The lovely writings of a nerd

Before I start, half way through this post there will be content that is 18+ I request that Minors do NOT interact. I am not responsible for unsupervised children that access this content. That said I did want to mention I will mark all NSFW as such, and will also be writing Age Regression/Little space things as well. All SFW, not NSFW at all.

Hello everyone! I wanted to make a quick post about what characters I will be writing about and if any of you have any suggestions at any point in time (Even if this ends up being something someone sees years later lol). I am comfortable writing angst, fluff and smut one shots here. My longer story's I post on wattpad. I will mostly be focusing my writing on different characters I favor while I start up this account. If it's pointed out to me that a specific creator is disapproving of fanfics about a character, please let me know. I will be writing Smut, Angst, Imagines and Fluff for most things, however some listed I will not, if requested I will let you know. Some of these characters will be from: - DC Universe (Young Justice, Teen Titans, Comics, Justice League, etc) - Marvel (Avengers, Guardians of the Galaxy, X-Men) - Anime's (Bungo Stray Dogs, Terror in Resonance, Tokyo Ghoul...etc) - Horror (Jason, Michael Myers, Pennywise, Dracula, creepypastas) - Video Games ( Gears of War, Bioshock, Borderlands, Call of Duty, Portal, Mortal Kombat etc) - Movies (Avatar, How to train your dragon (will do race to the edge show as well), Heaters, Rise of the Gaurdians, anything studio ghibli ) - Books (The maze runner, The hunger games, Harry potter, Divergent, Percy Jackson, Twilight, Shatter Me, etc) - TV Shows (Greys Anatomy, Stranger Things, Hazbin hotel, 9-1-1, From, Supernatural, The Boys, Fallen, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Chasing Life, Bones, NCIS, Mr.Robot) Anything I didn't list feel free to recommend, I'll let you know if I can do it or not. Also I will be doing LGBTQ+ writing on request. And can include disability writing if requested as well (I myself have a whole bunch of medical problems as I have a multisystem impacting disorder which has caused other syndromes and such like POTS, Gastroparesis, and Rheynauds ...etc). Minors do not interact hence forth, I am not responsible for you reading this next part. In terms of the types of Smut and angst i'm willing to write about, I am willing to write about TW listed items may be off putting or sexual in theme. If you're worried any listing of full names for triggers will be listed, please do not continue.

Smut:

Oral sex

Anal sex

Fingering

Outdoor sex

Car sex

Shower/bathtub sex

Biting/Scratching

Phone sex

Sexting

Public sex

Shotgunning

Porn

Mental/Psychic sex

Voyeurism

Cucking

Begging

Orgasm denial (Edging)

Multiple Orgasms (Over-stimulation)

Toys

Bondage/Restraints/Stuck

Sensory Deprivation (includes blindfolds)

Monster Fucking

Wing fetish

Body worship

Sex pollen

Riding

Grinding

Teasing

Angry sex

Power play

Spanking

Lingerie

Food

Temperature play

Domestic

Accidental Over-stimulation

Possessiveness (Claiming, Marking, Owning)

Class power

Caught

Fantasies

Forbidden

Rough

CNC

Non-con and Dub-con

Scenting

Alpha/Omega verse

Dirty Talk

Morning sex

Polyamory

Praise Kink

Degradation kink

Hair Pulling

Daddy kink

Vanilla

Knife play

Breath lay

Breeding kink

Dominate

Submissive

Electrostimulation

Erotic humiliation

Exhibitionism

Gagging

Group Sex (Orgy)

Impact play

Katoptronophilia (Mirror Sex)

Size kink

Sex playlist

Objectification

Pregnancy Fetish

Primal kink

Quirofilia (Hand kink)

Wax play

24/7 arangement

somnophilia (sleep kink)

I will not write:

Age play

Menstrual play

Gun play

Sounding

Incest

Figging

Piss Play

Scat play

Objectum kink

Emetophilia

Angst:

Abuse

Violence

Self-Harm (burning, hair pulling, cutting, head banging, etc)

Death

Eating Disorders (Anorexia (Including atypical), Bulimia, Binge-purge)

Sexual assault

Suicide

Drug abuse (This will kinda be me winging it cuz i've never done drugs or anything really too similar, i'll likely use some of my medical situations as reference lol)

Homophobia (I am not, but I understand it's a real issue and I am willing to write it into a situation because it is something that happens sadly)

Racism (Again, I am not, but this is a real problem in society and i'm not going to write it off in my writing because it is a real thing)

This was something I discussed with a coworker at work today, and I decided to write about how the batboys would react to it. Fun fact, I grew up in an abusive home till I was 12, so normally I walk extremely quietly. It's just my default status. When I was removed from my mom's custody and placed in my dad's, I started scaring the shit out of him and my siblings (resulting in getting punched in the face by my little sister on accident a few times). Anyway, I learned to start making noise while walking so I wouldn't scare the shit out of people.

Dick Grayson:

It was a quiet morning, probably because of the late night last night. You had just started training to join your boyfriend out in the field, so you were the only one still on a regular sleep schedule.

It was quiet, and on natural reaction, you just decided to stay quiet while walking, not making your normal noises, intentionally stepping louder, shuffling, or slapping your feet down on the hardwood.

It wasn't even a conscious decision, really, you were just sleepy, it was quiet, and you were walking to the kitchen for food.

As you entered the kitchen in a haze, you made your way to the pantry, which had someone hunched over inside.

Not wanting to be rude, you just looked over their shoulder, scanning the cereals available.

This poor man. He was just crouched in the pantry looking at the bags of chips on the bottom shelf when a presence startled him.

Jumping backwards in a crouch, he came face to face with... you?

You were half asleep, clearly looking at him like he was crazy.

"Since when were you quiet?"

"Huh- oh yeah... I walk quietly, which naturally scares the shit out of people, so I try to make noise when I walk."

He stands up, hand on his chest, blowing air from his mouth.

"Wow, that's some insane level of natural quiet."

You shrug, "Learned it as a kid, never went away."

He ran a hand downs face, "Well, at least when we get to stealth, things will be easier."

You shrugged.

"I wonder if you could even sneak up on Damian?"

"I don't want to be impaled, so we're not going to test that."

He let out a casual laugh, always attractive. Of course.

Jason Todd:

It was late, Jason was still out, and you had just finished a snack in the kitchen. Deciding you were done waiting up for him, you walked back to your room.

Naturally, you were relaxed and thought you were alone, so you didn't make the extra step of making noise.

Walking into the room, the door was left ajar from earlier. You were standing there debating if you wanted to take a shower to stay up later or just get in bed till Jason got home.

As you walked towards the bathroom, you stopped inside, looking around.

Then you changed your mind, turned around, and walked out to see Jason closing the window.

As he turned around, you watched him visibly startle at seeing you. Hand flying to his hip.

"Jesus, Doll, you scared the shit out of me."

You cringed internally, "Sorry, I hadn't realized you were home; otherwise, I would have been walking louder."

"What?"

"I normally make myself walk louder when other people are around... scared a few too many people whose natural response is fight instead of flight."

"Of course you did." He set his helmet down on the side table. "You know you don't have to force yourself to do something you're uncomfortable with around me, right?"

You shrugged, " Yeah, but it became natural around others when I was like 15."

He chuckled, "Well, good to know you can get out of the house quietly in an emergency."

You laughed a bit too. "I hope to god I never have to."

Then you crawled into your side of the bed.

You watched him take his jacket off before he plopped down onto your shared bed.

He jumped in with you, tackling you into a hug and kissing you.

Then he leaned back softly, "I do appreciate you not scaring the shit out of me every time I get home, though."

Tim Drake:

You hadn't seen Tim in hours.

You were starting to worry.

So you made your way down to the batcave.

It was mostly empty except for Tim, and he always has great spatial awareness, so you weren't too worried about making noise approaching him.

However, you were proven wrong quickly as you placed your hand on his shoulder, and he startled so hard his head whipped to face you.

In a high-pitched voice, he yelped out, "Holy bejebus batman."

You started laughing before you could help it as he ran his hand down his face.

It took a second before he started laughing too.

"Why did I even say that?" he groaned.

Then he looked at you more carefully. “You trained yourself into a low-auditory profile.”

You blink.

“I just… walk quietly.”

“That’s not what I said.”

You sigh.

He pushes his glasses up.

“Okay, but statistically speaking, that’s actually insane.”

Oh god, not again. He's going to overanalyze you.

“I mean-useful. Extremely useful. But also… yeah.” Or not... “Do you want to stop doing it around us, or is it more like… automatic now?”

You shrug, "Guess it just depends on what's going on, I blame my parents."

He laughed a bit at that last part.

"Anyways, when do I get my Timmy time?"

Damian Wayne:

Poor Damian. He's not had someone sneak up on him since he was basically a child. His mother made sure of that.

So when he's laying in bed staring at Alfred the cat in peace lights turned off he didn't expect to be scared half to hell.

You had just finished some of the homework for your class, it was late, and the door was open, so Alfred could get in and out of your room tonight.

Seeing Damian lying in bed, you decided to step carefully, not wanting to wake him.

He looked peaceful from this angle. You were really hoping to catch a glimps at sleeping Damian's face.

That said, you were also dreadfully tired.

So you did what you would do if he wasn't there, just crawled into bed.

In seconds, his hands were pinning you to the bed.

Then his face was contorting... "Beloved?"

You chuckled nervously, "Yeah?"

"I-" He let go of you sitting up. "You were quiet. I thought you were an assassin?"

You cringed internally, "Sorry... I just didn't want to wake you."

"I wasn't asleep."

...

"oh."

"Who trained you to move like that?"

"I guess you could say my mother? She wasn't all that nice if I made any noise before school, so I got good at being quiet as a kid, and I can't really unlearn it."

"Good, it's a useful skill."

You nodded awkwardly.

Then he pulled you towards him to cuddle you to sleep, "Bedtime now."

"Good night, my love."

With your spectacle earlier that day, Alex has yet to leave your side.

As you lay there in the hospital bed you can't help but think this is overkill.

A nurse comes and draws blood, you're hooked up to an IV. Alex is even asking for you to get and echo and an EKG. Dr. Shepard came and gave you a quick neuro exam too. Reached the conclusion you're just concussed, but he was worried your pots symptoms have gotten worse. Which only did well to work up Alex.

All you want to do is just go home and watch tv snuggled into a dozen or so blankets or eat an entire bag of pretzels.

Plus it's freezing in here. The IV isn't helping either.

You can feel your hands and feet getting violently cold. You hate getting cold this easily.

Careful of your IV you curl in on yourself a bit, tucking one foot under the other and wrapping your arms around yourself.

Your heart rate increases a bit while you do.

You are freezing. Why is it always so fucking cold getting an IV. POTS obviously isn't helping either. Your circulation right now seems like shit.

You pull your sleeves down over your hands. The IV in your hand poking out slightly.

You close your eyes like that trying to focus on being warmer. It doesn't work though and instead you get practically jump scared when Alex puts a hand on your shoulder.

"Woah woah, it's just me."

Your eyes go to him. "No shit sherlock."

A small smile ghosts his face before dropping again.

"You okay? Your lips are starting to turn a bit blue."

"I'm fucking cold."

"Cold?" he questions.

"Yeah, cold. Freezing. The IV combined with the poor circulation of POTS is turning me into a popsicle."

Your hands slide up and down your upper arms, rubbing against your goosebumps.

Alex's hand is on yours in a second, "What can I do to help?"

Your gaze softens again, "Well i'm already on fluids with electrolytes, so blankets. Anything you'd normally do to warm someone up."

He’s halfway to the door. It swings open and he leans out, voice sharp, “Hey- can we get, like, five more blankets in here? She’s freezing.”

There’s a pause.

“And maybe something warm? Broth, tea, whatever you’ve got that isn’t ice cold.”

You groan, dragging a sleeve-covered hand over your face. “You’re being dramatic.”

He turns back, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re shaking like a chihuahua in a snowstorm.”

“…That’s rude.”

"And true." Christina's voice cuts through, head poking through the door.

As a nurse comes to the room with blankets, Alex takes them from her.

She does a check on your temperature. While Alex starts laying out the blankets on you one by one. "Your temps 95.4. Next time say something sooner if you're cold."

"That's pretty normal for me. My temperature has trouble regulating because of POTS."

You feel Alex still leaned over you freeze. One hand still gripping the edge of a blanket mid-tuck.

“…What do you mean that’s normal for you?” he asks slowly.

You sigh, already knowing where this is going. “I run low sometimes. It’s part of it.”

“Part of it,” he repeats, like the words don’t make sense in his mouth. His eyes flick to the nurse. “Ninety-five is not ‘part of it.’ That’s hypothermia.”

“It’s mild,” you correct, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “And I’m not dying, before you say it.”

“I wasn’t gonna say you’re dying,” he snaps automatically. Then, quieter, “I was gonna say this is not okay.”

The nurse finishes adjusting the IV, glancing between the two of you. “We’ll keep an eye on it. The fluids should help. I’ll grab a warming pack.”

You curl in on yourself a bit under the blankets while Alex finishes tucking you in.

"Can you turn the lights down too."

Alex's eyebrows furrow.

"Is it the concussion?"

You shake your head, "POTS can also cause light sensitivity."

He scoffs a bit.

"What can't it do."

As he turns down the lights you nuzzle deeper into the blankets.

You almost chuckle, "Be convenient."

You hear him huff a breath. You should’ve told me it was this bad,” he says, quieter now.

You don’t open your eyes. “You didn’t ask.”

“That’s not how that works.”

You shrug slightly under the blankets, immediately feeling your heart rate tick up again.

“I didn’t want it to be a whole thing,” you admit.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “It is a whole thing.”

“I just wanted to be normal,” you add, softer.

“You are normal,” he says. “You’re just… a version that needs more maintenance.”

You snort weakly. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, glancing at the IV, the monitors, the mountain of blankets. “This version doesn’t get to skip oil changes anymore.”

You roll your eyes.

"You're a good guy Alex. Not all people see it that way."

He’s staring at you like you just said something completely out of left field- brows drawn, jaw tight, something guarded snapping into place behind his eyes.

“…Where the hell did that come from?” he mutters.

You shrug a little under the blankets. “Nowhere. Just saying.”

“Yeah, well don’t,” he shoots back, too quick.

You blink at him. “…Don’t what?”

“Don’t do that thing,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward you. “Where you say something… nice, and then act like it doesn’t mean anything.”

You shrug. "I'm just saying not all people see it that way. See me that way. Treat me and my POTS like two separate things like one's a problem and the other a person."

“…Yeah,” he says after a second. “People suck at that.”

You huff quietly, staring down at the blankets. “They don’t mean to. Most of them, anyway.” You pick at a loose thread with your sleeve-covered fingers. “But it’s always the same. Either they act like I’m fragile, or they act like I’m lying. There’s no in-between.”

He doesn’t interrupt.

So you keep going.

“I didn’t want that here,” you admit. “Didn’t want to be ‘the doctor who passes out.’ Or ‘the one with the condition.’ I just wanted to be… a surgeon.”

Your voice goes quieter at the end.

“And now?” he asks.

You swallow. “Now it’s kind of hard to separate the two.”

“I don’t see you like that,” he says.

You glance up at him, skeptical. “You literally just watched me faceplant into a crash cart.”

“Yeah,” he says. “And then I watched you wake up, try to argue with half the hospital, and complain about the lighting.” A beat. “Kinda hard to call that fragile.”

Despite yourself, you let out a small breath that almost resembles a laugh.

"You did scare me though. When you passed out like that. You can't go doing that again…It wasn’t like before,” he admits after a moment. “Usually people go down, there’s a second—you see it coming.” He shakes his head slightly. “You just… dropped.”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t like that,” he says.

“That makes two of us.”

That earns the faintest breath of a laugh, but it dies quickly.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees again, hands clasped this time like he’s trying to keep them still.

“You hit your head hard,” he continues. “Like- really hard. For a second you weren’t tracking, and I…” He cuts himself off, jaw flexing. “I didn’t know how bad it was gonna be.”

You soften a little at that.

“I’m okay,” you say, quieter now.

“Yeah,” he replies. “You are. This time.”

You look down at your hands under the blankets. “…I don’t get a lot of control over it when it happens like that.”

“I get that,” he says.

“Do you?” you ask, glancing up.

He meets your eyes this time. “Yeah. I do.” A beat. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“…Alex?”

“Yeah?”

You hesitate.

This feels stupid.

And a little embarrassing.

And way more vulnerable than arguing about your medical history.

“…I’m still cold,” you admit.

He immediately leans forward again, scanning the blankets like he’s missed something. “You’ve got, like, six on you.”

“I know.”

“Heat packs too.”

“I know.”

He frowns. “Then what-”

You cut him off, quieter.

“…They’re not as good as… body heat.”

For a second, he just stares at you like he’s not sure he heard that right.

Your face heats despite everything. “Forget I said that.”

“…You’re serious?” he asks, lower now.

You shrug slightly, not meeting his eyes. “It helps. With circulation.”

“Right,” he mutters. “Circulation.”

You can practically see him overthinking it, which is… new.

You glance at him again. “…You don’t have to. I just-”

“I didn’t say no,” he cuts in.

“Move over,” he mutters.

You blink. “What?”

“Move,” he repeats, already reaching to adjust the blankets. “I’m not letting you freeze when there’s a very obvious solution.”

“…You’re serious?”

He gives you a look. “You asked.”

“I didn’t ask, I implied-”

“Same difference.”

Despite yourself, you shift carefully, making a bit of space beside you, trying not to jostle your IV.

He’s surprisingly careful climbing in, like he’s hyper-aware of every wire, every movement, making sure not to pull anything.

The mattress dips slightly under his weight.

Then he settles beside you, one arm hovering awkwardly for a second like he’s not sure where to put it.

“…This is weird,” he mutters.

“A little,” you agree.

Another beat.

Then, hesitantly, you shift closer, just enough that your shoulder brushes his side.

He stills.

Then his arm comes around you, slow, careful, like he’s giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

You tuck in against him instead, instinctively seeking the warmth.

The feeling of comfort you felt you were missing is suddenly gone as you nuzzle into his warmth.

“…You’re freezing,” he mutters against the top of your head.

“Told you.”

His hand settles more securely against your upper arm, rubbing a bit of warmth back in without even thinking about it.

“…You’re a good guy, Alex,” you murmur again, quieter this time.

He exhales through his nose.

“…Yeah, well,” he says, voice softer than before, “I don’t do this for just anyone.”

"That's a shame, you're so warm." you mutter pushing into his chest more. "Thank you."

“Yeah,” he mutters finally, a little rough. “Don’t get used to it.”

You huff softly against his chest. “Too late.”

“You’re still cold?” he asks after a minute, quieter.

“Not as bad,” you mumble. “This helps.”

“Good...I meant what I said,” he adds. “About not doing this for just anyone.”

You tilt your head slightly against him, enough to look up.

“…I figured.”

“Yeah, well,” he exhales, eyes flicking away for a second before coming back to you, “just, don’t make it sound like I’m some kind of saint or something. I’m not.”

“I didn’t,” you say softly. “I said you’re a good guy.”

“Same difference.”

“It’s not,” you counter.

“…You’re really bad at taking care of yourself,” he mutters.

You huff lightly. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs a shoulder under you, “I didn’t say I was good at it either.”

Your fingers curl slightly into the fabric of his shirt.

“That’s not the same thing,” you say.

“No?” he asks.

“No,” you murmur. “You… you show up for people. Even when you don’t want to.”

He goes quiet again.

“You showed up for me,” you add, softer now. “You didn’t have to.”

“…Yeah,” he says, not dismissive. “I did,” he repeats.

“You’re shaking less,” he notes quietly.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Told you you’re warm.”

“…It’s not just that.”

"What isn’t?” you ask.

“This,” he says, gesturing vaguely with the hand not wrapped around you, then dropping it again. “Me being here.”

You tilt your head just enough to look at him.

“It’s not just because you passed out,” he continues. “Or because you hit your head. Or because you scared the hell out of me.”

“Then why?” you ask.

“…Because it’s you,” he says.

“…That’s not very specific, Karev.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not good at this,” he shoots back automatically, but softer than usual. Less bite, more nerves.

“…I notice you,” he admits. “Have for a while.”

Your stomach flips.

“You keep to yourself, you don’t complain, you push through stuff you probably shouldn’t…” He glances at the IV, the blankets, you. “Clearly.”

You huff faintly.

He ignores it.

“And I thought you just… liked being alone,” he continues. “But you don’t. You’re just used to it.”

“…It’s easier,” you say.

“Yeah,” he replies. “I know.”

That softens something in your chest.

You look back at him.

“So what,” you say quietly. “You decided to fix me?”

His expression hardens instantly.

“No,” he says. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Turn yourself into something broken that needs fixing,” he says, sharper now. “That’s not what I said.”

You hold his gaze.

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t like seeing you like this. Alone. Pretending you’re fine when you’re not.”

Your throat tightens.

“And I’m saying,” he adds, voice dropping just slightly, “I don’t want you to be alone anymore.”

“…You’re kind of already stuck with me,” you try, weak attempt at deflection.

“Yeah,” he says.

“…You’re not getting out of this now,” he mutters.

You huff softly. “Out of what?”

“This,” he says again, like that explains everything.

(backstory on reader- she was freed during the events of the Black Widow movie, where she eventually became an Avenger. She was friends with Yelena in the Red Room and all that. She was also around for the whole Thunderbolts shebang and now lives in the Watchtower with the others.)

(feel free to write the smut or don't. I don't mind either way)

-Thanks!

OH MY GOSH, I love this concept, i've gotchu!

--------------------------

By the time you had caught your breath again you knew it was time to leave. Last time it was made clear that the expectation is you leave after sex. The man rests and you pack up.

Your training had been to stay and talk, retrieve information then leave. But you didn't want any information. You weren't on a mission. You didn't need Bucky to achieve any means. You didn't want to use Bucky.

So as soon as you caught your breath you got out of bed reaching first for your underwear sliding it on. Then you were out of bed picking up your pants. You were careful sliding them on. Your back ached slightly.

It didn't matter last time how you ached, you were shooed out. That's how the world is, how women are treated in this country.

At least as far as you were aware that was.

No one had told you any different.

"Doll what are you doing?"

Your head snapped to him, what?

"I'm getting dressed to leave?"

His eyebrows furrowed into that cute puppy dog face he makes.

"Did you have somewhere you needed to go?"

You stand there feeling dumb for no apparent reason, like someone who hadn't been clued in on something.

"No, I just thought- Do you want me to stay? "

"Of course, you didn't think i'd kick you out did you?"

You stood there frozen your shirt in your hands.

"I mean, isn't it customary for the woman to leave after intercourse?"

"What? No. Doll, where'd you get that idea?"

You stood there quiet for a moment just processing.

What were you supposed to do if you stayed.

You watched him sigh for a second, "Take your pants back off and get your ass back over here."

Oh. He just wasn't finsihed.

"Oh sorry, I thought we were done."

Your pants came undone fast dropping as you marched back over.

By the time you're back on the bed he's taking a deep breath.

"I'm good to go again."

"No doll, that's not what I meant."

He's quick pushing himself up on one elbow to face you.

He drops back down wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you back towards him.

"I meant get back here."

He's warm as he holds you. His face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

You sit there waiting. What did he want?

"Doll did you seriously think I was going to kick you out?"

You sat there quiet.

"I thought it was customary." you say tense and staring at the wall.

"No, at least not for me. I want to take care of you afterwards. It's called aftercare."

You hummed in agreement.

New territory.

"How do you do this aftercare thingy?"

He gives a short dry laugh.

"Well for starters, do you ache anywhere?"

You give a short shrug.

"Not much."

"That's not what I asked doll, where do you ache?"

"My backs a little sore."

His arms give you a tight squeeze.

"Okay, lay down on your stomach for me."

You nod as he pulls back.

You adjust yourself onto your stomach.

"Good girl, I'm gonna rub your back for you now, can you tell me where it aches?"

His hands are careful working first at your shoulders.

"You know, the worlds a confusing place for people who come from where we do."

His fingers ghost into the curvature of your shoulder blades careful rubbing around them.

"It's hard to know how things like this should be done."

His thumbs press a bit harder on the under side of your shoulder blades.

"I don't expect you to perform, or earn your stay. I just want to be with you."

His thumbs work their way back up to your shoulders and along your spine.

"When we're done, I don't expect you to leave, I want you to stay, if you want to that is."

You give a short hum.

His fingers work slowly down your spine towards your middle back rubbing in circles.

"When we're done it means i'll hold you, rub your back if you ache, order us some food, make sure we both get some rest. Make sure you're okay."

Your brain latches onto that.

"No one's ever told me that before."

His palms rub out on your lower back from the spine to your sides.

"Well, I'm telling you now. You don't have to leave me doll, I want you here, with me."

You nod carefully as his hands ease up, "Does that feel better?"

You nod your head.

Then his arms wrap around you again.

"Good, do you like back rubs?"

You take a breath, "I think so?"

"Then you'll be getting more of them.

"Do you want to talk about everything? What you liked and what you didn't? What you want to eat?"

You roll onto your side to face him while he lays back down.

"We can, how else should relationships like ours work?"

He settles onto his side eye level with you.

"How ever we want them to, what ever makes us both comfortable and happy."

His fingers brush against your cheek.

"I want to take care of you doll, you deserve to be taken care of."

Your hand goes to his cheek, "So do you."

He nods softly. His voice comes out softer, "I didn't hurt you did I?"

You shake your head, "No, I'm okay."

"I was worried I hurt you and that's why you wanted to leave."

"No, no no, nothing like that, I just thought that afterwards the woman is supposed to leave."

He shakes his head, "I will never kick you out afterwards."

You nod softly.

"Did I do anything that you didn't like?"

You shake your head, "No, it was pleasant." you say your face feeling hotter.

"That's good."

His arms wrap around you tightly pulling you close to his chest.

"Are you hungry? I can order us something to eat?"

"I can eat."

He nods picking up his phone from the nightstand.

"Anything in particular you want?"

You think it over for a second a grin breaking across your face, "Pizza"

He chuckles, "Of course, what ever you want doll."

After he's done ordering he asks carefully, "Why did you think I would kick you out afterwards?"

"The red room taught that lingering is ineffective. An attachment clouds judgement."

He nods slowly.

"Afterwards you collect information, or you leave. Lingering was indulgent."

He nods again, "And that would get you punished wouldn't it."

You nod.

"The after the red room I had only really experienced 'hook-ups' " you say doing finger quotes. "When he'd finished he'd leave if we were in a hotel, if we were at a mans house he'd expect me to leave afterwards. There was no... aftercare."

You feel the blankets ruffle around Buckys fists.

"I'll never treat you like that doll, you should be taken care of afterwards, I'm sorry you were never allowed to be taken care of afterwards. "

Your hand rests on his chest, "Should you also be taken care of afterwards?"

He sits quiet for a moment.

"If you would like to take care of me. From what I've learned it is a modern practice for both the man and woman to take care of each other afterwards, not just one of the other."

part 1 part 2

The days following the assassination attempt are exhausting, more so then usual with your sore body.

You don't falter. You can't, you're who the people look to for guidance, if you falter they can't place their trust in you.

All your joints scream in protest as you move.

You have begun dismissing your ladies in waiting while you bathe for the sake of peace of mind in pain.

Damian's brothers are not strangers anymore. They come by once or twice a day now, you see them at different times.

As you sit in your lessons for the day your chest tightens as you come to find why Damians brothers refer to Damian as the demons head.

His grandfather committed very harsh acts against their kingdoms people, pressing the people for the sake of prosperity, convincing them it was proper and the way to rise above, under Damians mothers rule things have loosened slightly, a different leadership and hierarchy is in place.

There's less extremism in the country and the people aren't required to attend lessons in self defense, for years having been stollen from parents and kept to be educated for the first 10 years of their lives alone, the separation creates for stronger military, educational and capable individuals, but the psychological effects over time have been proving worse for wear, the harm done to his peoples elders is unjust.

(A/n while I write this my bf and his best friend are talking about koala chlamydia and duck rape, I don't know what the fuck is going on.)

As you sit there you feel the weight of the lecture you're hearing.

The throne Damian will inherit will be one of deep pain, one still recovering.

And his brothers... make fun of him for it?

What the fuck.

Given the situation they all do seem quite close, why are they like this with each other.

Walking out of the lecture with Damian's mother you feel she holds a deeper respect for you since you took up arms with your fiance.

Your wedding planning is still on track, the weight still heavy, but your work load reduced.

You and Damian have been training together to fight side by side and alone.

You've improved in sword fighting, drastically, additionally you've added studying natural found remedies and plants in your territories in case something were to go wrong, just to ease your anxiety.

Damian has taken up more duties as well it seems.

As you finish your training for the day Damian makes his way to you while his brothers escape indoors.

As soon as he makes it to you though you can feel heat coming to your cheeks.

He is to be your husband very soon. Less then 3 months.

You can't wait.

"Hello my princess." he states with a small bow.

"Hello my prince." you return as you curtsy.

"How are you?"

You give a smile, "I'm doing alright, I look forward to our wedding as the date nears."

A blush spreads across his cheeks, "As do I."

He clears his throat though, that wasn't what he wanted to ask.

"I'd like to speak with you a bit privately... regarding your lesson today with Queen Talia... my mother."

You nod careful.

As he takes your had you walk together. Your boots crunching softly on the ground as you make your way towards your room.

“This is about today,” he begins, his tone measured, but there’s a shadow behind his eyes you can’t ignore. “About what you heard… and what you felt.”

You nod. “The history lesson was… difficult. I can’t imagine what your people endured, or what you carry now.”

He looks away for a moment, jaw tight, before meeting your gaze again. “It’s… complicated. People often think my family’s legacy is simple cruelty. But it wasn’t just that. There was fear, expectation… control. My grandfather believed in order above all else, and my father… well, he inherited that mindset. My brothers… they joke to cope. To hide the weight of it all behind laughter.”

That makes sense, you think giving a small hum in acknowledgment.

Then he stops, "This will not only be my weight to bare. I trust you to be my partner in all matters for both of our countries as we form our union."

You give a small smile, "Damian, I already told you, you are my equal, that goes both ways."

Your fingers brushed against his cheek, "I'm not going to abandon your country, i'm entering into our union which involves both our countries, our responsibilities will be shared."

He seems to release a held breath at your words. "I look forward to the day you are my partner in the eyes of all and our union is confirmed."

Heat rises up your cheeks and your ears feel a bit hot.

This time when the weekend arrives a scheduling conflict pushes you and Damian into a situation of a free day.

You both seem to take this as an opportunity and you find yourself being led around the castle that Damian grew up in.

It's quite nice.

When you get to the library he leads you to the second floor and then pulls a book opening a corridor.

Then further down he opens a door in the ceiling, leading you up.

In the decently sized space you find several blankets, trinkets and books as well as a small cat with a litter of kittens.

You rush over delight across all your features.

"They're so cute!"

Damian gives a sly smile, "This is where I go when I find myself needing to be alone."

You turn back to him as he continues, "The kittens were born likely while we were in your territory last. Would you like to name some of them?"

You give a sharp gasp jumping into his arms.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you."

His arms are soft on your back.

"I've always wanted a pet, my father wouldn't allow it, told me it was unbecoming of a princess to own anything other then a horse as it would be difficult to care for when I get married." you ramble as you talk, "I personally have always loved animals. I don't even believe in just cats or dogs, I love them all. They're all so cute in their own ways. Their personalities are all so different too. I've always wanted one, I never knew what to name an animal though because what if I give them a horrible name, or what if people think it's silly, or what if-"

"My betrothed. Please calm down."

"Oh my, i'm besides myself, forgive me I got carried away."

His fingers go to your cheek, "No need to apologize, i'm just worried you'll run out of breath. Do not overthink the names for the kittens, no one needs to know them, I won't share them with a single soul."

Heat comes back to your cheeks as you nod slowly.

Then you kneel down with Damian and the both of you pick up the kittens. Petting each of them carefully, the mother licking her paws as you both do.

As you and Damian pet the kittens you can't help but feel at peace. This is the most fun you've ever had with another person.

He brings you both peace and joy.

As he pets the kittens you can't help but see how soft he is with them. Something you've never seen with him before.

He loves animals, he's delicate with them. It's adorable.

“This one… she reminds me of you.”

Damian quirks an eyebrow. “Me? How so?”

“She’s… quiet at first, but careful. Loyal. She’s clever, too. Just like you.” You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.

He steps closer, fingers brushing against yours as he reaches for the kitten, his touch sending a familiar warmth through your chest. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he murmurs.

Then Damian clears his throat and lowers his voice, hesitant but certain, “I want you to remember this day… not just for the kittens, not just for the laughter. I want you to remember us, like this. Before the crown, before the councils, before the world demands everything of us.”

After that everything seems to speed up till you're in Gotham again.

On the path to Gotham you sit there, thoughts heavy, the next time you return to Nanda Parbat you'll be one of it's crown princesses as the wife of it's crown prince Damian. Next time you return you'll be married to Damian.

As you ride the carriage comes to a quick halt.

Your hands tighten around the sword in your lap. A precaution you had been informed to take due to the attempts on your life as of recent.

As you sit, you hear yelling outside of your carriage.

Then Damian is at your door, "There are bandits up ahead. The knights are dealing with them, until they have returned I will be waiting with you as your guard."

You smile at him, "Very well, I'll be in your protections then Prince Damian."

He gives an ever so slight grin.

Then his hands are around your waist and you're laying on top of him in the dirt outside your carriage.

An arrow whizzing past your head.

You roll off of Damian quickly, he jumps to his feet, grabbing the reins of his horse, jumping on.

Your brain stalls, that was hot.

Then his hand is out for yours.

You grab it and he practically manhandles you onto the back of his horse taking off down the path.

You grip the sword hilt at your hip.

Fucking hell.

You lean forward clinging tightly to Damian's back.

"It's half a days ride to the gates of Gotham, we'll regroup with the knights there. "

"Very well."

As you ride, the horse slows to a trot.

It's quiet as you both sit together. Your arms around his waist.

He's warm, and his clothes are smooth.

He's also far more in shape then you thought. His physic is very very nice. Extremely muscular.

As you both ride dark starts to settle.

He slows the trot to a halt, "We should find cover during the night."

You nod, "That's a wise idea."

As you continue, he ties the horse outside a small cave.

Very small cave.

You watch as he collects large pieces of wood and creates a fire.

It's silent as he does, then he opens up his satchel, pulling out a very large wool blanket and another smaller cotton blanket.

You watch as he lays the wool blanket on the ground, and the cotton blanket on the blanket as well.

He's very handy.

As you sit together he sighs, "Forgive me, but i'm afraid I must tend to an injury."

Your eyebrows furrow, "Why do you-"

Then his tunic is off.

You can see his well sculpted figure as he touches at a wound on his upper chest.

From his collarbone to his sternum.

It's not very deep, and is covered in dry blood.

You watch as he pulls water from his satchel and a small kit of bandages and herbs.

While he cleans his wound you look around at all the herbs he has in his kit.

His hands brush the plantain and yarrow and you watch as he applies the two herbs used for treating wounds and stopping bleeding.

You reach down and grab the willow in his kit too, "You should use this too, for the pain."

His eyes flutter to yours then back to his wound. "I've delt with worse."

You narrow your eyes, "Yes, however having delt with worse, and still feeling pain are two separate things. You should manage the pain if you can."

"It'd be better to save the willow for a real injury."

"Damian, this is a real injury."

His eyes go to yours and for a second it looks like he's going to argue again, but instead he just sighs and takes the willow, "Very well."

You watch closely as he tends his wound.

"Thank you."

He hums in acknowledgment.

When he's done tending to his wound your eyes go to his and you lean back onto your butt realizing just how far forward you were hovering.

As you sit there together he clears his throat, "Thank you for your concern... it's not unwelcome, i'm just unfamiliar with having someone worry."

You smile, "You are to be my husband, how could I not worry about you."

He clears his throat, "Thank you"

You nod. While you sit you decide speaking together would be good for passing time.

"How long have you been trained in herbs?" you ask.

His eyes are on the fire as he talks, "Since I was around 3."

You raise your eyebrow, "That's very young."

He nods, "I've been taught to survive since I could walk."

You nod, "I'm glad you're able to protect yourself. Tending to your own wound is a handy skill."

He nods, "When did you start learning herbs?"

You shrug, "After the last assassination attempt. I realized we may end up in that situation again and i didn't want to have to only rely on you, I wanted to be able to help you if I had to."

"I hope you never have to my betrothed."

You nod, "Me too, I don't want you in the position where i'm the most capable of treating your wounds."

He gives a small laugh, "Is that because you lack the skills?"

Your pride flares, "No... I just... don't want to see you hurt."

He nods, "I don't want to see you hurt either."

You nod and your hand moves to his.

His hand is warm and large.

Larger then your hand. Your fingers are small compared to his.

His hand could easily envelop yours.

As you look at your hands his hand moves to rest on top of yours.

Then you slowly move closer to him, bracing one hand against the cave wall he's leaned on, a hand going to his cheek.

"I want to kiss."

A shiver goes down his spine.

"If you do, I might have trouble restraining myself given our current situation."

You bite your lip.

"We are to be married in 2 months. I am unworried."

His eyes close and you watch him take a deep breath. "We have traditions and rules to follow."

You nod, "You're right. Might I kiss you still? I only wish to kiss you, nothing more."

His eyes open and go to yours.

"Very well my princess."

You smile, "Thank you, my prince."

Then you lean in and kiss him. Soft.

it's always soft when you kiss him. He's careful with you.

As you kiss him, he kisses you back, hand going to the back of your head.

You feel his fingers in your hair as you keep kissing him.

As you do, he leans you back. More comfortably.

Then he lays you down against the wool blanket.

His lips barely leaving yours.

Then you feel his tongue it's soft as it slides against your bottom lip, and you open your mouth a bit to run your tongue against his.

As you both kiss, his tongue slides against yours, over and over.

Then he nips on your bottom lip.

A small noise leaves you when he does and you feel his body still.

Yours does too.

Only kiss. That's what you both agreed.

You can't get enough of him though, this is your first time kissing like this. Ever.

His tongue is against yours again, this time moving more swiftly.

It's warm, he tastes like almonds and honey.

Sweet, soft, and smooth.

As you kiss, his hand moves from your hair to your cheek.

Another sound leaves you as he does, and this time he doesn't stop.

You kiss back more ferociously then before.

It's so nice. It feels like heat is radiating from both of you.

Then he pulls back.

"I'm sorry. I-"

"Don't apologize, we were both getting a bit carried away."

He nods.

Then he lays down next to you.

"You can sleep easy, i'm trained to awaken at the slightest sound."

You nod, you trust him.

"Very well. Then good night Damian."

So this is Love || Prince Damian Wayne-Al ghul x Princess Reader pt. 2

Hello my good readers!!! I have gotten so many requests to continue my recent Prince Damian x Princess reader lately and I'm so happy to see you all liked it so, a gift from me to you for the happiest New Year!

@lillian-morningstar @pickles-the-jackalope

Part 1

Your eyes opened to your breathtaking room.

He hadn't been home all day.

The bunker felt empty, and this specific situation was starting to stir up your nerves.

You were worried. You had been worried before, but now that Sams back and Dean isn't you're more worried.

You were freaking out.

You tried calling him. He didn't answer though and your chest went tight.

You were so stressed in fact you hadn't even realized what you started doing on instinct.

Which is how you ended up here, with all your favorite stuffed animals, blankets, and most of Deans closet laid out in a nest in his closet.

It was confined, comforting, and smelled just like him.

You couldn't get rid of the weight on your chest though.

You started biting your nails as you curled in on yourself in the nest.

Not long after you felt the tears come.

Holding his shirt from the day prior to your chest while you waited in your anxiety for him to come back.

You don't know how long it is you're there crying but at some point the door cracks open.

Sam walks in with some water.

Sets it right outside the nest, "I have some water for you. You've been crying for a while."

You curl in tighter, "Where's Dean."

Sam exhales quietly. “He’s not hurt,” he says carefully. “He got held up finishing the case. Phone died.”

You feel your heart throb. He's okay, but he's not here yet.

“He’ll be back tonight,” Sam adds. “I texted him to come straight home. You should drink some water."

You sniffle into Deans shirt again.

When the door shuts you move slowly to the edge of your nest grabbing the water.

When you've finished the glass, your chest feels tight, just a bit colder now.

As you sit back in the nest you're antsy. Rocking softly while holding his shirt.

Then you hold it in the middle while you rearrange the nest over and over again.

He should be here.

He isn't here.

He needs to be here.

It's not right that he's not here yet.

He should be here.

You start crying again and it hurts because you need him right now.

You're so stressed it's unreal.

Then the air shifts. You know he's here before he even opens the door.

He's quiet entering.

You freeze curl tighter into yourself.

He kicks his boots off by the door and kneels in front of the nest.

"I'm home."

You don't peak out, just keep yourself curled up.

"Can I come in?" he asks hesitant.

You know he'll listen if you say no, but why would you say no, so you crawl forward and drag him by the arm to lay him down in the nest.

Then you shove your face into his chest.

"Hey hey, it's okay. You're okay. You're safe."

His fingers run up through your hair pushing it back, "I'm not going anywhere, i'm right here."

Your voice breaks when you try to speak, "I needed you."

He sighs holding you more firmly. "I know, i'm so sorry sweetheart."

You push your face into him harder, crying more breathing in his scent.

“Hey,” he whispers. “You did good. You listened to your instincts. That’s not a bad thing.”

“I didn’t even mean to,” you mumble. “I just- I was here and then I wasn’t and your clothes were everywhere and-”

He lets out a soft huff that might be a laugh if his voice wasn’t so thick.

“Yeah,” he says. “That tracks.”

Your rocking slows. Your grip loosens, just a bit.

“There you go,” Dean murmurs. “That’s it. Just breathe with me.”

Your cries move to a sniffle as he holds you. "That's it. You're okay."

Then it dawns on him, “You haven’t eaten have you,” he murmurs, voice low, careful, almost shocked. “Or… barely had anything to drink.”

You cling to his chest, ashamed, twisting into the nest instinctively. “I- I wasn’t hungry,” you whisper, though your voice is shaky.

Dean’s hands tighten slightly in your hair and along your back, not harshly, just enough to ground you. “Yeah, right,” he says gently, but there’s no teasing- just worry laced through his tone. “Sweetheart, you’ve been crying for hours, rocking yourself… that’s not nothing. Your body’s burning calories and losing water. You need food.”

You shake your head faintly, biting your lip. “I can wait… just until you’re-”

“No.” His voice is firmer now, but still gentle. “You’re not waiting. You’re not doing this to yourself. You can’t.”

You give a whimper and the tears start again almost instantly.

“I’ll get it. We’ll eat here. Whatever you want, I’ll get it.”

"I don't want you to leave again."

“I’m not leaving, not now. I’m right here. You’re not alone.”

You sniffle against his chest, clutching his shirt tighter. “Promise?” you whisper.

“Promise,” he replies, his voice firm but soft, the kind that seeps into your bones and eases some of the panic. He glances toward the kitchen, then back at you. “Tell you what- we’ll make a little snack right here. You won’t have to leave the nest.”

You grip at him as he moves to stand up, "It's okay. You’re my omega. You’re supposed to be taken care of. And right now, that means you’re eating something, drinking something, and I’m staying right here while you do it. I'm just going to grab something from the kitchen for you to eat okay?”

You shake your head frantically.

"No, no, don't leave."

He pulls you close holding you again.

"It's okay, you're okay."

Then he places his hands over your ears. "Sam!"

The yell is loud, but it's mostly muffled.

By the time Sams here you can tell he's panicked.

"I can't leave the nest, but she hasn't eaten. Can you bring me the bread and peanut butter and jelly?"

Sam looks between you both, "

Uh… yeah. Sure. I’ll get it.”

He hurries off to the kitchen, and you bury your face deeper into Dean’s chest, trembling. “I… I don’t want to eat,” you mumble, voice muffled.

Dean’s hands tighten in your hair, holding you firmly but gently. “I know, sweetheart. But you have to. You’re weak, you’re dehydrated, and crying nonstop isn’t enough to keep your body going. I’m right here. I’m not leaving. You won’t be alone.”

You whimper against him, the panic making it almost impossible to move.

Dean leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ve got you. That’s enough. Just… let me help you.”

Sam returns a few minutes later, plate and utensils in hand. “Here-bread, peanut butter, jelly,” he says quietly. “Dean, I’ll leave you two alone after this.”

Dean gives him a grateful glance. “Thanks, man.”

He shifts slightly, keeping his arm around you while gesturing toward the food. “Okay… we’ll start small, bite by bite. You don’t have to do more than you can. I’ll stay here with you the whole time.”

You peek up at him through your tears, still hesitant, and he smiles softly, reassuringly. “That’s it. You’re safe. I’ve got you. Let’s just take it slow.”

When you've finally eaten, the tired sets in, "Come 'er, get some sleep, it's okay, i'll be right here all night. I've got you."

You curl up into him, face pressed hard into his side.

Then you doze off.

Waking up is a little unpleasent, your eyes ache, your head hurts and your thirsty, but you're happy. Dean is still right next to you.

“Morning,” he whispers softly, eyes still half-closed, his voice rough with sleep but calm. “You okay?”

You nod, snuggling further. “Yeah… I’m okay.”

Dean finally opens his eyes fully, taking in the nest you’d made and the way you’ve nestled into him. A small, fond smile tugs at his lips. “You made yourself comfy, huh? Good. I like that.”

You let out a tired, half-laugh, nuzzling his chest. “I just… needed you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m right here. I didn’t go anywhere. You were safe all night.”

“How about breakfast in a bit?” he asks, fingers lightly tracing your arm. “You don’t have to get up if you don’t want. I’ll bring it here.”

You sniffle softly but nod, closing your eyes again. “Thank you… for staying.”

The sounds inside were chaotic.

People screaming, laughing, dancing.

It was hot stepping in.

A wall of moisture opening the door.

As you stepped through the smoke filled room, you made your way into the kitchen, different types of cheap alcohol lining the counters.

You poured yourself a plastic cup of straight tequila.

You weren't even sure you'd come tonight. But the tight feeling in your chest of pain was just a bit too much.

You almost stayed home to blow your brains out but they you figured eh fuck it, killing yourself is overrated might as well get in some trouble first.

The last few nights you've hardly even gotten out of bed, so getting ready for this party was fun.

You had your tights and long sleeve body con dress on.

Your favorite langurie just in case, and your hair was done just like you liked it.

You made sure to put in your favorite jewelry too, looping it through your nose, and matching the piercings in your ears.

As you drank you made sure to refil your cup before leaving the kitchen to step out in the main room.

You pulled your vape out and took a hit standing on the wall while everyone mingled.

The lights in the center of the room looked way better with the smoke in the air from all the people hitting around the room.

As you stood there you were offered a cigarette, you accepted it dropping your vape into your pocket again.

As it was lit you felt a hand on your wrist, "Not often I find someone who'll smoke an actual cigarette."

You gave a shrug finishing your cup and thanking them for the light.

Their friend came up wrapping an arm around their shoulder and pulling them off while you sat there smoking.

By the time your drink and cigarette were finished the room felt a bit more fun.

Muttering under your breath about how stuffy it was you made a step outside for a few minutes only to see the last person you'd ever want at a party.

So you did the sensible thing and turned around walking back in.

You could hear your name yelled behind you and you brushed it off, pushing yourself into the crowed again.

As you approached the kitchen you picked up the mostly empty bottle of tequila and started chugging.

A hand promptly grabbed your wrist pulling it down, "Woah there, slow down girl-"

"Nah man, i'm great, don't worry about it."

The hand let go any you made your way back out bottle now empty you left it behind.

You felt bile rise in your throat as you burped, then go back down.

After that though everything just became much nicer.

You danced with several drunk girls, "Girl you're cooked-"

"Hell yeah I am! I don't wanna feel anything."

She laughed, "Same."

You danced with her for god knows how long.

Eventually leading to her kissing against your cheek and neck in the middle of the room.

You'd hear her laugh then pull back then you'd laugh and pull her back giggling.

Then one of her friends threw up.

"Oh shit! Party foul!"

You laughed hard her other friend practically had tears in her eyes as she laughed.

You were starting to get hot though so you made a show of pulling off your tights falling into one of the other girls who let out a laugh.

As you made it back to your feet you realized your shoes were missing.

God knows when they went missing.

You started laughing jumping while you danced.

Then the song started blaring that made it worth it.

"Don't stop get a drink, throw up in the kitchen sink, I don't wanna feel, I don't wanna feel anything." The other girls sang it out with you.

Each of you getting in each others face while you basically screamed the song.

You slipped your hand back into your dress pocket pulling your vape out hitting again.

Your heart was racing now, your lungs screamed.

You stuck your tongue out as you made your way back to the kitchen.

As you approached you grabbed one of the bottles, "fuckkkk it's empty."

You made your way around again, looking for something with something in it.

Finding a bottle of vodka in one of the cabinets.

As you opened it you started drinking again, the taste and smell cleared your sinuses, the hard liquor alcoholic scent smelling good to you know.

As you stepped back you realized it was clearing out.

You were about to head out too when you turned back and threw up in the sink.

How irronic.

As you made your way out you saw a switchblade on the key tray.

So you making a wise decision grabbed it.

As you walked down the street you twirled it around, not quite ready to head home.

As you walked you considered making your way to the club.

And just like that your feet made their move.

As it came into view you took another hit off your vape twirling the switchblade in the other hand.

Then your mouth watered and your tongue got the weird taste and you ducked down towards the wall and threw up.

Puking your guts out you stood there for a minute before pushing yourself up and changing course, they probably wouldn't let you in the club with your puke and alcohol smell.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, breathing through the burn in your throat.

“Rough night?”

The voice came from your left.

You startled, grip tightening on the switchblade as you straightened. He was leaning against a motorcycle, helmet tucked under his arm. Red jacket. Dark eyes that didn’t flick away when they caught the knife.

“Didn’t ask for company,” you muttered.

“Good,” he said. “I’m bad at small talk.”

He stepped closer- not crowding you, just enough that the streetlight caught the blade.

“You gonna hurt someone with that,” he asked, “or just yourself?”

You scoffed. “You always this charming with drunk girls Jason?”

“Only when I’m worried.”

"Oh fuck off."

"You're drunk. What were you thinking coming here by yourself."

"No shit asshole, two weeks ago, you said you didn’t care what I thought.”

“That’s not what I said,” he replied quietly.

“Yeah?” You laughed, brittle. “Funny how it sounded exactly like that.”

“You were pushing me,” he shot back. “You wanted a reaction.”

“And you gave me silence.”

That landed. You watched him practically recoil.

Then his hand was on your wrist, holding it firmly, "I didn’t walk away because I didn’t care,” he said. “I walked away because I didn’t know how to stop you from burning yourself alive.”

You felt your fingers tighten around the switchblade.

You moved it down your hand to your finger, stabbing your finger into the blade.

“Hey.” His voice dropped. Not soft- steady. “Give me that.”

“No.”

“You’re shaking.”

“Mind your business.”

"Come on, i'll give it back, just let me walk you home first."

“I didn’t ask you to worry.”

Jason reached out anyway, fingers closing gently but firmly around your wrist. He pried the knife from your grip with practiced ease, folding it shut and sliding it into his pocket.

“You never do,” he muttered. “That’s kind of your thing.”

"I don't wanna go home."

It's silent for a few minutes.

"Why not."

Jason shifted closer, not touching, just there. Your silence is enough to tell him taking you home might be a bad idea.

“You don’t have to go home,” he said. “But you’re not wandering around like this either.”

You looked up at him. “So what, you gonna babysit me?”

His mouth twitched. “Please. I don’t get paid enough for that.”

“There’s a diner a few blocks over,” he went on. “Open all night. Greasy food. Bad coffee. You can sit there and not think for a bit.”

“And after?”

He met your eyes. No jokes this time. “After, we figure it out.”

As you walked your arm itched, the scabs still healing over.

As you picked at your sleeves to get the itch underneath Jason stopped grabbing your wrist and pulling your sleeve up.

"Shit doll."

You just stood there, "Just leave it."

You watched him pull back and turn walking slower now.

The second the cigarette was on his lips you knew exactly how he was feeling about this situation and it was about where you were too.

As you watch him puff the air out he starts talking again, "Didn't know it was that bad."

"Well you didn't ask either."

You're both quiet as you keep walking, you reach back into your pocket pulling your vape out again going to take another hit.

The second it's on your lips his hand is on your wrist.

"You think that's smart."

You shrug trying to pull your wrist back.

He swipes the vape as he lets go, stashing that too in his pocket.

"Asshole."

"Sure, i'm the asshole."

"What's that supposed to mean."

"It means you don't have to be an ass when i'm trying to help you."

"I didn't ask for your help."

"You never do."

"Maybe I don't want it."

His steps stop and you follow suite.

"So what, you like this. You're happy like this? Drunk, high, cut up?"

"I'm not any happier, not drunk, high or cut up."

“That’s a lie,” he said finally.

You laughed, sharp and defensive. “Oh yeah? You inside my head now?”

“No,” he said. “But I’ve been where you are. And nobody’s happy like that. They’re just quiet enough to survive another night.”

Your jaw tightened.

“So what,” you snapped. “You got a better idea?”

"Just don't deal with it alone. Fucking talk to me or something."

"I don't know what you want to hear-"

"I don't want to hear anything, I want you to tell me what's going on with you. How'd life fuck you over like this."

"You first."

"That's not fair."

"Oh is it not? Because last I checked up till a few weeks ago you were doing the same shit I was and hadn't told me why either."

He runs a hand through his hair as he gives a dry laugh.

"That's different-"

"Oh is it? Cuz i've seen your scars too Jason or did you forget."

"It is different! I didn't do that to myself."

"Oh so that makes it okay? Putting yourself in danger, you're getting those scars somewhere, and if you're in the fights you might as well be causing them yourself."

"Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh I don't? I've seen how you throw a punch, you'd have to be a goddamn vigilante to end up with those wounds if you weren't letting people kick the shit out of you."

He stills.

The edge that just hit him has you stilling.

"No fucking way." you breathe, "Which one are you-"

"I didn't say I was-"

"Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin, Red hood- holy shit you're Red hood."

His hand is against your mouth in an instant, "Shut up. Fuck. We can talk about this, just not on the goddamn street okay?"

Your mind is reeling as he pulls you off towards an apartment building.

As soon as you're in the door he's standing there, chest rising and falling quickly.

"You can't tell anyone."

"I wont."

His hand slams into the wall next to your head, "I'm serious"

"Fuck man, i'm serious too, I tell people how I find out i'm in shit too."

It's quiet for a moment as he steps back running a hand through his hair.

"There's a shower back there, i'll bring you something to wear. Go wash off the puke. I'm gonna go get us some food once you're in."

"Okay."

As you make your way inside pulling your dress off he opens the door setting an outfit down on the counter.

As you stand there in your langurie you feel his eyes drift you, "You were planning on getting laid tonight?"

You chuckle, "No, but figured it's better to be prepared."

It's quiet for a few minutes.

"Wash up, i'll be back in 10."

As he closes the door you drop your under clothes and get in the shower.

When you hear the door again you turn the water off and dry off.

Walking out in his shit is surreal.

Wearing someone elses clothes is normally preceded by something a bit more pleasuring.

“So… what now?”

He shrugs. “Now we eat. Then we figure out why you’re trying to kill yourself in the streets.” His voice is dry, but there’s no bite this time- no teasing, no edge. Just concern.

"Never said I didn't know why."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, "Care to enlighten me?"

"Life sucks, rather go out with a bang at a party then in my room."

He rolls his eyes, "That's bleak."

"That's my reality, if I wasn't at that party I probably would have blown my brains out all over my childhood bedrooms walls tonight. Had the note and everything."

"You're not joking."

Jason exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You’ve… really been carrying that alone, huh?”

You shrug, looking anywhere but at him. “Always do.”

He doesn’t comment on it, just sets down his jacket and keys. “Diner first. You eat, you survive another night. Then maybe we talk about… everything else. I need to process for a minute.”

You watch him exit into a room down the hall coming out in a different outfit.

"Your pajama pants are very...you." you say as he walks back to the table.

"Thanks, they're mine i'd hope they were."

You chuckle, "Yeah yeah."

The silence is awkward as you both eat.

You can't figure out what to say.

You had been raised a princess from birth.

Trained in archery, dance, music, literature, poetry, art, history, so many things you'd almost lost count.

Your coming of age ceremony was not far off.

Your father had invited every prince from every foreign nation in hopes of you meeting someone who made you happy.

You knew it was your duty as a princess to have a suitor seek you out.

So when you were stuck dancing on the 4th day of your fathers extravagant ceremony you sought to just settle for one of the decent suitors.

That was until he approached.

When your eyes met you didn't see the boyish gleam you saw in many of the other princes, he was more mature. His face still young, only a handful had been this way.

Once more he was strikingly handsome.

As he led you in dance you felt how confident he was in his steps, the strength he held in reserve.

He was silent, you waited for him to speak.

He seemed to realize and introduced himself, short and simple, still elegant.

From there he doesn't boast about himself, like many of the others had.

He doesn't brag about the state of his kingdom, or their wealth.

He just makes a silent observation, "You favor your left foot in dance."

It's almost unnerving, his statement seeing you more then any of the others you had heard previously.

When your dance is done you watch him walk off. You want to know more about him. Not because he was mysterious, not in the way some of the princes tried to make themselves.

He was just different.

Over the next two days you find reasons on breaks from your dances to seek him.

Every time you make eye contact he approaches you carefully.

"What languages are you versed in."

"What are your favorite books."

"Why do you practice archery? Do you enjoy it?"

"What war did you believe the most foolish."

Every question you answer just draws more up for you.

Then finally you ask him, "Why did you come to this ball?"

His answer isn't what you were expecting, it's not for your country's wealth, it's not to seek an alliance, it's not even because he's requiring a princess to ascend the throne.

"I was curious if the rumors about you were true."

On the 7th day you finally make a move, when asked which prince you choose dance with to open the 7th days ball you choose him, Crown Prince Damian Thomas Wayne Al Ghul of Nanda Parbat, and fourth in line for the kingdom of Gotham.

Approaching you for the dance he's quiet. Contemplative.

"Why me?"

Your silent, hesitant to put your hand in his till you've answered his question.

"You have peaked my interest, your curiosity and lack of boastfulness has been refreshing."

“Then,” he says at last, “I am honored.”

You took his hand and you felt how he guided you on the dance floor.

A firm presence that wasn't too overwhelming.

It was peaceful.

Comforting even.

After that everything was a blur, most of the other men had backed off leaving you alone with Damian.

He was quiet standing with you, every once and a while one of the prior suitors would approach and he'd glare at them till they walked away.

You could feel your heart flutter. He was defending your position, letting you make the moves you wanted.

Just what you were looking for in a royal marriage, someone who respected your opinions and protected you from those who wouldn't.

As the night progresses you see your fathers gaze linger. Hear your ladies-in-waiting whispering behind your back.

At one point he takes notice to your quiet.

“If my presence compromises you,” he says evenly, “I will step away. Not because I fear the court, but because I respect your agency.”

This is the moment you realize, you'd choose no other.

Your eyes go to your fathers and you give a slight nod.

He stands and his voice bellows out, "I believe my daughter has chosen a suitor, should he accept this will conclude the ball until the engagement ceremony."

You heard the murmurs through the crowd.

Turning to face Damian.

"Prince Damian Thomas Wayne Al Ghul of Nanda Parbat, and fourth in line for the kingdom of Gotham I humbly request that you court me going forward for you have been chosen for your intellectual parity, restraint in power, and partnership rather than possession."

The room is silent waiting for his response. You can feel the eyes of the court on you.

“I accept,” he says simply. Then, after a pause that only you hear, “On one condition.”

A ripple moves through the room.

His gaze never leaves yours.

“That you are never required to choose me again out of obligation. Only out of will.”

Your breath catches.

You nod.

The court exhales.

Once the thank you to the room is given you move to the sitting room followed by Damian.

You both sit queitly alone for the first time aside from your guard and one of your ladies-in-waiting.

You sit in each others silence for several minutes before your father enters.

You and Damian rise as he walks in.

“You understand,” your father says, “that this is not a promise of marriage.”

Damian inclines his head. “I understand it is a promise of honesty.”

That answer earns the faintest approval. You can see it in your fathers eyes.

And with that a courtship period is declared.

Unprecedented, but not refused. You would hopefully never go through another ball like this one as object of focus.

Your meetings are set, once per day you are to have a meal, once per week you are to go into your territory and be seen with him to strengthen your image.

After 3 months you are given a chance to speak without a chaperone.

You could feel your nerves on edge. What if he wished for more then you had given him, what if he wanted to do more then hold your hand in private.

“I will not touch you,” he says plainly, “unless you ask.”

Not romantic. Not performative. It's respectful.

You confess your fears, he listens dutifully. Then he makes a confession of his own, "I was raised to be a weapon before I was raised to be a man. I will do my best to live up to your expectations as a man, for both our kingdoms."

You respect his stance, "I will not ask more of you then what you can give."

His shoulders relax and you feel the weight lift between you more.

You reach a hand out softly and give his a small squeeze before pulling back.

The touch of his hand even for the short moment is almost overwhelming, you can feel the heat in your cheeks.

“I was raised in a place where affection was conditional and strength was mandatory. I learned discipline before comfort. Strategy before trust.”

Your gaze softens. You see the slight hint of color in his cheeks.

“And what did you learn last?” you ask.

He hesitates.

“How to stop waiting for permission to exist.”

The honesty lands heavier than any boast could have. The eye contact you feel following is powerful.

“I will not cage you,” Damian says. “Not politically. Not emotionally. If you wish to rule, I will stand beside you. If you wish to walk alone, I will step back.”

You study him carefully.

“And what do you want?”

His silence is deafening, “I want to build something that cannot be taken apart by fear.”

You wait for the moment to pass, knowing where you both stand now.

“This court will test you,” you say. “They will provoke you. They will look for weakness.”

“They will find none,” he replies. “Only restraint.”

You nod.

“Then we are aligned.”

“One last thing,” he adds.

“Yes?”

“If at any point you wish to end this courtship, say so plainly. I will not argue. I will not pursue.”

You meet his gaze.

“And if I wish to continue?”

His voice is steady.

“Then I will be loyal to you, in word, in action, and in silence when silence serves you better.”

From then forth you and Damian are given more space.

The guards find themselves scarce every once and a while giving you space with your prince.

As your courtship reaches 6 months your father brings you both in to speak of an engagement ceramony.

Damian agrees steadfast.

It's quite nice. You all speak of the details as time progresses, Damian explains how he'll write his family, his eldest brother someone who might be able to assist in planning.

When the sun starts to set, your father excuses you both and you practically skip back to your room besides Damian.

When he reaches your door he gives a small bow, offering his hand to yours in the empty cooridor.

You take it softly and he kneels in front of you as he kisses your hand.

"My princess, I promise this to you and you alone. It is only for your ears that you will be the most important person in my life. I take our bond as both a loyal and trustworthy relationship."

Heat flares in your cheeks, "Rise Prince Damian, you shall not kneel to me, for we are equals in my eyes. My loyalty is yours. My trust as well."

You both stare at each other for a moment.

"Call me by my name when we are alone my prince."

Heat rises in his cheeks, "Damian... you may call me Damian."

His hand stays in yours and you can't help but look at him in a new light.

The sound of footsteps shakes you both.

“You should go inside,” he says, then pauses. “Not because I wish to leave you. Because I would rather not be the reason the court invents stories.”

You smile softly. “Always thinking three steps ahead.”

As your door closes you can't help but feel your heart flutter.

The next morning when you are dressed you seek out Damian, having stayed in your castle over night in a guest room due to the late hour.

Your approach to the dining room has you hearing your father and Damian speaking.

Their words are comfortable.

Your father accepts him for you.

Breakfast is a delight, while you and Damian take to walking around the garden an arrow strikes itself into the tree you both walk under.

Damian having clutched you forward to avoid it.

A shriek leaves your lips, and Damian is quickly scaling the wall.

Less then a minute passes before you witness someone flung from the balcony.

Damian comes over the wall once more landing next to the curled up figure, who's wearing the colors of the neighboring kingdom.

Guards fly from every entrance of the garden and Damian steps towards you quickly.

The boy on the ground snarls, “You think you can steal what should have been mine?”

"She is no prize, she belongs to no one but herself, it'd do you wise to watch your words."

A guard thrusts him up and you recognize him as one of the princes you danced with.

“You’ll regret this,” he spits.

Damian shifts again, just enough that his view of you is blocked.

“You will not look at her again.”

The guards drag him away, his protests echoing down the hall.

Silence rushes back in.

You realize you’re shaking.

Damian turns to you at once, the steel gone from his expression.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No. You- you moved so fast.”

“I was trained to,” he replies simply.

You force yourself to compose.

The thud of your heart slowing as Damian stands before you.

"You didn’t even hesitate.”

“No,” he says. “Because there was no question.”

Your voice is quiet. “About what?”

“About who I protect.”

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then he lowers his voice further, just for you.

“I told you I would not cage you,” he says. “But I will stand between you and anyone who mistakes kindness for weakness.”

Your heart flutters, "Thank you... Damian."

The weeks fly by your engagement planned, every detail decided.

The night before Damian sits with you in the library. You look over the balcony together, taking in the garden below.

“Are you afraid?” you ask him.

He considers it.

“Of losing you?” he admits. “Yes.”

You turn to him. “And of loving me?”

Another pause.

“No,” he says. “That part is easy.”

Your heart stutters.

“You may kiss me,” you say softly. “If you wish.”

He does not move at once.

He makes his actions very apparent.

The slow step forward, the soft hand to your cheek.

Then he leans in slow, before his lips touch he freezes, "Are you sure it is alright?"

You give a light smile, "It is more then alright."

A soft brush of his lips is all he gives you before pulling back.

“I will spend my life earning that,” Damian murmurs.

You smile.

“I know. I only wish you won't regret that decision.”

"I could never."

You had met Steve in high school. Befriended him when he started dating Nancy as one of her friends.

You were there from the start, with Nancy and Jonathan when they fought the Demogorgon, and Steve showed up.

You were there when Steve tried to fight off Billy, you were always some how there and always somehow teamed with Steve and Dustin or the kids.

The only difference was when the fights were over you had to go home to another one.

No one ever questioned why you were almost never at home.

Why would they.

No one ever questioned why you were always covered in bruises.

Why would they.

No one ever tried to figure out why you had a set up in the forest.

Why would they.

So when Steve follows behind you one day, worry in his voice you almost break.

"You look tired."

You'd give a small chuckle, "No shit."

He'd give Dustin a look then his eyes would shift to yours quiet and observing.

"Want me to drive you home?"

"No thanks." You answer smooth. Practiced.

When you're all done for the night he follows you slowly.

He's quiet, you'll give him that.

You walk through the woods almost by habit, expecting him to leave at some point, and at some point you assume he has.

When you get to the abandoned pavilion you've set up under, you open your tent, The sleeping bag still set up how you like, photo of your mom next to it. Your changes of clothes in the corner.

You were careful changing.

The brusies on your ribs still aching.

You grabbed your clothes stepped out and changed slowly.

The ache in your back apparent.

You'd get good sleep though tonight.

And that's just what you did.

When morning came you were up, it's laundry and shower day.

You had to go home.

Your walk back was quiet.

When you got to the house you eased in silent.

You made your way to the laundry machine.

Throwing in clothes for the washer.

Then you ducked into the bathroom. Turning on the water.

It was cold since the washer was going.

You showered fast.

Washing your hair first. Then scrubbing off the dirt of the last few days.

When you're out you dry fast.

Then dress in some clean clothes.

Walking into the kitchen you find the cans of beans, tuna, and vegetables your dad always buys but never eats and drop them into the bottom of your back pack. Then you swipe one of the bottles from his alcohol cabinet.

Then you drop the back pack in the laundry room while you move your clothes to the dryer.

The house shakes though as you hear your father come in.

You move swiftly.

It'd be another 30 minutes before the dryer was done.

You walk out to the living room.

"Hey dad, how was work?"

His eyes narrow at you.

"Back for your laundry you leach?"

You gave a small nod.

He's in a good mood it looks like.

He gave a small nod.

"Sorry bout last time, got angry." he muttered.

"It's alright, nothing major."

His eyes scanned yours for a second.

"Where you staying anyway?" He asked.

"Woods."

He nodded slow.

"I'm trying." he says quiet.

You know he is, he just gets a bit too angry sometimes. And when he's angry he sees red.

You watch him disappear into his room for a second and come back out.

He tosses the box at you.

It's a necklace.

"Was your mothers. Found it while cleaning. It's yours now."

You nod slow.

Dropping it into your pocket.

"Thanks."

"She'd be proud of you."

You nod slow.

"You know I love you right?"

You nod slow again eyes down.

"Do you hate me?" he asks.

You shake your head, "No... you just... need help, it's not your fault."

He's tense for a second.

"Do you love me?"

You know what he wants to hear.

You just don't have the courage to say it. Still healing.

He steps closer, "I said, do you love me?"

You nod. You both stand there silent for a while, the dryer beeps and you dip back quick.

Stuffing your clothes quickly into your bag.

Then you close the door quiet.

Walking into the living room he gives you a look.

"Did you take my bottle of Wiskey?"

You freeze.

"Yeah. It's been col-"

His fist slams on the counter.

"So what you're gonna drink like me?"

You chest tightens.

"I'm careful."

He's getting angry.

"Bye dad, i'll be back in a few days."

He's quiet.

Then you dip.

You're out the door in a flash.

You immediately notice you forgot to fill your water.

So you drop your backpack and dip back into the house.

Waterbottle in hand.

As you get in you see your dad drinking straight from a bottle.

He sees you and stops.

"Why're you back." he practically slurs.

"Water." you say holding up the half gallon bottle.

You fill it and it takes longer then you'd like

Once it's full you slide the lid on quick.

Turning to leave.

You feel his hand go to your wrist.

"So that's it. Not gonna say anything, just gonna leave?"

"Sorry, i said-"

His hand goes across your face hard.

You drop to the ground and wiggle away hand gripping your water as you turn and bolt out the door.

You give a small yell, "Bye."

Then grab your backpack and dash into the woods.

You're light on your feet. Moving fast.

When you get back to the tent you drop your things.

Then spend the rest of the day asleep.

When you're up the next morning you get ready for work.

You work at the mall right now, next door to scoops ahoy.

So of course you get dragged into the situation with the Russians, and of course you get stuck in a Russian elevator and of course you get the shit kicked out of you.

You take the hits like a champ.

When Steve get's back he looks worse for wear.

Then everything gets hazy.

When it all gets clearer again you're in a bathroom listening to Steve and Robin talk.

Robins confession is the thing that sobers you up.

Things are hectic after that.

Once the mindflyer is dead and the mall is up in flames from the fireworks, your knees buckle and you hit the ground hard.

When they open again you're on a couch, in Steves house, he's sitting in one of the chairs asleep, Robin right next to him.

You lay there quiet for a second before pushing yourself up a bit.

Walking towards the bathroom.

When you get there the look isn't pretty.

You've got a slip eyebrow that's thankfully stopped bleeding,

Your heads throbbing too.

You see the towels, white towels. You don't want to stain them, but you want the blood off your face.

So you use the sink.

Wash hard. Wipe off as much of the water as you can.

Then there's a knock.

Steve.

"I have a change of clothes for you if you want to shower.

You hesitate, "Thank you."

You crack open the door and take the clothes.

Setting them on the toilet before showering.

Washing off all the blood, and dirt, and soot.

By the time you're clean, your skin is still multicolored and you have more open wounds then you'd like.

You realize the clothes you're in don't cover your lower legs, or arms as much as you'd like.

As you make your way out.

You see Steve standing there, Robin still asleep.

He waves a hand at you and you make your way back towards the kitchen with him.

He's careful pulling out an ice pack.

"So..."

You give a nervous laugh waiting for him to continue.

"Some of those bruises look older."

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, “I’m clumsy.” praying you look noncholant.

"You're also sleeping in the woods."

You chest tightens.

"I like it outside."

"Sure ya do."

You sit there quiet.

He moves forward with the ice pack, setting it next to your hand.

"You don't have to say anything, and you can sleep here instead of the woods."

Your eyes narrow at him, "What about your parents?"

"They're never here."

Your eyes are on him as he shrugs.

You know that move.

So you nod.

"Okay."

When you're done icing your cheek he walks you back to the living room, and sits you down next to him on the couch.

The silence is nice, and slowly he inches closer to you.

You're quiet as you do the same.

Until you're looking at him easing your shoulder against his back and leaning against him.

His arm goes around your shoulder and you feel how firm and safe it is.

Then his other arm goes around you and he lifts you softly into his lap, letting you curl against his chest as he lays back a bit.

It's nice, warm and safe and eventually you fall asleep right there.

When you finally wake up Robin is gone and Steve is twirling your hair in his fingers.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you say. Your voice is hoarse but calm.

“Robin left?” you ask.

Steve nods. “Said she’d be back later. Told me not to let you run off.”

You huff a quiet laugh, then go still.

“Was she serious?”

“Deadly.”

The silent rhythm you both fall into over the next few weeks is nice, you borrow his clothes, he cooks you breakfast, and you both spend some quiet time together comfortable in your silences.

Then one day you're both sitting there quiet and you hear his voice, "I haven't seen my parents in almost a year."

Your chest tightens.

"I'm sorry." you say quiet.

Then he continues, "I know they're alright tough because my mom calls once a month and money arrives in the mail."

Your chest is tight as he speaks.

"That really sucks."

He's quiet, "It's normal for me."

Your nod silent, "My mom's dead."

His breath is sharp, "Jesus, i'm sorry."

You shake your head, "It's okay.... My dad's had a temper ever since. Hits me sometimes when i'm home, so I try not to be home."

You're both quiet.

“Sometimes,” he repeats quietly.

You nod, eyes on the floor. “Not always.”

Steve exhales through his nose, slow and controlled. You can feel the anger in him- not explosive, not reckless. Focused.

“That’s not okay,” he says.

You flinch anyway. Not because he’s loud- because you’re used to defending it.

“I know,” you say quickly. “But he’s not- he’s not a monster. He’s trying.”

Steve nods once. “I believe you. But trying doesn’t mean you get hurt.”

Your throat tightens. You swallow hard.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you admit. “The woods were quiet. No one asked questions.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. “You shouldn’t have had to choose that.”

You shrug, small. “I was fine. I can take a hit.”

Steve shakes his head, not angry, just sad. “You were surviving.”

"So are you." You say quiet.

You know he's just surviving because having no one to worry is just as bad as having someone hurt you and worry.

You're both quiet for a while.

"I have your back." he says queit.

You nod, "I have yours too."

"I want you to know, i'm not going anywhere." he adds softer. "I'm... i'm in love with you, and your quirky jokes, and your stubborn attitude, and the way you protect yourself and everyone around you so fiercely."

He pulls you into a hug. "Please don't run from me. I want to protect you."

Your heart hurts, "I won't, I'm in love with you too Steve."

The day you appeared was quiet. You weren't here for anything in particular.

Wandering around the forest the past decade had been peaceful.

No fear of being seen as a weirdo, no questions about your lack of aging, no friends or lovers dying of old age.

You had grown tired.

The snow on the ground was nice.

Snow was beautiful. Delicate.

You loved snow. It's always been pretty to you.

The first time you saw it you can remember was when you were in northern Greece 500 BCE.

It was cold, the mountains held more snow then anywhere else.

You floated around the ground as if weightless, moving with practiced grace. The delicacy of an immortal.

The care of someone who has been walking the way snow fell, silently and beautifully.

As you moved gracefully you felt the forest grow quieter.

Coming to a halt you knew you weren't alone anymore.

Pushing up against a tree you stood silently.

The movement of a piglin hybrid a quiver on his back, bow in hand and sword at his waist.

Your breath stopped. Heart stilling.

He was tall. Broad shoulders, very muscular.

He held no armor, a loose drawn linen over his chest, a red fabric hiding the top of his brown pants.

The crown and cape he wore reminding you of royalty.

His hair was beautiful.

You stood mesmerized as he stalked slowly against a tree.

His steps frozen as he turned his face in both directions.

He knew something was there, you recognized that look.

You didn't dare to breathe, but soon his steps begun again and you watched him leave the area.

Looking down at yourself you took into account your attire.

Your hair flowed softly, 10 years of length it reached as far as your mid thigh.

Thankfully though your immortality seemed to extend to your hair for the most part as it was healthy, untangled and still just as soft and adorned in flowers.

The dress you wore was in good condition still too.

An off white flowing dress, it reached to the tops of your shins, not constricting your movements. Flowers decorating it peacefully in places.

The forests sounds didn't return though.

You'd seen hunters, soldiers, and kings. They didn't listen like this predator did.

This was different.

Unknown.

You eased carefully from the tree moving softly a few feet.

You felt your magic hum beneath your skin, the disruption in mana clear, he was behind you.

As you turned to face him a twig snapped and an arrow thumped into the tree beside you.

You were careful.

You didn't scream, you didn't panic. Age had taught you control.

Your eyes went to the arrow, dead center of the trunk, good aim.

It was embedded well too. Powerful.

“Yeah,” he said calmly, voice carrying through the trees, “I thought so.”

You raised your hands slowly, palms open. Not surrender. Just acknowledgment as you turned around.

“You’re very loud,” he added, tilting his head. “For someone trying not to be.”

“You’re also dressed like a forest spirit.”

You blinked once.

“I am neither hostile nor lost,” you said, voice quiet but steady. Accented by centuries, smoothed by time. “And that arrow was unnecessary.”

“Bold words for someone who didn’t dodge.”

“I didn’t need to.”

That earned you his full attention.

Your eyes met, his were bright and red. Beautiful.

Like berries or blood on snow.

“You don’t smell like a mob,” he said. “And you didn’t flinch.”

“I’ve had practice.”

“With… arrows?”

"With being shot at."

Silence fell between you both.

"What are you?" he asked. He spoke with ease.

Men like this were not to be trifled with.

Men like this were the ones who changed history.

His crown isn't for vanity, cape not for show. He holds both violence and discipline, someone in control.

“I am very old,” you said at last. “And very tired.”

He took steps forward his breath fanned your face for a second.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “That tracks.”

He reached up and tugged the arrow free from the tree with a sharp jerk. Bark splintered. He glanced at the tip, satisfied, then slid it back into his quiver.

“You’re either immortal,” he continued stepping back, “or suicidal.”

“Those are not mutually exclusive,” you replied.

He huffs a small almost laugh.

A grin plays to your lips.

“You didn’t dodge,” he said again “Which means you knew I wouldn’t miss.” his voice taking on a more quizzical tone.

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t scream.”

“No.”

“And you didn’t run.”

“I’ve run before,” you said. “It never helped.”

You both stand there facing each other silently.

"You're... strange."

You gave a small shrug.

"I'm good at patterns... and you don't fit any of them?" his voice leads.

You shrugged a bird flying to the branch of the recently assaulted tree.

Your eyes followed it softly holding a hand out softly.

You'd held this bird before, seen it grow.

It carefully landed in your hand.

Your finger danced softly over its head.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asked.

You shrugged, "Resting. Hiding from humans."

“…War,” he guessed.

“Always.”

That did it.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I hate that too. You can stay,” he said after a moment. “For now.”

Your eyes danced from the bird back to him.

"That's not how territory usually works."

"Normally I kill trespassers."

“And you won’t?”

He tilted his head, studying you with sharp, curious eyes.

“Haven’t decided yet.”

The moment gave you all you needed to know, “If you wanted to kill me, you’d have tried already.” his voice hummed.

You met his gaze.

“So would you.” you stated voice quiet.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Fair.”

You saw the world encase in the darkness of sunset.

The dark was peaceful.

"There are others not far from here." he states voice gruff.

You stood there silent.

Why is this important.

“Settlements?,” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “A server.”

That word is meaningless to you, but the way he says it is not.

“They build,” he continues. “They claim things. They decide who belongs where.”

You’ve heard this before.

Different language. Same rhythm.

“Kings,” you say.

He snorts.

“They’d love that.”

"Disgusting." you mutter.

“Yeah, and if you stay here,” he says, “they’ll come eventually. With laws. With prisons. With ‘for the greater good.’”

You think of Athens. Of Rome. Of London. Of Washington.

“Always the same,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Different banners.”

"I don't like banners."

"That might be a problem." He says voice amused now.

"And you?" You question.

"I don't bend." he responds not a question, a statement, "I don't negotiate with systems that need people smaller then they are."

“So what happens now?” you ask.

He shrugs.

“You can leave. Stay hidden. Live quietly for a while longer.”

“And if I don’t?”

His lips curl into something almost amused. “Then you’ll be involved.”

"What have you chosen?" you ask voice questioning.

“I chose not to be ruled,” he says finally.

It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic.

It’s absolute.

“I chose not to be owned. Not by kings, not by presidents, not by ‘the greater good.’”

"I can agree with this."

“I chose to burn the cages instead of decorating them.” his voice edges sharply.

Your breath leaves you slowly.

“And the cost?”

He glances back at you, eyes sharp and honest.

“Everything that tries to keep me,” he says. “And most things that try to stop me.”

“I won’t kneel,” you say. “Not to them. Not to you.”

“Good,” he replies instantly. “That’d be awkward.”

A corner of his mouth lifts.

You almost laugh.

“Then what does that make us?” you ask.

"Unclaimed,” he says. “Which is about as close to free as it gets.”

Your eyes follow over his face once again, the beauty in his hair and eyes.

"Then i'll stay."

"My place isn't far. You don't have to come."

You give a soft nod and follow him.

After a few minutes of silence, your voice finally cut through.

“You fight,” you said softly, “and yet you call yourself unclaimed. You kill, burn, and disrupt, but you think you are free?”

He glanced back, red eyes catching the starlight. A small smirk tugged at his lips, amused rather than offended.

“Freedom isn’t a philosophical debate,” he said. “It’s surviving on your terms. You think bending your spine for someone else counts as freedom?”

“Freedom is more than survival,” you said. “Freedom is knowing the consequences of power and choosing restraint anyway. It’s not merely the absence of a master- it’s the wisdom to act responsibly with what you can do."

His steps stop and you halt behind him.

“I like to think I shape my own path,” he said finally. “Not to serve a flag or a throne. Not for fame or gold. That’s all freedom that matters to me.” then his steps begin again.

When you reach his home the first thing you see is the fence.

His steps are soft, the snow crunching beneath him here.

“You move like you’ve been walking for a long time,” he said, not looking at you at first. His tone was curious, not accusatory.

“I have,” you said quietly, almost matter-of-fact. As he moves to open the door for you. Your eyes flicked to the fire in the room, then back to him. “Long enough to know where it’s safe to step, where it’s not, and when to speak.”

“So,” he said after a pause, “you’re not exactly from around here. Not in the usual sense. That much I can tell.”

“I move often,” you said. “Sometimes to rest. Sometimes to hide. Sometimes to watch.”

“You’ll need to rest,” he said simply his voice wavering as if he has more questions, as if it were obvious how late it is. He moved toward the corner, tugging a thick blanket from a chest. “Bed’s not much, but it’ll keep you off the snow.”

You sit softly on the bed and watch as he walks out of the room.

When he's gone you feel how your mana is moving, touching everything.

He steps back into the room, a bucket of water in hand.

"For the morning. Sleep now."

You lay down, pulling the blanket up over yourself.

Feeling warm for the first time in months.

When the morning rustles you're awake.

You're quiet walking outside, to the edge of the fence.

You step up onto it.

Using the fence posts as spots to leap from.

You move carefully dancing softly across them, welcoming the morning and getting rid of the stiffness in your old joints.

You hear the door open once the sun is up.

The piglin hybrid walking over quietly.

As you stop to look at him, you drop down gracefully into the snow.

"You're strange."

You shrug, "I get that a lot."

The sound of wings disrupts you though.

You spin on your heel a man flying quickly at the fence line.

Your fingers twist carefully, gathering mana.

Your leg drops behind you softly hands in front of you.

Ready to take down this new found threat. You move one hand and the wind stops on one side, moving from beneath his wing, he hovers in mid air for a second on one wing.

Your hand contorts and your new found friend moves fast a hand to your shoulder pulling you back, "Stop. They're a friend."

Your hands relax and the man with wings regains his place in the air.

“Morning,” he said casually. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” he says landing softly on the fence.

“She’s… careful,” your friend beside you says quietly.

“Good,” the new man replied replied. “You should be.” He looked at her directly now. “I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

“Hurt anyone?” you asked, voice even, ancient in its cadence. “That’s… an interesting concept. How do you define it? By intent, by result, or by survival?”

His eyes twitched slightly at the edge of her words, and he tilted his head. “By context,” he said slowly. “And by the people who live to tell the story.”

His expression softened slightly. “I can tell you’ve seen more than most could imagine. But you’re not… reckless. That’s rare.”

You shrug slowly, turning on your heel and heading back into your friends cabin.

They follow behind for a few minutes before talking outside.

You leave them be as yous sit by the fire.

Weeks progress like this.

Technoblade your friend asks questions sometimes, occasionally Philza shows up and they speak.

It's becomes normal and nice.

Soft.

Then one day he doesn't really ask a question.

"You're immortal aren't you."

“That’s a dangerous question,” you say calmly. Poking the fire for a second.

He hums. “Yeah. Figured.”

“What made you think that?” you ask.

He snorts quietly. “Take your pick.”

You raise a brow.

“You don’t age,” he continues. “Not like people do. You move like someone who’s had centuries to perfect balance. You talk about history like it personally inconvenienced you.” A faint smirk. “And you don’t react to danger like someone who expects death to stick.”

You shrug. "I'm strange remember?"

"So you're immortal."

“People hear that word,” you say softly, “and they stop seeing a person. They see a resource. A weapon. A myth to be owned or destroyed.”

“I’m not people,” he says immediately.

You look at him again.

“No,” you admit. “You’re not.”

Another pause. This one isn’t heavy. It’s thoughtful.

“I don’t want control over you,” he adds. “And I don’t want your past. I was just… curious.”

“Curiosity gets people killed,” you say.

He grins. “Yeah. That’s kind of my brand.”

You laugh to yourself lightly. "Then yeah, i'm immortal."

Your hand tightens on the fire poker, "You’re not… upset?”

“Why would I be?” he shrugs. “Everyone’s got something weird going on. Yours just happens to involve not dying.”

“…You’re taking this remarkably well,” you say.

He smirks. “I live in a world where people respawn. Immortality’s just commitment issues with death.”

Your hand softens on the poker and you set it down beside the fire.

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he says. “You can stay as long as you want. Or leave. Or vanish for a century and come back.” A pause. “Just don’t lie to me if you don’t have to.”

You nod slowly.

“That,” you say quietly, “is more mercy than most kings ever offered.”

He shrugs again. “Kings suck.”

With that you both end your night.

When you wake again you dance.

You dance sharper. Stretching more and moving both more fluid and faster.

“You’re… at it again,” he said, voice low, teasing, but not unkind. You almost stumble, having been so wrapped up in your own thoughts.

“I’m… stretching,” you replied, tilting your head, letting a wisp of your hair fall across your face. “The morning demands it.”

He leaned against the fence post, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Stretching or showing off?”

You let your fingers trail along the air, following the rhythm of your movements. “Depends on who’s watching.”

He's silent for a while and you take more notice to him standing there watching as time moves on.

“You know,” he said finally, stepping even closer, leaned off the fence post now “I could watch you all day.”

You froze for a heartbeat, then let yourself tilt your head toward him, letting your gaze meet his. The forest felt smaller somehow, the snow softer. “Could you?” you asked, voice calm, almost teasing.

He shrugged, smirk softening into something warmer. “I might not leave.”

With that he puts a hand out for you.

You jump down gracefully landing silently.

A hand reaching to his.

His hand is warm. Much larger then yours. Rougher.

“Stay for a moment,” he said, voice low, almost careful. “The world… the snow… it’s better with you in it.”

You let yourself lean slightly into his hand, and the dance you both start became a shared rhythm, subtle and unspoken, a quiet intimacy that neither of you rushed, but both recognized.

As the sun moves through the sky you dance together in perfect rhythm.

When the sun begins to set he speaks, “I… like being near you,” he admits, voice low. “More than I expected.”

You let a smile tug at your lips, feeling the centuries of solitude slip a little. “I like being near you, too,” you confessed, quieter than a whisper, but enough that he heard.

Finally, he leaned just slightly, brushing a loose strand of your hair behind your shoulder. “Does that… count as something?” he asked, a teasing edge to his tone, though his eyes held sincerity.

You tilted your head toward him, heart beating a little faster than it had in decades. “I think it… counts as a beginning,” you said.

As you spin he leads you closer to him.

Holding you firmly. Not letting you glide out of his embrace.

“Then maybe I can… take a step closer,” he said softly, voice almost a whisper.

You tilted your head to the side slightly to see him, letting your hand hover over his, heart hammering. “Maybe you should,” you said, voice steady, but your chest fluttered with anticipation.

You feel his hand squeeze yours lightly and he turns you around between his arms.

A hand moving to brush back some of the hair that's come in front of you.

His fingers touch your cheek softly.

"You're warm." you say, "For someone who fights so much, you're so very warm."

His hand moves further against your cheek, "Is that a bad thing?"

You move a hand up to his face, "No it's not." Then you push yourself up onto your tippy toes and put a hand on his shoulder to stabilize yourself.

Pulling him just down enough that you can kiss him lightly.

You had met Jason at the park, he'd been playing a game of basketball with a couple of the guys from around the neighborhood. You'd grown accustomed to going to the park, it was a safe space, one where you could read without being screamed at.

The first time you both spoke he'd taken an interest in the book you were reading. Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky.

You watched him clock the book you were reading as he came to grab the basketball that had rolled up next to you.

The furrow in his eyebrows giving way to his curiosity.

You could feel him watching you while he finished the game, he'd approached you afterward,

"You agree with him?" he'd asked.

Your eyes shot to his, "Yes."

It's quiet for a moment, his mouth twitching, "Yeah? Which part?"

You shrug uncomfortably, because explaining agreeing with Raskolnikov is a very loaded situation.

He seems to notice your inner turmoil, "Most people hedge... Say something like 'Kinda' or 'Sometimes'."

You shrug, he speaks up again, "You think he was right? Or was he just honest."

Your eyes dart to your book, "He was right."

“Calling him right means you think choice matters more than comfort.”

A pause.

“You mark the theory chapters,” he adds, nodding at a dog-eared page near the front. “But you folded the corners near the end. That’s where it stops being an idea and starts being a consequence.”

Your eyes go to the folds in the corners. You felt horrible creasing them like this, but you couldn't afford the little sticky notes when you had first started reading it.

“Doesn’t mean he got away clean,” you say. “Guilt still ate him alive. Justice still showed up. But sometimes doing the right thing doesn’t come with peace. Just… honesty.”

“Congrats,” he mutters. “You just said the thing most people are too scared to admit out loud.

Your friendship had started off oddly.

Not many people liked to talk about guilt and consequence.

It was nice.

Eventually you kept coming to the park not just for the peace, but to see him.

As time went by you'd grown closer.

Invited him over a few times when your parents were out.

He'd taken you for rides on his motorcycle.

It was a nice friendship.

You'd begun to develop a crush on him though. You knew it was wrong, he was way out of your league. You were probably just someone he could pass time with.

But you couldn't get enough of him.

So you kept hanging out with him, trying new things, discussing theology, sitting in each others presence comfortably.

Today was another peaceful day, your parents were out of town. His motorcycle was out front.

You were both up in your room watching movies and eating popcorn and candy in your bed.

It was nice.

Then you heard it.

The car pull into the driveway.

You knew it. The exact sound.

You sprung up, popcorn spilling on your blanket.

You turned to clean it then to your door.

The front door banged shut and you heard your fathers voice boom your name.

"Fuck- I fuck, I need you to stay here. Don't come downstairs till I come to get you. I just- if you hear footsteps that don't sound like mine, hide."

You watched his face scrunch up, you didn't have time to hear his reply though because you darted out the door, closing it quickly behind you racing downstairs.

Your mother had her arms crossed over her chest, her face downcast.

"Who's bike is that outside!" your father demanded.

"One of my friends, he parks here because he's worried someone will scratch it if he parks at the park."

You watched his eyes narrow, "A boy."

You flinched, should've lied, should've said it was a girls bike.

You nodded slow, his voice cracked like thunder, "I should've known I raised a goddamn whore. I bet he's up in your room isn't he. You do this when we're gone? Slut yourself out? Huh? What's he giving you?"

Your hands shook, "It's not like that, we're just friends-"

The back of his hand slammed against your face.

Your cheek going numb throbbing outwards.

You cupped your face as you looked back up to him, hate burning in your eyes.

"You're lying. I hate liers."

You pulled your head up, "I'm not, we're-"

His hand hit you again, you stumbled back into the wall.

Your father caged you in, "Do you think i'm fucking stupid?" he screamed in your face.

You shook your head, "Do you think i'm fucking stupid?" he screamed again.

Your voice shook as you spoke, "No I don't-"

He grabbed you by the shoulders and shoved you back into the wall, "Don't fucking lie to me."

Your head throbbed.

"I swear, we're just friends-"

He slammed you back into the wall again and your feet lost balance beneath you.

You tumbled towards the ground and your father grabbed at the front of your shirt to hold up upright, "Don't be dramatic. Stand up." he practically spat.

You put your feet under you quick before he slammed a hand into your shoulder walking back.

You kept your mouth shut. He's in a bad mood.

"Get out of my sight."

You turned and bolted upstairs.

The second you were in your room you closed and locked the door. Turning to face Jason who was standing quiet in the center of your room.

Whispering, "Jason. You need to leave."

"Your cheeks swollen."

"What- Oh. Jason seriously. You have to go. If he comes back-"

"He's already back." he says jaw tight. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Jason, you don't understand-"

"I do"

A sound echoes downstairs- footsteps, heavier this time. Your heart stutters.

Jason’s jaw tightens. He glances at the door, then back to you.

“Listen to me,” he says, low and urgent now. “I’m not leaving you alone with him like this.”

You shake your head wildly. “If he finds you-”

“He won’t,” Jason says. Not a promise. A plan. "grab your jacket. Your phone. Whatever you can’t replace."

You scramble, grabbing your travel duffle, you keep the important stuff in there in case you have to run. An extra toothbrush, charger. The necessities.

You learned to do that the first time he kicked you out when you were 14.

Now that you're an adult it's just an automatic habit.

Then you push at his shoulder softly, "We'll go out the window."

He nods swift.

You follow behind him and he grabs your bag, jumping out quietly.

Then he drops your duffle and turns around arms out to you.

You don't think, just jump.

He catches you pulling you in to himself.

Then he picks up your bag and pulls his keys out.

The second you're both on his bike you're flying down the street.

He stops at the park. The sun setting, and street lamps turning on.

He's slow looking you over.

“Can I touch?” he asks, nodding toward your face.

You hesitate, then nod.

He’s gentle. Almost painfully so. His thumb hovers before it touches your cheek, careful around the swelling, the faint discoloration already blooming. His jaw tightens- not with anger, but restraint. Like something caged.

“Does it hurt to breathe?” he asks.

You shake your head.

“Dizzy?”

“A little.”

“Okay.” He exhales slowly. “We’re gonna get you checked out.”

You panic, "No. It's not that bad. I'm okay really."

You see the look on his face. The one of hurt.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper finally. “You shouldn’t have seen that.”

Jason’s brows knit, something wounded flickering across his face. “Don’t apologize for surviving.”

You stand there quiet.

Its cold outside, but when is Gotham ever warm.

You feel a tear fall, then another.

You reach a hand up to hide your face, but the second it meets your cheek you flinch.

It hurts a lot.

You cry harder. Not touching that side.

"I'm so sorry."

He's quiet before pulling you into a firm hug.

His hand going to the back of your head.

“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” he says. “Where you go. What you do. Who you tell. All of that can wait. But you’re not going back there."

When you've finally calmed he helps you back on his bike, putting you in front of him this time, letting you cradle against him.

When he stops again you realize you're on the other side of the city.

He holds your duffel as he walks up with you.

A low brick building tucked between a closed laundromat and a pawn shop, one stairwell light flickering like it’s thinking about quitting. His apartment smells faintly like coffee grounds and motor oil, like someone who lives here but doesn’t linger.

“Bathroom’s there,” he says, nodding down the short hall. “Light switch sticks.”

All of this feels almost unreal. Like you can't tell if you've made a major mistake, or the best decision of your life.

Walking in the bathroom is unfamiliar.

The mirror is harsh against your bruise.

The swelling reaching up to just beneath your eye.

The color hasn't changed much, but the swelling is obvious.

“I’ve got ice,” he says. “And a first aid kit. Take your time.”

Your eyes flick to the hallway where he's standing.

You turn towards him taking a step forward and he walks out into a living room.

Nodding to the couch you sit down.

He's careful putting the ice to your cheek.

“You want to tell me what usually happens after?” he asks.

Your stomach twists. “What do you mean?”

“After nights like that,” he clarifies. “Does he… pretend it didn’t happen? Or does he apologize?”

You swallow. “He pretends.”

Jason nods once. Like that answer fits into something he already knows.

“You got siblings?” he asks.

“No.” Thank god.

He gives a short nod.

Sitting next to you turning on the TV.

"Let me know if you're hungry, we can order in or I can make something."

You nod slow.

Then eyes flickering to the TV.

I love Lucy is on. Still in black and white.

"You mentioned liking it..." he mutters, "Figured i'd give it a go."

It's quiet for a few minutes, "For my peace of mind, lets stay up tonight. Just in case you have a concussion."

You nod slow. That's reasonable.

And just like that you settled on the couch relaxing.

He's careful pulling you towards him, holding you against his chest softly.

You hadn't even realized his hands were shaking till that second.

Hello friends, i'm thinking about doing another angsty fanfiction, and I was curious about everyones input.

Loki was old. Older then almost every midgaurdian.

Meeting you was strange. You had an odd presence.

He and you got along most of the time.

You played pranks with him, fooled around in midgaurd, annoyed many people.

He made the world feel less boring. Like your life wasn't just meant to be alone and quiet.

Like it was meant to have someone who could live as long as you maybe. That was insane though, you knew it. You justified it to yourself.

Then one day you got in an argument. Loki was going to do something dangerous.

"Loki, do you not understand how dangerous that is."

He rolled his eyes, "Oh please, how does this not compare to the pranks we play all the time."

You were irritated to say none the less.

"By god, you're such a child." you say forgetting he doesn't know your age.

"Child? Me? Really?" He says his voice full of mock offense.

Throwing your hands up, "Yes! Do you not see what you're about to do, what kind of consequences you might have. Death? Chaos? War's have been started over less."

"Clam down." He says voice calm, smooth like honey, " You're taking this far too seriously."

"I'm taking reality seriously!" You practically yell at him, "And unlike you, I've been around long enough to know better then to treat wars like a game."

He scoffed, "Been around? What does that even mean? You a puny human, you've been around what, years, decades? Not even half a century I bet."

You froze. Throat growing tight. You didn't mean to mention it, didn't want it to be known just how old you were. The idea of having to explain your true age something you didn't want.

"I... Enough! Just... don't do it. That's all." You say, voice pained as you turn to leave quickly.

Loki laughed softly, the sound ringing like bells through the hall. "You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that. But you’re intensely dramatic for someone who doesn’t even know the first thing about me.”

“And you’re infuriating,” you muttered, crossing your arms, holding yourself as you walked.

You heard his steps catch up to you.

He took a step closer, expression playful but eyes sharp. “Dramatic? Oh, no, no, my dear. You’ve been hiding something. That’s why you’re so… interesting. You’ve got stories behind those eyes, don’t you?”

You narrowed your gaze, shaking your head. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“I stopped?” He tilted his head, mock offense again. “I haven’t even begun.” Loki grinned, eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, come now… you called me a child. You don’t even know what you’re implying. How old are you, hmm? A hundred? Two hundred? Surely not a thousand… though something about you suggests it could be.”

You froze, heart skipping a beat. He wasn’t just teasing-he was testing, pushing, trying to see what you would reveal.

“I’m… older than you’d believe,” you said carefully, forcing a casual tone. “Older than most mortals can even comprehend.”

His grin widened, sharp and knowing. “Most mortals? That’s vague. I like vague. But interesting. So, tell me, how far back are we talking? Viking raids? Roman invasions? Or perhaps before they even drew swords?”

Your eyes squeezed shut pain in your chest.

“Oh?” His tone danced between amusement and challenge. “Then surely you understand the risk I’m about to take. You’ve seen what the world can do. You’ve survived it. Surely a little danger, my danger, is nothing to you?”

Your hands tightened at your sides, squeezing into fists, jaw set. “Nothing? Loki, you’re talking about tearing a rift in Midgard’s fabric. That’s more than a little danger. That’s catastrophic!”

“You are insane,” you hissed, hand going out to steady you against the wall.

“Insane?” Loki laughed, stepping closer, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “I’d call it spirited. But you… you’re something else entirely.”

“Something else entirely doesn’t mean reckless,” you snapped. “Do you even know what can happen? I’ve lived long enough to see what chaos does to the people caught in it. And you-” You swallowed, the centuries of experience flooding your words. “-you can’t control it.”

His grin faltered just slightly at your intensity. “Then show me,” he challenged softly. “Show me what happens when someone truly experienced warns me.”

You exhaled slowly, a weight settling over you. Centuries had taught you patience, discretion, caution- but centuries hadn’t taught you how to argue with someone like Loki. Someone who didn’t care about age, history, or mortality.

He stepped closer, dangerously close now, eyes locked on yours. “Come on… show me what it means to live through everything, and still care.”

You looked at him for a quiet second.

Then side stepped him walking into your room.

Slamming the door behind you.

Tears threatened to fall.

Loki stood outside your room, smile dropped. You had never shut him out like this.

Inside your room, your breath came uneven. Your chest tightened with centuries worth of tears you’d learned to swallow. You pressed a hand over your mouth, forcing yourself not to make a sound. Not now. Not for him to hear.

But Loki heard everything.

“Open the door.”

You didn’t.

“Please.”

Your heart stuttered.

There were very few things Loki asked for. Even fewer he softened his voice for. You wiped your eyes harshly, trying to steady yourself.

“No,” you managed, voice cracking despite the single syllable.

He let out a sharp exhale on the other side. “You are crying,” he said quietly. “I- I didn’t expect that.”

“Well,” you said, voice strained, “you don’t know everything.”

A beat of silence.

Then Loki spoke again, less arrogant, more… unsure.

“You said you’ve lived long enough to see chaos break people. Long enough to fear it. Long enough to know what I don’t.” A pause. “If that is true… then I pushed too far.”

A flick of your wrist, from your curled up position far from your door and the door opened.

Loki walked in quietly.

His steps were quick as he approached you, leaning over you his fingers ghosted the hair by your face.

The weight of what he might do settling more on him then the thought.

“You said you’ve lived long enough,” he murmured. “Long enough to fear wars and rifts and danger. But what about people?” He hesitated. “Does living long make you fear them too?”

Your throat closed.

“Yes,” you breathed.

Loki’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Does it make you fear me?”

You hiccuped a sob. “Sometimes.”

“Then I will sit here,” he said sliding back on to his heels, kneeling in front of you, voice barely audible. “Until you are no longer afraid.”

“Loki… that could take a very long time.”

He huffed a tiny laugh. “You seem to forget- I am very patient when I want to be.”

You let out a long shaking breath.

“Why are you still here?” you asked. “Why do you care?”

His next words were soft. Honest. Vulnerable in a way Loki rarely allowed.

“Because you are the only being I’ve met who feels older than me,” he said. “And you are the only one I have ever wanted to know.”

Your heart twisted painfully.

He continued, hesitant: “And because when you slammed the door… it hurt.”

“Tell me,” he said softly. “Tell me who you were. Even if it hurts. Let me hear it.”

You placed a hand against your face, running your fingers past the hair he had just drifted behind your ear.

He leaned forward again ghosting his fingers against your face again, cupping your cheek, "Please?"

"The gods made me a virgin hunter, among the stars. My first name I remember was Aspasia, I was born in Athens in 510 BCE. I am more then two thousand five hundred years old Loki. Older then you by a millennium and a half."

I’ve… lived through wars. Centuries of them. Greco-Persian wars. Crusades. Mongol invasions. Norman conquests. The Hundred Years’ War. The English Civil Wars. King William’s War. The Seven Years’ War. American Revolution. War of Greek Independence. World War I. World War II. Vietnam. Afghanistan… and more. Too many to count.”

You exhaled shakily, letting the memories pour out in a flood. “I’ve seen people I loved die. People I swore to protect. I’ve loved and lost more times than I can remember. And yet… I remain. I am… over two thousand five hundred years old, Loki.”

He stepped closer, brushing his fingers against yours, warmth seeping through the centuries of caution you carried. “Two… two thousand five hundred years?” he whispered. “You’re… older than the worlds I’ve seen rise and fall. Older than the realms themselves. And yet… here you are, standing in front of me.”

You nodded, unable to speak for a moment, the weight of your age pressing down on you. “I… I didn’t tell anyone. I can’t. Most people… they wouldn’t understand. And even if they did… they wouldn’t stay.”

Loki’s smirk returned- but gentler this time. “Stay? Oh, I understand perfectly. And I don’t plan to leave. Not over a little thing like… eternity.”

“You realize,” you said quietly, “that knowing this… it changes everything. I’m not a normal being. I’ve seen too much. I’ve felt too much. I’ve lived… too long.”

“I like that,” he said softly, leaning a fraction closer, eyes bright with mischief and something tender underneath. “Too long? No. Just… experienced. Stronger. Smarter. Fascinating. Dangerous. Exactly the kind of person I’ve been looking for.”

“You…” he murmured, taking a cautious step closer. “You’re not just fascinating, you’re… intoxicating. Dangerous, yes- but in a way I… can’t look away from.”

You swallowed hard, the centuries of fear and restraint tugging at the corners of your mind. “Loki… I’m not… I’m not a person you can handle.”

“Handle?” he echoed, stepping closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “You think I need to ‘handle’ you? I don’t. I… want to be near you. I want to see you. I want-” He paused, the words faltering, but his green eyes never left yours. There was hunger there, yes, but also something far deeper, curiosity, admiration, a desire to know all of you.

You felt his hand grow more firm against your cheek, less like a whisper.

You instinctively leaned into that warmth.

“Do you always speak like this to people?” you asked, voice trembling.

“Not like this,” he admitted, leaning closer, the space between you shrinking. “Not to anyone.”

He tilted his head, voice dropping further, teasing again but softer, intimate. “You’re so… tempting. So guarded. I want to see behind it. I want to know every century you’ve survived. Every fear you’ve carried. And maybe… I want to see if I can make you smile in the meantime.”

You laughed softly, a shaky, breathless sound. “You’re insane.”

“And you,” he whispered, leaning just a fraction closer, “are endlessly… irresistible.”

“You don’t have to run from me,” he murmured.

“I… I don’t want to,” you admitted, voice trembling.

And then, the air between you shifted. No words. Just the pull, the electric tension, the centuries of isolation suddenly collapsing into a single, shared heartbeat.

“Born in the late Bronze Age…” he murmured. “You walked before half the civilizations I studied.”

You shrugged like it was nothing, though your voice betrayed the weight. “I’ve… seen a lot. Too much, sometimes.”

Loki stepped closer, his expression softening. “And yet you still smile. Still prank. Still laugh. Remarkable.”

You huffed a laugh, trying to clear the atmosphere. “Well. Someone had to keep up with your chaos.”

The gleam in his eyes is unmistakable, the adoration.

He tilted his head. “If you’ve lived so long…” he said slowly, carefully, as if piecing together a puzzle he wasn’t sure he should touch, “surely there must have been… partners. Lovers.”

The question made heat creep up your throat. You turned away too quickly.

“Not really,” you muttered.

Loki frowned. “Not really?”

You swallowed. “Not at all.”

“You mean to tell me,” he said softly, “that across millennia… no one ever…” His voice trailed off as if the thought physically pained him.

You crossed your arms tight over your chest. “It’s not that complicated. Too many wars. Too much moving. People died. I… stopped trying to attach myself to things I could lose. I've been married countless times, my first husband when I was 14, he died in war before having ever... after that it felt wrong. Eventually it just became normal to avoid.”

“Is that why you never told me your age?” he asked. “Because opening yourself even that much felt dangerous?”

Your lips pressed together. “I don’t let myself get close. Not like that. Not anymore.”

“You poor thing,” he said, not pitying, but aching. “All this time… all those centuries… and no one saw you.”

You laughed weakly. “Oh, people saw me.”

“No.” His voice was firm. “They witnessed you. But they never saw you.”

Heat flared in your cheeks.

“And now you think I don’t notice you pulling away when I get too close?” Loki murmured. “Or that I didn’t feel you tense earlier when you realized how long you’ve been alone?”

You looked up at him, startled. You hadn’t realized he’d noticed.

“I am not mocking you,” he whispered. “And I am not frightened away.”

You swallowed. “Then why does it matter to you?”

His eyes darkened, emotion tightening them at the edges.

“Because if I am the first,” he said softly, “I would want to be the one you chose. Not out of fear. Not because time left you untouched…”

His thumb brushed your cheek.

“…but because you wanted me.”

Your heart hammered. “Loki…”

“I want you to choose me,” he whispered. “Immortal to immortal. With no more hiding.”

You shuddered hard.

“I don’t want to frighten you,” he murmured, his forehead leaning forward against yours. Delicately pressed against yours.

“You’re not,” you whispered back. “I’m just… not used to someone wanting me.”

His eyes softened. “I have wanted you far longer than you realize.”

Your heart stuttered painfully. “You never said anything.”

He gave a breath of a laugh. “And risk you vanishing into the horizon of another century? I didn’t dare. I'll listen to you. I'll acknowledge your wisdom, I won't proceed, the argument seems trivial now compared to what it brought forth. I want you to choose me. Let me be your first. Let me stay with you through eternity.”

You nodded.

"Say it. Please, I need to hear you say it."

"I choose you."

His hand slid from your jaw to cradle your face fully, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. His other hand settled at your waist, not pulling, not claiming, but grounding. Asking permission without a word.

He leaned himself closer to you, you looked up at him, careful, caring and then leaned in a bit yourself.

Then it happened he kissed you, he held your waist firmly leaning you down, laying your back against the ground as he kissed you.

He kissed you like he had been waiting centuries for the chance.

You curled your fingers into the collar of his tunic, pulling him closer. He exhaled against your mouth, the sound half-relief, half-wonder.

When he finally drew back, he stayed close enough that your noses brushed, breaths mingling.

His voice was barely a whisper. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You shook your head. “Don’t. Please.”

A smile ghosted over his lips, soft and almost shy. “Then let this be the first of many.”

You didn’t know if he meant kisses, confessions, or centuries shared. But in that moment you could care less which he meant, because in that moment you felt like you were floating.

His fingers hovered over your cheek, barely touching. “You’re shaking.”

“So are you,” you whispered.

He gave a small, humorless laugh. “I don’t do that. Ever.”

He swallowed, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “I don’t want to frighten you. I don’t want to rush you, not after… that.”

You swallowed. “You’re not rushing me.”

“Good,” he whispered, relieved enough that it softened the sharpness in his shoulders. “Then… may I?”

Loki’s lips found yours again, deeper, steadier. The kind of kiss that felt like a promise- one you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting twenty-five centuries to be offered. He guided your back fully against the floor, settling over you carefully, reverently, like he was touching something sacred.

Your hand slid up his neck into his hair and he exhaled a quiet, fractured sound- almost a groan, almost a prayer.

When he finally broke the kiss, he stayed above you, staring down with a look that was no longer hungry but committed.

“I have wanted this…” he said softly, “…wanted you… long before I knew why.”

Meeting Damian was interesting. He was a unique child. Very different from what you had seen across the years.

By the time he grew up he seemed to realize you were different.

He noticed because you looked the exact same as when he met you at 10.

You stayed in Wayne Manor, A friend of Diana, Wayne had introduced you as.

It was comfortable, and boring. Life was boring.

When you're immortal things get boring.

Meeting Diana at least gave you a friend who also was raised completely different from how society evolved.

So staying with one of her friends wasn't completely odd.

Bruce treated you with respect, he couldn't seem to figure more information out about you, which was probably the reason he let you stay in the Manor for so long.

When Damian showed up Bruce requested that you tutor him. He'd know you long enough to see how capable you were.

It was strange, you weren't accustom to dealing with children.

They made you uncomfortable, being so young. So incapable.

Good thing for you Damian Wayne was different from normal.

You tutored him the same way you were raised. You had been an epikleros, a daughter without brothers in Athens, born in 505 BC. You were 13 when the Greco-Persian war started.

You hadn't experienced much of the war, as a woman you were expected to stay in the women's quarters or gynaikonitis, which were separated from visitors and neighbors. You were expected to stay out of public.

You wished for a long time you were born a man, it would have been much better. However luck wasn't on your side.

You tutored Damian as you thought, made him learn to do common skills, spoke to him in metaphors and stories you had heard in your childhood, the ones the Athenians told their children to push them to the right path. Gave him in depth history lessons, always skipping the crusades aside from that they happened. In Athens they trained children as authoritarian parents.

You trained him never quite revealing much about yourself. In the years you had, specifically around the crusades around 1120 you believe, you had been tortured. You were revealed before the hysteria reached peak.

By the time you escaped the end of the crusades were approaching, in the year 1280 something.

Time became hazy, weeks felt like days, years like months, centuries like decades.

By present day you knew you were over 2500 years old.

Your brain spun for a moment, you stood there broom in hand quiet.

You watched Damian train, helped him grow into a better man, one with morals and empathy.

When he turned 19 your thoughts shifted.

Your first husband was young, 19 when he married you. You had been 12, coming from a rich family as an heiress you were married younger, as soon as you bleed the first time. Prior to that you had been a arrephoroi, a religious assistant, tasked with weaving the peplos for Athena (Clothes).

As you looked at Damian he stared back at you, and the child you had once known was gone.

He was calm, composed, kinder, and far more level headed.

A normal 19 year old wouldn't question if you were immortal, they'd just assume you age gracefully.

Damian however was not normal.

Looking at him your heart stopped. He looked just like your first husband, the olive skin, the dark hair, the green eyes.

Those rare green eyes.

Your first husband a warrior was extremely physically fit, he died at war not long after your marriage.

He was your first, the first man you had loved.

You bore him no children though, he died too young. You were too young you had yet to do anything with him.

When you were returned to your fathers house you had been appointed based on your virtue and family to become a priestess of Athena.

You stayed one for 20 years, finding you had been blessed an immortal.

You had learned magic from one of the slaves from Thrace. A spell you couldn't even remember backfired. You assumed no consequences.

At the age of 32 you still looked 19.

You hadn't aged.

You panicked. One day they would notice.

So you packed up and ran.

Escaped. Ran for years.

When the war ended you ran to Sparta, they had assisted the Athens against Persia. You had heard Women had more rights there.

A women took you under her wing allowed you to receive physical training, taught you to manage property.

For 10 years you watched rivalries escalate between Athens and Sparta.

Your attention snapped back to Damian, "Are you well?" he questioned.

The boy you once knew would have stated something else, ' You seem distracted', 'Your stance is uneven.' or 'Your mind is elsewhere.'

You gave him a look of complexity as you answered, "Yes, Merely... remembering."

Damian didn’t look away. He never did. “You looked at me as if I were someone else.”

Your fingers tightened around the broom handle. You felt centuries of muscle memory, holding a wooden staff, sweeping temple steps, clutching a spear you were never meant to wield.

You forced your voice steady. “Memory is inconvenient like that.”

He's quiet staring at you, "Who did I remind you of?"

You looked quickly to the ground, Aeschylus, came to mind quicker then you liked.

"My first husband, Aeschylus."

"Aeschylus... that name is ancient."

You almost laugh to yourself. 'Would you be saying that if you knew how old I am' you thought to yourself. A cold settled in your bones as you looked back to the floor you were sweeping.

“Was he… someone from very long ago? Or is that simply how it feels?” A quick nod. You know you can't lie to this boy, he's far more perceptive then most, knows you too well.

"Long before I was born?"

Your eyes dart to his then away again. "Yes." your grip on the broom tightens.

"Greek?"

You freeze. Body still. Cold. A slow deliberate nod of your head quiets the room.

"When did he die?"

"He was your age."

"When?"

You had to lie, you'd lied to kings, priests, torturers. Why couldn't you like to Damian.

"Over two thousand years ago."

You watched his eyes narrow lightly. Eyebrows furrowing.

"How...old are you?"

You set the broom against the wall.

"Physically i'm 19."

It's quiet for a second, "That's not what I mean, how long have you been aging. Well that's not the proper word, you don't seem to age."

Your body shakes for a second, "I'm not accusing, I just... want to understand." he states. Quiet. Comforting.

Using your fingers to count, 505 + the current year, "Around two thousand five hundred and thirty I think?"

"You think?" he questions, thoughts somewhere else. His brain moving fast then you've seen it move in a long time.

"This is... significantly beyond what I had estimated."

You're quiet. How do you respond to that.

“Two thousand five hundred years…” Damian repeated more quietly. “You’ve lived through entire civilizations.”

“Yes.”

“And wars.”

“Many.”

“And you taught me.” His dark brows lifted. “You, someone older than Rome itself, taught me how to hold a sword?”

You blinked. “…Yes.”

Damian let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but too controlled for one. “It explains why your teaching methods were…” He hesitated, searching for a diplomatic term. “…archaic.”

You scoff, "Excuse me."

“Effective,” he amended. “Very effective. Just… archaic.”

You huffed. “Well, I’m sorry, Damian, but there were no interactive learning modules in 500 BC.”

He stares at you quiet for a second, searching for the words.

"You're immortal... how?"

You shrug, "I don't know, I think it was a spell I learned in Athens, a big mistake during the reciting."

“And you’ve been afraid,” he said softly, “that if I noticed… I’d think differently of you.”

Your eyes dart to the door, then back to him, contemplating if it would be better to leave then continue this conversation.

“I don’t think differently of you,” he said. “Not for this.”

Your heart twisted painfully.

“You should.”

“Why?” Damian countered. “Because you’re older? Wiser? Stronger?”

“Because I will outlive you.”

He went still.

That was the truth that broke every century of your life wide open.

“I will outlive everyone,” you whispered. “I always have.”

You stand there pain gripping your chest as you breathed carefully through your nose, trying not to let out the tears that were pushing hard to your eyes. The pain pushing hard on your chest and up your throat.

“You won’t outlive me.”

You froze, breath stolen.

“You won’t,” he repeated, firmer now. “I won’t allow it.”

Your eyes go to his, "You can't control that."

It's quiet for a moment, "My grandfather is 700 years old." he starts.

"Your grandfather made a deal with a demon-"

"Then so will I!" He exclaims, his outburst startling you.

You stand there stunned, "Damian... you don't understand. I wouldn't wish this on anyone."

"I do, that's why I can't leave you alone like this."

"Damian... Immortality isn't a gift. It isn't. Please, you have to understand."

"Then explain!" He practically yells.

“I’ve watched cities burn. I’ve watched plagues sweep through towns like breath through a candle. I’ve held people while they died in my arms, knowing I would live another thousand years without them.” Your voice cracked. You hated that it cracked. “It breaks you, Damian. Over and over.”

A creek in the doorway signals to you Bruce is here.

He probably heard the commotion.

You stand there facing Damian, his face goes to his fathers and yours goes to the floor.

“I didn’t know,” Bruce said quietly.

You gave a humorless smile. “Not many do.”

Bruce’s gaze softened, just barely. “I’ve lost people too. Far too many. But… not like that.”

“No,” you agreed. “Not like that.”

Damian looked between the two of you, frustrated, aching, still so young despite everything he’d survived.

“I don’t care,” he muttered, low but fierce. “I don’t care how painful it is, I’m not letting you vanish.”

“Damian,” Bruce said gently, “you can’t fight death.”

Damian didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on you. “I can fight anything.”

“Damian,” you said softly, “there are things you don’t know. Things I’ve never told anyone in this age.”

He looks to you then his father.

"I have wanted to die for over a thousand years. Things don't get better the longer you're alive."

Your eyes flicker to Bruce's then back to Damian.

“I wasn’t supposed to survive my own lifetime,” you murmured. “I was meant to marry, bear children, manage a household. Live quietly. Die quietly.”

You grip your hands against your sides, "When my husband died in the war, I thought my life was over. In Athens, a widowed girl was nothing but a piece of property waiting to be assigned.” Your throat tightened. “Becoming a priestess of Athena… it was the first time my future felt like mine. But immortality didn’t come from the goddess,” you continued. “It came from a mistake. A spell I didn’t understand, taught by someone I barely knew.” Your lips trembled into a bitter smile. “A spell I thought was harmless. I lived through plagues that wiped out entire streets. I hid from soldiers who would have burned me as a witch if they caught me.” A breath. “They did catch me once.”

Damian’s jaw clenched hard enough you heard his teeth grind. You heard Bruce shuffle, probably straightening going rigid.

“They tortured me,” you admitted quietly. “For years, on and off. Across two different crusades. They wanted to know why I healed. Why I didn’t die.”

Damian steps forward, his hand gripping yours lightly, "I wont' go anywhere, I want to know it all. "

Bruce stands in the door, " I"ll go get some tea, Damian, sit her down."

He guides you to the couch, "I want to know more, I want to know everything."

You tense looking at him, "Damian, the world didn't grow better. It grew teeth."

"I want to understand, I want to know what you lived through."

Your eyes squeeze tightly, "History is never as heroic as the stories make it."

"I don't care, I need no heroics, I just want to know you better."

Your eyes open to his as he sits beside you.

“After Athens,” you began slowly, “after Sparta, the world didn’t slow down. I lived through the wars of Alexander first. I was in Ionia when his empire started to ripple out like a storm. Everyone spoke his name like he was a god. They said he would conquer the world. And perhaps he did.”

Damian tilted his head. “You saw him?”

"He was no god, I needn't see him to know that. I saw his aftermath though, the aftermath of every place he passed. Cities burned for strategy. Temples destroyed for symbolism. People forced to bow or die. It wasn’t glory, just ambition with a sword.”

“And when his empire fractured,” you continued, “the wars began. Everyone claimed a piece of him. Kingdoms split. Families split. Armies marched for deserts and mountains because some dead king once walked them.”

You closed your eyes.

“I survived by leaving. Always leaving. One city fell, so I went to the next. Then the next. Then the next.”

Damian’s expression shifted, less anger now, more something like grief on your behalf.

You exhaled shakily. “And then the Muslim conquests began. You’ve read about them. But you didn’t smell the smoke. You didn’t see the fear.”

“I lived in Antioch for years,” you said softly. “A quiet life. A stable one. Until the armies came. Some people surrendered, some fought… some prayed to every god they knew.”

You swallowed hard.

“When the Rashidun Caliphate took the city, I fled south. I hid among caravans. Pretended to be a widow. Or a merchant’s daughter. Or a servant. Whatever kept eyes off me.”

Damian’s voice came almost gently. “Were you harmed?”

A small, humorless laugh escaped you. “Once. Twice. Many times. Every century had its monsters.”

“The Muslim empires weren’t monsters. Not the way Europe later painted them. I found safety there too, far more than in Christian lands. I lived in Baghdad during the Golden Age. I read in libraries that should have been impossible. I studied with scholars who treated me as an equal, because they didn’t question what I was.” A breath. “They just thought I was strange.”

You inhaled shakily, and it felt like drawing breath through centuries.

“If you want more,” you murmured, “then you need to understand one thing first.”

Damian lifted his chin. “Tell me.”

“I have seen more wars than any one person should ever witness.”

“After the Muslim conquests,” you said softly, “I fled west. I thought Europe would be safer. I was wrong.”

Your gaze drifted toward a point that wasn’t in the present.

“I witnessed the Norman Conquest. I was in England when William crossed the Channel. People still talk about it like it was grand strategy, like it was destiny.” Your voice tightened. “It was slaughter. Towns burned because they were in the way. Villages starved because supplies went to armies. Nothing was heroic about it.”

“I stayed through the Hundred Years’ War,” you whispered. “Hundred years.” You shook your head. “Armies marched back and forth across France like children fighting over a toy. Entire generations were born, lived, and died without peace.”

A long breath escaped you, shaky, uneven.

“Then the English Civil Wars… I learned then that families can be just as ruthless as kings. Neighbors turning on neighbors. Sons on fathers. The land soaked with its own blood.”

Damian stepped closer, slowly. “And you survived it all.”

“No,” you corrected softly. “I endured it. Surviving implies a choice.”

Your voice dropped. “I lived through King William’s War in the colonies, too. I crossed the ocean then, thought the New World would be different.”

Bruce's presence is made known as he sets tea on the table in front of you.

“I watched colonists burn Indigenous villages,” you said. “I watched French and English soldiers die in forests they didn’t understand. I watched alliances form and break like fragile bones.”

You swallowed.

“Then came the War of Spanish Succession. The Seven Years’ War. Each one somehow worse, from the fields of Europe to the colonies in the Americas and India.” A hollow smile. “I think that was the first time I truly understood that human ambition never dies. It only finds new flags.”

You could see Damians shoulders shake a little as you spoke.

You turned your eyes to the tea.

“The American Revolution. I wanted to believe in it. Liberty. Freedom. A new world.” Your eyes dimmed. “But revolutions aren’t born clean. They’re born from desperation and violence.”

Bruce looked down, shadow passing over his features.

You continued, quieter, “I returned to Greece for the War of Independence. I thought… I thought maybe I could help.” Your throat tightened. “Watching my homeland fight for its soul broke something in me. I saw people die singing old hymns. I saw villages burned by the Ottomans. I saw bravery. I saw cruelty. I saw everything I wished I had never seen.”

Damian’s voice came soft, reverent. “You loved Greece.”

“I still do,” you whispered.

You breathed in again, and the centuries sharpened behind your eyes.

“I went to South America after that. Colombia. The War of a Thousand Days. It felt endless. Endless blood. Endless loss. I learned then that civil wars are the cruelest kind. No frontlines. No mercy.”

“And then came the wars they teach in classrooms,” you murmured. “The ones they sanitize.”

The room seemed to grow colder.

“World War I.” You exhaled. “I worked as a nurse for a time. I watched boys... children, die in mud so thick it swallowed bodies whole. The gas… the gas changed me. I still smell it sometimes.”

Damian closed his eyes against the image.

“World War II.” Your voice was barely sound. “I went into hiding in Europe for most of it. Too many governments were hunting anything strange, anything immortal, anything ‘other.’ But I saw enough. Too much. Entire cities erased. People… people reduced to ash.”

“And then Korea. Vietnam. I stayed far from the front lines, but you couldn’t escape it. The world was changing too fast. Weapons were too powerful. Loss was too easy.”

Your hands shook.

“And then Afghanistan,” you whispered. “The first time. And the second.” Your gaze dropped. “I saw hope crushed. I saw children grow up in ruins. I saw history repeating itself for the thousandth time.”

Your eyes went to Damian, his green eyes closed, hidden from you.

“Do you understand now?” Your voice cracked. “Immortality is not a gift, Damian. It is a sentence. A long one. A lonely one. And no matter how hard you try… no matter how desperately you cling to moments of peace… the world will burn again. And again. And again.”

Damian didn’t speak.

His silence hurt.

“You lived all of that,” he said softly. “And you’re still here.”

You swallowed hard.

“You don’t understand,” you whispered.

“I do,” he said. “You stayed alive. When most people would have broken.” His gaze was fierce. “Don’t tell me that’s suffering. That’s strength.”

Your breath caught.

Bruce watched, silent, but with a softness you had never seen in him before. Something like… respect.

Damian lowered his voice even further. “And you won’t carry these centuries alone anymore. You’ve lived through everything,” he said quietly. “Wars, empires rising and falling, death everywhere… but what about… people? Did you ever… love again after Aeschylus?”

“You… you want to know that?” you asked softly, almost afraid to answer.

“I do,” he said. Simple. Honest. Resolute.

You drew in a long, shuddering breath. “I have. Once or twice, briefly… but nothing… nothing has endured the way life itself has.”

His brow furrowed. “Briefly?”

You shook your head. “I will tell you about one, because you need to understand why immortality is a curse.”

“It was during the Mongol invasions in the early 13th century,” you began. “I had settled in a city in Persia. Safe, quiet, a life I thought I could finally hold for more than a few years.” A bitter laugh escaped you. “There I met him. Not Aeschylus. Not a soldier, not a warrior. A poet. A man who saw the world like I once had… like I wished it could be. He was kind, clever, patient. He showed me something I hadn’t felt in centuries: peace.”

Damian’s eyes softened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“We fell in love quietly. Not loudly, not dangerously...just quietly. He taught me that life could be simple. That laughter and hope weren’t crimes. We dreamed of a life together… a life that would last as long as we could make it last.”

Your fingers trembled. “And then the Mongols arrived. The city was razed. Nothing left. The poet… he died in my arms. I could not save him. No skill, no magic, no wit of mine could stop the world from taking him.”

You swallowed, voice barely above a whisper. “I watched him die while the streets burned. I had to flee… and I had to leave him there, alone in the ruins of what we had dreamed of. I still remember his last smile. And I still carry it with me.”

Damian’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled as though holding onto something he could never grasp. “I… I’m sorry,” he said softly, almost in awe. “I can’t even imagine that.”

You shook your head. “You shouldn’t. You weren’t meant to. No one was.”

“Immortality,” you whispered, “is endless loss. Every era will take someone from you. Every century… every year. You learn to keep walking, keep hiding, keep surviving. But you never stop losing.”

Damian’s hand brushed yours, not touching fully, just enough. “Then I’ll be here,” he said quietly. “Even if I can’t stop the world, I won’t leave you. Not now. Not ever.”

You buried your face in your hands as he spoke.

You didn't want that for Damian. You can't let this happen to him, not because of you.

You looked down for a moment, shaking your head. “Damian… this isn’t…”

“I know,” he interrupted gently. “I know what you’ve survived. I know how much you’ve lost. But I can’t ignore what I feel. Not anymore.”

You felt yourself trembling, centuries of restraint cracking.

“Damian…” you whispered, voice barely audible. “You don’t understand the dangers. What I am, what I carry. You could be hurt, in ways you can’t even imagine.”

He took your hand this time, firm but gentle, the heat of it grounding you. “I know there are risks. I know I can’t protect you from everything… but I can be with you. I will be with you. That’s enough for me.”

You stood abruptly, exiting the room.

Rushing towards yours.

You closed the door, pain seeping in.

You curled into the bed and cried.

Like a child, for the first time in centuries.

When you finally stopped you looked down at your hands.

You can't stop him. You know that.

Not if this is truly what he wants.

A knock at your door pulls your attention.

Damian steps in.

"Are you sure?" You ask him. Not even caring to explain.

His shoulders tense then untense as he walks towards the bed and kneels in front of you, " I’ve never been more sure of anything,” he said softly. His green eyes glimmered with determination, but also a vulnerability you hadn’t expected.

Then he cupped your cheek looking into your eyes leaning forward.

You hesitated. Then felt him stop in front of you, less then an inch from your face. His bright green eyes are in front of yours. So caring so loving.

"Please?" he mumbles.

You nod slightly and close your eyes and he pulls closer.

He kisses you softly, carefully, like you're delicate. You press your cheek further into his hand.

For a bit more reference, this character would have been born around the Greco-Persian (492-449 BCE) wars timeframe, having lived through that, The Punic wars (264-146 BCE), The Alexandrian War (48-47 BCE), The early Muslim Conflicts/ Conquests, The Norman Conquest (1066), Crusades (1095-1291), Hundred Years' war (1337-1453), English Civil Wars (1642-1651), King William's War (1689-97), War of Spanish Succession (1701-14), Seven Year's War (1756-63), The American Revolution(1775-1783), War of Greek Independence (1821-32), The War of a Thousand Days (1899-1903), World War I (1914-1918) World War II (1939-1945), Korean War (1950-1953), Vietnam War (1954-1975), The Afghan War (1978-1992), The Afghanistan War (2001-2014).

You were a surgeon. It was a fucking miracle.

You also had POTS. Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. Some days were harder then others but you were trying your damnedest to succeed.

You had moved into Meredith's early on, one of the first roommates.

Probably the longest standing tenet. You kept to yourself most the time.

You made it months before you passed out for the first time in front of anyone in the group.

Scared the shit out of Izzie then swore her to secrecy.

No matter who owned the house, you stayed there. Kept quiet, observed and tried to take care of yourself privately.

However when Alex sold the house back to Meredith you knew you needed to find somewhere else to live. So you got an apartment, your symptoms went into a flare one week and you ended up calling out for several days in a row, the chief well aware of your situation.

You somewhat managed, gave up on cooking, caught something and got worse.

It felt like the flu at first and you were worried you were sick, but when it didn't go away you realized you just got worse and it was your new normal.

You assumed it was the stress that made your symptoms worse.

Being a surgeon is hard.

When you finally got back to work you realized you missed a whole new batch of drama, as always.

Alex was the first to notice you, "Where were you? You look like shit."

You gave a chuckle, "Feel like shit, it's not contagious though."

He stared quiet for a few minutes.

Your day went back to normal, eventually catching wind of what happened.

Alex broke up with Jo.

God knows why.

The days was quick. Over in a heartbeat.

By the time you made it out to your car you were breathless. Everything hurt.

Getting in your door was quick too.

You were in then your stuff was on the floor and you were on the couch.

You laid there peacefully for a few minutes before you heard the knock.

You threw your legs over the side standing taking a step and then having your knees buckle.

You threw your hand back to catch yourself on the couch vision going completely spotty, rainbows radiating from the edges as you dropped to the ground wacking your leg against the coffee table, a glass falling.

When your vision cleared again you had a pounding headache, your pants were wet, and your leg was throbbing.

You sat there for a few minutes, the door now a banging.

"Y/n! Y/n are you okay? Fuck. Please... Please fucking answer, I need to know you're okay?"

You called out, words slurred a bit, "M okay"

You dropped a hand over your head laying there for a another few minutes, your heart pounding.

The thud slowing down a little bit.

You felt your brain come back into focus, the edges becoming a bit sharper again.

You slowly propped yourself against the back of the couch a bit straighter, slowly moving up again.

Till you stood.

The spots danced around your eyes again you stood still for a few seconds.

Then you made your way to the door.

Opening it to see Alex standing there with a suitcase.

He didn't even hesitate, pushing his way in, dropping the suitcase in the door and grabbing your shoulders looking you over.

"Are you okay?"

You nodded, "Yeah. Why're you here?"

He stared for a second, "I'm crashing here for a while?"

"The fuck-"

"I'll clean and do whatever the fuck you need. I just... I can't stay with Jo, I couldn't kick her out."

You gave him a once over, too tired to care.

"Fine. There's a guest room down the hall."

You just stare at each other for a second.

You practically avoid him the first few days, not wanting him to ask the question worried he's on to you. Eventually that settles though and you realize he isn't going to question it.

The company is nice. Knowing someone else is in the house.

Everything comes to a head though when you get home and drop onto the couch.

The second you do you realize you forgot to take your meds at lunch.

Jumping up hoping to take then quick enough that you wont' have to delay your next dose.

Except instead you drop like a sack of potatos over the corner of the coffee table.

Your vision is out as soon as you're on your feet, and stays that way for a some time, you can't tell how long, could have been a second, could have been 2 minutes.

When things start to come back into focus your head is pounding.

You can hear Alex freaking out on the phone, "Hold on she's coming to."

When your eyes open the light's bright and Alex is leaned over you, you're in recovery position on the floor, legs propped against the couch.

Your hand goes to your eyes blocking the light.

"Hey hey, easy. An ambulance is about to be dispatche-"

"I don't need an ambulance."

He stares down at you for a second.

You wait and hear him talk with the operator again.

You slide your hand over your face when he hangs up.

Eyes opening to peak at him, "What the hell was that."

He leans back onto his knees as you slowly move to sit up.

This feels like a sitting up conversat-

Nope this is a laying down conversation.

You feel how your heart picks up when you try to move.

Laying there quiet on the floor for a second, his voice is demanding, "You just- you collapsed. You weren't breathing right.-"

"I fainted."

His eyebrows furrow, "No shit you fainted." You hear the subtle raise in his voice, "People don't just faint like that. Surgeons don't just faint like that, What the hell happened."

You cringe internally, "I stood up too fast."

You watch his face just drop, dumbfounded, "That's not- What the hell are you talking about."

You run another hand down your face, "It's nothing Alex, I've managed it for years. I just forgot my meds at lunch."

"Meds, Hold on, i'm not following, what do you mean for years. What the hell is going on?"

You give a short chuckle, "I have a condition. It's not dangerous, just inconvenient."

"Not dangerous my ass, you were unconscious. What condition."

It's quiet for a second, "Why the hell didn't you tell anyone?"

"I told the chief. I can manage it, it's why i'm always sitting down during surgery's. No one else really needed to know, i've got it under wraps."

"Under wraps, So what. You've been passing out alone? At home? At the Hospital? And you didn't stop to think, 'Oh I should tell my friends about this in case you know I fucking die?'"

You'd laugh at his high pitched impression of you if this conversation was a little less serious.

"I'm not dying Alex. Seriously. It's not like that."

"That's not what it fucking looked like, You were completely out. I didn’t know if you’d hit your head, if you were choking, if you were- Fuck. You can't hide this from people who care about you."

You prop up slowly onto your palms moving into criss cross applesauce.

“I’m not leaving you alone like this,” he finally says. “I don’t care what your plan was, or what you think you can handle. I’m staying. And I’m helping. I'm not going to look for a new place, i'll pay rent, I don't care, you're not getting rid of me.”

"Alex-"

"No, Save it. I don't care if you want a babysitter, you almost cracked your skull open-"

"I just forgot my meds at lunch, i'll be more care-"

"No, I'm not watching you die in your living room because you think you're invincible."

"Alex seriously, it's just POTS."

"What the hell- What is POTS."

You roll your eyes, "Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome."

"Speak English."

"It’s a form of dysautonomia. My autonomic nervous system just… doesn’t regulate when I’m upright. Blood pressure drops, heart rate spikes. I get dizzy, lightheaded, faint if I’m not careful. I'm on beta blockers to try to manage the symptoms and spikes, when I forget them I tend to do way worse."

"How long have you had this?"

You shrug scooting to put your back against the couch, "Since High School. It got worse in Med School, that's when I got put on beta blockers."

“You’ve been passing out since before med school,” he repeats slowly. “And you didn’t tell anybody?”

“I managed it,” you say quietly. “I always have.”

He laughs—one sharp, disbelieving bark. “No. No, you’ve been covering it. That’s not the same thing.”

“Alex-”

“You could’ve hit your head. You could’ve cracked your neck. You could’ve-” His voice falters. He looks away. “You can’t keep this shit a secret. Not from the people you live with. Not from me.”

You glare for a second, "Seriously, I don't want to be a problem."

"You're not a problem, You aren't fragile either, that's not what this is, you're stubborn, but hiding this, that isn't going to cut it anymore. You need help sometimes, so do I. We're human, it happens."

"I don't have to do that, you didn't sign up for it."

"You're right, i'm imposing it on you. Get over it."

“Look… I get why you hid it. People judge. People treat you different. I know.” He gestures vaguely toward his chest, like the ghost of his past trauma is sitting on his shoulder. “But this” He points at you, hunched over your knees back to the couch. “This isn’t something you can deal with alone.”

“I’ve been doing it alone for years.”

“And look how well that worked out,” he snaps. Then softer, “You scared the shit out of me.”

You shrug, "M sorry, I can't control it. It's not like I wanted to have POTS. I just forgot my meds at lunch, a patient was coding and I got busy."

It's quiet for a few minutes, "Do you need anything? Water? Snack? A blanket?"

You shake your head, "Just my meds, they're in my purse, I just need one."

He doesn’t move at first. Not because he’s ignoring you—because he’s staring at you like the words “I just need one” physically hurt him.

Then he exhales sharply through his nose, pushes up from the floor, and mutters:

“Yeah. Okay. Fine. Meds.”

But he’s moving fast.

He practically sprints to your purse, yanking it open like it personally offended him. You watch him rummage through it, muttering under his breath:

“Ridiculous… forgot her meds… not dangerous my ass… freaking beta blockers in a damn bottomless pit…”

You watch him pull out the bottle and flip it around reading the label.

You know what it says, you know how it looks.

“Next time?” he says, voice low. “You tell me. Before you faceplant into the furniture and I have to call 911 like some panicked idiot.”

You take the bottle.

He watches you take the pill, waits until you swallow, then finally leans back on his heels, still breathing hard.

“Jesus,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “You forget your lunch meds in med school too? Or is this a new ‘I like terrorizing Alex Karev’ thing?”

You glare weakly.

He glares right back.

"Seriously though, is this why you took forever to answer the door the first day I was here?"

You nod a bit, you should have seen that question coming a mile away.

You watch him get all frustrated all over again.

“I thought you were dead. So don’t… don’t do that again. You can't let this keep happening.”

You blink at him. “Alex-”

“No.” He points at you like he’s scolding a resident. “I’m not doing the whole tragic-surgeon-found-alone thing. I’m not finding you on the floor like that again. You live with me now.”

You snort. “I already live with you.”

“Then you live-with-me live with me,” he counters immediately. “No more shutting yourself in your room. No more skipping meals because you’re charting. No more ‘I’m fine’ when you’re sweating bullets and can’t see straight.”

You raise a brow. “You done?”

“I’m setting alarms on your phone.”

“Alex—”

“And mine.”

“Alex.”

“I’m checking in during your shifts.”

“Alex!”

“What?”

“You’re being insane.”

He huffs, crosses his arms. “Good. Because sane Alex apparently isn’t enough to keep you upright.”

You curl further in on yourself looking at your floor more intently.

"hey... i'm not mad at you... i'm just mad you were alone, handling this alone. Come on,” he says. “Couch. You’re not getting up again tonight.”

You hesitate.

He rolls his eyes. “Take my damn hand.”

Grabbing it he pulls you up and guides you onto the couch.

Then he sits on the floor again, right beside you, arms draped over his knees.

“You scare me,” he says quietly, not looking at you. “And I don’t get scared.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off one more time.

“And don’t say sorry. Just… don’t hide this from me. Ever again.”

----------

The next morning you're up before he is, getting ready faster.

You know what this is, you're in a flare. But you're so goddamn stubborn, you don't want to stay home. Call off sick again. You don't want to have to do that. You know your situation. You know you should, but Alex is here and if you call out hell call out and if he calls out someone will get suspicious.

You practically race to the hospital.

Not wanting to confront Alex.

You practically race through hallways. You're not sweating you know that's a bad sign.

You're hot then cold then hot again and not sweating.

Your feet feel swollen, ankles too.

You know you're in a flare. That this isn't good. You can't stop now though.

You're leaning on counters, on the wall, every chance you get, you're leaning on something to keep upright. To keep moving.

Chanting internally, 'Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.'

You have to make it through the day.

By the time you're in surgery you feel the world do a spin but stay in the same place at the same time.

It sucks. You tell a nurse to get you a chair.

Sitting as you continue.

The surgery goes off without a hitch, you're worse for wear after though.

You stand up again to do the closing and your vision goes dark.

You bump your knees agains the chair for a second. Your vision coming back as you stand there.

Then you continue. You close.

Then you leave.

The second you're through the door Alex grabs your upper arm tightly.

"I saw that."

You nod, face drained of color, body going hot again, feeling naseous.

"Y/n, you need to take a break."

You don't fight him, just back against the wall and slide down onto the floor.

You put your head between your knees as you sit on the ground.

Alex freaks out, "God are... are you okay?"

You nod, "I'm in a flare. Shit sucks."

He grabs your wrist pulling it forward.

You listen to the hustle and bustle of the hospital as he takes your pulse.

"Shit, your hearts doing a goddamn sprint."

You chuckle, "I could have told you that."

You sit for a good 15 minutes, "I'm okay, i've gotta go make rounds."

As you stand Alex is basically attached at the hip.

"Alex, i'm alright, seriously. You can go-"

His pager goes off and you watch him check down then up again, "Fine, but if you feel any worse, stop while you're ahead. Don't pass out in an OR or worse."

You roll your eyes scoffing.

He doesn't leave, "Fine. Now shoo." he nods rushing off as you make your way slowly to do your rounds.

By the time you're around you take a break.

Finding a table to sit at while you eat and take your meds.

You're up on your feet again after, practically running around as you walk into the pit.

Your downfall is when a patient codes.

You do chest compression while Christina runs up.

When she takes over you back to the wall, turning to walk out except the second you take a step you drop. Face first into the corner of the cart you're next to. Forehead rebounding off the edge.

Your body gives out with zero warning, just an instant of static behind your eyes and then nothing. It gets quiet but tunes back in quick.

Your forehead slams into the metal edge of the crash cart with a sickening, hollow crack.

There’s no bracing, no sliding to your knees this time just a straight uncontrolled collapse, shoulder bouncing off the floor after your skull hits first.

And the worst part? You don’t black out completely. You’re aware just enough to hear the chaos erupt around you.

“—Doctor down!”

“Get a gurney!”

“She hit her head- Jesus- someone get Karev!” you hear Christina yell.

You try to push yourself up but your arm isn’t cooperating. Nothings cooperating.

Your vision is wrong split down the center, one side smeared colors, the other pulsing as things start to come back from the show of spots.

Someone rolls you onto your side. Someone else keeps a hand on your neck. There’s a voice you recognize but can’t place.

And then you hear it, “Move!”

That one you know instantly.

Alex drops to the floor so fast the knees of his scrubs skid.

He grabs your face, not rough, but not gentle either, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he tilts your head enough to see your eyes.

“Hey. Hey- look at me. Come on- look at me.”

Your eyes start to focus again, looking towards his face.

“Pupils are uneven,” someone announces behind him.

“No shit they’re uneven,” Alex snaps. “She just hit the cart head‑first because she shouldn’t have even been upright.”

“Y/n, can you hear me?”

You swallow, nod once.

“Okay. Good. Don’t move.” He turns his head, barking over his shoulder, “Page Shepherd. And someone get a collar—now.”

You groan, “M’fine.”

Alex whips back to you like you just insulted his entire bloodline.

“You are not fine. You coded a patient and then passed the hell out into a piece of equipment. Do you understand how not fine that is?”

You close your eyes. “Just… dizzy.”

“Don’t close your- hey.” He taps your cheek lightly. “Stay awake.”

“I’m awake,” you mumble.

“You’re concussed,” he fires back. “And your heart rate is trying to set a hospital record- holy shit.” He presses two fingers harder into your wrist. “Y/n, it’s like you’re running laps while lying on the floor.”

The collar goes around your neck, and you want to protest, but the second someone lifts your head you nearly vomit.

Alex’s hand shoots to your shoulder, steadying you.

“Easy. Easy. Don’t move.”

You feel your face flush, "I'm okay, please I just-"

“You’re done. You’re so done,” he says, voice cracking. “You’re not standing up for the rest of the damn day.”

You feel yourself get placed onto a gurney, then wheeled out towards a room.

When everything settles down a bit, “Why didn’t you stay home?” he demands quietly, so only you hear.

You breathe shallowly. “Didn’t want you to… worry.”

He lets out a sound—disbelief mixed with something like pain.

“You think I worry less watching you destroy your nervous system in real time?”

“Didn’t want you to skip work.”

He stops walking for half a beat. Just enough that the gurney moves ahead without him.

When he catches up, his voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it.

“Y/n… I would skip work for you in a heartbeat.”

You squint, "That's the point, if you and I both are out, someone's bound to question it. If someone questions it Meredith going to figure it out then there goes every sense of normalcy."

By the time you're in a room a nurse is hooking you up to an IV and Alex is just staring at you quiet.

“She’s stable,” a nurse said, checking your vitals.

Alex didn’t relax. He knelt beside you, one hand on the gurney rail, the other gripping yours. “Stable?” he repeated. “She just hit her head into a metal cart. She’s lucky she’s not unconscious right now!”

You winced, leaning back against the gurney.

“She needs a neuro check,” someone said, glancing at Alex. He didn’t move.

“She’s got POTS,” he barked, not to argue but to clarify. “And she just… collapsed. She’s not fine, okay?”

You hear the door and sit up slow, Christina rushes in, "Y/n Oh my god!"

She's assessing you in a heart beat, "What the hell happened."

Alex scoffs, "She's got POTS."

"I'm fine."

"Fine? You hit your head, THAT is not fine."

Dr. Bailey strides in sharp, Alex speaks up, "She's stable-" a glare silencing him.

"You hit your head, young lady. That’s not ‘stable,’ that’s lucky. No more walking around alone like this, do you hear me?”

“We’re running full neuro and cardiac checks—no movement until we’re certain she’s stable. Alex, stay with her.”

“I’m right here,” Alex mutters, already positioned beside you like a shield.

“She’s lucky,” Bailey mutters to Shepherd, arms crossed as she keeps monitoring your vitals. “This could’ve gone so much worse if she’d gone down differently.”

Shepherd nods once, firm. “Agreed. And if anyone thinks she’s walking out of here on her own today, they’re wrong.”

Alex leans closer, low and protective. “See? You’re not dying alone. Not on my watch.”