devoted. You melted into him, the pain easing under his gentle care as he held you close.

“Stay…” you whispered tiredly, already slipping back into sleep.

“I’m here right now,” he promised, lips brushing your ear. “Sleep, my love. I’ve got you both.”

When morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, you woke slowly, body still aching but strangely comforted.

The bed beside you was cold. No warmth lingered. No cloak on the chair. No scent of him on the pillows. Only the faint memory of strong hands, whispered words to your belly, and soft kisses remained.

You touched your swollen stomach, feeling another firm kick, and tears filled your eyes.

Was it a dream? A fevered hallucination woven from medicine, longing, and love? Or had Sir Jungkook truly returned to you in the dead of night… only to disappear again before dawn?

The herbs and medicines your maids prepared worked their magic. The fever finally broke, the deep soreness in your body eased into a manageable ache, and the constant nausea faded. Though you were still tired, your strength slowly returned. Your belly continued to grow rounder and heavier, the baby’s kicks becoming more insistent and lively.

One quiet winter evening, when the moon hung full over the snow covered palace, your maids turned your chambers into a secret sanctuary.

Accompanied by Sir Jungkook’s mother, they had worked together in absolute secrecy. No one outside your trusted circle knew. They had decorated the large private solar adjacent to your bedroom with soft candlelight, evergreen boughs, and winter white roses. Warm furs and silk pillows were arranged in a luxurious nest near the hearth. Incense of myrrh filled the air, and a small table held gifts wrapped in fine cloth.

They helped you into a loose, flowing gown of the softest ivory silk that draped beautifully over your swollen belly, leaving your shoulders bare. When you stepped into the room, all four women bowed their heads in reverence.

Selyse took your hand and guided you to the center of the soft pillows. “Tonight we celebrate you, my lady. And the precious life you carry. No one else will know of this blessing. It is ours alone.”

They treated you with deep adoration, as though you were sacred.

Elara gently massaged your feet with warm scented oil while Maera brushed your hair until it shone. Verra offered you sweet honeyed fruits and warm spiced milk, foods meant to nourish both you and the baby. Selyse laid her hands lightly on your rounded belly and spoke soft blessings for a safe birth and a strong child.

Selyse, ever wise, placed a small crown of dried herbs and winter berries on your head. “You are the vessel of love and life,” she murmured. “Even in these uncertain times, you bloom. We honor you as our princess… and as the mother of Sir Jungkook’s heir.”

You felt tears prick your eyes as they presented their secret gifts: tiny embroidered blankets, a soft knitted cap in deep green, a small silver pendant shaped like a blooming rose, a symbol of motherhood.

Vera leaned her cheek against your belly for a moment, grinning when the baby kicked in response. “He or she is strong already. Just like their father.”

You placed both hands over your swollen stomach, feeling another firm flutter. The warmth of their love and the secret celebration soothed the constant ache of missing your knight.

“Thank you,” you whispered, “All of you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Elara kissed your temple. “We will keep you and this little one safe until Sir Jungkook returns. And he will return.”

The warmth of the secret celebration lingered on your skin as you returned to your chambers that night. The maids had just helped you out of the ivory silk gown when a royal messenger knocked urgently.

“The King demands your presence immediately, Your Highness. In his private study.”

You had no time to prepare. Still glowing from the love and blessings of your maids, you wrapped yourself in a heavy velvet robe that concealed your very swollen belly and followed the messenger.

The moment you entered the study, the atmosphere turned icy. Your father stood behind his desk, several of your letters spread before him.

“Daughter,” he spoke, controlled. “I have given you time to come to me yourself. I know you have been sending letters to the front lines. To Sir Jungkook, specifically.” He turned to face you, his expression stern but not yet furious. “I know of your… admiration for him. Speak truthfully now. What is this attachment?”

Your throat tightened. This was the moment. With your belly heavy with his child and your heart aching, you could no longer hide everything.

“Father…” you began, voice trembling as you stepped closer. “It is more than admiration. I love him. Sir Jungkook is the only man I want.” Your hands instinctively moved to cradle your stomach. “And I… I am carrying his child.”

Silence crashed over the room.

The King’s eyes widened, then narrowed sharply as his gaze dropped to the unmistakable swell beneath your gown. His face darkened with shock, then rage.

“You what?” he hissed. “A knight’s bastard? While I have been parading princes before you? While the entire realm waits for you to secure the throne with a proper alliance?”

“Father, please,” you begged, tears filling your eyes. “It is his. Our love is real. If you would only let him return, we could—”

The King’s face twisted with fury. “You dare speak such filth to me? A royal princess swollen with a common knight’s bastard?”

You rebelled, voice shaking but defiant. “It is not filth. It is love. I will not marry Prince Min. I will not let you use me as a pawn for alliances while I carry the man I love’s child.”

“Enough!” The King slammed his fist on the table, making you flinch. “I have been patient with your childish infatuation, but this is treason against your bloodline. You will do as you are told! Your fate is sealed. You will marry Prince Min before the month ends.”

Later that same night, before your maids could even calm you, you found your most trusted rider in the stables. With tears streaming down your face and snow falling around you, you whispered your final message: “Tell him… tell Sir Jungkook that I will wait for him. No matter how long it takes. My heart is his alone. I will wait.”

The rider bowed and galloped into the night. No response ever came.

The next weeks were a nightmare.

Prince Min visited often, his eyes raking over your body with open lust and infatuation. He complimented your “ethereal glow”, clearly aroused by your pregnant form, but his arrogance disgusted you. He spoke openly of claiming the throne through you, of bedding you the moment you were his. You hated him with every fiber of your being.

You fought your father harder than ever, refusing to attend meetings with Prince Min, screaming that you would rather die than marry him. But the King had reached his limit.

One brutal afternoon, he summoned you again and placed a bloodied cloak and a forged letter before you.

“Sir Jeon Jungkook is dead,” he said flatly. “He fell in battle two weeks ago. This is proof.”

The world shattered.

You collapsed to the floor, a guttural sob tearing from your throat. The baby inside you kicked as if sensing your pain. From that moment, you broke completely.

You refused to eat. You barely slept. You stopped speaking, even to Elara, Verra, and Selyse who begged you through tears to think of the child. You lay in bed for days, staring at nothing, your once radiant glow fading into pale exhaustion. Your maids feared for both your life and the baby’s.

Despite how numb you had become, when your maids gently suggested taking you to Maera’s quiet home on the edge of the forest, you agreed without protest. You were taken there in secret under the cover of night.

Maera, a strong but grieving woman with the same dark eyes as her son, took you in without question. She cared for you with quiet hands and even quieter words. You didn’t speak much to her either, but you accepted her care wholeheartedly. After all, she was mourning the loss of her son, and you were mourning the loss of your lover and the father of your child.

The King, despite his fury, still sent guards to watch over you from a distance. You were still royalty, still carrying what he believed might be his grandchild. But you could only think of the protection you once had... the strongest, safest pair of arms that had ever wrapped around you.

You mourned deeply. But you couldn’t be completely selfish with a baby on the way, restless and eager to come into the world.

The labor came on a stormy night.

The pains started suddenly and violently. Maera and your maids worked frantically around you as you screamed and cried, gripping the sheets until your knuckles turned white. The King himself had ridden out in secret when he heard you had gone into labor, standing outside the cottage with a face pale with rare fear.

He didn’t know how to comfort you. He only knew one thing, his daughter was calling for her knight in her delirium.

Even though he viewed the child as the product of a sinful affair, something in him softened at the sound of your broken sobs. He could not lose you.

Inside the cottage, you gave birth to a baby girl.

She was small, chubby, with a shock of raven hair and big, dark eyes that looked exactly like her father’s. The moment the midwife placed her on your chest, fresh tears streamed down your face.

“She looks like him…” you whispered, hoarse and broken. “My little love… she has his eyes.”

You held her close, sobbing softly as the pain and grief mixed with a fragile, overwhelming love. Even in your exhaustion, you couldn’t stop crying. You believed Sir Jungkook was dead. The thought that your daughter would never know her father tore you apart.

Maera wept beside you, gently stroking your hair. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Just like her mother.”

Outside, the King stood in the rain, waiting.

When the door finally opened and the midwife stepped out, he demanded to know if you and the child were alive. Upon hearing they both were, something in his hardened heart shifted.

He turned to his captain without a word and gave the order.

“Send riders to the western borders at once. Bring Sir Jeon Jungkook back. Tell him… his princess has need of him.”

It would take time. The borders were far, and the roads were muddy from the storms. A week, perhaps a month.

In the quiet warmth of the cottage, you held your newborn daughter against your chest, wrapped in soft linen.

You rocked her gently as she fussed against your breast, nursing hungrily. Your maids and Maera moved around you, bringing broth, fresh cloths, and ever soft words. But you barely spoke. The grief had hollowed you out.

“I wish you could meet your father,” you whispered to the baby one quiet night, voice cracking. Tears slipped down your cheeks as she latched on again. “He would have held you so carefully. He would have loved you more than anything in this world. He would have protected us both…”

Maera sat beside you, her own eyes red from mourning. She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He would have been so proud,” she said softly. “Of both of you.”

You could only nod, throat too tight to speak. The emptiness inside you felt endless. Every time the baby cried, every time she looked up at you with those familiar dark eyes, the pain returned like a fresh wound.

The King demanded your return to the palace, as you were still royalty, still bound to your father’s will despite carrying a child out of wedlock. He wrote letter after letter insisting you resume your duties and prepare for the inevitable marriage to Prince Min. You refused to answer most of them.

Your maids tried their best to comfort you, but even they could not reach the depths of your sorrow. The only light in your world was your daughter. Tiny, perfect, with Jungkook’s dark eyes and a tuft of raven hair. You held her constantly, whispering stories about her father, singing lullabies with a voice that often broke halfway through.

You mourned him deeply. The King had not even granted him a proper funeral. No rites. No chance to say goodbye. Just a bloodied cloak and a cold declaration.

One quiet evening, Maera left the cottage to fetch groceries from the nearby village. Your maids had been called back to the palace on the King’s orders, duties they could not refuse. For the first time in weeks, it was just you and your baby in the small, warm cottage.

You sat by the window, cradling her in your arms. She cooed softly, tiny fingers wrapping around yours as you gently rocked her. For a few precious minutes, you allowed yourself to smile a real, soft smile as you played with her little hands and kissed her forehead.

“My baby,” you whispered, “The loveliest babe. Don’t tell the queens and princesses, I think they’d be terribly jealous.”

The baby blinked up at you. “Oh, yes,” you continued solemnly. “Especially of those cheeks.”

You leaned back in the chair as exhaustion eventually won over you, your eyes growing heavy. With your daughter nestled safely against your chest, sleep claimed you quickly.

When you woke, the cottage was awfully quiet.

Your arms were empty.

Panic slammed into you like a physical blow. You shot upright, heart hammering wildly as you looked around the room.

The baby was gone.

“No… no, no, no...” you gasped, stumbling to your feet, voice rising into a broken sob. “Where is my baby?!”

You searched frantically, under the blankets, behind the chairs, near the hearth, terror clawing at your throat. Your mind spun with nightmarish possibilities. Had someone taken her? Had the King sent men to steal her away?

Then you saw him.

A tall figure standing near the doorway, cradling your daughter gently in his strong arms. She was sleeping peacefully against his chest, tiny fist curled into his tunic.

Your knees buckled.

It was Sir Jungkook.

He looked exhausted, travel worn, mud on his boots, shadows under his eyes, but he was alive. Real. His dark eyes met yours, filled with unbearable love and pain.

You stared at him, trembling violently, refusing to believe what you were seeing.

“No…” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, no, this isn’t real. You’re dead. They told me you were dead. This is another dream. You always come in my dreams and then you leave me again—”

Your voice cracked into a sob as you backed away, hands clutching your chest.

“You left me,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “You left me and our child. I mourned you. I almost died mourning you. Please… don’t do this to me again. I can’t take another dream. I can’t wake up to find you gone again.”

Sir Jungkook’s face crumpled with anguish. He took one careful step forward, still cradling your daughter like the most precious thing in the world.

“My love,” he said hoarsely, voice breaking. “It’s not a dream. I’m here. I’m real. Your father… he lied. He sent me away to the borders to keep me from you. But I came back the moment he allowed it. I rode without stopping.”

You shook your head harder, tears falling faster, refusing to believe it even as your heart screamed at you to run to him.

“You’re dead,” you repeated, voice small and shattered. “You have to be dead… because if you’re not, then you let me believe it. You never answered my letters. Not one. I wrote to you every single day, pouring my heart out, begging you to come back to me, to our child… and you never...”

Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks as the pain twisted deeper.

“You were in on it, weren’t you?” you whispered, voice breaking. “You let my father tell me you were gone. You left me here to rot in grief while I carried your child alone. How could you?”

The knight’s face crumpled with agony. He took a step forward, but you flinched, and he stopped immediately, hands trembling at his sides.

Before he could speak, your daughter stirred in his arms. As if sensing the suffocating tension in the room, she let out a sharp, hungry cry, her little lips puckering, tiny fists waving.

You moved without thinking, reaching for her. Sir Jungkook gently handed her over, his hands lingering for a moment as if afraid to let go. You turned away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed and loosening your dress to feed her. The baby latched on eagerly, her cries softening into small, contented sounds.

The knight stood there, watching you in silence. He looked lost, this battle-hardened soldier, returned from war, now completely unsure how to comfort the woman he loved. He slowly lowered himself to his knees in the middle of the room, head bowed.

“I wrote to you,” he admitted hoarsely. “Every chance I had. Your father… he made sure none of my letters reached you. He wanted you to believe I was gone. I fought every day to come back to you. I almost died trying to get word to you.”

You didn’t look at him. You kept your eyes on your daughter, tears falling silently onto her soft hair.

“I mourned you like a widow,” you whispered, voice thick with pain. “I almost died. And now you’re here… acting like you didn’t abandon me when I needed you most.”

The words cut awfully deep. Sir Jungkook’s shoulders slumped, but he stayed on his knees, silent and respectful, giving you the space your wounded heart demanded.

Your daughter stirred in your arms, letting out a small, distressed whimper as if she could sense the storm raging between her parents. You rocked her gently, pressing a kiss to her soft raven hair.

“Shh, my sweet one,” you cooed softly, “Mama’s here. You’re safe.”

Sir Jungkook’s hands twitched at his sides, aching to reach out, to touch you, to hold both of you, but he remained still, jaw clenched tight. He was no longer in full armor, only a worn tunic and breeches, his appearance shambled from the long ride, fresh bruises blooming across his knuckles and jaw.

You turned away from him, focusing on the small tasks that had become your life in the cottage. The rain outside grew heavier, pounding against the roof like a relentless drum.

You moved about the space, stirring the pot of stew over the fire, folding fresh linens, anything to keep your hands busy and your mind from breaking completely.

Hours passed in heavy silence. When your daughter finally grew fussy again, you nursed her by the hearth until her little eyes fluttered shut. You laid her gently in the wooden cradle Maera had prepared, stroking her cheek one last time before covering her with a soft blanket.

Only then did you notice movement near the door.

Sir Jungkook was standing there, cloak in hand, quietly preparing to leave.

Something inside you fractured. You stepped toward him, voice cracking. “You’re leaving again?”

He turned slowly, eyes filled with torment. “I was only going to check the perimeter. The rain is heavy, and I… I didn’t want to burden you further.”

You stared at him, this warrior who had survived hell just to return to you, and the dam finally broke.

“Come here,” you whispered.

He obeyed without hesitation.

You led him to your bed and with trembling hands, you began removing his tunic, revealing the damage the war had left behind.

New bruises painted his ribs and shoulders in shades of purple and blue. Fresh scars, still healing, cut across his chest and abdomen. He looked harder, a man who had walked through fire and barely returned.

Your lips trembled, but you forced yourself to stay steady. You turned away briefly, gathering clean linen strips, salve, and a bowl of warm water. When you returned, the knight stood perfectly still, letting you see all of him, the bruises, the brutal evidence of everything he had endured just to return to you.

You began tending to him in silence, your hands gentle as you cleaned a particularly nasty cut along his side. But the more you looked, the more the dam inside you cracked.

“What have they done to you, Jungkook?” you whispered, voice breaking. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you carefully wrapped a bandage around his ribs. “You’re… you’re covered in pain. All of this… just to come back to me?”

He stood motionless, letting you care for him, but his dark eyes never left your face.

“I would go through it a thousand times more,” he said softly, “if it meant coming back to you and our daughter.”

You shook your head, fresh tears falling as you pressed a bandage over another wound. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that. I can’t bear thinking of you suffering like this. I thought you were dead. I thought I would never see you again, and now you’re here… broken because of me.”

Sir Jungkook slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of you, even though you were still trying to tend to him. The powerful knight, the man who had survived war, knelt before you like the loyal protector he had always been.

“Your Highness,” he murmured, head slightly bowed, voice thick with emotion. “I failed you. I wasn’t here when you needed me most. I wasn’t here when you carried our child. I wasn’t here when you gave birth. I wasn’t here when they told you I was gone. Forgive me.”

You dropped the bandages and pulled him into your arms, holding his head to your chest. His arms wrapped around your waist instantly, clinging to you like a man who had almost lost everything.

A broken sob tore from his throat.

Your knight, your warrior, the strongest person you had ever known, cried against your chest like a child. Deep, shuddering sobs that shook his powerful frame as his arms tightened around you.

“I thought I lost you,” he choked out, voice muffled against your skin. “Every night on the border, I prayed I would make it back to you. To both of you.”

You held him tighter, fingers threading through his raven hair, your own tears falling onto his head.

“You’re here now,” you whispered, rocking him gently. “You’re here. You came back to us. That’s all that matters.”

For a long time, the only sounds in the cottage were the rain outside, the crackling fire, and the quiet, heartbroken sobs of a knight who had finally returned to his princess.

—

The rain had not eased by the middle of the night. It hammered against the thatched roof like an impatient army. You had fallen asleep in Jungkook’s arms on the narrow bed, your daughter nestled safely in her cradle beside you. For the first time in months, your sleep was deep and dreamless.

A sharp knock on the cottage door shattered the peace.

Sir Jungkook was awake in an instant. He slipped from the bed silently, pulling on his tunic and reaching for the sword he had left by the door. His body was still tense from war, every muscle ready for threat.

“Stay here,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “I will see who it is.”

But you already knew.

A cold certainty settled in your chest. You rose, wrapping a shawl around your shoulders, and followed him despite his warning. Your daughter stirred but remained asleep.

Sir Jungkook opened the door, sword half drawn, rain pouring behind the figure standing outside.

It was the King.

Your father stood in the downpour, cloak heavy with water, face pale and drawn. Guards waited at a respectful distance, torches flickering weakly in the storm. His eyes moved past your knight and landed on you.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then the King stepped inside without invitation, water dripping onto the wooden floor. His gaze softened when it fell on you — his only daughter, still pale from childbirth, carrying the weight of grief and motherhood.

“My child,” he said, voice rough. “You must return to the palace. You are still royalty. Still my blood. You do not belong in a cottage like this.”

You stood straighter, even as exhaustion and lingering pain made your body ache.

“I belong where I choose,” you replied quietly, but firmly. “And I will not return without Sir Jeon. He is my knight. He is the father of my daughter. He stays with me.”

The King’s jaw tightened. He glanced at Jungkook, who stood tall and silent beside you, sword now lowered but ready.

“I know what you are to each other,” the King said heavily. “I have known for some time. Prince Min is a fool and a coward, but his bloodline is strong. The alliance—”

“I will not marry him,” you cut in, voice steady despite the tears gathering in your eyes. “I will return to the palace. I will perform my duties as princess, as future queen. I will be the ruler this kingdom needs. But only if Sir Jungkook remains at my side. As my knight. As the man I have chosen. As the only man with any right to me.”

The King looked at you for a long time. He saw the woman you had become, not just his rebellious daughter, but a figure of quiet strength. The people in the surrounding villages spoke of you with reverence. They told stories of the princess who helped common women, shared food during hard winters, who listened to their troubles as if they mattered as much as any noble’s.

The King exhaled slowly, defeated but not broken.

“Very well,” he said at last. “Sir Jeon will return with you. He will remain your personal knight. But this… affair… must remain hidden from the court. For now.”

You nodded once, relief flooding through you.

The King’s gaze drifted to the cradle where your daughter slept. He had not yet seen her. You had kept her away from him, protecting her with every fiber of your being.

He took one hesitant step toward the cradle, then stopped, as if afraid.

The King’s shoulders sagged. For the first time in years, he looked truly old.

“Bring her home,” he said quietly. “Both of you. We will find a way.”

When the heavy door of the cottage finally closed behind your father, you let out a huge, shaky sigh. The weight of the conversation pressed on your chest like a stone. You turned and walked to the cradle, gently lifting your daughter into your arms. She stirred but settled quickly against your chest.

Sir Jungkook followed silently behind you, his presence warm.

“I would not trust him,” you whispered, voice laced with bitterness. “My father lied. He did all of this, told me you were dead, kept us apart, made me believe I had lost you forever. How can I believe a single word he says now?”

Jungkook stepped closer. He gently wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on the top of your head as you held your daughter.

“Petal,” he murmured softly, the old endearment slipping out like a balm. “Your father is a hard man, but he is not as cold as he pretends to be. He sent for me the moment he learned you had gone into labor. He could have kept me away forever. But he didn’t.”

You turned slightly in his arms, eyes wide with disbelief.

The knight continued, low and calm.

“There was one night… when you were still heavy with our child and very sick. I rode through a storm to reach you. Your father allowed it. He let me see you. I held you while you slept, fevered and restless. I whispered to you. I kissed your forehead and promised I would return. But I had to leave before dawn. He made me swear not to wake you. He said it would only make the pain worse when I had to go back to the borders.”

You stared at him, stunned. Tears welled up again.

“That night… it was real?” you whispered. “I thought it was a dream. I thought I imagined your arms around me.”

“It was real,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I was there. And I have regretted leaving you every single day since.”

You turned fully toward him, still cradling your daughter. The baby had woken and was fussing softly. You loosened your dress and began to feed her.

Sir Jungkook watched the two of you with such open love and longing that it made your chest ache.

“She has your eyes,” you said softly, brushing a finger over your daughter’s cheek. “So dark and beautiful. Just like yours.”

Sir Jungkook’s expression softened further. He reached out, gently stroking the baby’s tiny hand.

“And she is as beautiful as her mother,” he murmured. “I hope she grows to be as strong as her. As kind. As full of fire and love.”

For a while, the only sounds were the soft suckling of your daughter and the rain pattering against the roof. Sir Jungkook stayed close, one arm around your waist, the other lightly resting near the baby.

Eventually, after your daughter had fallen asleep again, you made the decision.

“We will return to the palace,” you said quietly. “Together. As a family. I will not hide anymore.”

The next morning, after tender farewells to Maera, who hugged you both tightly and kissed her granddaughter’s forehead with tears in her eyes, you left the cottage.

—

Three Months Later,

The palace had transformed around you.

After your return, the finest healers in the realm were summoned, learned men and women versed in herbs and ancient remedies. They tended to you with the utmost care, restoring the strength you had lost in grief and childbirth. Slowly, the hollow exhaustion faded. Color returned to your cheeks. Your body healed, and with it, your spirit bloomed once more.

You were treated not merely as royalty, but as something sacred. The people whispered that the Princess had returned more radiant than before, as if the earth itself had blessed her.

Your maids, Elara, Verra, and Selyse, were beyond ecstatic to have you back. They fussed over you constantly, brushing your long hair until it shone, dressing you in the finest silks, and whispering prayers of gratitude for your safe return.

The kingdom now knew the truth: the child was Sir Jeon Jungkook’s. The scandal had spread like wildfire, but instead of outrage, most of the people embraced it. They saw their princess glowing, and fiercely protected.

Prince Min had tried to slander you upon his return, calling you impure, unfit, a disgrace for bearing a knight’s child out of wedlock. Sir Jungkook had nearly killed him in the great hall before the King’s guards pulled him back. Prince Min was expelled from the kingdom that very day, the alliance shattered. No one mourned his departure.

It was a warm evening when you returned to the royal bathing pool, surrounded by floating lily pads and fragrant white blossoms. The water shimmered under the sunlight as your maids helped you undress. Your daughter, now three months old and full of life, babbled happily in Elara’s arms, reaching for you with chubby little hands.

“Come here, my sweet,” you cooed, taking her into the warm water with you. She immediately nestled against your bare chest, tiny fingers grasping at your long, wavy hair as you gently rocked her. She was a needy little thing, always wanting her mother’s warmth, her scent, her voice.

Verra smiled as she poured scented oil over your shoulders. “She adores you, my lady. Look at those big, bejeweled eyes.”

You glanced toward the far bank where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard, as always. He was no longer forced to hide. He remained your personal knight, ever watchful and devoted. His gaze met yours across the water, soft with love and quiet pride. He had become even more protective since your return, rarely leaving your side unless duty demanded it.

The King had grown strangely silent on the matter of your relationship. Seeing you flourish and beloved by the people, had turned him into something of a coward when it came to opposing you.

He doted on his granddaughter in private, though he still struggled to fully accept the circumstances. Yet he no longer pushed for any other marriage. He had seen what happened when he tried to separate you from your knight.

Bit by bit, your beauty had deepened into something almost otherworldly, skin luminous, eyes bright with life, a gentle fullness to your figure from motherhood that only made you more captivating. You moved through the palace performing your duties with grace while still finding time to help the common women who came to the gates seeking aid. You had become more than a princess.

At night, when the palace slept, Sir Jungkook was yours completely.

He would slip into your chambers, shed his armor, and worship you with slow hands and mouth. He made love to you like a man who had walked through hell and returned only for this. You clung to him every night, whispering how much you loved him, how you had chosen him long before the crown ever mattered.

Your daughter babbled softly, pulling at your long hair again with her tiny fist, drawing a soft, delighted laugh from you.

“Oh, my little one,” you cooed, gently untangling her fingers from your waves before pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. “You are going to pull Mama’s hair right off if you keep that up, aren’t you? Such a strong little flower.”

She giggled in your arms, reaching up to pat your face with her small, uncoordinated hand, her big dark eyes, exact replicas of her father’s, sparkling with pure joy. The resemblance was almost startling even at such a young age. She was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

Elara sighed dreamily as she poured warm water over your shoulders. “Look at her, my lady. She is perfection. She already has the whole palace wrapped around her tiny finger.”

Verra nodded, gently massaging oil into your hair. “And you, my princess. You glow like the sun itself these days. Motherhood suits you more than any crown ever could.”

Selyse, ever the wise one, glanced toward the bank where Sir Jeon Jungkook stood guard, fully armored but with his helmet removed today. A small, teasing smile tugged at her lips.

“And that one over there… he can’t take his eyes off the two of you. Look at him, standing there like a lovesick fool in steel. Our fierce knight, brought to his knees by a baby and her mother.”

The knight’s ears turned faintly red, but he didn’t deny it. His gaze remained soft, locked on you and your daughter with quiet awe and devotion.

Later that evening, in the royal rose gardens where he had once walked beside you as your new knight, Sir Jungkook carried your daughter in his arms.

He was still in full armor, crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders, but he held her with such careful gentleness it made your heart melt. The baby was dressed in the softest cream colored gown embroidered with tiny golden flowers, a little bonnet tied under her chin. She looked like a living doll against his armored chest.

She reached up with both hands, grabbing at the edge of his armor, babbling excitedly as she tried to pull herself closer to his face. When he leaned down, she patted his cheek with a wet, sloppy kiss.

Sir Jungkook’s entire expression softened into something almost boyish. He smiled, genuine and devastatingly handsome.

“My little love,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

You walked beside them, heart full as you watched your daughter play with the buckles on his armor. Every time he lowered his head to let her see his face, she lit up. But when he playfully put his helmet back on for a moment to tease her, she immediately fussed, letting out a small, indignant cry and reaching for him with both arms.

“No helmet,” you laughed softly. “She hates it. She wants to see her father’s face.”

Sir Jungkook removed it immediately, tucking it under one arm while cradling her with the other. He leaned down so she could press her tiny palms against his cheeks and give him another sloppy kiss on the jaw.

The maids watching from a distance cooed and teased him lightly.

“Look at that,” Verra whispered loudly enough for him to hear. “Who would have thought the man who survived the western borders would be brought down by tiny hands and gummy smiles?”

Later that night, the heavy oak door to your royal chambers was barred, only the soft glow of candles and the low fire in the hearth illuminated the room.

You stood before the tall mirror, slowly changing into your nightgown. The fabric whispered against your skin as it slid down your body. Your gaze caught on the beautiful ring on your finger, the one Sir Jungkook had slipped onto your hand in secret weeks ago, a quiet promise between the two of you. You turned it gently, a small, private smile touching your lips.

Your daughter lay nestled against your bare chest, warm and content, her tiny fingers curled around the edge of your loosened gown. She babbled softly, her big dark eyes full of adoration for her mother.

Sir Jungkook stood a few steps behind you, fully armored except for his helmet, watching the two of you with quiet awe. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting every healed scar and the lingering shadows of war that still clung to him.

You gently laid your daughter in her ornate cradle, pressing one last kiss to her forehead as she drifted into sleep. Then you returned to the mirror, picking up the silver brush to run it through your long, wavy hair.

Sir Jungkook followed without a word. He stopped behind you, his large hands resting lightly on your waist. Slowly, he leaned down and began pressing soft kisses along your bare arms, from shoulder to wrist, as you continued brushing your hair.

You giggled softly, cheeks flushing with that familiar shyness even after all this time.

“Jungkook…” you murmured, breathy. “You ought to distract me.”

“Good,” he whispered against your skin, kissing the curve of your shoulder. “I have missed you all day. I need my darling.”

He dropped to his knees behind you with a quiet clink of armor, bowing his head in his familiar, devoted way. You turned to face him, running your fingers through his raven hair, then tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the faint scars that remained on his face.

You saddened for a moment, remembering the brutality he had endured.

But he looked up at you with such pure worship that it took your breath away. To him, you were more than a princess. you were his salvation, the very source of life that had healed him.

You pulled him closer, and he rose, lifting you effortlessly into his arms and carrying you to the grand bed.

The knight laid you down gently, then began to worship you with slow, reverent hands. He unlaced your nightgown with painstaking care, peeling the silk away until you were bare before him. His mouth found your breasts immediately, sucking softly on one sensitive nipple, then the other, drinking the sweet milk that flowed for him with deep, grateful groans.

You moaned softly, fingers threading through his hair as he fed from you, his tongue swirling, lips sealed tight around your peak. He drank like a man who had been starving for you, savoring every drop as if it were the very essence of life itself.

Sir Jungkook groaned deeply against your breast, the sound vibrating through your chest as he drank almost desperately. His large hand cradled the soft weight of your breast, squeezing gently to draw more from you while his other hand stroked your side with reverent tenderness.

“So sweet,” he whispered against your skin, voice hoarse and worshipful. “You give me life, my petal. You heal what war tried to break.”

You whimpered, arching into his mouth, overwhelmed by the intimate, sacred act, fresh heat blooming between your thighs.

When he finally released your nipple with a wet pop, his lips glistening, he looked up at you with dark, adoring eyes.

“You are my salvation,” he murmured, kissing the valley between your breasts before moving lower. “The mother of my child. The light that brought me home.”

When he finally moved lower, he spread your thighs with firm hands and settled between them. He looked up at you once, eyes dark with devotion, before lowering his mouth to your core.

He worshipped your flower, seeking nectar with slow, deep licks that made your back arch, followed by gentle suction on your swollen clit. His tongue delved inside you, tasting every inch, groaning at your sweetness as if it were the most sacred thing he had ever known.

You whimpered and moaned, hips rolling against his handsome face as pleasure built in waves. He was relentless yet tender, bringing you to the edge again and again before letting you tip over.

When you finally begged for him, voice trembling with need, Sir Jungkook rose above you like a knight before his altar.

He did not rush. Instead, he sat back on his heels, dark eyes drinking in every inch of your bare, flushed body with such raw hunger that it made your skin burn. You felt vulnerable and impossibly desired under that gaze. A shy, breathless giggle escaped your lips as heat flooded your cheeks.

Sir Jungkook reached out with one large, calloused hand and traced a single finger slowly down your body, from the delicate line of your throat, between your heaving breasts, over the soft curve of your belly, and down to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The touch ever so feather light, yet it left fire in its wake.

“You are a goddess made flesh,” he whispered, voice hoarse with awe. “And I am but a mortal who has been granted the honor of kneeling at your feet.”

He leaned down and pressed his forehead to your thigh in a gesture of pure worship, eyes closed, breath warm against your skin as if he were praying to the only deity he had ever believed in.

Then he moved over you, settling between your spread thighs. His thick cock pressed against your entrance, hot and heavy. He looked into your eyes as he slowly pushed inside, inch by thick, stretching inch, filling you so completely that your mouth fell open in a silent cry.

You dug your nails into his back as he began to move, first slow and loving, then harder, deeper, claiming you with every thrust.

“I love you,” he groaned against your neck, hips snapping forward. “I love you more than life itself.”

When you came, it was with his name on your lips and tears of overwhelming pleasure in your eyes. Jungkook followed moments later, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a low, broken groan, filling you with pulse after pulse of his release.

In the quiet that followed, with the knight’s arms still wrapped around you and the weight of the world momentarily forgotten, it was strangely easy to remember the day he had first knelt before the throne.

The impenetrable knight clad in steel, sworn to protect a princess draped in silk. and protect you he would, as though it had been carved into the marrow of every breath he would draw, for eternity.

Starting a new job in a new city also meant starting with no friends, no family or anything that would remotely give you some sort of safety. 

Still, you were more than excited for your new job. You had been offered a position as a junior agent at the DSO through a contact by one of your former colleagues. A friend of a friend of a friend, basically. It seemed that your job as an agent had caused quite a stir after your latest mission, but in a positive way. At least that was what your colleague had told you. 

After unpacking the last moving box, you decided you needed to take your mind off of things for a while. Watching TV, reading a book, listening to music- all of that didn’t seem to work. Your thoughts kept drifting to the next work week and your new workplace, the new tasks, and upcoming missions.

You were particularly excited about your new colleagues, especially the new partner you would be assigned to. So far, all you knew was that it would be a senior agent who you would report to. 

In the end, you decided to go for a late-night drink and snack at a local bar you had spotted on your way home. It was within walking distance of your small apartment and it seemed nice enough to spend one or two hours there. You didn’t particularly enjoy going out for food and drinks alone, however, you were used to it as an agent. Countless of missions in foreign cities and lonely nights in empty hotel beds had taught you that spending time alone wasn’t even that bad. 

When you arrived, it was already packed, which was to be expected on a saturday night. Luckily, you found a spot in the back corner, which seemed fairly quiet. At least quieter than the rest of the bar. 

After you had ordered, you began to observe the people in the bar. A habit you’d never been able to completely shake. For the most part, the bar was filled with groups of friends or couples laughing and drinking heartily. 

Until your eyes fell on a man playing darts alone. He seemed to be a few years older than you, his dark blonde hair was streaked with a few gray strands, he was well-built, muscular, and on top of that well-dressed. Not in the sense of a business man, more like someone who just knew what suited him. He was extremely good-looking, that much was clear.

You caught yourself glancing over at him every now and then. He seemed so absorbed and focused that he probably wouldn't even notice how often you were staring at him. Well, at least that's what you hoped. 

You went back to your food for a few minutes, enjoying the taste of the burger and fries. For bar food, this was better than what you’d expected.

When you looked back at the dartboard, you realized that the handsome stranger was gone. A little disappointed, you scanned the rest of the bar, but he didn't seem to be there anymore. 

“Are you looking for someone?” A deep voice behind you startled you. You felt like a schoolchild caught cheating. 

Nevertheless, you tried to remain calm and watched as the man circled your table until he stood in front of you. Up close, he looked even better with his grey gruff and his bright eyes. 

“No, not really,” you said, playing it cool, a faint grin playing on your lips.

He huffed slightly and glanced at the dartboard and then back at you.

“Oh, really? Because it looked like you were quite.....interested,” he said with a charming smile on his lips. You were sure this man knew how good-looking he was. 

"Hmm. I was just thinking of a few tips I could give you. Your last throw looked a little weak," you teased. But that wasn't even true. From where you were sitting, you hadn't really seen how well he had thrown. You just didn't want to let him know that you’d been busy admiring his handsome face and his toned form. You didn't want to give him that satisfaction just yet.

He raised his eyebrow in surprise and laughed briefly.

“Weak? And you think you can do better?” he asked, eyeing you intently while his eyes wandered across your face. 

“I think so, yes,” you said confidently, whereupon he just shook his head and grinned. 

“Well, then prove it,” he said, pointing to the dartboard. “If you're going to talk big,” he added, winking at you once. You felt a warm flutter in your stomach, a feeling you hadn't felt for quite a while.

You shrugged and finally followed him toward the dartboard. You weren't too bad at it and had played a few times before. Besides, you liked how people often underestimated you, only for them to discover that you knew what you were doing. 

“I'm Leon, by the way,” he said on the way over to the dartboard. You introduced yourself to him as well and watched as he handed you the three darts. 

“Casual game or do you want to make a bet?” he asked with a mischievous grin. “Only if you aren’t too scared,” he added. 

“Oh please,” you said, taking the three darts as you positioned yourself in front of the board. 

“Great. Okay…how about that. One round with throwing three darts each. The one with the highest score wins,” he explained, as he toyed with one of the darts in his hand. You weren’t sure why this man was making you nervous while doing the most mundane things. 

“Sounds good to me,” you nodded. “And what does the winner get?” 

Leon smiled. “You get to choose” 

“Hm. How about the winner gets a free drink from the other?” You asked. That seemed to be the most harmless option, plus you would get to spend a little more time with him, which you definitely wouldn’t mind. 

“Deal. Ladies first,” he said with a small smile, gesturing toward the board and leaning himself against the wall, watching you. 

The first throw you did was a bullseye, a decent throw. Leon nodded approvingly, his arms were crossed in front of his chest now. 

Now why exactly were you nervous, trying to impress a complete stranger? 

Your next throw was a triple twenty. The highest scoring segment on the board. You smiled as you aimed for the last throw, landing a twenty. 

“Not bad at all. 130 points,” Leon remarked as he walked over to you. “I’m glad. I was afraid you were all talk,” he added with a wink, his hand brushing yours when reaching for his set of darts. 

“Well, what can I say. I’ve got a few surprises up my sleeve,” you teased and sat yourself down on the bar stool that was standing behind you. From there you had a perfect view. And you weren’t thinking about the dartboard. 

In reality you were ogling at him and using the chance to admire his features from a much closer distance.

“Oh I’m sure of that,” he smiled. He got into position and aimed for his first throw. If you were completely honest, you weren’t even concentrating on the throw itself. The way his shirt clung to his biceps, growing even tighter, depending on how he was holding the dart, was enough to make your mouth water. 

After completing his set – with an eighteen, triple eighteen and triple twenty – he smiled somewhat triumphantly, but in the most charming way. 

“132 points. You won,” you nodded, accepting your defeat with a smile. 

“Seems like this time, my last throw wasn’t so weak,” he winked, quoting your words from earlier. 

“Yeah, my tips seemed to work,” you shot back, grinning at him. “So? What’s your drink of choice?” 

He laughed at your teasing remark, watching you as you hopped off the bar stool. 

“A good old Whiskey,” he stated, following you back to the small booths with the tables. His hand ghosted over the small of your back. Not touching you directly, of course, more like an innocent gesture to guide you back to the quiet corner. You knew this was probably not considered flirting, but somehow you kind of hoped this was more than just a friendly game between strangers. 

“So….,” he began after you both got comfortable and ordered your drinks. “I’ve never seen you here before”

His body was facing towards you, one arm lazily resting on the armrest. Whenever one of you moved, your knees would faintly brush against the other, sending electricity through your whole body.

“I moved here recently,” you answered. “I was thinking I could check out some local spots. The bar seemed nice enough” 

He nodded, eyeing you intently as if he could see right through you. And maybe he did. 

“What about you? Are you a regular here?” you asked. 

“From time to time. I just had a week off. Guess I wanted to enjoy one last relaxing evening before I get back to work tomorrow,” he explained, a faint smile playing on the corner of his lips. 

“Mhm, makes sense. What do you do for work?” you asked interested, reaching for your drink to take another sip. 

“Ah, you know. Just saving the world and stuff,” he quipped. 

You rolled your eyes half-jokingly at his mysterious words. He was probably just another officer worker playing cool, at least that’s what you thought. 

“What about you?” he asked. 

“I work….with people” you retorted in the same mysterious way. “I start my new job here soon” 

You obviously couldn’t just outright tell him: Well, I’m gonna start working as a junior agent at the DSO. 

He nodded, eyeing you intensely and smiling at your remarks. 

“Then I hope you will like your new job. Maybe I’ll see you here from time to time,” he remarked, holding the drink in his hand. 

You could feel your heartbeat rise just a little. You didn’t really know him, of course, but he was charming and yes maybe you would actually like to get to know him better. 

“Yes. We could play a few more rounds,” you smiled. 

“Maybe I’ll even let you win,” Leon grinned.

“Oh? Just like I did to you today?” You shot back, causing you both to laugh.

It felt almost natural. Not forced, not awkward. Just a small, charming, exciting kind of flirt.

„So,“ Leon began as he handed you the second drink. „Tell me, did you move here by yourself?“ He asked. It was a normal question and yet it ignited something in you. Something between nervousness and anticipation. It could have been an attempt to do small talk but Leon didn’t strike you as someone who does a lot of small talk. He actually wanted to know if you were single or taken.

You looked down at your drink. „Yeah. Just me. My ex broke up with me before I moved here, to be honest,” you admitted, laughing dryly. You weren’t really sad about it, the relationship was bound to end.

“Hm, sounds familiar,” Leon mumbled, his lips slightly curved. 

You looked up again.

“This happened a long time ago but before I started my first job, I moved cities and my girlfriend broke up with me as well,” he explained upon seeing your surprised face. 

“I see,” you nodded, unsure of what else to say. 

“Well…. to us. And to leaving the past behind,” you smiled, rising your glass a little.

“Cheers,” he grinned, clinking your glasses together.

And that’s how the rest of the evening went on. You continued talking about harmless things like hobbies, interests and random things like favorite food. In between, you kept teasing each other every now and then. 

He insisted that the burger you got was the worst item on the menu you could have ordered. 

“This bar is great with drinks but I wouldn’t come here for the food,” he said, his gaze fixed on you with a hint of mischief playing in it.

“I thought the burger was good,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. 

“Then you clearly need to upgrade your taste buds,” he grinned. 

“What are you? A food critic?” You huffed at his smug expression.

“Yeah, you could call it that” 

“You know what I think?” you said somewhat provokingly, leaning yourself just a tiny little bit closer to him. 

He raised his eyebrows, his lips slightly curved as he watched the change in your demeanor. 

“Now you got me curious”

“I think you’re someone who brags about his exquisite taste in food, literature and music, while he secretely enjoys listen to mediocre rock music with cheesy lyrics and going to the cheapest fast-food spots on his way home,” you smiled. 

He took another sip of his whiskey, letting your words linger in the air, the smug expression never leaving his face. You weren’t sure if he was actually that confident, or if it was just an act he was doing to pull you off.

“First of all, I only listen to the classics. Can’t go wrong with some Nirvana or Pearl Jam,” he said, setting down his glass. “Secondly, any fast-food burger I had was probably better than this one here,” he continued with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I-“ you started but he didn’t let you finish. 

“Now it’s my turn with the assumptions,” he announced, inching a little closer to you. Your knees were now pressed against each other, the faint smell of his cologne filling your nose and clouding your mind. 

His eyes dropped to your lips for a split second before they returned to your eyes again. 

“I think you’re someone who likes to play unfazed, when in reality you couldn’t take your eyes off of me,” he said, his voice dropping lower with each word. 

Your mouth went completely dry, your eyes dropping down to the drink in your hand. 

“Yeah you wish,” you mumbled. “I was just focused on the game” 

“Liar,” he laughed, finishing his drink. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he winked.

When it finally came time to pay you pulled out your wallet, since you still owed him. However, he simply waved a hand, silently telling you to put it away.

A little confused, you watched as he took care of the bill. The whole thing. Even the food you had ordered earlier.

After the waiter left, thanking him once more for the generous tip, you looked at Leon questioningly.

“But… the bet,” you started awkwardly, a little overwhelmed by the situation since you honestly hadn’t expected that.

He smiled and nodded toward the dartboard you had been standing in front of, just a few minutes ago.

“It’s all good. I’m just glad I had nice company tonight,” he said with a wink. “Besides, it’s your first night here and you had to put up with me. That’s the least I can do,” he added jokingly. This man really seemed to have a weakness for bad jokes.

You smiled. “Thanks, Leon. That wasn’t necessary, but I appreciate it,” you said honestly, which he answered with a small nod.

He helped you into your cardigan, and then the two of you stepped outside together, the cool air greeting you and sending a shiver down your spine. 

You couldn’t tell if it was really just from the cool temperatures or the man standing next to you, eyeing you as if he could hear the thoughts that were currently running through your mind.

“Where did you park?” he asked, looking at you. 

“I live a few streets from here. I can walk, don’t worry,” you reassured him, pulling your cardigan a littler tighter around you. 

“It’s in the middle of the night and you’re shivering. I can see that from a mile away. I won’t let you walk home alone. Let me at least drive you home,” he offered.

When he noticed your hesitation, the smile from his lips faltered and was replaced by something different, something softer. 

“If you don’t want to drive with me, I can also just walk you back and give you my jacket,” he continued. 

“No, it’s not that I don’t trust you. I….really liked your company too,” you admitted, a shy smile forming on your lips. Your sassy demeanor from earlier was slowly but surely subsiding, the more time you spent with him.

He studied your face, his hand reaching out to gently brush over your clothed arm.

“I let you decide,” he said.

You looked up at him, your heart was racing so fast, you were afraid he might hear it. Damn, why were you even so nervous? You were a perfectly trained agent. A pretty stranger  shouldn’t affect you that much.

And yet, something felt different. It was exciting, new and somehow unfamiliar. You had a self-imposed rule: no kissing before the third date. And now you were here, about to kiss a guy you’d met just a few hours ago.

Before you could get further entangled in your worries, you snapped back to the here and now. Your faces were drawn close to each other, so close, that his hot breath brushed against your cheek. 

You nodded, barely noticeably but enough for him to see. His hand, which had been on your arm just a moment ago, had now moved up to your cheek. Before either of you could voice any concerns, it already happened. 

He kissed you, tenderly at first. Your lips moved against each other as if they had done so a thousand times before. The sounds of the city and the traffic seemed to fade away until there was nothing but the two of you. 

Your trembling hands clawed at his dark shirt, while his other hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you tightly. 

You kissed him back eagerly; the pressure of his lips against yours sent a new wave of electricity through your body. He tasted like a mixture of whiskey and something warm that you couldn’t quite name.

He pulled back just slightly, looking into your eyes again. 

“Should I ask you the cliché question and pretend to invite you over for a coffee at my place, or should we skip that part?” He smirked, his voice low but with a subtle tenderness in his tone.

“I think we can skip that part,” you admitted, a nervous chuckle escaping your lips. You had never done something like this before. A one-night stand. What were the rules? Were there any rules? What were you supposed to do? Have sex with him, wake up the next morning and you two would have breakfast together? 

No, that would be too intimate.  Maybe he would throw you out. Maybe that was his thing, casually hooking up with women he met at bars. 

Those were all perfectly valid reasons to say no but truth was, you wanted him. You wanted him badly.

He smiled as he carefully put his jacket around your shivering shoulders and led you to his car a few feet down the street. You swallowed when you saw what kind of car he drove. It looked expensive and it probably was. 

He must have a really well-paying job, you thought to yourself. 

As he drove off, you found yourself fidgeting in your seat. Suddenly your clothes seemed to casual, too out of place. You almost laughed at yourself. Were you really worrying about a dress code for a hook-up? 

Leon noticed you shuffling around in your seat.

“If you feel uncomfortable, I can just drive you home,” he said gently, glancing at you.

“No, it’s okay. Really,” you nodded, a thankful smile on your lips. 

He smiled back before he returned his gaze to the road. The rest of the drive was uneventful. After a few minutes you arrived at an apartment complex. Of course, he lived in a penthouse. After seeing his porsche that really didn’t surprise you anymore.

Nervously, you followed him past the fancy lobby and security, into the elevator that took you up to his penthouse. 

Just like his car, it looked impressive. Not flashy, nothing that screamed “I’m rich and I need to show it off” more like “I’m doing good and I’m gonna buy whatever I want”

The furnishing was dark and elegant, while still being cozy. In the living room was a large shelf with various books, next to the couch stood a small vintage bar cart with two bottles of whiskey resting on top.

You didn’t know him that well yet, though his apartment seemed to match him and his personality perfectly. It even smelled like him. Warm and inviting.

You took a few steps forward, looking around and taking in all the surroundings. The room was flooded by the moonlight, making it look more surreal, yet inviting and calming. Everything was bathed in a dark blue hue, while outside the lights from the other skyscrapers were being reflected.

Cautiously Leon approached you, watching you for a moment before helping you out of the jackets. 

“Everything okay?” he asked. 

You turned around to face him again. “Yes. It’s….beautiful,” you commented, your voice calmer than before. “The view is impressive,” you continued, glancing back toward the large windows. 

“Hm. It really is,” he agrees, his voice dropping lower as his hand found the way to the small of your back. When you looked back at him, you noticed he wasn’t even looking at the windows, he was staring down at you. A small smirk tugged at the corner his lips.

Your cheeks flushed a little. You wanted to retort something bold, saying how cheesy that was, but the words got stuck in your throat.

Without another word, you found your way back to each other. His arms wrapped around your waist, pressing you against the kitchen counter. You gasped as you felt him lift you up on the counter and began kissing your neck. Immediately, you felt the heat return between your legs—that same desire you’d felt earlier.

“Leon,” you gasped, closing your eyes as his hands roamed over your body.

“I like how you say my name,” he grinned, his breath hot against your skin. In an instant his lips were on yours again.

The kisses grew more intense and desperate, less innocent than before. He pushed himself between your already open legs without breaking the kiss, while his grip on your hips tightened. 

His strong hands slid under your shirt, feeling your soft skin and brushing against the curve of your breasts. A soft sigh escaped you as he toyed with one of your hardening nipples. 

You weren’t sure if it was some kind of premonition or if you simply hadn’t found anything better, but you were grateful to be wearing your sheer bra. That way, you could feel his touch even better.

His eyes roamed over your barely covered breasts as he began groping them and giving each of them attention. 

“Let me see ‘em,” he groaned, pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra, letting both fall to the floor. His eyes darkened upon seeing your exposed tits, only being lit by the faint lights shining through his windows. 

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he said in an appreciating tone, ready to suck on them, but your hands on his chest stopped him. 

“What-“ he asked, looking down at your hands resting on his chest. 

“Want to see you too first,” you smiled cheekily, playing with the hem of his tight-fitting shirt. 

“So eager to see what you’ve been drooling over all night, hm sweetheart?” he teased, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it next to him. 

He looked just like you predicted. Muscular and toned and beefy in all the right places, especially his arms. His abs tensed with every ragged breath. You bit your lip unconciously as your gaze dropped to his hard member straining against his pants. It looked almost painful. You couldn’t help but daydream about how good he would feel inside your mouth or your already throbbing cunt.

A silent satisfaction came over you, reassuring you that he was just as turned on as you were.

As if he was reading your mind, he started opening his belt, never taking his eyes off you.

You were still sitting there, half exposed, legs open, waiting for him. 

As soon as he got rid of his pants, he got back between your legs and guided one of your hands toward his still clothed cock. 

Immediately you began palming him through his boxers, admiring his impressive size.  

“See what you’re doing to me?” he hissed as your hand slipped under his boxers. You began stroking him slowly at first, teasing a little and feeling him twitch with every stroke. 

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “Just like that. J-just like that,” he repeated in a strained voice. Your hands felt heavenly around his cock. The perfect amount of pressure mixed with the warmth of your hands. As you continued stroking him, you made sure to look up at him, giving him an innocent look.

“Mhm. Looking so good with my cock in your hand,” he breathed, his free hand coming to rest on your cheek, caressing your soft skin. “What magical hands you have”

The praises sent another wave of heat and wetness to your core. He might had just unlocked a new kink of yours.

You wanted to feel more of him, free him completely from the rest of his clothes, but instead, he pushed you back gently. You whined as your back hit the cold surface of the kitchen counter behind you.

“I wanna taste you first. Will you let me do this, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down your spine. 

“Yes please,” you mumbled, your voice trembling. 

Gently he started caressing your breasts, alternating between sucking and kissing them.

“Oh,” you moaned, feeling his tongue playing with your nipples before releasing them with a slight pop.

His lips began wandering lower, kissing his way down your stomach. 

Quickly, he helped you out of the rest of your clothes, hooking his fingers through the waistband of your soaked panties and pulling them down with ease. 

He licked his lips once he saw your glistening folds. 

“So wet for me, already? Just from a few words from me?” 

His words only made your clit throb more. This definitely felt more than just casual sex, considering the way he was taking care of you and preparing you.

He teasingly stroked over your folds, spreading your arousal all over your cunt. 

“What a good girl you are,” he hummed, his index finger stopping at your clit to play with it, massaging it gently. You groaned, bucking your hips into his hand, desperately trying to feel more of him.

He grinned a little. “Oh? You like being called a good girl?” 

Oh yes, yes, yes. 

“Stop being such a tease,” you pleaded, hating how needy you sounded. 

“Patience,” he mumbled as he withdrew his finger. You whined at the loss of the contact but he was already spreading your legs, bending down to replace his finger with his tongue. 

He started by licking a long stripe over your slit, causing a broken moan to escape your lips.

“You taste just as sweet as you sound,” he whispered, continuing to lick and devour you like a man starved. He alternated between kitten licks to your clit and long, intense licks between your folds, causing your legs to shake whenever he increased the pressure.

“Leon-“ You couldn’t think straight, you couldn’t even form coherent words, let alone sentences, anymore. 

He groaned, holding your legs open and adjusting his pace whenever he felt you trembling under his touch.

After a few more moments he started pushing two fingers inside you. You were sure you were about to see stars. His fingers felt so good and filling, it was just what you needed. 

“So tight, god damn,” you heard him muttering as he kept thrusting his fingers into you, while simulataneously licking and sucking on your clit. Your pleasure was building rapidly, the knot you felt in your lower stomach was already tightening. 

“How long has it been?” he whispered against you, pumping his fingers in and out while angling them to meet your sweet spot over and over again.

Your face was contorted in pleasure, your hands holding his head, gripping his hair. “Months…ago,” you admitted, feeling your orgasm approach. 

“Mhm. I will make you feel so good. I will take care of you, baby” he hummed between licks, still devouring your pussy like he couldn’t get enough of your taste. 

Your back arched off the counter, his words only increasing the pressure you felt between your legs. 

“Leon I’m-“ you moaned, chasing your sweet high.

“You’re doing so good for me. Cum on my tongue,” he urged gently, increasing the pace as he felt you clenching around his fingers. After a few more thrusts you couldn’t hold it back anymore and came. It felt like a wave crashing over you, your walls pulsating and throbbing around him. 

“That’s it” He praised you a few more times while helping you ride out your orgasm with his fingers. With a smile, he kissed his way back towards your face, gently connecting your lips again.

You eagerly kissed him back as you sat up a little, holding onto his arms for support. 

“Please…” you mumbled between kisses. 

“Please what?” Leon whispered against your lips, even though he was fully aware what you wanted. “Use your words, hm?”

“Please fuck me Leon,” you begged, sounding way too pathetic.

He chuckled. “What a filthy mouth. I like that,” he mumbled as he gave you another kiss.

You watched as he freed himself from his boxers, revealing his fully erect cock to you. He stroked himself a few times, admiring your bare form in front of him. You could see the first drops of precum glistening at the tip.

“I can’t wait….fuck….to bury myself inside you,” he hissed, giving himself another deep stroke, before he positioned himself between your legs. You wanted him so badly, it was almost unbearable.

You were about to lay back again, hold onto the edges of the counter but he stopped you.

“No, hold onto me while I fuck you,” he insisted with a growl in his voice. That alone could have made you cum again right then and there. God, this man. 

You listened and put your arms around his neck, now feeling his hot and clammy skin against yours. 

“Good girl,” he praised you again, positioning himself at your entrance and pushing his thick member inside you. 

“Fuck-,” he groaned as he buried himself to the hilt. “You feel like heaven, baby. So tight” 

Your grip on his biceps tightened. So much, that you were sure it would leave bruises the next day. 

He started with a few slow thrusts, stretching you a little and giving you time to adjust to his size. 

“Oh god yes….please don’t stop,” you moaned, meething his thrusts and enjoying the feeling of him filling you out completely. The stretch he was giving you was unbelievable. 

“I won’t stop,” he groaned, picking up the pace slightly and thrusting into you again and again. You thought him eating you out was the highlight of your evening but no, him inside you was better than anything you could have imagined. 

“Did you think I didn’t see you? Watching me? The eyes you were giving me?” he said through gritted teeth as he fucking you against the counter. Harder and deeper.

“God that turned me on. You-“ Another thrust. 

“And your eyes. Your innocent smile. Your remarks,” he continued, his fingers wandering between your bodies to toy with your clit again.

You gasped as you heard his words, combined with the sensation of his fingers and his cock pushing into you. It was almost too much. Almost. 

“Leon,” you sighed, followed by a broken moan escaping your lips.

“Say it again. Say my name again,” he whispered in your ear as his thrusts grew harder, more intense. 

You repeated his name, letting your head fall back. The dark room was filled with the sounds of your skin clapping together, combined with your heavy breathing and moans.

His fingers rubbed tight circles on your clit and you felt yourself clenching around him again. It wouldn’t take long for your second orgasm to wash over you, you were sure of that. 

“You’re getting so tight around me…..shit. You’re feeling so good. Come on my cock, sweetheart” he urged, picking up the pace once more. 

After a few more thrusts you felt yourself coming again. You cried out, riding the waves of your orgasm out. You felt your walls fluttering around him, clenching tightly, as if you didn’t want to let him go ever again. “Yes….yes….yes Leon,” you sobbed, letting yourself get carried away with the pleasurable wave.

Leon cursed a few times under his breath, his hands behind your back held you in place and gave you support as he kept moving. His thrusts grew erratic. The constractions of your walls sent him over the edge completely. He couldn’t hold back any longer. 

He buried his face into your neck as you felt him twitch inside you.

“Fuck yes” A guttural groan escaped his lips as he spilled everything inside you. He fucked you through it, enjoying the fluttering of your walls that only further increased the intensity of his own orgasm. His fingers dug into your flesh, holding you against him as a few lazy thrusts followed. 

For a moment there was complete silence. He stayed in you for a while, letting you both catch your breath and come back to your senses again. Your thoughts were still all over the place.You were sure you were completely drunk. Not from the alcohol, but from his cock. 

“Everything okay?” he whispered, pulling back a little to study your face. 

You nodded, blissed out, trapped in the sweet feeling of the afterglow.

“Let me get you. You did so well,” he whispered, kissing your temple before picking you up from the kitchen counter. You instantly wrapped your arms and legs around him, your arousal probably making a mess on him. 

He gently carried you to his bedroom and placed you on his large bed. Still shaky and slightly overwhelmed, you held onto him. 

You were unsure of what to do now. This was not regular sex. Not a relationship. So, would he expect you to clean yourself up, get dressed and just go? 

He watched you as your eyes wandered around the room, visibly overwhelmed with the situation.

“Hey, look at me,” he said softly and reached for your chin, making you look at him. “You can stay the night. I won’t throw you out,” he chuckled. 

“You can also use the shower and I will get you a water. Or whatever you need,” he said.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking down as a slight blush crept onto your cheeks. 

“I just….you know. Never done something like this before. This one-time thing…” you tried to explain awkwardly.

“Yeah. It’s not something I normally do either,” he winked, stroking your cheek gently. “But I guess I couldn’t resist you,” he continued in a hushed voice, his eyes fixated on your flushed face.

You looked at him again. His eyes looked softer, brighter and somehow so gentle, that it sent bu- 

You stopped your thoughts before they could drift into a territory you wouldn’t want them to wander yet. You just met. This was just a hookup, right?

After taking your shower, you tip-toed back into the bedroom. Leon had wordlessly handed you some of his clothes for you to sleep in, before you both got into bed. It still felt weird, but not uncomfortable. 

“Thank you,” you said with a smile, your eyes growing heavy from exhausting. The last thing you remembered was him putting the covers over you and kissing your cheek.

The next day you were woken up by the sound of your alarm. You blinked a few times, groggily and half-asleep looking for your phone. You extended your hand, trying to reach your nightstand, when you were met with two arms trying to stop you from further moving. 

“Are you trying to attack me?” A low voice chuckled. You gasped, opening your eyes fully and seeing Leon lying next to you, completely unfazed. The memories from last night came flooding back. You weren’t in your bed, this was not your alarm and this was definitely not your apartment. Fuck.

“Oh shit” you cursed, sitting up straight and frantically looking around the room to find your clothes. 

“Well good morning to you too,” Leon said sarcastically, watching you, as you stumbled out of the bed like a maniac. 

“I’m sorry…shit….I mean. Today is my first day at work! I can’t be late and I definitely can’t go there looking like that,” you said hurriedly, pointing at your messy self. 

Leons gaze softened, as he carefully got up and approached you. 

“Alright, alright. Take a deep breath. I can drive you home, you get yourself ready and if it’s easier for you, I can just drop you off on my way to my work. I’m sure it’s not far-,” he explained calmly but you didn’t let him finish. 

“No!” you said way too loud, way too nervous. “I mean…no thank you,” you repeated. 

He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Okay. Seems to be a pretty mysterious job you got yourself there,” he chuckled. If only he knew. 

“Let’s just say it’s….classified,” you mumbled, walking over to the living room, where all your clothes were laying scattered around. 

“Interesting,” Leon answered as he watched you gathering all your clothes. “Let’s just take a shower, I hop in my clothes and I’ll drop you off at your apartment,” he offered and this time you nodded. 

“Thank you, Leon,” you said, a little softer this time.

The drive to your apartment was quiet. No one dared to say anything about last night. It wasn’t awkward. It just seemed like there was nothing left to say, at least for now. 

“Alright,” Leon sighed as he stopped in front of your apartment. “There we are. I hope you make it on time and you have a great first day,” he said, looking at you with a warm smile on his lips. You couldn’t deny that you felt something inside. Something warm and fluttering. You didn’t dare to name it, but you were sure the last time you feeling like this, was way back in highschool.

“Thank you. I hope you make it on time too,” you answered thankfully. 

“Ah, don’t worry,” he chuckled. “Oh, and let me give you my number. Maybe we can….catch up again? At the bar or at my place?” he offered. Secretely, you hoped he meant more than just sex. Even though the sex had been great. 

“I’d like that,” you smiled, giving him a slight peck on the cheek before rushing out to your apartment. You waved at him one last time, before he drove off again.

After making yourself ready and putting on something appropriate that didn’t scream walk of shame, you quickly drove off to the DSO building. The parking lot was already packed. You weren’t really late, but later than you originally had planned. 

After passing a few cars, you noticed a polished black Porsche in one of the parking lots. You didn’t have time to further stare at it, but it looked exactly like Leons car. 

Must have been some form of frequency illusion, where you suddenly started encountering the same things everywhere. At least that’s what you told yourself.

The nice lady at the reception brought you to a secluded meeting room, where you met your supervisor. He was an older man, a little gruff maybe, but very professional. 

He started with the formalities, explaining to you how the first few weeks would go, what would be expected of you, and that you would soon be sent on your first mission. With your new partner.

“Speaking of your new partner, he should be here in any minute,” your supervisor said and as if on cue the door opened. You looked to the door, blinking a few times as if you were transported into some kind of alternative reality. The man walking through the door was no other than Leon. Your hookup from last night.

Your mouth went dry, for a moment it felt like your heart stopped beating. No, no, no. This couldn’t be. No. This was just a joke, right? Or better: a nightmare. 

Leon stopped for a moment, just looking at you. It looked like he was trying to connect the dots just like you were trying to do. He stepped in, walking over to you with an unreadable expression. He was better at hiding the shock than you were, that’s for sure. 

“May I introduce you to your new partner? Senior Agent Leon S. Kennedy,” your supervisor said, gesturing to the man with the piercing blue eyes in front of you. 

The same blue eyes you stared into the previous night. 

For a few moments there was complete silence. Leon was the first to move by extending his hand to you, followed by a curt nod.

“Leon,” he said in a professional voice.

As if in a trance you returned the handshake, muttering your name while doing so. 

Your supervisor looked back and forth between you and Leon, sensing the weird atmosphere you were creating. 

“Alright… I leave you guys to get to know each other,” he said, nodding at each of you, before leaving the conference room. Poor man was completely unaware of the fact that you had been fucked against the kitchen counter by your new partner last night. No, worse:your superior. Your senior agent. Heat flooded your cheeks as you replayed the memories in your head. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to see him in the eyes right away. Instead, you averted your gaze and looked down. 

“Well….” Leon began hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck. “That explains a few things,” he said with dry humour in his voice. 

You looked back at him.

“That’s what you meant with saving the world and stuff,” you stated.

“And that’s why you didn’t want me to drop you off at work,” he continued, a faint smile playing on the corner of his lips. 

“And that’s your Porsche outside in the parking lot” 

You didn’t even know why you were bothering with stating the obvious. Maybe because you still hoped that this was all just a bad joke.

“Correct,” he nodded. 

“Oh my god,” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands and putting your elbows on the table in front of you. 

“Yeah….that’s exactly what you called me yesterday,” he grinned. 

“Leon! Do you think that’s funny?” You asked, looking back up from your hands. 

“Guess that’s my way to deal with situations like that,” he laughed dryly, sitting himself beside you. The smile from his lips softened.

“Okay…look. Yesterday we technically weren’t partners. I wasn’t your superior. That means nothing wrong happened,” he explained, trying to stay rational. “But now….it looks a little different,” he continued.

You looked back at him, waiting for his next words. 

“From now on, this can’t happen again. The rules are very clear and strict and if we both want to keep our jobs….our relationship needs to stay professional,” he explained. It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

You nodded. You knew it was the right decision. The logical one. Still, you felt a sting in your heart.

“Yes. Of course. You are right,” you said calmly, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice. 

He took a deep breath, trying to rationalize his thoughts, before returning his attention to you.

“On the brighter side: we kind of already know that we’re really good at…teamwork,” he grinned. 

You rolled your eyes. “Leon you can’t be serious!” 

How was he still pulling out these one-liners?

“Better get used to it, partner,” he winked, standing up and gesturing toward the door. “Now…let me give you a tour”

You took a deep breath. This was going to be one hell of an onboarding process, you thought to yourself, following him out of the room.

Final Note: I hope you enjoyed it! As always, feedback is very much appreciated and means the world to me! No matter if its comments, likes, reblogs. I appreciate the support so much. 💗

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Tim seemed to share your frustration, “It’s a shame.”

You scoffed, leaning lazily on the edge of the rooftop as you watch the drones circle the streets below you. “I don’t know what Bruce expects from us. We could be out helping him, but instead he sticks you in lab duty, and me on surveillance duty.” You sat yourself on the edge of the rooftop, feet dangling over the side of the building. “I haven’t surveyed anything we haven’t already been seeing. Bombs, drones, more bombs, even more drones. It’s an endless cycle.”

Tim chuckled lowly, as if saying “You’re telling me.” The two of you sat in silence for a long moment before you stood up. “I’m done with this.” You step off the ledge and back to the rooftop. “If there’s an emergency feel free to contact me, but otherwise I’m going to actually try and get some sleep for once.”

Tim hummed, “Wow, sleep? Hardly know her.” He drawled teasingly, knowing neither of you have slept at all for the past day. It’d been a long night. Ever since he showed up, none of you have truly relaxed. “Got more important things to do then survey the city?”

You pursed your lips, “Yeah, sleep.” You fidgeted with your grapnel gun before launching it, “I don’t understand him sometimes. We’re of no use to anyone like this.” The wind whips past your ears as you moved.

He huffed, “Tell Bruce that. He’s insistent that I work on figuring out this cure when we have bigger issues currently out there.”

You frowned, “If you want, when I wake up we can switch shifts?” You offered hesitantly, landing onto the balcony of your apartment. You didn't hear anybody inside, and you took this as your cue to go inside and quickly change out of your suit.

Jason has always worked late nights for as long as you knew him. It was, frankly, a miracle considering you weren’t sure how you’d explain your nightly escapades. It wasn’t a conversation you were ever going to look forward to, so you delayed it for as long as possible.

“I’ll be alright.” Tim sighed, “I’ll probably just nap on the computer or something.”

You sighed, “Tim.”

“Don’t.” He started, dry amusement evident in his tone despite the snappy words. “I will not hear the ‘Sleep is important’ lecture from you when you’re just as bad as I am.”

You chuckled, “Yeah, yeah, touché." You tone became more serious, “Just don’t forget to take care of yourself, okay?”

He hummed noncommittally, but you know he’s listening. “Of course, have a good night.”

You smiled, “You too.” You took out your comm, putting it in its case before stashing it away with your suit.

Based on Jason’s usual schedule, he’ll be home in a couple hours, which gave you plenty of time to prepare for his arrival.

While you could've just hoped that Jason would never come home early while you were still out, you had decided against that early on. It was too risky, and it was better to just provide and potential explanation why. You had told him that you also worked late nights, and would be out at around the same times he was.

As you go through your post-patrol routine, prepping for bed, you find yourself conflicted. Every night you look at Jason’s side of the bed and wonder if this is the night you tell him. You’ve rehearsed the conversation dozens, if not hundreds of times.

Not once have you taken action to tell him though. A mixture of apprehension and fear of judgment always win, leading to you telling yourself the same lie every night: “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll tell him.”

You never have, and it’s been long enough where you question if you ever will. The longer you wait, the worse it gets, and not just because it’s a big secret. How does it somehow get worse?

You have concluded that Jason does not like Batman. Hell, you would go so far as to say he loathes the vigilante. While you may not always work with Batman, you do it often enough to the point where it's well known that you have some sort of association with him. It was apart of the (many) excuses you used in order to stall your inevitable confession. You needed to get him “open” to the idea of you working with the hero he detests. Every time you “innocently” inquired why he hates the Bat, Jason would get this far off look, his eyes narrowing in what looked like inner turmoil.

You stopped asking after he snapped at you about it.

In his defense, you had asked the question multiple times in the past (all with no success). You figured that if you kept prying at it, he’d eventually relent. However, you had clearly underestimated how personal his hatred was for Batman. He had left angry that night, fists clenched and whitened at his sides as he threw the door open. You had watched him leave regretfully.

It was a bad night.

That was the night that Scarecrow had first leaked his new Fear Gas to the diner. Millions of people fled the city, and you had felt a sense of dread settle into your chest. You knew, at that moment, that it was going to be a long few nights. That initial night was when you had first heard his name: the “Arkham Knight.”

You only recently started operating in Gotham, so you were accustomed to being unfamiliar with some of the household names in this business. Bruce had (very) reluctantly allowed you to operate in Gotham on your own. He let you do your own thing as long as you agreed to keep him in the loop if anything major happened. This whole Scarecrow and Arkham Knight mess fell into that category, and so the two of you came to an agreement to work with one another for the time being. You had hoped that, with how long Bruce has been doing this, he’d recognize the Arkham Knight. It turned out that not a single one of you had previously heard the name, and if Bruce didn’t know it, that didn’t bode well for the rest of you.

It didn’t take long for you to commit his name to memory. Soon it became the one thing that you focused on. Figuring out who he is. You and Alfred worked on it the most, sifting through files upon files of patients at Arkham who may have a vendetta against Batman (no small number), yet none fit the profile.

“You’re still here?”

You— the trained vigilante you are— jumped as Jason walks into your shared bedroom. He looked worn, just like every night he had left previously. However, he looked considerably more unkempt this time, and he had a stiffness about him. “Why wouldn’t I be? I do live here, you know.” You grinned at him as you made your way into your shared bed.

His mouth parted, and then he frowned. “I just… You know with all the shit that’s going on—” he tilted his head lazily to the window, “—I thought you’d leave.”

You chuckled, more out of surprise than amusement, “You thought I’d leave without telling you?”

He offered a strained smile, silently walking to the bathroom.

You blinked, frowning. Jason was never the most talkative person, and you were content to be the one that carried the conversation between the two in the beginning. As time went on, he opened up more, and more. It felt strange to have him be quiet again, and you did not like it one bit.

“Jay?” You called out his name, standing up from the bed. You knocked gently on the open bathroom door and find him looking at his reflection on the mirror. His eyes snap up on the reflective surface, meeting your own. “You know I wouldn’t leave you, right?” Steadily, you walked up behind him, adjusting your position before leaning your head onto his shoulder and wrapping your arms around him. You don’t squeeze tightly, giving him the opportunity to push you off if he doesn’t want you touching him. He relaxed faintly under your touch, and you basked in his warmth. He’s always warm when he returns from his nights out.

The two of you were silent for a moment, and you looked down at his hands, rough and scarred. Gently, you caressed the skin, and he shuddered lightly. “I…” His sounded conflicted, and you turned your gaze to face him. He didn't return the look. “I think you should leave.”

You froze, staring unblinkingly at his face. “Leave?” You tested the words in your mouth, they felt unfamiliar. You’re used to never leaving this city, even in times of crisis. Back before you started dating Jason, you had no reason not to stay. You were more useful aiding Gotham. You never had somebody to prioritize over the city, not until Jason. And if this is what Jason wanted, then you’ll figure out a way to apologize to Bruce later. You haven't even told him you have a boyfriend. “If that makes you feel better we can leave.”

Jason slowly maneuvered his way out of your grasp. “No,” he shook his head, brows downturned, “I have to stay.”

Your lips parted in surprise, “Jason,” you began slowly, “it’s not worth your life to stay in this city.”

He didn't react to that comment, “I can’t risk you being here when it all goes to shit.” His voice is stronger, colder, calculating. It’s not a tone you hear from him often. Sure, he’s gets mad or frustrated, but this?

You shook your head, “Batman will figure—”

“—Batman,” the words were spat with such venom that your eyes widened, taken aback, "won’t be able to stop this. This is beyond him.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “How can you be so sure?”

He turned his gaze to you, his eyes set and narrowed. His next words were low, quiet, not out of uncertainty, but more akin to a promise to himself: “He won’t be walking away unscathed after this.”

You took a deep breath, “That…” you swallow, unsure how to proceed, “sounds like a threat to him.”

His expression was unreadable, “He should take it as one. This isn’t a battle he will win.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off again. “Leaving is your best option. It’s the safest option.” His eyes softened slightly as he raised a hand to your face, brushing your skin.

You grabbed his hand, “Then let’s leave together. I don’t understand why you feel obligated to stay here.”

He exhaled, shaking his head, “No, no. Don’t you get it? I can’t stay. I have…” He looked into your eyes, trying desperately to get you to understand him. It pained him to look at you, knowing he couldn't ever share his reason why he must stay. “…I have unfinished business here.”

You scoff, “Jason, whatever it is can wait. With all that’s going on with Scarecrow and the Arkha—”

“—You can’t be here for it.” He grounded out, “Please,” he tone turned into a imploring whisper. He shifted his grasp from your hands to your entire forearm. Supporting the weight with his own arms, he met your gaze, “I know— I’m aware I’m giving shitty reasoning, but I cannot do what I have to do if I know you’re in the city and could be in danger. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I heard you got caught in some crossfire.”

You shook your head at him, “Jason— I— How can I know you won’t get caught in the crossfire?”

His gaze turned steely, “I won’t.” He must have sensed your uncertainty, “I will— fuck— I can call you every night. I can give you my location. I will personally find you once I’ve done what I need to do. We can go wherever you want after this. Just please,” he gently raised a hand back up to your face, “please get out while you still can.”

You stared into his eyes, his despair nearly appearing manic. You shifted your focus to his hand cradling your chin, then to him. “I don’t want— I can’t abandon you Jay.”

He vehemently shook his head, “And you won’t. I know you aren’t. I’m asking you to. It’s all I’m asking of you, get yourself out of this mess before it gets worse.”

Your heart settled, and you take a deep breath. Slowly, you remove yourself from his hold, crossing your arms. “You’ll call?”

He nodded emphatically, “Every morning, every night— I’ll— hell— I’ll even answer during work.”

You slowly nodded, “If anything happens—” he opened his mouth to cut you off, but you glared at him, “—do not cut me off again." He swallowed before nodding. “If anything happens. I want you to leave the city at that very moment. I don’t care if your ‘business is unfinished.’ I don’t want you here.”

He was silent for a long moment.

“Jason.” You narrowed your eyes at him, “Please don’t make this more difficult than it already is.”

Hesitantly, he nodded, “Yeah,” he sounded breathless, “yeah, that’s… fair.”

You sighed, “You better mean that. Otherwise I’ll come back to the city just to drag you out.”

He looked immensely concerned by your words, “…You won’t do that.” At your unwavering expression he coughed lightly, “Please don’t do that.” He amended his statement.

You smiled humorlessly, “Then don’t give me a reason to.” You turned to walk out of the bathroom. Just as you were about to get past the threshold, you placed your hand on the doorframe, turning to face him again.

“Promise me you’ll be careful, Jay.”

His eyes lifted from the ground to meet your own. Still conflicted, but lighter than they were when he entered.

“I promise.” He vowed.

“Wait, you’ve been staying where?”

You lean back in your seat at the Batcomputer, looking at Tim projected on the monitor. “Well, Bruce is out right now. He hasn’t been home for days.” You shrug, “I do not understand what keeps that man going.” You mutter to yourself, shaking your head. “Anyway, I thought I'd just camp in the cave for the next few nights. It’s not like I could actually leave the city.” You sigh, reclining back in the chair.

“Remind me why you even considered doing that? We’re already stretched thin as it is.” Tim frowns.

You look up to Tim, his frown clearly projected on the screen. “Uh…” You cough, “Reasons.”

He walks off screen. “Ah, yes, reasons, very descriptive.” You can hear him rolling his eyes. “You know, it’s really none of my business—”

“—it really isn’t—”

“but it might feel better if you get it off your chest?” Tim returns, offering a small smile. You can vaguely see him working with some blood samples on the left side of the screen.

You twist in your chair, shifting your position to get a better look at him. You lazily rest one leg over the other. “I…” The problem with Tim’s offer is that you do want to talk about it. There’s not many people who could understand your inner conflict, and Tim would be one of the few.

“Don’t feel pressured. It’s just…” he sighs, “Don’t stress yourself too much. That’s Bruce’s job, we don’t need to do it to ourselves too.”

You chuckle, tapping a finger on the armrest of your chair contemplatively. “If… If I tell you—” you scoot closer to the screen, “you gotta swear not to tell Bruce.” You pause for a moment before continuing, “And you can’t look into it.”

Tim raises an eyebrow, but he eventually nods. “If that makes you feel better, then I suppose I can keep a secret.”

You brace yourself, looking around the cave for any third party listeners. Hesitantly, you clear your throat, “I… Hypothetically… have a boyfriend.”

Tim doesn’t outwardly react other than switching his focus from the samples to you. “How hypothetical are we talking?”

“…Not very hypothetical,” you smile sheepishly.

Tim gives you a sympathetic look, and slowly nods. “How long?”

You grimace, “About a year and a half?” You do a so-so motion.

His mouth parts, “Oh,” he blinks, dumbfounded, “so this has been a while.”

“Yeah…” You trail off.

“And Bruce has no idea?”

“No…” You trail off. “Probably not? I think I’ve done a pretty good job hiding it.”

He nods, “Alright, wow. You know the boyfriend thing? Kinda expected that.” He holds his hands up in surrender at your slightly offended look. “It’s not a bad thing. I’m just surprised you haven’t… you know.” He vaguely gestures.

You blink slowly, “No, I don’t. Elaborate, Tim, please.”

He purses his lips, “Uh— Actually forget I said anything.” He pretends to busy himself with the samples. “So, uh, boyfriend huh? Got a name?”

“Most people do, yeah.” You nod, grabbing a pen on the desk and loosely spinning it.

His shoulders sag, and he places the blood samples down. “Oh come on, I already said I won’t tell, and I won’t look into it.”

You stare at him for a moment, assessing him for any lying tells. “You will not say a word or look it up.”

He groans, “Yes, otherwise you’ll kill me or something I don’t know. Honestly, you might have to wait to see if we survive these next few nights in order to do that.” He gives you his full attention, blood sample forgotten.

You snort humorlessly, that's a bit too realistic for you right now. “Alright,” you sigh, “his name is Jason.”

Tim blinks at you, and neither of you say anything for a bit. "Hello?” You hesitantly wave at him. Did the connection go out?

He shakes his head, “No— sorry— yeah, I’m here.” He nods carefully.

You raise an eyebrow, “Something… wrong with that?” You never really heard of Tim having something against the name “Jason,” but you’ve heard stranger things.

“No. I just—” he scratches his neck, “I know somebody by that name… Well—” he frowns, looking off into the distance before shaking his head, “technically I never knew him. I just heard nearly everything about him.”

You raise an eyebrow, a silent inquiry.

He looks down at the table in front of him before looking up again. “He was the— uh— previous Robin.”

You tilt your head, furrowing your eyebrows, “I thought that was Dick?”

He nods, “Dick was the first, but he wasn’t my predecessor.” He crosses his arms, leaning onto the table. “You know that one Robin suit in the cave?”

“Oh,” your eyes flickering over to the Robin suit displayed on instinct. “I… never knew.”

Tim shrugs, “He doesn’t talk about it much. I only know so much cause he kept calling me ‘Jason’ in the beginning.” You wince. You couldn’t help but feel sympathy for everybody involved. Losing Robin, losing a kid like that. It must have been hard on anybody. Then to constantly be compared to him.

“I’m sorry, Tim.” You apologize, voice quiet.

He shakes his head, “I never knew him… Not really anyway. It can't mourn him the same way Bruce, Alfred, or even Dick did. It just wasn’t the same.”

You nod, “Yeah.” You mumble, eyeing the costume.

He exhales, grabbing the blood samples, “Didn’t meant to dampen the mood.” He smiles apologetically at you. “The name just reminded me of him, that’s all.” His begins to work offscreen. “He treat you well?”

You nod, “He… He loves me. I know that,” you fidget with your fingers.

Tim leans back into frame, “But..?”

You exhale, feeling exhausted just remembering the argument. “He… He’s being a fucking idiot.”

Tim snorts, “How so?”

“He’s the one who told me to evacuate the city.” You prop an arm up on the desk, “At first I had actually considered the idea— don’t give me that look.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Tim grumbles.

“I wasn’t actually going to vanish, Tim. Why do you think I’m here and not at my apartment with him?” You rub your temples. “I would’ve figured something out. I just— I thought,” you exhale, frustrated that the words aren’t coming out as intended, “I thought that if he cared about me so much, he’d understand that I care about him just as much.”

“Does he not?” Tim asks, frowning as he sets the blood sample to spin in a centrifuge.

“He was insistent that he stay in the city. Said he has ‘unfinished business.’” You do air quotes, “Apparently, that is more important than his safety.”

“Did you ask him what it was?” Tim asks, mirroring your pose, propping his face onto his hand.

You slowly shake your head. “He… I don’t know.” You groan. “He knew it sounded stupid, and he told me that, but he never actually told me what it was.”

“Hm,” Tim hums disapprovingly. “I know you may not want to hear it, but that sounds—“

“—Suspicious as hell.” You nod, “I know, Tim. I’m not stupid.”

He holds his hands up in a surrender, “I’m just saying. ‘Unfinished business’ could be a way of saying he works for Scarecrow or just maybe he works for—”

“—the Arkham Knight.” You both chorus. You mouth parts as you feel your heart begin to pound against your chest.

Tim nods, “Look at us,” he chuckles, “teamwork at its finest. Finishing each other’s sentences.” He gestures between you both.

You don’t share his joy at coming to the same conclusion, “I don’t— Tim, it’s not fair of me to accuse him of something that drastic just because he won’t leave the city.”

Tim leans forward, hands propped up, “I don’t want to bash your boyfriend, but can you truly come up with another reason why he’d want to stay here with everything that’s going on.”

You remained silent.

“I’m sure he’s a great guy,” Tim tries, voice artificially optimistic. At your distressed sound, he panics slightly, “I can’t imagine you’d have subjected yourself with a relationship with an asshole for that long, so I genuinely don’t think he is a bad guy. He’s likely in a similar situation to many other criminals: forced into an awful situation, and forced to make it work.”

“I could help him though!” You groan.

“Have you told him about…” he gestures around loosely, “all of this?”

You purse your lips, shaking your head, “No…” you sigh. “I know it’s hypocritical, but it’s just—” you huff, laying your head into the crooks of your elbow on the desk. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s my issue to solve. I’ll probably tell him after all of this.” Your voice is muffled from speaking into your own arm. “I… I’ll just make sure to keep tabs on him while he’s here.” You sit up straight. “We got bigger issues to solve than my relationship issues.”

Tim removes the blood sample from the centrifuge, “Any updates on who the Arkham Knight could be?”

You shake your head, “Nope,” you pop the ‘p,’ “Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if this guy materialized out of thin air just to mess with us, or Bruce I guess.”

Tim raises his eyebrows, huffing as if considering the probability of that. “I wouldn’t even be surprised at this point.”

You chuckle humorlessly. “I’ve checked everything. Past Arkham patients, inmates at Blackgate, hell— I’ve begun to widen the search outside of Gotham and Blüdhaven. There’s nothing on this guy. He’s a ghost.”

Tim frowns, “You’re telling me somebody capable of leading the militia has just been hiding out in public then?”

You rest your head on your hand, rubbing your temples. The stress of figuring out who the Arkham Knight is has really been getting to you. “Seems like it." You admit. “I think I’ve just accepted that we’re not going to know who this guy is unless he reveals himself to us.”

Tim sighs, “Then let’s hope that it’s sooner rather than later.”

You can hear your heart beating.

It pounds in your ears as you watch the militia henchman walk over the grate your hiding under. The Arkham Knight had been setting up these bases across the city, and Bruce had tasked you with dismantling as many of them as you could.

Easier said than done.

“Have you heard about the calls the Knight has been taking?” One of the henchman asks his friend.

You crawl as close as you can to them in order to hear them better. “The Knight? Hell, I barely see the guy. Only times I’ve seen ‘im are when the Bat is involved.”

The first henchman huffs, “Well,” he looks around, checking to see if anybody is listening, “rumor has it, that he’s spent the past few nights callin’ someone. He doesn’t go out on jobs ‘til after the call.”

You watch as the second guy lowers his gun, “Eh, it’s probably ‘bout a job. You guys are looking into it too much.”

The first guy shakes his head, “Nah, man. We thought that too. Then one of the lieutenants accidentally walked in during one of these calls.” He huffs, “The Knight calmly ended the call, then absolutely lost it.”

“Did the guy knock? Manners are important.” The second guy asks dryly.

“I dunno,” the first guy shrugs, “but apparently what he heard? The Knight was talking to some woman.”

The second guy snickers, “Oooh,” he mockingly coos, “the Knight got a fuckin’ girlfriend? You sure we’re talkin’ about the same guy?”

The first guy huffs, as if offended. “Whatever, man. I’m just tellin’ you what I heard. Now, don’t go blabbing your mouth to everyone alright? Apparently, the Knight threatened the lieutenant, saying he’d kill the guy if he said anything about the call.”

It’s silent for a moment.

“So why the fuck would you tell me? I don’t wanna die!” The second guy whisper-yells.

“I just said don’t blab. If ya don’t blab then you’re fine.” The first guy waves him off.

“Yeah, but what if somebody is listening?” The second guy continues to whisper, eyes flickering around apprehensively.

Yeah, it’d be crazy if somebody was listening.

“It’s just us, buddy. Batman’s busy trying to get Ivy’s aid or some shit. It’s just us tonight.” The first guy pats his friend’s shoulder.

“Don’t he have those sidekicks of his running around?” The second guy gestures loosely.

“Eh, what’re the chances they’ll show up? The Bat is the only one we really need to worry about.” You quietly exit the grate, crouching behind a concrete wall.

“Yeah, I guess,” the second guy responds, unconvinced. You carefully sneak behind the two of them. “I suppose you’re right. What’re are the chances that one of the Bats will decide that we’re worth— OH SHI—”

You slam their heads together before knocking them both unconscious. You wipe imaginary dust off your hand, grabbing the controller from the pockets of the left guy and smashing it beneath your feet. The second you destroy it, the walls around you come down.

You open your comms, raising your wrist as Alfred's projection appears, “Another base dismantled.”

“Copy that, Madame.” Alfred gives a resolute nod.

“Also, I may have gotten more info on the Knight.” You lightly kick the militia goon, checking if he’s fully unconscious.

“Oh?” Alfred prompts.

You can’t help the grin on your face, “Apparently, the Arkham Knight has a girlfriend.”

Alfred is silent for a moment, “A… girlfriend?” He sounds baffled.

“Yeah, so I was listening to these militia guys talk, and apparently he has a girlfriend.” You sit on the ledge of the rooftop, looking down on the tanks patrolling the streets. “So now we’re dealing with a masked rogue working with Scarecrow, that has a grudge against Batman, that has no prior incidents actually recorded at Arkham, AND has a girlfriend.” You huff. “Gotta admit, the guy is one hell of a multitasker.”

“We can attempt to narrow the search, but I regret to inform you that I find it unlikely that any results with turn up with a real answer.” Alfred informs you, frowning.

“Yeah, I know, I’m just… I guess I was surprised. It’s the first piece of information we’ve caught on the Arkham Knight’s personal life.” You sigh, standing up. Alfred hums in acknowledgement. “Anyway, I’ll be heading to another base. I’ll keep you updated, Alfred.” You nod at him.

“Please remember to be careful.” Alfred nods at you in return.

You smile, “When am I not?” At his exasperated sigh, you chuckle. “I won’t get killed, Alfred. You needn’t worry.”

He sighs, “I always do.” The two of you sit in silence before he hangs up.

You slowly lower your wrist, staring over the city. The neon red lights of the drones shine through the alleys below, searching. Searching for Batman in particular, but willing to take any target that dares to venture into their line of sight. Occasionally, you’ll see a criminal duck into an alley, attempting to get out of the militia’s path. For once, you cannot blame them for trying to run.

It’s been one night since you “left” Gotham.

You had called Jason last night, standing on the balcony of Wayne Tower. Staring down at the city as it’s overrun by more militia and rogues than you’ve seen in a while.

“Hey,” You spoke softly into the phone. The rain attempted to drown out the sound of your voice, but Jason could hear it clear as day.

“Hey,” Jason started, “you got out of the city okay?”

You smile sadly, “I texted you the second I got out.” You had texted him six hours after you had reached the Manor. You made sure to scramble your location so that he couldn’t track you to Bruce’s.

“Yeah, I know.” He hummed “I wanted to hear it from you.”

You chuckled, “I’m alright, Jay. How about you?”

He’s silent for a moment, “I’m managing.”

You sighed, leaning against the railing, “Do you think that you’ll finish up soon?” You asked quietly.

He sighed, “No… Not for a couple of days at least.” You heard the creak of a door open in the background. Jason inhales so sharply that it was actually audible. “Hey, sweetheart,” he started slowly, and you can hear the sound of a chair squeak in the background, “somethin’ just came up. I can call you in a minute, you mind if I deal with this real quick?” Well, that wasn’t a very long call.

“It’s okay, Jay. Go and deal with it. We can always call tomorrow. I know you’re busy.” You smiled ruefully.

“Are you sure?” His voice became rougher, and you could tell somebody is in the room with him.

“It’s okay, Jay.” You chuckled, “The quicker you get this done, the quicker we can see each other again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” his words were a whisper meant for you. “Alright, I’ll call you tomorrow." He paused, and his next words were somehow softer than the last. “I love you more than anything. You know that, right?”

You bite your tongue to keep from grinning into the phone, “I love you more, Jay.”

He chuckles humorlessly, “Doubt it.”

You roll your eyes, “Alright, alright. I’ll let you think that.” You pushed yourself off the railing, walking into Lucius’ office with a nod of acknowledgement for the man. “Good luck with whatever you’re dealing with.”

“He’s gonna need it.” Jason hung up the call, and you put your phone away.

You had called him for a quick check up in the morning, but he seemed even more busy than last night. You didn’t want to bother him too much, and accepted the quick phone call, not questioning any of the oddities that came with it. You were just glad to hear he was okay.

You pull your phone out, opening Jason’s contact, thumb hovering over the call button. The rain patters onto the screen, causing the pixels to warp slightly underneath the liquid. You wipe it, gloves smearing the droplets off the screen.

Is it too late to call him? Is he busy again? What if he’s out working? What if he’s working for them?

You shiver from the cold, raising your knees to your chest to conserve warmth. Your about to lower your thumb to press that button, when you hear the militia begin to speak into your comms. Bruce had given you the frequency they were on, and you had been listening to them all night.

“Got her located in sight, Boss.”

You whip around, narrowing your eyes as you notice a helicopter in the distance approach you. What the hell?

Narrowing your eyes, you stand your ground as the helicopter closes in on you. It turns to open the doors that are now facing you. Half a dozen militia henchmen jump out, landing in front of you. You ready yourself for a fight, fists raised, “Oh, now you decide I’m worth the effort?”

“Take her out!” The medic yells from the back, and you maneuver your way around the other members in order to take him out first. Bruce has mentioned once or twice how annoying they could be, and you didn’t want to find out.

Standing up from the now unconscious body, you use your peripherals to catalog the other members of the group. They’ve got training, but they’re not nearly as good as some of the simulations Bruce has made you fight for practice. You focus on one at a time, incapacitating them one-by-one. Attack when you can, but focus on keeping yourself safe first. By the time you finish. You look back up to the helicopter, gesturing your hands out as if asking “Got anymore than that?” Was it smart to taunt the heavily armed military group occupying your city? Probably not, but to be fair...

You didn’t expect the Arkham Knight to jump out of the helicopter next.

You immediately crouch into a fighting position, narrowing your eyes at him. This is the first time you’ve seen the man up close in person and not just from Bruce’s recordings. “You aren’t who I was expecting.” You keep your tone steady, quips dying as you realize the severity of your circumstances

“I could say the same about you.” He strolls casually to the left, and you begin to circle one another. “I knew that the Bat had gotten a new sidekick.” He pauses, lazily pointing his gun at you, as if you aren’t a threat, “I didn’t expect him to get two new sidekicks.”

Now, you haven’t been doing this for as long as Bruce, but you wouldn’t consider yourself “new” to this anymore. Even if you were “new,” the Knight said that there were two new sidekicks. The newest after you is Tim, and he is certainly not new to this.

“New?” You ask cautiously.

The Arkham Knight laughs, the robotic sound sending an uneasy shiver down your spine. “Still can’t figure it out?” He slowly approaches you, and you reach your hand back to your utility belt, ready to attack. “All of these allies and nothing to show for them, huh?” He continues to laugh, and instead of being scared, the sound begins to grate on your nerves.

“Don’t pretend to know anything about us.” You glare at him.

“Oh, I don’t have to pretend. I know how he thinks. I know how he operates. I’ve known longer than you have, and longer than you ever will.” The Knight stops in front of you, the lights on his mask pulse as you stare at it.

“Is that a threat?” Your words are quiet, stiff.

The Knight shrugs, “Take it how you will. I don’t care. Either way, I won’t hesitate to stop you if you attempt to meddle with my operations any more.” He points his gun beneath your chin, and you swallow nervously. The metal doesn't touch you, though. You don’t break eye contact with him.

“Then why hesitate now?” You grit your teeth.

He chuckles quietly, “Don’t mistake this for hesitation.” He presses the barrel of the gun up against your chin, causing you to jerk back instinctively, “This is your warning, your only warning. I don’t care what your partnership with him is like. If you know what’s best for you, you’ll stop interfering with my plans.”

“You’re hurting innocent people—”

“Innocent?!” You wince at the sudden change in volume. “You think these people on the streets— these criminals that walk around— are innocent? They’re just as guilty as me, y’know?” He lightly nudges the gun against your chin, and you avoid looking into the barrel of it. “Do you wanna know somethin’?”

You don’t respond, and you don’t think he’d care what your response is.

“Well, the Bat? The guy you hold in such high regard?” He waves the gun away from you. “He doesn’t give a fuck about you. He doesn’t hold your life in any higher regard than any of those low-lives running amok in the street.”

“You don’t know that.” You push the gun away with your hand, and the Knight lets you.

“I know that better than anybody.” He spits the words out, waving the gun around. “Perhaps you will learn that someday, but really— it's not my problem.” He holsters his gun, turning around as he walks back beneath the helicopter. “This is beyond you. Stay out of this fight. This is your only warning, and you’re very lucky I’m giving it to you.”

You slowly trail behind him, keeping your distance, but curious what more he has to say. “No, no, wait—” six more militia members drop to the Knight’s sides, “—I don’t understand, how do you know—”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” The Knight cuts you off. “Let’s make this our final meeting. If you’re smart, you’ll stop aiding the Bat,” he pauses for a moment, reaching for his grapnel gun, “but something tells me you won’t listen to me.” He launches himself away, back into the helicopter, before you even get a chance to respond.

“Damn it.” You mutter to yourself, looking up at the helicopter hovering above you. The Knight grabs the edge of the door for support, looking down at you. “Do what you can against her.” He commands before walking out of your sight. You glare up at the helicopter as it begins to depart.

A quick jab comes your way, but (luckily) you raised your elbow to block the blow. Wincing, you huff at the goon; you know you’ll be feeling that tomorrow. You parry the goon’s next jab before sweeping him off his feet, and punching him in the jaw. He grunts as you hit him once more, knocking him unconscious. You look back up to the helicopter fleeing the scene as the remaining henchmen surround you.

That wasn’t what you expected.

“Did he give any tells as to who he may be.” Bruce asks over the comms.

“I… No? I don’t think so. He seemed to believe that he knows you better than Tim and I do.” You look over the rooftop you’re standing on, surveying the militia base below. There’s a drone stationed in there, damn. It looks like you’ll have to dismantle that first before taking on the rest of the henchmen.

Bruce says your name, “Think.” He prompts. “Was there anything he said that you think could clue us into who he is?”

Frustrated, you shake your head, “Bruce, I don’t know who this guy is. I’ve looked. I uploaded the footage of our encounter to the Batcomputer. You can view it if you want, but there’s nothing we didn’t already know. He acts like he knows you better than Tim or I do, then goes on about having a grudge against you.”

Bruce grunts, and you sigh. “I’m sorry, I wish I had more to say, but I don’t know who he could be.” You frown, grabbing your disruptor. “I can keep looking—”

“Don’t.” Bruce interrupts you (apparently everybody feels the need to cut you off).

You straighten your posture, “But you said that you wanted me to try and figure out his identity.”

“It’s too risky right now. If that was his only warning, I don’t want you getting hurt on the field.” You can hear Bruce’s cape in the background of the audio.

You furrow your eyebrows, “That’s never stopped you before.”

He remains silent for a moment.

You sigh, “Fine… Fine, I’ll stop looking into his identity.”

“And the bases.” Bruce adds.

You stand up, turning away from the base below you, “What? Are you serious, Bruce? You want to bench me now?” You scoff, “We finally make progress, and you decide that sending me away from this is the best option?”

“You have a target on your back now.” He responds stoically.

“Oh,” you chuckle humorlessly, “so now I’m an obstacle? A person to babysit on field? I’m an adult, Bruce. You don’t need to baby me. I've had a target on my back since my first day out.” You cross your arms as you turn you back to the base below you.

Bruce is silent for moment before he says your name, “Help Tim if you must, but it’s safer for you if you aren’t out here.”

You inhale slowly, attempting to control your breathing. You let out a long exhale, “Fine.” Fuck you too, Bruce.

You stare blankly ahead for a moment before you hear Bruce switch channels. You take the opportunity to turn around, looking down at the base again.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, I suppose.” You mumble to yourself, before switching the comm channel. “Hey, Tim?”

“What’s up?” You can hear his voice off in the distance.

“So, Bruce tried benching me,” you trail off, pulling your disruptor back out.

Tim snorts, “Welcome to the club. I’m like ninety-nine percent sure he wants me working on this cure just so I’m not out on the field.”

You huff, “I can’t imagine why he’s so set on working alone, but I’m going to keep trying to dismantle as many bases as I can.”

“Hm,” Tim hums, “well, if you need help—”

“—then I’ll let you know. I just wanted to make sure somebody knows what I’m doing.” You hold down the button on the disruptor, connecting it to the drone.

Tim snorts, “You’re better than Bruce at least.”

You roll your eyes, “I’d hope so.” You click the button to turn it off for thirty seconds. “Anyway, I’m at a base right now, I gotta go, bye!” You quickly hang up, ignoring Tim’s baffled “Huh?”

You take the opportunity to sneak behind the drone before making quick work of it. Obviously, dismantling such a big weapon wouldn’t go unnoticed, so you quickly throw a Batarang at the one gunman in the corner. You roll before grabbing your Batclaw and disarming him.

You narrow your eyes, a smirk forming on your face as you watch one of the goons run toward the crate of guns. Grinning, you decide to taunt the guy, knowing he won’t listen, “Uh, I wouldn’t touch that—”

The second he touches the crate, he gets electrocuted, crumbling to the ground. You wince in sympathy, that’ll leave a mark. You shoot the Batclaw out again before yanking one of the militia members to you; you use the momentum combined with your punch to instantly knock him to the ground.

“Thought we’d only be worrying about the Bat tonight?” One of the guys yells out.

“Well obviously not. Last I checked she wasn’t the Bat!” The other one grabs a club before attempting to hit you with it.

“Can confirm: I am not the Bat.” You block the club, yanking it from his grasp before whacking it back on him. “Kinda more like a subcategory. Bat-adjacent, if you will.”

“So like a sidekick?” Another goon asks.

“Eh, yes but no?” You respond, using the wall to jump off of and knock him out. “Sidekick feels a little demeaning. Like do you want me to call you guys sidekicks to the Arkham Knight?”

One of the other goons slowly lowers his hands, sharing a look with his buddy, “Well, no—”

“So you see my point!” You offer him finger guns, before grabbing his elbow. You twist it to an unnatural angle before snapping it. He cries out in pain, “Sorry, it ain’t personal.” You sheepishly shrug.

“The hell is she doing here? The Knight told us we wouldn’t have to worry about anybody else!” One of the goons cries out.

“He fuckin’ lied that’s what!” You knee him in the face, ouch.

“So like— since you guys are feeling chatty— Have you heard anything about the Knight’s girlfriend?” You pin one guy to the ground, using your weight to keep him stationary.

“How—” He coughs, “How do you know about that?” His voice is raspy. You smile, putting a finger up to your lips.

“Don’t worry about that. I was just curious cause like— no offense to him— but I did not imagine him to be the romantic type.” You wave a hand casually.

“That’s— That’s what I said!” The goon beneath you cries out.

You nod sagely, noticing a guy sneak up behind you. You move out of the way in the nick of time, and he slams his arms down onto his friend’s body— right where you previously were. The grounded goon cries out in pain, and you frown.

“So you guys got any info on that matter?” You grab a Batarang, throwing it at one of the guys attempting to pick up a gun off the ground.

“Like we’d tell you anything!” He yells back, cradling his hand as if you smacked it (the Batarang didn’t even hit him).

“Okay, fair, I can respect the loyalty…” You raise your hands up in mock-surrender. “But like— does he get all gushy when he talks about her?” You snicker to yourself, you can’t imagine the Arkham Knight being a loving boyfriend.

One of the guys snorts, “He like fully changed into another person. Like I heard from outside the door he was like ‘you get out of the city okay?’ or somethin’—”

“Hey, you never told me that!” One of the other goons whips to face his friend, offended.

The first guy shrugs, “You didn’t seem like you cared.”

“Are you kidding me, dude?” He grumbles under his breath.

“Yeah, yeah, so did his girlfriend leave the city?” You pry, putting your hands on your hips. At this point the fight has been long forgotten.

The two remaining goons shrugged, “I dunno? I think so. I left soon after the other guy walked in on his conversation with her.” The second guy winces, raising a fist to his mouth with a hissing sound.

“Yeah, I could hear his yelling down the hall.” The second guy adds on.

You nod solemnly, “Damn, so have any of you guys asked about her since?”

While getting information about the Arkham Knight be difficult, getting information from his girlfriend?

Now that is a much easier mission.

Based on what they’ve told you, the Knight told his girlfriend to evacuate the city. This means that she’s likely a civilian, a lot easier to interrogate than the Knight himself.

“You kiddin’? Last guy who said anything about it was made an example of.” The first guy cries out, shaking his head. The other guy frantically nods his head.

You frown, “Does he make an example of you guys often?”

“Nah, he’s not abusive. Tough and maybe a bit too vengeful, yeah, but the guy has done a good job training us for this.” He shrugs, “Well, other than the guy who said something nasty about his girl.”

You raise an eyebrow, “What’d he say?”

The two guys shrug in unison, and your hold back your chuckle at how innocent they look. “We don’t know. All we know is that the guy hasn’t been seen since.”

You nod slowly, “Huh, alright… Thanks.”

“Yeah— Wait, you think we gave her too much info?” The first guy turns to face his friend. The second guy slowly looks between his friend and you.

“Probably,” his voice sounds, understandably, worried.

“It’s fine. I’m not really happy with Batman right now. Rest assured that that info won’t reach him.” You pull out your detonator.

The two guys exhale, relieved.

You hold the detonator up, “Still gotta knock you both out though,” you offer a pitiful smile, “sorry?”

“What—”

You press the button, and both of them fly a few feet before laying limp on the ground. You frown, checking their heartbeat: unconscious, but alive.

You raise a hand up to your comm, turning it on. “Tim, you will not believe what these guys just told me, oh my goodness.” You hold your wrist up, looking at Tim on the projection as you locate the signal for the controller for the base’s walls.

“Good news I hope? We’re kinda running low on that.” He mumbles the last part to himself. You grab the controller from the goon beneath you.

“Eh, interesting news, that’s for sure.” You crush the signal, watching as the walls around you fold onto itself.

Tim raises an eyebrow, “Alright, I’m listening.”

“You remember how the Knight has a girlfriend? Well, I was just chatting with some of the militia guys, and—”

“The Arkham Knight has a girlfriend?” Tim slams his arms down onto the desk in surprise.

You pause, frowning, “Did… Did I not tell you that?”

“No! I think I’d remember!”

“Huh,” you pause, contemplative. “Oh! Right, I told Alfred first.”

Tim’s mouth drops open, “You told Alfred before me?”

You purse your lips, “Sorry, Tim, kinda forgot. Alfred has been the one helping me identify the guy.”

“No worries, I’m just surprised— we are talking about the Arkham Knight, right? The ‘Look at me while you die, Batman’ guy?”

“Yep,” you release a dry chuckle.

“He has a girlfriend?” Tim asks again.

“Yep,” you grin.

“Who’d date the guy? Wait, do you think he practices his lines for when he attempts to kill Bruce? You think his girlfriend hypes him up?” Tim chuckles at the idea.

You cover your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, “Tim.” You lightly scold.

“Okay, sorry, but like— he’s gotta bounce the ideas off somebody.” Tim smirks, shrugging. You ponder the question for a moment.

“You think his girlfriend gets tired of it?” You eventually ask, smirking back at him. “Babe, it’s three in the morning, please stop threatening Batman.”

Tim lets out a long exhale that sounds like a wheeze. “He— He wakes her up like: ‘Babe, wake up, I came up with a new Batman threat.’”

The two of you continue to cackle on call, your volume garnering attention from criminals roaming the street. When they go to investigate, they see you, and immediately turn the other direction which only spurs your laughter even more.

“Okay, okay—” you continue to laugh, “seriously though. I was talking to some of his guys about it. Apparently he like likes her.”

“Oh?” Tim coughs, attempting to catch his breath from the laughter.

“Yeah, and I quote from one of the guys: ‘he fully changed into another person.’ Which leads me to think she isn’t involved in his business.” You theorize.

Tim nods along, “You think you can find her?”

You deflate, “Well, uh, no.” His shoulder sag, and you rush to add another comment. “But,” you hold up your index finger in a “Wait” motion. “But, I do know she left the city.”

Tim frowns at you, “I think that’s the opposite of helpful.”

“Yeah, well. It’s something. We know she’s a civilian, and she is currently not in the city.”

Tim chuckles, tired, “Wow, with that much information, we might as well consider it a case closed.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. His goons talk easily. I didn’t even have to threaten them. I’ll just wait til some of them talk about the girlfriend again.” You smile at Tim.

“Well, that sounds enjoyable. I hope you have fun with that.” Tim responds dryly.

“Don’t act like testing blood samples is any more fun.” You deadpan.

“What?” Tim gasps, “What’re you talking about? This is a blast.” He set the blood sample in his hand back into the centrifuge to spin.

“Mhm,” you hum, “yeah that’s what I thought.”

“Don’t you have goons to be eavesdropping on?” Tim’s lip twitches, betraying his smile.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll keep you and Alfred updated.” You lower your wrist and dismiss the projection of Tim.

“In that order, or will I be the second to hear about any new info you gathered?” Tim’s voice echoes in your comms.

You chuckle, “Bye-bye, Tim.” You hang up the call, checking the time. It’s nearly four in the morning, and upon seeing the time, you feel the exhaustion deep into your bones. You should call Jason. It’s what you were going to do before the Arkham Knight oh-so kindly interrupted you.

Heyy, sorry, I fell asleep on accident

do you still wanna call or is it too early?

or I guess late

idk depends on perspective

Not even a minute goes by.

Jason: I can call if you’d like

Jason: but if you were asleep, then you should go back to sleep

Jason: we can always call in the morning

Jason: or now

You smile, pursing your lips as you consider your options. On the other hand, you are tired. Calls with Jason can last two minutes (given his mystery job), but also the possibility of spending the next two hours on the phone with your boyfriend is very real.

it’s okay, we can call in the morning

sorry I didn’t mean to fall asleep lol

Jason: Don’t worry about it

Jason: I should’ve texted you earlier

Jason: It’s been a long night

Don’t you know it.

I get that, just make sure you rest

Jason: Only if you do

Damn fair enough 💀

Jason: Joking, joking

Jason: Not really

Jason: Seriously get some rest

No need to tell you twice.

Whatever you say 🫡

He pauses for a moment, bubble reappearing and disappearing.

Jason: That felt a bit too easy

Wow okay so you wanna argue about it?? :(

For a beat, there is no bubble or message.

Jason: Good night, I love you

You snort.

That’s what I thought

Good night, I love you too Jay :)

The two of you like each other’s messages, and you put your phone away. Time to trek back to the Manor. You look up to the city above you, Ivy’s plants wrapped around bridges, smoke in the distance puffing up into a smoky gray cloud— probably Firefly’s fault.

Sighing, you grab your grapnel gun and head back to the Manor.

“I know that better than anybody.”

You press the space bar, looping the audio.

“I know that better than anybody.”

Once again.

“I know that better than anybody.”

“Madame, I don’t believe looping your encounter with the Knight will be beneficial for you.” Alfred walks up to the Batcomputer beside you.

“Well, it’s the best we got.” You sigh as Alfred places a mug beside you. You smile at him gratefully. “Thanks.”

He nods, “Forgive me for prying, but I was under the impression that Master Bruce was going to be the only one out in action for the next few days.”

You scoff, “Yeah, well, he is insane if he thinks that tackling on the city with no field back up is smart.”

Alfred hums, “I suppose you make a good point.”

You turn toward Alfred, eyes pleading, “Don’t tell him please. I already told Tim that I’d call him for help if I mess up.”

Alfred remains silent for a moment before slowly nodding, “As long as you aren’t mortally injured, then I suppose I can omit this bit of information from him.”

You smile, exhaling in relief, “Thanks, Alfred.”

He nods, “Thank me by not making me have to resort to that.” He walks off, leaving you alone at the computer once again.

You watch him leave before slowly returning your attention to the screen. You zoom in on the Arkham Knight’s appearance. He looks the same as he has every time Bruce showed his footage of him. Screen-like mask, a military style suit, the “A” in the center of his suit. Upon closer examination, you notice that his suit has similar patterns in some parts that match some of the militia’s, only difference being that his is more vibrantly colored with a red. You hadn’t noticed it when you first met him. All you could focus on was his eyes. Bright and unyielding and betraying no emotion. The only way you were able to discern his thoughts was when he spoke. You click on a different time stamp in the audio.

“Innocent?! You think these people on the streets— these criminals that walk around— are innocent? They’re just as guilty as me, y’know?”

His body language seemed frantic yet controlled. His wide gestures aren’t out of any lapses into mania, but out of anger. You frown as you watch him hold the gun underneath you chin. At the time, you had been focused on not dying. Now, you notice the slightly tremble in his hands. You aren’t so naive to think that it’s out of fear of killing. A man like the Arkham Knight— a man who has taken lives without remorse— wouldn’t feel scared of killing you. You recognize it for what it is: fury.

Whatever his grudge against Batman is. It’s personal. It feels too personal for Batman not to have met the guy at least once.

Stretching, you stand up from your chair before grabbing your utility belt laid out on the desk. Alfred was right. This isn’t helping. If anything, you just feel crazy listening to the same modulated voice lines over and over and over, analyzing fabric just for a hint on who this guy may be.

You might as well go to the city, make use of yourself.

Journeying from the Manor to the main part of the city isn’t an unfamiliar trip. The trip back is automatic, and you barely even process the fact that you’ve made it back onto the main road. The only reason you do is that the drones patrolling the sky nearly blind you with their unforgiving beams of light waiting to claim their next victim.

The night started out slow, at least relative to the other ones.

You didn’t want to draw too much attention to yourself— with Bruce not knowing you’re still patrolling— so you focused on the more minor crimes… for the most part. You didn’t actively go looking for any rogues or militia bases to dismantle, but if you stumbled onto them?

You might as well.

Some of them were evidently made with the intention of taking on the Batmobile (something you did not have access to), so you had to settle for taking on the ones without a dozen turrets scanning for a hint of movement. While not ideal, it still left plenty for you to take down.

By the time you had taken down two bases and two watchtowers, you had eased yourself comfortably into the night’s routine. The watchtowers required a bit more stealth than the bases, but if anything, you were grateful for the change in pace. It kept you on your toes.

You heave a sigh, detonating your third security console of the night. Another watchtower gone. You linger for a moment, grateful for the heating your suit provided. With how cold it is, and with the constant on-and-off rain, you imagine you’d get sick very fast without it. Frowning, you look over the unconscious bodies scattered at your feet.

Despite all your work tonight, not a single base has provided useful information. Frustrating? Absolutely. However, you aren’t too surprised. You kneel down to examine the armor the militia is wearing. “Hm,” you hum to yourself. It's the first time you've actually considered analying their attire. It appears to be standard military wear. Perhaps it has extra padding, but you note that it isn’t bulletproof, which is a bit surprising. You narrow your eyes at the scuffed up pieces of armor.

You suppose that makes sense, Bruce doesn’t use guns. It makes no sense to prepare for bullets when your biggest target doesn’t use them. You are about to reach into their pockets when you still.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

You pause, but don’t look around. You don’t want to alert anybody that may be watching that you are aware they’re watching. Taking a deep breath, you urge your heart to calm down. Biting your tongue, you slowly proceed with your original intention: looking through the militia’s pockets.

Then you see it. The flicker of a red dot flickers onto your arm before trailing up to your head. You heart spikes as you instantly raise an arm up, diving to the side to avoid the bullet. You scramble to push yourself against the now destroyed control console, smoke still piling up from your earlier explosion. You reach for smoke bombs in your utility belt, before quickly realizing your grasping at air. You mutter a soft curse, attempting to look for any other cover in the environment around you.

The control console was placed on the center of a long bridge walkway. The nearest crates for cover are at least thirty feet away. A distance you can’t cover, lest your sniper attempts to shoot you again. You attempt to raise your head over the top of the console, using the smoke to mask yourself. Upon seeing a figure on a rooftop above you, you feel your heart drop.

Of course, it’s the Arkham Knight. Why wouldn’t it be? You had blatantly disregarded every warning he gave you.

You tap your comms, “Tim— Alfred— Somebody— Arkham Knight is attempting to kill me. He’s sniping me just south of Kingston on Miagani.” You flinch as a bullet hits the console. “I could use some backup, as soon as possible!”

You hear Tim curse in the background, “I’m at least five minutes out. Think you can hold him off for that long?”

You attempt to steel yourself, “I’ll try my best. Please hurry.”

“Not so confident are you now?” The Arkham Knight’s voice echoes between the two buildings you’re between.

You scoff, not deigning to respond to his taunt.

“You can’t hide there forever.” He continues, his casual arrogance leaves a bad taste in your mouth. It’s like he already considers you dead.

“I’m assuming we can’t talk about this?” You yell out, wondering if he’ll even be able to hear you.

“Oh, we’re long past talking.” For a second, the red light of his rifle vanishes. You narrow his eyes, what is he planning?

Then you hear the faint familiar clatter of a grenade. Your eyes widen as you launch yourself out of the blast radius. However, you weren’t able to escape it completely, and it sends you skidding near the ledge of the walkway. Forced out of your cover, your eyes flicker to the Arkham Knight. He is propping the rifle against his shoulder, and he tilts his head at you.

“I gave you a warning.” He slower lowers the rifle, preparing to shoot it. Your muscles tense, and you run towards a shield an unconscious militia member left on the floor, raising it at the last second as the Knight sends a bullet straight into the shield, a resounding “CLANG!” nearly making you flinch.

“I remember!” You sneer, raising your shield up again as he sends another bullet your way. Reaching for your Batclaw, you hide it behind the shield. Keep him talking, not shooting. “In case it wasn’t obvious, your threat—” you emphasize the last word, “wasn’t appreciated.”

He chuckles, the sound distorted and wrong. “A shame.” He shoots your shield again, and the second the bullet impacts the metal, you shoot the Batclaw out, yanking the rifle out of his hands. You both watch as it falls to the ground, about fifty feet in front of you.

The two of you stare at each other for another moment, before you lunge for the rifle. He quickly follows suit, jumping onto the walkway with you. You reach the rifle first, but that doesn’t deter him. He lunges toward you, and you side-step to your left. He pivots, grabbing a gun out of its holster before shooting it mere feet away from you. The bullet hits your shield again, and you take the opportunity to unload the rifle, throwing it off the walkway— hundreds of feet below.

The second you release the rifle, he tackles you. The two of you tumble, and you let out a surprised yelp. You attempt to secure your spot on top of him, but he presses his weight into your elbow, nearly snapping it. You wince, hissing in pain. You use your other hand to attempt to maneuver yourself out from underneath him.

He shifts his position, using his knee to pin your neck to the ground. You attempt to push him off, but he only puts more force into your neck.

“Think of this as sparing you even more pain down the line.” He begins slowly, raising his gun to your sternum. “If it makes you feel better, it’s really not personal. Not with you.” He lazily gestures, gun in hand, and all you can focus on is the barrel boring into your soul. You're unable to move underneath him, and it is then that you realize the true gravity of the situation.

You attempt to kick him off of you, but your efforts are futile. The Arkham Knight barely moves at your attempts of escape. “Sure feels personal.” You grit out, coughing again as he presses more weight into his knee.

He shakes his head slowly, “My issue is with him, and I thought that maybe you were smart enough to take my warnings.” The gun pointing at your head doesn’t waver. “However, you’ve gone and taken down dozens of my men tonight single-handedly.” His voice is low, telling you that he is fuming behind that mask. Good.

“You almost sound impressed.” You chuckle sardonically, and he matches the sound.

“At your audacity, perhaps. I didn’t think you had it in you.” He shakes his head thinking about it.

“Clearly, you thought wrong.” You retort.

He hums, “A mistake I will not make again.” You watch as his hand tightens its grasp on the gun. His index finger, slowly putting more pressure on the trigger. You watch as his finger remains frozen on the trigger, unmoving.

You don’t bother to hide your stilted exhale. For a moment, you’re glad that he can’t see the fear in your eyes as he shoots you, your mask conceals the terror that would no doubt be reflected upon its removal.

You watch as he slowly raises the gun to point at your head, and you shut your eyes. You don't want to look at your demise. You don't want to give him the satisfaction.

You feel the Knight shift slightly, and you take a deep breath— likely your final breath. You don't count the seconds, but you get the distinct feeling he is drawing this out.

At the deafening sound of the gun, the weight is thrown off of you, and your vision spins as you immediately open your eyes in shock.

You're not dead.

Frantically, you look around, searching for who saved you. You attempt to stand up, but quickly stumble over yourself, your shoulder crying out in pain. You resign yourself to the ground and watch as Tim uses his staff to shove the Knight off the walkway. You make eye contact with the Knight once last time, and you’re surprised to see him watching you until the very end.

You inhale sharply, attempting to catch your breath as you slowly crawl over to the edge looking over it to see—

Nothing.

He got away, again. Even the rifle you threw below has vanished.

Still scanning the streets below for the Knight, you don’t realize that Tim snuck up behind you. You jump as he kneels down, gently hoisting you up. It’s only at that moment, when he looks down at you in horror that you realize what the strange sensation in your shoulder was.

The Arkham Knight shot you.

The observation is apparent to anybody with eyes, but all you can do is stare at the growing red stain spreading over your suit— staining the material. The pain feel distant, and you tell yourself you can walk it off. You barely register Tim calling out for help over comms. He presses his hands onto your shoulder, and you feel light-headed. All you want to do is lay down and close your eyes, perhaps it’ll make the dizziness go away.

You aren’t sure how many minutes go by, but next thing you know, you’re wince as Bruce slowly sits you up. You somehow have enough energy to realize that you will be getting chewed out for this later on for disobeying him. Given your current circumstances, you can't truly bring yourself to care. It’s not long before you are being put into the backseat of the Batmobile. Tim is still sitting next to you, and you feel a bit more clear, and only one thought enters your mind:

You want Jason.

You want to see Jason.

You don’t want to be out fighting the Knight. You don't want to think about him

You want to see your boyfriend.

You don’t have any tears to cry, and you look up at Tim as a dry sob escapes your mouth. You’re so tired. You hear him mutter some empty promises. Promising it’ll be okay, and that you’re almost there.

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry, I thought that— I just…” You lean your head against the back. “I didn’t know he’d be there tonight.” You slowly open your eyes to look at Bruce. He doesn’t turn to look at you, nor does he meet your gaze in the rear view mirror.

You shift uncomfortably, Tim still putting pressure on your wound. “You shouldn’t have kept going out on patrol without me knowing. Not without backup ready on the field,” he breaks the silence, “but that’s not my priority right now.”

You nod solemnly, part of you wants to argue with him, but you’re in too much pain to fight back on it. Perhaps when you have more energy. “He…” you swallow, “…was going to shoot me in the head.” Your mouth feels dry.

Tim stiffens next to you, and he can’t meet your eyes. “I… I saw. I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.”

You shake your head, offering him a pained smile. “You made it. That’s what matters.” He attempts to mirror you smile, but it looks wrong.

You laugh softly, “You know—” you wince as a burning pain pierces your shoulder, sending burning waves of pain up your next, “It wasn’t even worth the bullet. I still don’t have an idea who this guy is.”

Nobody else laughs with you, not that you were expecting them to.

“You will not be investigating the Knight any longer.” Bruce declares.

You huff, feeling your stomach turn, “Mm…” You think you see him narrow his eyes at you in the rear view mirror. The familiar sign of Leslie’s clinic comes into view, and you exhale in relief. Even if every move you make is painful, you feel better knowing that you’re in safe hands.

You will worry about the consequences of this night later.

The fogginess from your eyes slowly dissipates as you blink.

You hear the soft squeaks of the bats above, the electronic hum of the technology in the cave, and yet there’s no sign of anybody in the cave with you. Frowning, you sit up, wincing as a sharp pain shoots through the wound. “Hello?” You call out, and your voice echoes around the empty cave.

Carefully, you maneuver yourself off the bed, making your way over to the Batcomputer. You hold your shoulder as you slowly walk over. Sitting down, you're about to message Tim or Bruce when dread hits you full force.

You got shot, and you haven’t told Jason.

More accurately: You got shot, and you can’t tell Jason.

Eyes falling on your phone, you hesitantly reach for it. You navigate your phone to his contact.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring—

“Was beginning to worry you forgot about me.” Jason’s voice breaks through all the ambience of the cave. Despite the teasing tone, you can hear the relief in it.

You smack your lips, “I could never.” You swallow, feeling emotional just hearing him. “It’s been a rough night.” Your voice is quiet, and you wince at how small you sound. Your goal is to avoid alerting Jason to your injury.

He’s silent for a beat, “Rough, hm?” He hums. “I’m sorry.” He does sound genuinely apologetic.

You stare through the ground with a strained smile; it’s not like he can see. “It’s not your fault.” You settle into the chair at the Batcomputer.

Jason exhales, “I’m sorry nevertheless.” You can almost hear him trying to figure out what words to say, “I’m sorry that we had to do this.” He adds on.

Heaving a sigh, you slowly lean against the back of the seat. You want to say it’s okay, but really it’s anything but. You never wanted to leave the city, and if Jason found out you stayed despite agreeing otherwise?

You fear the look of betrayal more than his ire.

“…How’s your thing going?” Your attempt at changing the topic doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and you hope he won't comment on it.

“Slower than expected,” you hear him set something metallic down. “I… I’m not sure when I’ll be done.”

You hum, nodding slowly. That was the answer you expected, but it wasn’t the answer you wanted. “You’re safe though?”

There’s an unusually long pause. Your shoulders sag at the lack of response, and you bite back the hiss of pain it sends through the bullet wound. The silence speaks more than any words could.

“Yes.” Jason’s voice is unwavering, but you don’t believe him. Your heart aches to not believe him, but you cannot deny the suspicion that arises from hearing how obstinately he refuses to leave the city.

“You’d tell me if something happened, right?” You ask, and you make sure to keep your tone skepticism free.

You hear him inhale, “Of course.” His words are low. The silence that ensues makes you wonder if he is able to differentiate his own truths from lies.

“Alright,” you relent, and you see a notification pop up on the Batcomputer. Tim must have noticed you are awake now. “I have to go, but be safe, okay?”

“I’ll try my best.” His attempt at humor doesn’t land as he likely intended, but you muster up a soft chuckle in spite of it. “I love you.” He continues.

Your smile turns more genuine, “I love you too.” When you look at your screen again, the call has already ended. Setting the phone down, you pull up Tim’s messages on the Batcomputer.

He’s already frowning at the screen the moment you accept the video call. “Hello to you too.” You comment dryly.

“Are you okay? Since when did you get up?” He asks, and you notice he’s back at Panessa Studios. Damn, Bruce is still making him do those blood tests?

You frown, “If you didn’t know when I got up, why did you spam the Batcomputer?”

He waves you off, “I noticed that there was some activity on the network there. I’ve been monitoring it since I left.” Oops.

“Oh,” you nod, “yeah that was me.”

“I sure hope so. I’m not anywhere near the Batcave right now.” Tim crosses his arms, but then his glare softens. “How bad is it?”

You experimentally rotate your shoulder in a circular motion, “Could be worse. Not great, but it’ll have to do. Pain meds are helping.”

Tim sighs, and you hate the wounded look he’s giving you. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there faster—”

“Tim, it’s not your fault. I went out there knowing what I could encounter— who I could encounter.” You don’t break eye contact with him. “If you weren’t there, I can only imagine how things could’ve gone.” He winces at your words, and you soften. “I am not upset, Tim. I’m just grateful that you showed up when you could.”

Tim purses his lips into a thin line, and you wish you could reassure him in person. “I… Logically I know that, but—”

Static cuts him off, and both you and Tim turn your attention to the other monitors of your respective computers. “Arkham Knight and militia just south of Bristol! Requesting backup!” The chatter in the background makes it hard to identify what’s going on, but you didn’t need to hear anything else.

Your blood boils hearing his name.

Tim, as if sensing your thoughts, eyes you cautiously. “I can handle it. I’m pretty sure Bruce is handling Two-Face right now.”

You shake your head, attempting to seem casual, “No, no, it’s fine. I got it. You’re busy as it is. I’d feel bad if Bruce was working you to the bone and I made you handle this.”

Tim narrows his eyes at you, “Are you sure? Weren’t you just shot?”

You make a show of rotating your shoulder, ignoring the dull ache that accompanies it. “See? All fine.” You grin at him.

He frowns, “Alright,” he begins reluctantly, “but if anything happens.”

“I will contact you and Bruce, how about that?” You are already moving off camera to go grab your suit. “I’m glad we agree, Tim. Thanks for the back up, bye!” You make a move to hang up before Tim can change his mind. You hold your laugh back as Tim’s astonished expression is the last thing you see before the call ends.

Now, is this a smart move to make? Going after the Arkham Knight fresh off a bullet wound? No. Even you are self aware enough to know that this is an incredibly foolish move, but that doesn’t stop the burning fury and questions you have. Perhaps your curiosity will truly get you killed someday. Putting on your mask, you shut off the Batcomputer.

You can almost hear Bruce’s voice echoing in your head: “This isn’t an investigation, this is an attempt to avenge yourself.” Perhaps the voice has a point because this isn’t just professional interest. It’s personal now. The Knight made it personal. The sound of his name grates against your nerves in a way that leaves you out of breath. With how spread out you all have been, you have no doubt that the Arkham Knight took advantage of that. He probably chose this time to act knowing that you’d all be busy.

He probably didn’t account for you impulsively searching for him, but at this point he should’ve with how many times you’ve met.

Upon arriving at the scene, you frown. It’s practically the same setup as when his men are stationed in those towers, and it feels a bit too predictable. You attempt to look for the Knight, but there’s so many goons that you aren’t sure where to look first. You stay up above them as you continue surveying the ground below, searching for any signs of him.

Instead, you find a shipping container hidden around a corner (courtesy of the goon you followed). Upon reaching it, you narrow your eyes down below. His mask is quite distinct. You imagine that even from a distance, you’d always recognize it.

You use your grapnel gun to get slightly closer, making sure to minimize your movement, lest they hear you.

“—ready for Scarecrow by tonight.” One of the militia henchmen informs the Knight, clipboard in hand.

The Arkham Knight slowly nods, “Excellent. Have the trucks move them.” He gestures off.

The guy looks back between the Knight and the shipment container, “..Are— Is that a good idea? What about the Bat or any of his sidekicks—” You frown, leaning closer to try listen better.

“—The Bat won’t be an issue.” The Arkham Knight sounds really sure of that. “As for his sidekicks?” He slowly turns around before turning his attention up to the ceiling above him. Your heart drops into your stomach. “I would’ve hoped they wouldn’t be foolish to come here alone.” He raises something in his hand, and you realize all too late that it’s a detonator.

You don’t even get a warning before the gargoyle you’re perched on explodes, causing you to fumble as you attempt to save your fall. The Knight doesn’t break eye contact with you, but you’re forced to turn away from him. The first few militia guys who approach you aren’t armed, and you sweep them off their feet, dealing with them as fast as you can.

However, they don’t stop.

It’s only when you realized how outnumbered you are (and outgunned) that you attempt to reach into your belt to reach help. The moment you reach for it, a gunshot ricochets next to you, causing you to flinch.

For a moment everybody is frozen. You aren’t sure who to look at, every direction you turn just shows a sea of the black and red uniforms. Swallowing, you are forced to watch as they part the path for the Arkham Knight. When he reaches you (all too casual for your liking), the henchman behind you strikes the back of your knee, causing you to collapse. You turn around to glare at them, ready to stand up, but they shove the barrel of a rifle onto the back of your head.

Damn. You knew this was stupid going into this, and yet you went through with it anyway. You silently berate yourself before raising your eyes to look up at the Arkham Knight who is now looking down on you. You hate how he looks down on you.

“I did that as a precaution. Can never be too sure with you lot.” He points down to you, circling you slowly, mockingly.

You bite your lip so hard you offhandedly realize that the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. The synthetic voice sounds like nails on chalkboard, and you find yourself wishing he’d shut up.

“I gotta say, I expected Robin though. I figured you’d be outta commission still.” He stops his pacing, his boots mere feet in front of you.

You sneer, “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, don’t be.” He looks up, nodding to the massive militia squad behind you. You don’t turn your head (the pressure of the rifle’s barrel is starting to feel too real), but you can hear the shuffling footsteps dissipate. By the time they leave, there’s less than five of you in the area. You swallow, meeting the Arkham Knight’s “eyes.”

“I didn’t expect him to be such a coward. Letting his injured friend handle the dirty work out here.” He (not so lightly) shoves your wounded shoulder, and you let out a surprised whimper. The Knight resumes his pacing, and you get slightly dizzy watching him move back and forth.

Scoffing, you attempt to quell the thumping beat in your chest as you steel yourself. “Don’t call him a coward. You don’t even know Robin.” You swallow, attempting to push yourself up off the ground. One of the militia members uses a rifle to pin you back down, and— not wanting to be shot— you reluctantly settle yourself onto the floor.

The Knight pauses his pacing, looking down at you on the ground. He looks at the man with his gun pointing his rifle at your chest, and the man slowly lowers the weapon. The Knight strolls over to you, kneeling down to you, yet not low enough to be eye level. You wonder if he gets some twisted enjoyment looking down on you. You hide your trembling arms away from his view.

“Tim Drake…” He begins slowly, a mere whisper just above your ear.

You blink, “What—”

“He isn’t the first you know. He isn’t even the second.” He props his arms onto his knee, leaning closer to you. Instinctively, you lean away from the man, as if your body has a visceral reaction to his presence. “Do you know who was before him?”

You grit your teeth, “Why the hell should I tell you?” He doesn’t react, and you both are caught in a long staring contest. Neither of you back down, and you hate yourself for being the first one to. “Jason.” You eventually mutter.

Slowly, he nods, “And you are aware of what happened to him?”

You bite your tongue, attempting to look away from his mask. You tilt your head slightly. It could be interpreted as “so-so” but it could’ve just been a flinch. The Knight leans closer, “I need words. Silence doesn't tell me anything but that you lack the knowledge, and I find that hard to believe.”

You exhale, “I don't know everything, but...” You slowly look up to him. “I know that he died.”

The Knight freezes at your statement. His hands clench at his sides, and you half-delusionally wonder if he’s going to try and kill you again.

“Lies.” He spits the words out, and for a moment you are taken aback. “The Dark Knight fed you all lies.”

Your mouth parts, “What is your issue with him?” You scoff, glaring at his mask. “Look— He isn’t perfect, and I’m not always partial to the guy myself, but you’re acting like he’s the devil incarnate.”

A mangled sound comes from the Knight, distorted by his modulator. Frustrated, he stands up, resuming his pacing. He mumbles something to himsef before chuckling sardonically, the sound grating on your nerves, “You’re a fool for returning.” He raises a hand to point to you lazily, “You’re a fool for trusting him. I told you once before that in his eyes, your life is equal to the worth of some criminal roaming the streets.”

He walks back over to you, “Don’t you think if he wanted to be here, he would? He would’ve found you by now?” He throws his hands up casually, “I don’t exactly see him, and if he’s waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike from the shadows?” He leans closer to you, “He’s taking a long time.”

You try not to let his words get to you, “He’s looking for me. He’ll find me.” You glare at the Knight, but even you start to doubt your own words.

The Knight stares at you for a long moment, before he softly continues, “I once thought that too.” His words are low, quiet, only meant for you. The softness in his tone isn’t out of empathy, but out of pity, and it sends an wave of anger up to your throat, waiting to be spoken. The softness isn't mocking, and that irritates you more than any genuine statement the Knight could have half-heartedly mustered up. “Save yourself the trouble, and lose that optimism.”

You grit your teeth, angry tears flooding your eyes, followed by the impulsive decision to headbutt the Knight. It seems you caught him off guard, and he stumbles back slightly. His mask has a large crack in the screen, and you take immense satisfaction watching it glitch. The two militia members behind you kick you back down to the ground. Your jaw and nose echo in a resounding ache as one of them uses the butt of their rifle to hit you.

You can feel the familiar tang of blood fill your mouth, whether it was from the strike or biting your tongue to hard, you aren’t sure. What you immediately notice is that your mask is no longer fitted pristinely to your face. Pieces of it rest on the concrete floor below you, and you scowl at them as if they personally offended you.

You don’t attempt to sneak a glance up to the Arkham Knight, not wanting him to see your face. You don't want to look up while he's still your vicinity. It takes a minute, but once his footsteps become more distant, your eyes flicker up. Head still facing down, you peer through your eyelashes to watch as his figure grows smaller and smaller.

One of the militia soldiers hits you at the back of your neck causing your hood to fall limply off your head. Just great. One of them snickers before attempting to rip the remaining pieces of your mask off your face.

You yelp, attempting to fight him off, but three other soldiers restrict your limbs. Perhaps if you had been in better condition, you could figure out a method of escape, but all you can feel is the utter futility of your situation. Despair rises in your chest. The Knight’s footsteps taunt you as you hear them slowly fade into near silence. “Not so tough without ya mask, ain’t ya?” One of the men snickers, and you’re planted into your spot on the ground, knees digging painfully onto the uneven floor. You continue to scowl, forced to watch these men expose you as he rips your mask off.

They all laugh at your expression, and you can hear them mutter taunts to you. You tune them out, and one of them kicks your back, sending you to the ground, elbows first. The blow aggravates the bullet wound, and you bite back a scream of pain. Hunched over, coughing, you ball up your hands into fists as you look up to the Arkham Knight before he exits the area.

For a moment, the two of you make eye contact, and all you can do is attempt to catch your breath as the men above you continue to taunt you. Their words go unheard by you, but their presence is enough to drive you mad.

The Knight is no longer moving, and— similar to you— is rooted in his spot. You break eye contact with him as the soldier kicks you down again, pinning you with his boot.

“To think I unmasked one of the Bats,” his cocky tone inspires nothing but annoyance in you. You attempt to take a breath, but he presses harder, and your head is pushed right-side down onto the concrete. “I think I’ll be keeping this as a souvenir.” From your peripherals, you can see him pick up your broken mask.

“Oh come on, man! It was a group effort. Split it four ways, we each get a piece—” Something causes him to stop talking. The guy sounds like he begins to choke on air. For a moment, you feel utter relief.

Took Bruce long enough.

Your face is still planted into the ground at an awkward angle, and you use the goon’s distraction to your advantage, grabbing his foot and sweeping him from underneath, causing him to fall next to you. Once floored, you give him a quick strike to the head, making sure he’s knocked out before standing up again. You cough again, rubbing your chest, still feeling the imprint of the soldier’s boot.

“Finally,” you groan, twisting your neck, popping it, “I—” you turn to face Bruce, a small relieved smile on your face.

It falls immediately, for you aren’t met with the familiar silhouette of Batman.

Instead, the Arkham Knight is standing mere feet away from you, a few of his own militia groaning and unconscious on the floor beneath him. He has his guns pointed to the one who pinned you down. You flinch back as the Knight’s gaze meets your own, startled by his appearance. Why did he come back? You thought he left

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, both of you waiting, anticipating.

Slowly, his hand lowers, and your own hand snaps towards your utility belt, Batarang in hand within within milliseconds. At your reaction, he pauses. He is still, too still, and it causes you to panic internally. Whenever you saw him, whether it was in person or on a recording, he was constantly moving. Pacing back and forth, scanning the area, gesturing with his arms. For somebody so enigmatic, his body language was surprisingly expressive.

It makes his current stiffness all the more unnerving.

“You… I…” His voice sounds more subdued than you’ve ever heard, nigh distraught. It’s contrary to everything you’ve encountered with him. The Arkham Knight wasn’t quiet. The Arkham Knight wasn’t soft. Not like this at least. His “soft” words were always quiet taunts, never meant to comfort, only to break. This is the person who shot you with no remorse. This is the person who has pledged himself to kill Batman.

Yet he stands before you, bodies beneath him, speaking in soft tones, soft tones that lack that condescension.

What kind of tactic is this?

“If you have something to say, just spit it out.” You haven't lowered your hand. The Batarang glints dangerously in your dominant hand, perfectly within the Knight’s view.

“You…” he begins again, “You aren’t— When—”

You furrow your eyebrows. Add stuttering to the list of odd phenomena with the Arkham Knight that you aren’t entirely sure how to deal with.

“Oh, I get it.” You sneer at him, “You see my face, and you want to catch me off guard by acting like we’re supposed to be cool—”

“You said you left the city.” He cuts you off, and your momentary anger is replaced by pure unadulterated confusion.

You blink dumbly at him, “What?”

He shakes his head slowly, guns dropping to his side, but you don’t let your guard down. “You—” he shakes his head more aggressively, as if trying to shake a thought away. “You said you left the city.” He repeats, turning up to face you.

You furrow your eyebrows, “When did I ever tell you that?” Your palms feel sweaty in your hands, and you grip the Batarang tighter, worried it’ll slip between your fingers.

“I checked your location— I saw—” he sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself, “It said you were out in Central City.”

Your stomach feels queasy the longer he continues to speak. The unease causing you to shift restlessly on your feet. There was only one person who you gave that location to. A horrifying thought enters your mind, but you refuse to consider it, immediately shutting down the idea. “And… You know this how?” You attempt to sound indifferent, but you can hear the shift in tone of your own voice.

He remains frozen for a moment before he says your name; it’s so quiet you wonder if you even heard it correctly.

Your chest shudders, “You know me.” You don’t want it to be true.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t move to deny your statement— your accusation.

You swallow, “Say something.” You attempt to keep the break out of your voice, and the Batarang in your hand involuntarily lowers.

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes a step closer to you, and as if setting a switch off, you immediately raise the Batarang again. He freezes mid-step, and when you don’t throw the weapon, he resumes his approach. You keep your eyes trained on his mask, watching as the distance between you both dwindles faster than preferred. By the time he stops, he is mere inches from your face, and the tip of your Batarang is pressed weakly against his chest.

You’re breathing heavily at this point, yet you don’t feel physically exhausted. You force yourself to take a deep breath, but your chest shudders at the action. “Who are you?” Your voice is a low whisper, and your question, a plea for him to deny every thought racing through your mind.

Your hands don’t move as he slowly raises his own, reaching toward your face. Your breathing halts as he pauses before gently running a gloved finger against your jaw. Your eyes flicker over his form— unsure where to look— waiting for the attack. Why are you allowing this? The Knight is messing with you— he’s going to use your distress to his advantage.

Yet you are frozen to your spot, and something tells you that he is too. You are both frozen in front of one another.

His hand brushes down to the tattered shoulder of your suit, grazing lightly over the injury that he caused. Despite attempting to hide your wince, the Arkham Knight seems to sense your pain, and pulls his hand back slightly at your first sign of pain. You can’t look at his mask, but you can feel him staring at you. His gaze is piercing, as if waiting for you to start the conversation.

“No.” You deny, shaking your head as you attempt look down— away from his mask— away from him. “No, you're— you’re not…” you trail off, the words dying on your tongue. You attempt to push him back weakly, but he doesn’t move. “…You’re not Jason.” Your eyes glisten with tears as you look up to stare at his mask.

Hesitantly, as if afraid, the Knight raises his hand up, pressing his fingers just below his ear as the mask releases a hissing sound before it lifts up.

Despite having already reached the dreadful conclusion, you sharply inhale upon seeing Jason beneath the mask you have come to loathe.

You let out a sound that almost sounds like a whimper mixed with a sob. Before, you could at least pretend that the Arkham Knight wasn’t a real person. He was just another foe that had to be defeated. Seeing a person underneath all of that. It changes things.

You try and scour him for hints of your boyfriend, of Jason. Instead, you see the mask resting atop his head. You see the armor covering every inch of his skin. The holsters at his sides. The “A” in the center of his chest.

Looking at Jason now, you can’t see your boyfriend. You see the Arkham Knight.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, as you keep your eyes shut. If you close your eyes long enough you can pretend that he isn’t there.

Then the Knight says your name, and it sounds like Jason. No longer is the distorted voice mocking your every action. Instead, it’s your Jason, calling out for you. Every cell in your body screams to you that the man in front of you is Jason. That he’d never hurt you. Your loving boyfriend adores you more than anybody in the world. He would sooner strike himself down before doing anything to hurt you.

You slowly turn your head to the healing scar at your shoulder. Jason The Arkham Knight follows your gaze to the injury, “I… I never knew that… You know I would never—” he turns his gaze up to you, desperate “you know I would never have done if it I knew. I thought— I never wanted—” he lets out a hurried exhale, saying your name again.

“Please, please look at me.” He begs, raising a hand to your face, but at your glare at him, and he hesitantly lowers it, as if unsure what to do with his hands. “I’m so sorry.” His voice a broken plea for forgiveness. “I’m so, so sorry. I would take it back if I could—”

“You shot me.” You cut him off, voice sounding more stable than you feel. “You were going to shoot me in the head.” You raise a hand to wipe the tears overflowing your eyes.

“No!” He yells out, and you stiffen up. His hurt expression reminds you of Jason so much, that you force yourself to look away again. “No, no. I didn’t want to actually hurt you.”

You narrow your eyes, disbelief evident in your gaze. “You said that I blew my ‘only warning.’” You scoff, but the sounds more pained than mocking, “You placed that gun against my body with your finger on the trigger. You were ready to shoot.”

He scrunches his eyes tight, “I was just trying to scare you— I didn’t actually intend to kill you. I... I didn't even intend to shoot you.” Your eyes slowly lower to his holsters before moving back up to his imploring expression.

“Then why did you shoot me? Why did you go searching for me with a rifle?” Your eyes burn as you point an accusing finger at him.

He looks down, unable to meet your eyes for the first time. “I… My issue was with him. You were dismantling my operations,” he swallows, “I had to send a message to him that I wouldn’t tolerate any interference. I knew he wouldn’t relent.” He shuts his eyes, before opening them, steeling himself for his next words. “However, if I threatened you or Robin?” He sounds pained, “If I showed him that I wasn’t messing around… Then maybe I could finally catch the Bat, catch Bruce. It’s stupid now. I shouldn’t have— I…” He slowly trails off, eyes frantically looking over you.

You stare at him for a moment, and hesitantly he attempts to look up— almost as if waiting for your permission. “You… You know Bruce.” You think out loud, Jason don’t respond. “You’re… You’re that Jason.” The realization dawns on you. You had been so focused on him being your Jason, that you didn't even consider he could be that Jason. He meets your eyes for the first time, slowly nodding.

“I…” It made sense now. Jason’s grudge against Batman, the Knight’s knowledge of how he operates— knowing his weaknesses. Jason didn’t just know Batman. He was Robin. “…never knew.” You clench your fists.

He huffs, and it’s somehow the most “Jason” and the most “Arkham Knight” he has sounded this whole conversation. “Yeah, that… doesn’t surprise me.” His voice trails off, quiet, but with rage bubbling beneath.

Neither of you say anything, and all you do is stare at each other. Slowly you push yourself away from Jason, and he doesn’t move to stop you. He watches as you kneel to grab the pieces of your broken mask. He starts to lower himself as well, intending to help most likely, and you send him a pointed look. He stops, slowly straightening up, and you can’t bring yourself to look at his expression.

Before, you’d have fought tooth and nail just to catch a glimpse of the Arkham Knight, to be able to see his face. You expected fury underneath, a sneering expression built out of personal grudges and vengeance.

Now?

You find yourself wishing he was never unmasked. The despair of seeing Jason’s face is worse than any bullet to the chest could’ve brought you. You grab the last piece of your mask before starting to walk away from Jason.

“You’re leaving?” Jason sounds as if he’s preparing to follow you. His hand twitches as if he wants to reach out to you.

You grit your teeth, “Are you going to stop me?”

He doesn’t immediately respond. At his silence, you turn to face him, the weariness in your gaze evident. He looks as if you struck him, mouth open, and for a moment you wonder if you broke him. You don’t say any of that, simply choosing to raise an eyebrow.

“Of course not.” He responds, his voice nearly inaudible. He isn’t moving, but he is leaning forward, as if he wants to be closer to you, yet he doesn’t reach for you. His hands lay limp at his sides.

You stare at him for a moment before turning away from him again. After a beat of silence, you think that this is the end of the interaction, but then he speaks again. “Is this it?” He breaks the silence, and you freeze.

“What?” You ask, and your voice sounds exhausted. Despite that fatigue, your alarm at hearing his words is evident.

Jason shifts awkwardly on his feet, and it makes him look so small despite him being anything but. “Are you going to leave?” He asks, and it sounds so helpless and utterly pitiful. You hate that you’re the one causing him to use that tone. Desolate and expectant. As if he isn’t surprised you’re leaving.

“I’m… I need to think.” You respond, tilting your head away from him. “My judgment is…” you loosely wave your hand around, “When you’re involved, I can’t—” you struggle to find the words, “I have to get out of here to think.” You land on, swallowing.

He doesn’t react initially, but then he hesitantly starts again. “I meant are you… are we..?” He trails off, swallowing down the words. He inhales, and you see his chest shudder slightly as it rises.

“Jason,” you squeeze your eyes shut and turn away from him. The anger floods out of your body, replaced by anguish. “I need to process this.” You hesitantly sneak a glance to him. “I’ll return, but I can’t do this right now.” You purse your lips, shaking your head.

“And how long will that take?” He asks softly, and he looks so pained, so hurt. Part of you wants to reassure him, to go back to him. That was all you wanted for days. “Do you intend to return, or—” he chuckles humorlessly, “or…” he repeats, trailing off, his already soft tone becoming inaudible. The implication is obvious to both of you.

“Jay,” you plead, “don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be, please.” You open your eyes, forcing yourself to take a deep breath, calming your racing heart. “You know I don’t want this.” You turn to face him before quickly averting your eyes back to the ground.

“Really?” His words sound disbelieving, and you wince at the tone. “If you don’t want this, then don’t go.” He walks up to you, and hesitantly grabs your palm laid at your side. “Just…” you watch as his lip trembles, nearly imperceptible, “Just don’t leave… Don’t leave me, please.”

You finally look up from the ground to him. His plea is desperate and only meant for you. To think that the same man begged you to leave the city is now pleading for you to stay with him. His words are soft, but the weight of them was never valued in their volume. He is breathing heavily, but you doubt it’s from physical exertion. The brawl had ended what must’ve been ages ago. His eyes follow your every moment, as if trying to predict your response based purely on eye contact.

“Jason,” you start and your voice cracks slightly, “It’s not that easy. I’m not— I don’t want to leave you. That's never what I’d want.” You raise a hand to his head, eying him as you carefully grab the mask off the top of his head. He doesn’t stop you. “I just…” You look down at the mask in your hands, the Arkham Knight’s mask. “I wasn’t… It was unexpected.”

He remains silent, and you see his jaw clench. Your shoulders fall slightly as you shift the mask into your offhand. “Give me a day or two… We can meet at the apartment or wherever you decide. I just need a little bit of time.” You thoughtlessly run your fingers over the mask before offering it back to him. “We need time, whether you think so or not.”

Jason looks down at it before looking back up at you. Slowly, he grabs it, “I… I didn’t want to hurt you.” He repeats his words from earlier.

You exhale, slowly blinking, “I know, Jay.”

“No,” he grounds, frustrated, “you don’t sound like you believe it.” He clutches the mask so tightly you see it tremble. “I never intended for you to get shot. That’s not how we planned it.”

“I believe you, Jay.” You offer him a strained smile. You do believe him. It’s hard not to when he’s looking at you as if your opinion is the only one that matters. You believe that he never intended for you to get shot, that he never wanted you to get shot.

That doesn’t change the fact that it happened though, and this revelation will be no small obstacle to overcome. You can’t imagine he doesn’t feel some sort of betrayal at finding out you’ve been working with Bruce for the past few nights, lying to him. You may have been the one to get physically hurt, but you can imagine— in fact, you can see the emotional toll it’s taking, not just on yourself, but on him. No matter how much he may insist you needn’t leave, you doubt that he doesn’t need time to process this too.

“I believe you.” You reassure him.

No matter how much you love him, belief doesn’t change the past.

The next couple days pass by with an aching slowness, tension taut as if waiting for an inevitable snap. You find yourself awaiting for it to crumble down upon you, but Jason adhered to you. He didn’t contact you, and despite telling him to not message you, you felt a pit at the bottom of your stomach every time you checked your phone only to not see his name. It left an uneasy weight on your chest, and you kept telling yourself that you both needed this. Not a break, per se, but at least some time to understand the consequences of both of your actions.

Your train of thought inevitably led to one question: where did this leave you both?

It wasn’t as easy to answer as what you may suppose.

The part of you so blindly in love with Jason says that this changes nothing. Even when Jason was actively the Arkham Knight, he never treated you— the real you— any differently. If you wanted to be blind once again, perhaps you both could pretend.

Of course, that’s naive, and dangerous in more than one way.

There’s no way you’d be able to ignore that facet of him. You doubt he could hardly ignore you going out masquerading into the night either. Best case scenario, you two would ignore each other out on the field. It’s not even a good case, yet it is better than having to fight with Jason. Even if you try to ignore each other, it would be downright impossible given Gotham's current state. Bruce would catch on immediately, and it’d create a whole other slew of problems.

You’d reached your conclusion on the afternoon leading to the second night. You’d pulled out your phone, and texted Jason for the first time since the night of the reveal. He responded within seconds (you were not counting), and the two of you agreed to meet at the apartment tonight.

You’d gone on dates many a time throughout your relationship with Jason. The first few were filled with that fluttering feeling in your chest, the giddiness of thinking you found the one. You had felt nervous, but excited.

Now, you feel that nervousness tenfold, but with zero of the excitement. No matter how well this could go, you can’t help but wonder how different things could be. Why did you have to be helping Bruce? Why did Jason have to be helping Scarecrow? Why did he have to be the Arkham Knight?

They were fruitless questions, more what-if’s to add to the growing list of regrets you have.

You can’t help but feel that both of you would’ve been happier if you weren’t who you are. Would ignorance be better than the guilt you feel churning in your gut? You whisper a lie to Tim, telling him you have business to attend to tonight— unavoidable. He frowns, but doesn’t question it. You wonder how he’d react to finding out that you are the one dating the Arkham Knight.

You try desperately to bridge the connection between the two: Jason and the Arkham Knight. If you think hard enough, and reflect on the footage of your meeting for the millionth time, perhaps you can find some similarities. Idiosyncrasies that you would’ve never connected between the two.

The longer you mulled over that footage the longer you realized that they were never separate. Jason is just as real as the Arkham Knight is. They aren’t mutually exclusive. Jason may have been real in different ways, but both of them are real. Jason shares his feelings with the Knight, and the Knight shares his feelings with Jason. They’re equal, and somehow they aren’t opposite. If anything they feed into each other.

It was yet another thing to add to your list of regrets. You had initially separated the two in your head, Jason and the Arkham Knight. The Arkham Knight could not love you because he is not Jason. Jason could love you because he is not the Arkham Knight. It wasn’t a fair distinction to make because Jason does love you, and you know that. He loves you even when he wears that mask and he loves you without it. Putting on a mask doesn’t change that.

Perhaps your first mistake was assuming that it did.

By the time you get there, he’s already waiting in your shared apartment. You walk to the living room, and despite everything that's happened, you feel glad to see him. It’s the first time you’ve seen each other since the revelation. He looks you up and down, his eyes lingering on the bullet wound he caused. You can’t tell if he’s attempting to be obvious, or if he really can’t tell he is staring. Either way, you adjust your clothes to cover the bandages around it. He turns his attention away from you, back to the coffee table he was staring into.

Neither of you want to be the first one to speak, and it’s painfully apparent. The silence is suffocating, and neither one of you act to allow the room to breathe. Eventually, you suck it up and break it.

“You’re here.” His head snaps up to yours as if he wasn’t expecting your voice. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here so soon.”

He pauses before answering, “I never left.” His voice is rough, raw, and strained. You can’t tell if it’s from overuse or underuse.

You frown, “You stayed here?” You're slightly taken aback by the revelation. He stayed even when you had left? “Even when planning…” you gesture your hand loosely around you.

He shakes his head, “No… God, no, I didn’t want you involved in that stuff.” He shakes his head profusely.

“Bit too late for that now.” You reply dryly, barely louder than a whisper.

Jason doesn’t respond to that comment, “Why’d you come early if you weren’t expecting me here?” He sits up straighter, turning back to look at you.

You blink at him before slowly shrugging, you begin to pace the room. “I don’t know… I wanted to see if I’d find anything that would’ve clued me in sooner. Closure, I suppose."”

“Closure?” He repeats, sputtering. “That… You’re making it sound final.”

You sigh, “Jason…”

He furrows his brows, “Is Bruce making you do this?” He asks softly, standing up. He sounds like he understands, as if he’s been in your position before. “We can… We can just leave. You don’t have to listen to him.” He walks over to you, grabbing your hands.

You open your mouth to speak, but your mouth runs dry. He takes this as an opportunity to continue. “We can leave Gotham. Forget Bruce. Forget Scarecrow. Forget everything going on here.”

His words are a whisper into your ear, for a moment you don’t register the panic hidden underneath.

The offer is tempting, so tempting. You feel yourself faltering, wondering if this is the right decision to make. Could you ditch everything here? Could you leave Gotham and— realistically— never look back? You’d never be able to look any of your friends in the eye again. How could you look at Tim, Dick, Barbara, or even Bruce knowing that you ditched them out of fear of facing reality?

“Jason,” you begin slowly, “it’s not that easy.” You squeeze his hand.

“It can be. I can get us out of the city within the hour.” His eyes bore into your own. “Just tell me to, please.” He squeezes your hand back. The gesture isn’t comforting, not to you. It’s not a gesture born out of grounding you, but out of fear. Fear that if he let go, you might never return. “Tell me anything, but I—” he exhales, “I can’t do this silence anymore. Just talk to me.”

You open your mouth, the words are on your lips. The desire to stay with Jason is overwhelming. Your lips part, and you let out a shaky exhale.

“Jason, I can’t ask you to do that.” You look down, focusing on your intertwined hands. The scars on his hands make so much sense now, and hesitantly you raise your hand to gently caress them. Jason watches you the whole time, and he looks conflicted by your gesture.

“You can.” He nods obstinately, “Please ask me to do this.”

“Jason, I don’t think—” you force yourself to look to the ground, away from his distraught expression, “—this is a good idea…”

He doesn’t react immediately, yet you know he heard you. He can’t not hear you, your inches apart.

He says your name, “Did Bruce ask you to do this?” He repeats his question from earlier gravely, and you shake your head.

“No, no,” you sneak a glance up to him, “I haven’t even told him.”

“So why?” He sounds wounded with an aspect of bewilderment thrown in. “We don’t have to break up.”

You swallow, shaking your head, fighting the tears. You tried to avoid that phrase: “break up.” Digging your nails into your palm, you sigh, “Jason, this isn’t going to stop anytime soon. We’re on opposite sides of this—”

“And you’re not willing to work past that?” His eyebrows are furrowed, and his eyes are filled with utter confusion.

“Jason, I don’t think we can.” You mirror his expression. “I mean— Look where it got me.” Your eyes flicker down to your shoulder.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “That’s— That’s not… I would take it back in a heartbeat if I could. You know it was a mistake. I was caught by surprise. I never meant to actually hurt you, even when I didn’t know it was you. I—”

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me on purpose, but it’s just proving my point.” You shake your head. “We won’t be on the same side of this battle. It’s dangerous for both of us if we’re out there fighting each other.”

“You wouldn’t have to fight me. I wouldn’t allow them to hurt you.” He grounds out, teeth gritting.

“If they hurt Bruce though? If they hurt Tim? Dick? Barbara?” You shake you head, “Jay, I won’t be able to avoid fighting your forces if any of them are in danger.” You squeeze his hand again. “This—” you gesture between you both, “won’t work for as long as we’re on opposing sides. We’re too close to the situation, too each other. It’s going to get one of us hurt or worse.”

Shakily, you raise a hand up to his cheek, gently avoiding the ‘J’ scar. His pupils are dilated, and you can see your teary reflection in them. You blink away the tears, “Perhaps, perhaps when this all dies down… Maybe we can make it work again, but with the current circumstances…” You turn your gaze to the window, looking down over the city, filled with drones patrolling, buildings aflame, and the familiar echo of not-so-distant gunshots. “Jason, we can’t continue this right now, and I think you know this.” His eyes stay trained on your own as you gently lower your hand from his face.

“I… You’re choosing them and not us?” He doesn’t meet your eyes, and he angles himself so you can’t read him.

“Jason— No— How could— I’m not choosing anybody. I’m…” You swallow, “I’m not going to be going out for patrol until this is over.”

His eyes snap up, “You’re… quitting?”

Dubiously, you nod. “At least until this is over. I can’t— I wouldn’t be able to make a decision out on field if I had to pick a side. I’m a liability.” It’s a lie, and you aren’t sure if he caught it. You know what decision you’d make. You know who’d you choose, and you know you’d only exacerbate the situation if you continued to aid Bruce. “I’m sorry, Jason.” You meet his eyes, the tears are silently falling down your face. You rub them away, attempting to pull away for the last time when he grabs you, luring you in.

You fall against his body, and he tilts your head to face him. Neither of you say anything as he leans down and kisses you. It’s slow, lingering, as if both of you are savoring what very well may be your final moments together. Jason raises his hand to wipe away the remainder of your tears as he deepens the kiss. It’s not sensual, but it contains desire. It’s the desire to stay in each other’s presence for just a little more, drawing out what inevitably must end. It’s the desire to spend just one more minute in each other’s presence. Neither of you pull away, and you take the opportunity to wrap your arms around him, leaning closer to him. You can feel Jason's shoulders relax under your touch.

The moment is drawn out, but that doesn’t make it artificial. If anything, it only makes the reality set in. Neither of you are eager to pull apart, and you offhandedly realize you should’ve. Perhaps it would make this easier.

Despite everything, one thing your heart and mind could agree on was that you still want Jason. No matter how much you’re pushing him away with your current actions, you still want him. Even after learning of who he is, you still want him. You don’t ever think you can stop wanting him.

Perhaps that’s why you don’t pull away, not for a long time.

Inevitably, one of you has to pull away for air, and Jason continues to lean closer to you, as if chasing your lips for just one more kiss. You open your eyes, and he is panting heavily as he shifts his gaze from your lips up to your eyes. Neither of you say anything as you look down to his lips. Both of you craving the other, yet unable to do anything about it. You gnaw the inside of your lip as you pull away. None of you say anything. You stare at each, and his gaze is heavy like a promise. A promise to return to each other one day.

For that moment, he was your Jason again, and you feel content in knowing that one day, he may be yours once more.

Both of your eyes linger on one another as you exit the apartment. You’re unhurried, almost as if you’re attempting to burn this memory into the back of Jason’s mind. He supposes that you do an acceptable job burning it into his memory. The kiss you shared is vividly painted in his brain, and he doesn’t think it’ll be leaving his thoughts anytime soon.

He okay with that.

He watches the door as if hoping that by some miracle you might turn around and take back every decision you made. He doesn’t wait long, but there was the tiniest bit of optimism.

He walks back to your shared bedroom. Opening the closet, he reaches for the duffel bag inside. Upon unzipping it, his mask is atop the pile of his armor. He slowly grabs it, the pulsing light emanating from it illuminates the otherwise dark room.

You had said that maybe in the future it could work again. That being on opposite sides is dangerous, and Jason knows that logically, you’re correct.

He’s never been logical when it came to you.

He looks out the window, seeing the city reflected below. You were right. Both of you are too deep into this situation. He knows you can fight— he’s seen you fight, but knowing that you’d be out there on the field with unaccounted variables, variables he can’t control? With the current state Gotham is in? It’s a wonder how Bruce thought it was acceptable to be going out alone against the wolves of Gotham. It’s one thing for Bruce to endanger his own life, it’s another thing to endanger yours.

The thought sends a shiver through him that Scarecrow never could. To think that he could get his hands on you if Jason wasn’t careful. Jason banishes the idea from his mind, for he’d never allow that to happen. He’s already failed you once, and he will not be repeating that mistake.

Perhaps, one day you will reunite. Perhaps one day, he will be able to hold you in his arms once again, untroubled by the headache of Gotham. Perhaps one day, he won’t have to worry about Bruce, the enemies you've made, or any criminals of Gotham itching to get one over his head and take you.

Today isn’t that day. It won’t be tomorrow either. There’s a possibility it may not come for years.

But Jason is patient. He's been patient.

He will wait.

However, he has the power to expedite your return. He holds the mask up before gently placing it onto the bed as he grabs the rest of his armor, slowly putting it on.

He can get out there right now, and make those years apart turn to months. He can make those months turn to weeks. If he tries hard enough, perhaps he can make those weeks into days. If finishing his business with Scarecrow is what it will take to be able to feel your touch upon his skin once more?

Jason adjusts his holsters before grabbing his guns, sliding them into place. He reaches for the mask, placing the familiar weight onto his head. He presses the button against his neck, and it lowers onto his face. He takes in a deep breath.

He will do what it takes.

: ̗̀➛ A/N: Yes I’m aware I said that I would be posting that one Jason fic ft. Damian idea next. No, I will NOT apologize. I had this idea in mind ever since I finished the games. For those of you who’ve been following my updates. THIS is the fic that I’ve been unsure about. I hope I did AK!Jason justice. I adore him so much. Anyway, I wasn't sure whether to tag this as ooc. The way I see it, Jason may love you, but at the same time he did go and commit all those crimes in the game. He was out for BLOOD in Arkham Knight (at the very least he wanted Bruce specifically dead), and I wanted to make sure that was evident here even if he loves reader. Honestly, I could go into a whole deep dive of why I wrote him the way I did. I have SO many thoughts about him. ANYWAY, this is already long enough as it is, I hope you enjoyed the fic! :D

You let out a small, humourless laugh. "Your first crush."

He paused.

It was subtle, but you saw it. The way his shoulders stilled for a second before he resumed moving. "We were just catching up."

"Catching up," you repeated.

The rain outside was relentless, pouring against the windows like it wanted to break in, while the storm had been building all evening, much like the tightness in your chest.

"She's doing well," you added. "Her company is expanding overseas, right?"

Yunho nodded slowly. "Yeah. She worked hard for it."

You swallowed.

A pretty, wealthy, successful, and independent woman… She is everything that you weren't.

You worked at his company, as his secretary. You saw him every day in pressed suits, making decisions that moved numbers you couldn't even comprehend. And tonight, you watched him stand beside a woman who built her own empire.

They looked… equal.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked gently.

"Like what?"

"Like I did something wrong."

You turned away from him. "Didn't you?"

His brows furrowed. "What?"

"You didn't have to talk to her that long."

"It was a reunion," he said carefully. "I talked to everyone."

"But you didn't look at everyone like that."

Silence, yet the rain grew louder.

"Like what?" he asked again, softer this time.

"Like you used to."

That did it.

His expression changed into not guilt or longing, but confusion. "Y/N… that was years ago."

"She's still impressive," you pushed. "She doesn't need anyone, right? She built everything herself."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, she doesn't need a man to support her; she's capable on her own."

The words hit you wrong.

She doesn't need a man. Your chest tightened. So maybe he needs someone like that. Not someone who depends on him, not someone who works under him, and definitely not someone who clings.

"You think I'm too dependent on you," you said before you could stop yourself.

His head snapped toward you. "What? No."

"You just said she doesn't need a man."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" Your voice rose despite yourself.

He stepped closer. "I meant she's strong, that's all. Why are you twisting my words?"

Because I'm scared. I feel small. Because next to her, I look like I don't belong beside you.

But instead of saying any of that, you crossed your arms and said, "Maybe you'd be better off with someone like her."

His face fell. "Where is this coming from?"

You knew he was right. You knew he wasn't flirting. You knew he wasn't comparing. But your pride was louder than logic.

"Forget it."

You grabbed your coat and headed for the door.

"Y/N," he warned.

You opened it anyway.

Cold air and heavy rain rushed in instantly. Within seconds, your hair and clothes were soaked. The storm swallowed you whole.

"Are you serious right now?" he shouted from behind you.

You didn't answer. You just walked. You needed space, air, you needed your thoughts to stop screaming.

Behind you, you heard him curse under his breath. Drawers opening and closing, then something clattering.

"Y/N!" he called again.

In your mind, you just needed a few minutes. Just a little distance. But in his mind? He had just hurt you, and it was his fault for talking to his first crush. Out of everyone at that reunion, he had to stand there longer than necessary. He had to be stupid enough not to notice the way you were watching.

So he ran after you.

No umbrella, no hesitation. Just rain soaking him through in seconds.

He caught up quickly, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly. "Y/N, please. Let's just go home and talk, okay?"

His hair was plastered to his forehead, and as water dripped down his jaw, his voice wasn't angry, but it was worried.

You wanted him to let go. You wanted him to stop being so patient, stop being so kind, stop making it harder to stay mad.

"I said leave me alone," you snapped, swinging your arm to shake him off.

The motion was bigger than you meant it to be, because as your foot slipped after your big and harsh motion, there was no time to react. Your balance disappeared instantly, and the slick pavement unforgiving beneath you.

"Wait-!"

His hand lunged for yours, but rain made everything slippery and his fingers closed around nothing but air.

You fell backward hard, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as your back hit the ground. The pain shot up your spine, followed by a small, involuntary wince in pain.

"Y/N!"

He dropped to his knees beside you immediately, panic flooding his voice. "Are you okay?!"

The rain poured relentlessly, soaking your face… Until suddenly, it wasn't.

He had leaned over you, his broad frame shielding your smaller one completely. The storm now hit his back instead, and water running down his shoulders in streams. His hands hovered near you, yet afraid to touch, afraid to hurt you more.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I'm so sorry."

And that hurt more than the fall, because he truly believed this was his fault.

Lightning flashed above you, illuminating the fear in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I'm so sorry."

The rain hammered against his back, but he didn't move. Not even when water ran down his neck, not even when thunder cracked overhead.

You stared up at him.

His hair was dripping. His lashes clung together, droplets trembling at the tips. His hands were hovering near your waist and shoulder, like he wanted to hold you but was terrified of hurting you more.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, voice shaking. "Tell me where it hurts."

You opened your mouth, but the pain in your back wasn't what overwhelmed you. It was the look on his face.

He looked like he had almost lost you, and something inside you finally broke.

"You didn't even hesitate," you whispered.

He frowned. "What?"

"You ran after me… in this rain. You said sorry even if it wasn't your fault… you care for you even when I'm unreasonable."

"Of course I did," he said immediately, like the answer was obvious. "You're always right."

Your vision blurred from tears.

"You looked so perfect standing next to her," you admitted, your voice trembling now. "She's successful… Independent… She built everything on her own. And I just-"

Your throat tightened.

"I just work for you."

"Don't say that."

"It's true," you choked. "You two make sense. You're both successful. You're equals. And I'm just… me."

Rainwater mixed with tears as they slid down your temples.

"I thought maybe," you continued, voice cracking, "maybe you need someone like that. Someone who doesn't cling. Someone who doesn't get jealous over something stupid."

His hand finally moved. It cupped your cheek, warm despite the cold rain.

"Look at me," he said softly.

You didn't want to, but you did , his eyes were steady.

"Do you know why I talked to her?" he asked.

You shook your head weakly.

"Because she asked about you."

You blinked.

"She said she saw pictures. Said I looked different. Happier." His thumb brushed away a tear. "I told her I am."

Your breath hitched.

"I told her I'm with someone who makes coming home the best part of my day. Someone who keeps my company from falling apart because she's more capable than she thinks. Someone who argues with me when I'm wrong. Someone who ran into a storm tonight because she felt insecure and didn't know how to say it."

Your lips trembled.

"I don't need someone who 'doesn't need a man,'" he continued quietly. "I want you. Not because you depend on me, not because you work for me, but because you're you."

His forehead rested gently against yours.

"I didn't fall for her," he said. "I fell for you."

The rain softened around you—not physically, but in your awareness. It faded into background noise.

"You scare me sometimes," he admitted with a shaky laugh. "Running off like that. Making me think I lost you over something I didn't even mean."

"I didn't mean to slip," you whispered.

"I know."

Silence settled between you fully.

You were still lying on the wet pavement. He was still shielding you, and his breath mingled with yours, warm against your lips. Your hands slowly lifted, gripping his soaked shirt near his collar.

"I hate that I get like this," you confessed. "I know you're right. I just… I don't feel enough sometimes."

His eyes softened in a way that made your chest ache.

"You are more than enough," he said firmly. "And if I ever make you doubt that, I'll spend the rest of my life fixing it."

That did it.