Willow

Granny Nyon had warned you. She had paced the stone floors of the palace, her voice sharp with the ancient wisdom of Amazon Lily.

“Love is a hurricane, Empress. Men are deceitful, carefree creatures, and love sickness will consume you until you have nothing left to offer your people.”

You hadn't listened. Because meeting Shanks had its own cruel, inescapable shortcomings. From the moment your paths crossed, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. He was a whirlpool, dragging you into his depths with nothing more than a charming, easy smile and a handsome face.

He treated life like a grand party, playing with your devotion, pulling you close with sweet, careless affection one day, and sailing off into the horizon the next unaware or simply indifferent to the fact that he was breaking you piece by piece.

When the anguish became too much to bear, you fled. You left the throne, let your name fade into a legendary myth, and hid away where no ocean wind could whisper his name.

Until today.

The tavern door swung open, bringing with it the salty breeze of the harbor and the heavy, familiar weight of a Conqueror’s presence. You froze, the glass in your hand suddenly feeling impossibly heavy.

There he stood. Older, perhaps, but carrying that same maddeningly relaxed air. His red hair caught the dim lantern light, and those dark eyes scanned the room until they landed square on you.

“Empress” Shanks said, his voice smooth, laced with that effortless warmth that had once undone your entire life. “You’re certainly far from home.”

He stepped closer, pulling out the stool across from you with the casual intimacy of a man who didn't realize he was standing on the ruins of your heart. He smiled, a flash of white teeth under his shadow of stubble. "It's been years. I searched for you, you know. You just vanished into thin air."

"You shouldn't have bothered" you said quietly, keeping your gaze fixed on the dark amber liquid in your glass. Your voice trembled slightly, betraying the hurricane stirring in your chest.

Shanks leaned back, resting an arm over the chair, watching you with that keen, perceptive look that always made you feel exposed. "Come now, don't be like that. We had good times, didn't we? The seas haven't been the same without you keeping everyone in line."

He said it so lightly. As if your disappearance was just a minor inconvenience, as if your broken heart was merely a passing storm. To him, you were a fond memory, a wild Empress he had briefly crossed paths with. To you, he had been the end of your world.

You finally looked up, staring straight into those captivating eyes that had dragged you to ruin years ago. The pain, buried for so long, surged to the surface, sharp and bitter.

“If only you could give me half the love you have for yourself” you whispered, the words slicing through the noise of the tavern.

Shanks’ smile faltered, the easy charm slipping from his face as the weight of your words settled between you. For the first time in his life, the Red-Haired Emperor was completely speechless.

Which brought you to the present. You listened carefully as the voices of the Marines faded past the alleyway entrance.

“The Straw Hats are here! Inform the Captain!”

“Well, that’s going to be a problem,” you muttered, adjusting your grip on the bags.

“Tsk. Don’t you know how to lay low?” Zoro remarked, giving you a side-eye.

That immediately ticked you off. “Excuse me? At least I’m not the one who gets lost every single time we dock at a new island!”

“I don’t get lost. I know my directions!” Zoro snapped back in his defense.

“Oh, says the guy who literally keeps walking in circles!”

“I was looking for the shop—”

“Look, they’re over here!” a Marine shouted, having spotted the two of you after hearing the shouting match.

“Shit, seriously?” you huffed.

Before you could react, Zoro grabbed your wrist, dragging you out of the tight alley and landing a quick hit on a nearby Marine to clear a path.

“Hey!” you yelled, stumbling behind him.

“No time! We need to get back to the Sunny!”

He held tight to your wrist, taking down any stray Marines in your path as he made a quick dash for the docks. By the time the two of you made it back to the ship—much earlier than the rest of the crew’s agreed-upon meeting time you were breathless and annoyed.

“You idiot, I can’t believe you dragged me like that!” you complained, snatching your wrist back from his grip, which he had held onto for far too long.

“I saved your sorry ass from getting beaten” Zoro replied casually, as if nothing had happened.

“Beaten? Those guys were nothing but rookies!”

“Aren’t you still healing from our last battle?” the moss-head pointed out.

He had a point. Chopper had nagged you relentlessly before you left, warning you not to overexert yourself so your wounds wouldn't reopen.

Feeling caught, you immediately went on the defensive. “Since when do you care about my sorry ass?” you huffed, crossing your arms.

“Since forever, you idiotic dunce!” he snapped back instantly.

He didn't even seem to process what he had just said. Without another word, Zoro turned on his heel and bounded up onto the deck of the Sunny, leaving you standing alone at the dock.

You stared after him, a faint heat rising to your cheeks as his words sank in. Oh geez... what an idiot.

⋆˚꩜｡ Portgas D. Ace

The quiet hum of the Moby Dick’s medical bay was shattered by the sharp clatter of glass bottles on a metal tray.

"Ace, sit still!" you snapped, pressing a cool, wet rag against a bleeding cut over his eyebrow. "You just had to go jump on a rogue marine vessel all by yourself, didn't you? You didn't even wait for back-up!"

Ace sat on the edge of the examination table, his arms crossed tightly over his bare chest. His jaw was set, and his face was bright red—though at this point, you couldn't tell if it was from heat, adrenaline, or sheer stubbornness.

"I had it under control” he grumbled, refusing to look you in the eye.

"You have three fractured ribs and a gash on your forehead!" You sighed heavily, pulling away to grab a spool of medical thread.

"I swear, I don't know why you always do this. Every time you get reckless, I'm the one who has to stitch you back together. You make it so hard to treat you like a normal friend."

Ace snapped.

He grabbed your wrist not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to force you to stop. When you looked up, his dark eyes were burning with a mix of utter frustration, embarrassment, and raw intensity.

"I’m going to need you to stop for one second" Ace gritted out, his voice thick with agitation, "because I just find it so incredibly rude that you think I’m not head over heels in love with your stupid, oblivious ass. Are you a brick? Because you’re dense as fuck."

The medical bay fell dead silent. You blinked, completely frozen, the needle held mid-air between your fingers.

"You... what?" you breathed.

Ace let go of your wrist like he'd just been burned by his own flames. He shoved a hand through his messy black hair, groaning as he dragged his palm down his face. His ears were flaming crimson.

"You heard me" he muttered bitterly, staring down at the wooden floorboards. "I don't get hurt just to annoy you. I don't come in here four times a week because I'm clumsy. I come in here because you literally don't look at me unless I'm bleeding out on your floor! I save you food at every banquet, I sit on watch during your shifts, and you just laugh and thank me for being a 'good friend."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Every lingering glance, every awkward blush, every time he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck when you patted his shoulder—it all suddenly collided in your brain, clicking into place at once.

"Ace..." you said softly, your chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with medical duty. "I... I honestly had no idea."

"Yeah, clearly" Ace muttered, though the angry bite in his voice was already melting into sheer bashfulness. He stole a quiet glance at you from under his dark lashes, his face still flushed. "...So. Are you gonna finish stitching me up, or are you just gonna stand there making me feel like an idiot?"

A small, breathless smile tugged at the corner of your lips. You stepped closer to the edge of the bed, gently resting your hand against his warm jaw to guide his head up.

"Hold still, Commander" you murmured gently, leaning in to work on his forehead. "And for the record... you didn't have to break three ribs just to get me to notice you."

Ace blinked, his breath hitching as your faces drew close. A dazed, ridiculously happy smirk slowly replaced his scowl.

Outside the heavy wooden door of the infirmary, the faint sound of Thatch wheezing with laughter and Marco sighing in relief echoed down the corridor, though Ace was far too distracted to care

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 Trafalgar D. Water Law

You could solve a multi-layered cryptographic cipher in under three minutes, but you somehow couldn't grasp the basic concept of self-preservation.

As the Heart Pirates' chief strategist, your brain was an absolute weapon. You mapped out invasion plans, predicted marine movements down to the hour, and calculated precise artillery arcs in the middle of chaotic firefights. But to you, your own body was just an inconvenient vehicle used to carry your brain around.

Which is why Trafalgar Law was currently losing his mind.

You sat on the examination table in the Polar Tang's medical bay, holding a small ice pack to a nasty bruise forming on your ribcage. A few minor cuts were taped over on your forearm. You were already back to staring at a log-pose blueprint in your lap, humming thoughtfully.

"I told you to fall back to the submarine the moment the rear guard was engaged" Law said, his voice deadly quiet as he prepped a fresh roll of bandages.

"And miss the opportunity to collect the marine encryption keys from their lead ship?" You didn't even look up, adjusting your glasses with your free hand. "The tactical advantage of acquiring those codes outweighs a minor defensive lapse by roughly three hundred percent. It was an optimal trade-off."

Law’s hand clenched onto the edge of the medical table.

"An optimal trade-off?" he hissed, stepping directly into your space. His dark eyes were wide, storming with an intensity that finally made you look up from your paper.

"Law, I'm fine, so it's okay—"

"No, it's not okay!" Law snapped, his voice cracking slightly as the stoic facade he usually wore completely shattered. "Not when I feel like I'm going to go batshit fucking crazy, thinking you've hurt yourself!"

You blinked, frozen. "Law...?"

He gripped the edge of the table on either side of you, trapping you in place, his breathing heavy. His chest rose and fell rapidly, the usual cool, calculated Surgeon of Death completely replaced by a man hanging on by a thread.

"You think in numbers and strategies" he growled, leaning in so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. "You look at yourself like a piece on a chessboard that can be sacrificed for a higher win-rate. But you don't think about what happens to me when you walk into a hail of gunfire just to grab a piece of paper."

"I calculated the risk—"

"I don't give a damn about your calculations!" Law yelled, throwing his head back with an exasperated, disbelieving laugh. "I am a surgeon. I spend half my life putting people back together, but every time you step foot off this submarine, my heart rate spikes to lethal levels because I know you're going to do something brilliant and utterly suicidal!"

You stared at him, your analytical mind suddenly grinding to a screeching halt.

You watched the way his knuckles were white where he gripped the table. You noticed the slight tremble in his gloved fingers, the raw panic still lingering in his dark eyes, and the faint, unmistakable flush crawling up his neck under his collar.

"Law" you said softly, the realization finally breaking through the dense wall of logic in your head. "Are you... worried about me because I'm the strategist, or..."

Law let out a long, shuddering breath, dropping his head for a second before looking back up at you with absolute, exhausted candor.

"Are you genuinely that dense?" he muttered, his voice dropping to a low, rough whisper. "I'm losing my mind because I'm in love with you, you idiot. And watching you treat your life like a expendable resource is driving me insane."

The silence in the med bay was deafening.

You dropped the ice pack. It hit the floor with a soft

thud

"Oh" you breathed. "You're... in love with me?"

Law rolled his eyes, though the dark blush on his cheeks deepened significantly. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes. I just said that. Do I need to write it down in a medical report for you to process it?"

"No" you said, a small, slightly bewildered smile touching your lips. You reached out, tentatively placing a hand over his white-knuckled grip on the table. "I... I think my calculations were severely flawed."

Law looked at your hand, then up at your face, his expression softening just a fraction. "How so?"

"I didn't factor in how much my captain actually cared about the strategist" you murmured, leaning forward slightly. "I'll... revise my self-preservation protocols."

Law let out a quiet sigh, the tension finally leaving his shoulders as he leaned in, resting his forehead lightly against yours. "You better. Because if you make me go through that again, I'm locking you in this room."

"Is that a medical promise?"

"It's a threat." he grumbled.

Because there’s nothing men want more than a vulnerable person alone in a bar.

“I’m Tom, by the way” he said, trying for a soft smile as you wiped your tears.

“Thank you, Tom. I’m fine,” you replied — voice low, gravelled from emotion and whiskey.

Tom raised a brow, hesitant, before leaning in slightly. “Do you want to talk about it—”

“No, she doesn’t want to talk about anything. Not with you, Tom. That voice. The one that could slice through any room. The same voice that had once whispered your name like a prayer and was now the reason your chest ached.

Jason.

You froze, the handkerchief still in your grip. The air shifted before you could even think, his presence swallowing everything else whole.

You and Jason Todd complicated was an understatement. You partly blamed yourself for it; the blurred lines, the stolen glances, the nights that bled into mornings.

Friends don’t sleep together. Friends don’t kiss like that.

But you did. Over and over.

And now here you were, being dragged out of the bar by the same man who shattered you, his hand around your wrist like he had any right to it.

Was it wrong to ask him what you two were? Was it wrong that he only replied with a gruff, “We’re nothing serious”

The cold wind outside hit you like mockery. You yanked your wrist free halfway through the parking lot.

“What’s wrong with you?” you demanded, your voice trembling between fury and heartbreak.

“Look, I know I messed up,” Jason said, frustration dripping through his tone. “I said we’re just friends, but you don’t go seeing anyone behind my back—”

“Todd,” you cut him off sharply, your voice cracking but steady, “we’re friends. Just friends. Sure, we slept together — but like you said, we’re nothing exclusive.” You threw his words back at him, tasting bitterness with every syllable. “I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.”

Jason’s face faltered — contorted into something unreadable. Stunned. Shocked that you were the one to end it.

No. That wasn’t happening.

He grabbed your chin, tilting your face up toward him. “You don’t mean that.” His jaw clenched hard enough to crack. “You’re pissed and you have every damn right to be but if you think I’m just letting you go, you’re stupid.”

You took a step back, putting space between you, drawing an invisible line — your boundary.

“Friends don’t sleep with each other, Jason,” you said, voice clear but trembling. “They don’t get jealous when they see someone else talking to them. It’s hypocrisy.”

He stayed silent, jaw tight, eyes darting like he was searching for the right words to make it all make sense.

“I tried to understand you,” you continued, breath shaking, “I really did. But I want peace not doubt. I want someone who gives me butterflies, Jason. You’re just not that guy.”

“Just not the guy for you?” he shot back, his voice raw and rough around the edges. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white. “Bullshit.”

He stepped forward, ignoring the invisible line you’d drawn because when had Jason Todd ever respected boundaries?

“I am the guy for you!” he snapped. “I’m just… I’m fucked up, okay? I don’t know how to do this without screwing it up!” His voice dropped, low and wrecked. “I saw you talking to some pretty boy in there, and my blood boiled. Your attention it’s only ever with me.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, breath shaking. “You’re the one who made it more than friends You looked at me like I was yours. And yeah, I screwed up but don’t you dare act like this is all on me.”

His eyes burned into yours desperate, pleading, angry all at once.

“Say it again,” he whispered. “Say we’re done and mean it.” With one last glance into those eyes, you gathered every last piece of courage still left inside you.

“We’re done.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Jason stood there, jaw clenched, eyes dark and unreadable as he watched you walk away.

You didn’t look back. Not once.

He told himself he didn’t care that your names were carved into each other’s skin, that destiny had decided before either of you could choose.

His parents weren’t soulmates and they still had him, and if fate could make two people like them, then maybe it was never worth believing in.

Still, night after night, Damian found himself standing at the highest points of Gotham, eyes locked on the bleeding glow of city lights, wondering if the ache in his chest was guilt or punishment, and if there could have been another way to handle everything that had gone wrong between you.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

He had heard of you long before he met you another perfect student with a perfect future, wrapped in money, grace, and a last name that opened doors like his own.

When he finally saw you, it was raining, the kind of rain that made the city blur into a watercolor dream, and you had smiled at him like it meant something, waving shyly from across the classroom. He had scowled, because he didn’t know what else to do when something felt too close to hope.

You sat near the soccer field benches during lunch that day, alone, the gray sky heavy above you, and you told yourself maybe he was just shy, maybe fate needed time to work. You didn’t know that some hearts are raised in cages too cold to soften.

When the two of you were paired in art class, you tried again, treating it like a chance to understand him, but to him, it was nothing more than a transaction. You smiled, he nodded, and for a moment you thought maybe you saw something flicker in his eyes before it vanished like it was never there.

When your mother insisted you invite him to her party, saying it would be good to build a connection, you waited for him after fencing practice, clutching the letter and the last bit of your courage. He looked at you with that same empty gaze and said, “Stop it. You’re wasting my time. I’ll cut this cursed limb off and leave it at your doorstep if it means you’ll leave me alone.”

You stood there frozen, your heart trying to understand the words it refused to believe. “What?” you managed, voice trembling, but he just turned away together with his cold words, “Leave me alone. Fluttering will get you nowhere.” Then he left, and it felt like something inside you went with him.

The next day, everyone knew. Rumors spread like fire and smoke, and he saw you sitting in the back of the classroom, smaller than he remembered, quiet, like someone who had forgotten how to exist. That was the last time he saw you. Days passed, then weeks, and your absence began to press on him like guilt with a pulse.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

When Batman’s voice echoed through the cave one night “Your communication was off again, Robin” he brushed it off, pretending it didn’t matter, pretending he wasn’t spending every patrol climbing rooftops just to breathe the same air as you. When Tim teased him about rooftop habits, Damian only clicked his tongue and said, “Nothing,” but even he could hear the lie in his own voice.

Alfred noticed first. “A cup of tea, young master?” he offered gently one morning after Damian had skipped school. Damian stared at the steam rising from the cup before whispering, “I did something horrible.”

“Ah. The broken vase, I assume?” Alfred replied lightly.

“Not that” Damian muttered. “That was Jason’s fault.”

“Noted” Alfred said dryly. “Then what troubles you?”

“I met my soulmate.”

A pause.

“That’s wonderful news. Shall I—”

“No. I rejected her.”

The silence that followed was heavier than any reprimand Bruce had ever given.

“Master Damian,” Alfred finally said, voice softer, disappointed, “that is exactly what you should not do”

“She hasn’t shown up to school in days” Damian whispered. “And I think I’ve made a mistake I can’t fix.”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The charity gala was bright—too bright. Cameras flashed, champagne glasses clinked, and laughter filled the air. You wore your best smile, the one that didn’t reach your eyes. Your mother, dramatic as always, hissed beside you, “I should sue him and Bruce Wayne too! How dare they hurt my precious girl!” You laughed weakly, begging her not to cause a scene. You had almost convinced yourself you’d moved on until you saw him. Emerald eyes across the room. The same ones that had looked at you like you were nothing. The same ones that had haunted your dreams every night since.

Your chest tightened as you excused yourself and fled outside to the gardens, the cold air slicing through your lungs. “It’s fine,” you whispered to yourself. “Just breathe. Just go back inside and pretend nothing happened.” But then his voice came from behind you soft, uncertain, too human. “You’re really here.”

You turned, startled. He looked unfairly beautiful in that suit. “No,” you said bitterly. “You’re imagining me.” He took a step closer, and you stepped back. “I just want to talk” damian said too soft and unusual.

“Talk?” you laughed, but it cracked like glass. “What’s left to talk about? You humiliated me. You made me a joke.”

“I know. I’m sorry—”

“No! Don’t you dare.” Your voice trembled, the tears burning hot behind your eyes. “I wish we never met. And for both our sakes, Damian, I hope this is the only lifetime we ever get.”

You turned and walked away before he could say anything, before the guilt on his face could make you falter. He didn’t follow. He never did. And that’s how the red thread stayed not broken, just pulled so tight around your throats that neither of you could speak without choking on the word love.

He recalls you picking a game to play with him on the Switch, but then a Tim Drake came, smelling like he had drank a lot of coffee. The next thing he knew, Tim, his brother, was seated next to you on the carpet, digging through the stacks of game cards.

It was especially difficult on Richard, who had moved out and settled in Bludhaven due to how old he is. He was still present at the manor during your visit. Damian is convinced he has returned to the manor, which Dick shrugs about.

He only gave you a chuckle, looking at your sleepy state. “You’re impossible, and I lo—”

You stir, sitting up straight, Damian changing the “I love you” to “How can you sleep anywhere? ” Damian lightly teased.

You never realize what he almost said; for the next few minutes, he stares at the page a bit too long afterward. 

“Let's get this done; I’m hungry.”

The first attempt was a fail, and he had been too silent during patrol that night.

II.

The second attempt was far too embarrassing. It happened during the museum visit.

Everyone was scattered around, busy taking pictures and chatting about the pieces; somehow you both ended up in a quiet exhibit gallery filled with Renaissance portraits or old swords.

There weren't many people about; if there were, the silence filled the room as they stared at the paintings, attempting to figure out their meaning, some interpreting it their own way.

You tilted your head and gave Damian a look as you examined one of the hung portraits. “You’d look good in one of those portraits.” You laugh it off, teasing him.

He looks like he’s about to say something more. 

Just say it.

Those three words repeated in Damian’s head, but nothing came out; instead, a guide’s voice echoes down the hall, breaking the moment.

He steps back, hands in his pockets, the unsaid words hanging between you like the painting’s gaze.

There will be a next time, he hopes so.

III.

Gotham's nightlife was famously dangerous.

It was past midnight, and your eyelids were weary from attempting to write the essay due tomorrow.

As you reach for your phone from the side of your desk, you unexpectedly contact him.

You grumble to him about the essay, Plato's life, and why he created The Republic. And How you didn't get to finish it sooner than expected because you babysat for your cousin's kid and took the kid out, then, just your luck, you had to finish another pending homework out of it all.

Damian stays quiet, just listening as you ramble about your day.

He stares at you through the phone, your hair messy and eyes droopy, the dim light of your lamp reflecting off your eyeglasses. “Remind me to say no next time.”

There’s a soft exhale on the other end before he says, “You have no idea what you mean to—”

Static cuts out.

The line drops.

You think it was a glitch. He stares at his phone, wondering if he should call back. He doesn’t.

You texted him instead, thanking him for the company, and then went back to finishing your essay.

IV.

The fourth try it was your birthday; he was so sure he was going to say it, even rehearsing it in front of the mirror.

He had you sit at the manor’s garden benches; he sat beside you watching you unwrap the gift. He bought something you mentioned once months ago. 

You’re touched, teasing him “Didn’t think you’d remember.” He shrugs, trying to play it cool “Of course I did. Because I—”

There Titus barks. You look at the Great Dane wearing a party hat. You laugh at how hilarious he looks, snapping a few pictures before Alfred pops up, saying you should go inside and blow out the candles before Jason tries anything with it.

You look at Damian, seeing the faintest smile as you both walk inside, Damian whispering to you, “Happy birthday, beloved.”

You heard that one.

V.

You hear Damian playing alone—something slow, aching, and deliberate.

The next time it was around the piano room; you had sneaked away from his brothers' company looking for him.

You sit beside him, fingers brushing the keys. “Didn’t know you could play” you say softly.

“There’s a lot you don’t know” he replies. You ask, “Like what?”

His hand hesitates over the keys. “Like how much I lo—” A door creaks open Alfred’s voice from the hall calls him for something.

He gives a tight nod and leaves, music still echoing behind him. You sit there, the unfinished chord ringing in your chest. Still, he missed the way a small grin formed at the corner of your lips.

You beat it to him; it was an unexpected date.

You dragged Damian to the nearest cafe after school, rambling about the things you're looking forward to this winter break.

“Do you have any plans, Dami?” you asked, looking at him. “Probably a stupid vacation my family insists we do” he replied, acting annoyed, but his eyes softened watching you take a bite of the piece of cake. 

“Sounds normal to me” you hummed, wiping the corners of your mouth with the napkin. “Dami” you called out, smiling.

He was taking a sip of the tea you ordered for him. “Yes?” He looked up, placing the cup back down. 

“I love you” you grin, watching him get flustered. He turned away, trying to hide his reaction, murmuring along the lines of “not fair.”

You didn’t wait for any reply and instead continued eating. Seconds later you hear him, all calm and serious “I love you more.” 

You pace, restless. The thought of your brother risking his life night after night in Gotham’s shadows gnaws at you like a splinter you can’t pull free. The burden of the fortune he’s left for you to inherit feels heavier than the marble halls you’ve grown up in. You never met your parents. That absence has been a wound your whole life.

For your brother, the grief still lingers. He’d been just on the edge of adulthood when they died. You were too young to remember anything of them, and yet you were old enough to understand what it meant to be sheltered. He locked you in a safe world, insisting he couldn’t lose another family member.

Years passed in the silent halls of the estate. Society moved on quickly, but you remember half your childhood spent moving from one place to another before your brother finally returned to Gotham, where your family had been rooted for generations.

Now here you are, pacing before rows of titles, trying to clear your head. Rain drums harder outside. The thunder doesn’t soothe you — it only heightens your nerves.

“Stupid Bruce Wayne, stupid Batman,” you mutter under your breath. “Asking my brother for help, for tech.”

Your voice rises without thinking. flashback waving you over you.“Why do you need to play hero with Bruce Wayne — with Batman — when we’re rich? Donating to charities and funding the city isn’t enough for you, brother?”

You remember chasing after him down the stairs earlier, his cufflinks glinting as he adjusted them, looking over his shoulder at you.

“Sometimes someone needs to step into the light,” he’d said, his voice steady, “and help others in ways money can’t.

Those words echo in your head now. What if those were his last words? you think suddenly, heart hammering.

Silence falls too sudden, too heavy. You flinch. Instinctively, you retreat deeper into the study, behind one of the taller shelves. “Mr. Rob?” Your voice cracks, parched. You’d given your bodyguard the day off. There shouldn’t be anyone here.

Your fingers close around a heavy leather-bound book as a makeshift weapon. You edge around the corner toward the noise. Nothing.

Then

“You are just as cautious as I expected,” a voice purrs, rich and low. “A guardian of legacies. But perhaps too blind to see what lies directly before you.”

You whirl.

She stands there like a vision drawn from shadow poised, regal, her presence pressing on the room like a storm front. You recognize her at once.

Talia al Ghul. The mother of Damian Wayne. You’ve seen her name whispered in articles, League rumors, but never her face. Until now. And the resemblance to her son is undeniable.

You take a step back, trying to steady your voice. “What business do you have with me? Surely not another scheme with the League.”

She smiles, mocking yet perfectly composed. “Not the League. My son.”

She steps closer, her eyes traveling over you with quiet precision. “Damian is a man now, though he acts like a boy in matters of the heart. He does not approach you because of fear, fear of your brother, fear of rejection, fear of tainting what binds your families together. Yet his silence consumes him.”

Your chest tightens. You’d noticed Damian’s gaze lingering sometimes, his hesitations, but you brushed it off. Impossible. Dangerous even.

“I don’t understand,” you snap. “Is your boy upset that I beat him at fencing? Do you want me to apologize?”

Her expression doesn’t change, but the air between you sharpens predator and prey.

“How did you even find me?” you demand. “It’s bad enough finding out my brother is playing hero with Batman, now I’m being hunted?”

Talia tilts her head slightly, that faint smile curling at her lips. “You hide from the world, but you are not invisible. Not to me. Not to him. Damian has always known where to look; he just never dared to approach. I, on the other hand” she gestures lightly, dismissing your protest, “I have no such hesitation.”

She steps closer, silent on the polished wood floor.

“You speak as though you are being hunted,” she says softly. “Yet it is your heart my son cannot stop chasing.”

The words hang heavy, thunder growling outside.

Then a sting at your neck. You jolt, gasping, but she’s already withdrawn the needle. Your vision blurs, knees buckling. You fight to stay awake, but the world tilts.

Talia’s voice follows you down into the dark:

“Sleep, little heir. When you wake, you will see my son differently.” And everything goes black.

Talia tilts her head slightly, a faint smile curling at the corner of her lips. She’s immaculate in the way she carries herself — like a queen who’s already calculated the next ten moves.

The words hang heavy. Outside, the city hums faintly a reminder of the lives your brother risks every night. Inside, the room feels smaller, the shadows sharper.

II. A Mother’s duty

Damian wasn’t a fool. He knew his mother always had an ulterior motive. That’s why her visit to Gotham had been so deliberate the letter he had read hinted as much. Sooner or later, Damian would understand. For now, he waited, perched on a rooftop under the city’s night sky, patience coiled like a spring

“Speak” Damian commanded coldly.

The figure before him wasn’t his mother, but a member of the League, blending seamlessly into Gotham’s nightlife. Damian, trained by the best, wasn’t deceived.

“The lady sent me to escort you back home,” the shadow said, voice careful. “She has something special prepared, and she advises you to come quickly before she changes her mind.”

Damian followed silently, assuming a few days away from Gotham wouldn’t hurt. His mother wouldn’t have sent a letter or a League operative without urgency.

When they reached Eth Alth’eban, Damian wasted no time searching for Talia. The fleeting mentions among the League’s acolytes of a guest in the desert stronghold had set his instincts on high alert. His mind raced as he pushed through the corridors, every sense screaming that something was wrong.

Then he saw it: traces of silk and perfume unmistakably Talia’s signature scent leading toward a secluded wing. His pace faltered. No. . . it can’t be.

He entered the chamber and froze. You were there, awake but uncertain, seated amidst silk bedding and soft candlelight. And there, standing calmly nearby, was Talia.

Damian’s voice was barely a whisper, a mix of disbelief and fury “Mother…what did you do?”

Talia’s serene gaze met his.“I brought her here for you, Damian. She belongs under my protection now.”

For a heartbeat, Damian’s world tilted. His chest tightened, fists clenching, yet his body remained rooted. Shock washed over him betrayal, confusion, and a flicker of something he didn’t want to admit: relief that you were safe, even if orchestrated by his mother.

Talia’s calm, unwavering presence deepened the storm in his mind. Damian felt frozen, his usual control slipping, unsure whether to rage, question, or rush to you and ensure you were unharmed. He stood there, silent, heart hammering, as the weight of her actions settled around him.

The reality was undeniable,Talia had acted without his consent, and now he had to reconcile his shock with the fact that you were in her hands and he hadn’t been the one to protect you.

Your wrists were chained to the bedpost. You looked at him, voice quiet but sharp.“Damian… did you know?”

He froze. The words sliced through the haze of his thoughts. His green eyes widened, jaw tightening. For the first time in days, he didn’t have a ready response.

“No… I’m sorry, Hayati” Damian finally replied, his voice low.

You swallowed, trying to steady your nerves as the weight of the moment pressed down on both of you. Damian’s fists clenched at his sides, reality hitting him in waves. Shock, fury, and an odd pang of helplessness collided inside him. His chest heaved slightly as he struggled to form words, but none came immediately.

For a long moment, he simply stared at you, the storm in his mind reflected in the intensity of his gaze, before he finally whispered, almost to himself,“I had no idea.”

The words hung between you fragile, weighted, and raw a silence filled with unspoken anger, fear, and the start of an impossible reckoning.

III. Company

Damian had gently freed your wrists from the restraints, massaging them with careful hands. Soft apologies escaped him as he murmured, promising to get both of you out of there.

“It’s okay… not your fault. You didn’t know” you said quietly, your voice carrying a hint of reassurance.

He sat cross-legged in the corner, eyes sharp, mind racing. You remained close, rubbing your wrists where he had eased the soreness. The quiet presence of the League outside the chamber pressed on the room, but Damian’s focus never wavered.

“We’re not leaving. Not yet.”

You looked up at him, confusion and worry flickering across your features.

“Not leaving? But my brother—”

He shook his head, voice steady but urgent.“If word gets out too soon, he’ll come. And then… they’ll push you away. The Waynes, the League… nobody wants complications. If we stay here, under my mother’s roof, I can keep you safe. And I can control what they know.”

A frown tugged at your lips, a mixture of fear and awe in your expression.“So you’re convincing them we’re prisoners, but really, it’s to protect me?”

Damian’s jaw tightened, the usual mask of control slipping just slightly. “I know. Please trust me.”

You straightened slightly, meeting his gaze with steady defiance.“I’m not that helpless, Damian.”

He exhaled, quiet but firm. “It’s not perfect. It’s not what I want either. But it’s the only way to make sure nobody least of all my mother — forces anything on you. You stay here, safe, until we can figure the rest out.”

The words hung in the incense-laden air, weighted with tension, strategy, and the rare flicker of care Damian rarely allowed himself to show.

He shifted, locking eyes with you as you sat on the bed. “Can you trust me on this?”

You nodded slowly, feeling the weight of the plan settle over both of you. For the first time, the fortress didn’t feel entirely like a cage but a controlled, precarious sanctuary, orchestrated by Damian himself.

A day of waking up and repeating the same play over and over again frustrates you, yet with such a state, what else can you do than stare at the gardens with a gray look?

It is distressing that despite the beautiful hues of the waking world, the presence of surrounding beings cannot alleviate the sensation of numbness.

In the past, you hoped for a guiding light, and they sent you the general of the Luofu Jing Yuan.

In the past, he was a young knight-in-training, brimming with energy yet showing a touch of laziness. Even though he was busy, the young man still found the time and effort to show his love.

However, you can't recall the last time you both had a day together; he provided you with a large roof over your head and introduced you to things you never knew existed.

You welcomed everything with gratitude and without worrying about the consequences or the future, focusing only on his happiness and yours in the present moment.

Releasing a quiet sigh, you push yourself to sit up in the large bed where you are the only one sleeping. It has been some time since you and your husband shared a bed after a heated argument, neither of you willing to make the first move. Opting to sleep in the guest room was your decision.

Strolling through the corridors always left you with a sense of hollowness you can't pinpoint when it began maybe it was simply the silence.

The tranquility you once enjoyed in the peaceful comfort of solitude is now overwhelmed by the terrifying sense of isolation, prompting you to remember to go for a walk outside the estate to alleviate the feeling.

II.

"The general insisted to let you eat out here because it's a good day today" one of the maids said to you with great care as they placed the breakfast on the table.

The general insisted that you, the spouse, eat outside? Does he truly dislike you so much that he doesn't want to see you at the big table with just the two of you?

The day barely started your left with a feeling of anger did that argument put a bad impression on your marriage?

Trying to collect yourself, you gave a tiny grin to the maid, murmuring a small "thank you"; at least they deserve a pleasant impression to start their day.

———

"Ma it's your move" Yanqing tapped your hand that was rested at the edge of the board to the lieutenant's eyes you seemed deep in concentration and quiet, not the stillness he was met with comfort but a sickly one.

Yanqing wasn't a fool; something obviously happened while he was away from home.

When you snap out of your dream state, you realize you've been staring at the same chess piece 'the king' for quite some time. "Ma, are you okay?" The blonde boy asked with empathy.

Clearing your throat and giving the boy an adequate smile and a nod "yes, let's continue playing" Yanqing could only give you the look of uncertainty as he shifted back to the board.

Yanqing attempted to dismiss it, but he was overcome with dissatisfaction so he sought out with every fiber of his being, "Did you and the general fight, ma?"

"Yes" swiftly responding to the boy, they mentioned don't pass down difficulties to the children, but you chose the latter, yanqing can hopefully fully understand.

"Is it the same old?" Yanqing hesitated but gave up ultimately, you can only reply with a hum "his stubborn" you said back.

So were you, Yanqing thought, but bit his tongue.

III.

In your nightmares, the splash of deep red was common, just like in the waking world, and it was the same old nightmare.

You had no fear of dying; it was a normal part of the cycle of life that we all go through, but you couldn't help but grieve for the living.

Each time Jing Yuan died with blood all over his body in the dream, you tried to run closer, expecting to securely hold his body for the last time, but every time you did, something would break that dream, and tonight was no exception.

You woke up breathless and sweating, even though the air was cool. You could feel your heart rate gradually returning to normal.

Gazing up at the ceiling in a daze, your body felt uneasy as you attempted once again to close your eyes, with no success.

There was no point in trying to go back to sleep now that the drowsiness had dissipated, so you sighed and grabbed the lukewarm water from the bedside table.

You realized you needed to take a walk again to clear that mind of yours.

You strolled along the dim hallway that every room was empty. You chose this side away from Jing Yuan's home office and the shared bedroom you both shared.

Eventually, you found yourself sitting in the same garden nook, starring at the plants that Jing Yuan likes to tend to every morning.

With a cup of tea in your hand and the moonlight shining on you, the lack of sleep has gotten the best of you.

Sometimes you're anxious to close your eyes, even for a second, for fear of losing jing yuan, but what use is that now?

If your marital life is in question.

"Don't you think it's very late?" A voice motions you out of your thoughts "and tonight is somewhat chilly aren't you cold my dear"

Giving the white-haired general a sidelong glance, you can only give him a small huff. "I see you're still mad at me?" Jing Yuan hums, seeking himself to sit down with you.

Despite being inches away, you feel his presence have a nice relaxing impact on you. "A birdie told me you have been deep in thoughts a lot."

"Does that bird go by the name Yanqing?"You responded with a sardonic tone, caressing the ceramic mug in your hands.

Jing Yuan chuckles at your remark, giving you that relaxed face. "I miss you, I'm sorry," he states. You can hear the hurt in his voice, even in the sad smile he wears.

"You mean that?" You breathe out, tightening your grasp on the mug, "it took you three weeks and two days, almost a month" looking back at Jing Yuan with bitter eyes.

"I know, I'm sorry," Jing Yuan agrees, positioning himself closer to your seat, his warm hands crawling at your lower back soothing a small circle of comfort. "Please, my dove, hang a little. I'll retire soon and will do whatever you want" he reassures

"I dream bad about you every night," your voice weakens as tears form at the corners of your eyes.

"I'm still alive, am I not?"Jing Yuan jokes, hoping to change the negative energy from your thoughts. "And what would I do if you didn't?" You peer at him.

“Then i would reincarnate into a bird that chirps through our bedroom window every single morning watching over your sleeping form”

"That sounds creepy," you blotted the sense of sadness, leaving your thoughts replaced by the security that Jing Yuan always brought you when he was around.

An unpleasant stillness passed by in the air, just the icy winds of the night could be heard, until Jing Yuan muttered.

"Do not leave. Not yet, not just yet," Jing Yuan says, grasping your hand and massaging it. He knew an apology was needed after discovering the missing ring on your finger, and the overdue apology you wanted to hear.

"I admit I neglected you and made you doubt our entire marriage in three weeks" the formerly lazy cunning white-haired general now replaced by a soft and sad smile. "I'm sorry."

“I won’t ask for much but please trust me i will make it up to you one way or another i owe you alot”

"Yuan, how can I be upset at a face like that?” Touching his mole under his eyes the same mole you loved giving sweet kisses “So let’s go to bed?" You ask quietly, the bags under each of your eyes an indication that neither of you got a single sleep without the other's presence.

Earlier that morning, a grossed-out Yanqing passes across the breakfast table with a lovey dovey parents and the ring on your finger that sits just where it belongs.