༄° ‧♪ 🪷˚.ೃ࿔*

It has been two weeks since your disappearance. 

Nobody knows where you’ve gone to. Or why. 

Synchronously, the palace had fallen into a hush. The kind that stretched beyond walls and courtyards, embedding itself in the bones of the imperial court. Servants whispered behind their sleeves. Nobles watched the throne with cautious eyes. The emperor, Japan’s strongest man, was unraveling. And nobody knew why.

The stench of alcohol clung to Gojo Satoru. Expensive sake pooled in ceramic cups, the scent sharp and sickly, mixing with the musk of sweat and silk. The chamber was a mess, toppled dishes, shattered glass, the remnants of a feast he hadn’t touched. A single candle flickered on the lacquered table, its wax melting into a slow, steady pool. The shadows cast by the flame twisted along the walls, stretching long and jagged, like ghosts reaching for him.

Gojo slumped against his seat, his white hair, usually snowy white, now fell in wild, overgrown tufts, obscuring his vision in uneven strands. His ceremonial robes, woven in silk and embroidered with the insignia of the Gojo Clan, hung loose around his frame. His fingers twitched over the rim of an empty goblet, a silent tremor betraying the rage simmering beneath his skin.

His breath was slow, methodical. 

Himiko entered without announcement, the sound of her embroidered slippers tapping against the floor. Her robes shimmered under the candlelight, crimson and gold, a deliberate echo of the imperial crest. She was the picture of regality: poised, calculating, her scent perfumed with jasmine.

“You’ve been drinking again,” she observed, her voice smooth yet edged with unspoken frustration.

Gojo didn’t bother lifting his head. Instead, he chuckled, the sound devoid of mirth. He tipped his goblet back, only to find it empty. A scowl twisted his lips as he tossed it aside. The metal clattered against the floor, rolling to a stop against shattered glass.

“Would you like a prize for your deduction?” His voice was hoarse, his throat burned raw from drink.

She ignored his bitterness and stepped closer, fingers trailing along the lacquered table, grazing over his discarded robes. The action was slow, deliberate.

“Tell me, Satoru…” she murmured, her voice as soft as silk, as sharp as a blade. “Why do you waste yourself like this?”

His fingers curled into a fist.

Himiko’s eyes flickered, catching the movement. She stepped closer, her presence heavy in the candlelit chamber. “You were born to rule,” she continued, her words laced with honey and venom alike. “And yet, you let yourself fall into ruin over a woman who no longer wants you. A personal servant, much less.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

“She has severed all ties with you,” Himiko pressed, her tone almost pitying. “After your stunt in the ceremonial hall she will never bat an eyelash at you again. And now, her clan whispers of rebellion in the capital. The elders demand retribution.”

Gojo’s breath was slow, methodical.

“The Gojo and Zenin clans must unite,” Himiko continued, watching him carefully. “For the first time in history, we will restore order. We will fulfill your destiny.”

She leaned in, her touch featherlight as her fingers trailed down his chest, the brush of her nails just barely felt through his robes.

“And,” she whispered, voice dipping lower, “you will have me.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The candle’s flame flickered, the shadows shifting along the walls.

Gojo let out a slow, shaky breath. His head tilted back against the chair, his gaze hooded, unreadable. The weight of something unseen pressed against him, pushing him deeper into his own destruction.

Finally, he spoke.

“Fine.”

A victorious smile curled on Himiko’s lips.

But then, the doors burst open.

The impact sent a gust of air through the chamber, causing the candle to flicker wildly.

A new presence entered, stepping through the threshold like ink spilling across the pristine floors. Dark robes trailed behind him, blending into the shadows. His expression was unreadable, but his golden eyes gleamed with something knowing.

“Your Majesty,” Geto drawled, his voice smooth, stepping forward. “You called.”

Gojo frowned, his gaze shifting. “Suguru.”

Geto gave a short, practiced bow, the movement fluid. 

The Emperor stares at him, “You are my most trusted ally.”

“A honor that I hold dear, yes.” Suguru’s head is still ducked, waiting for permission to be lifted.

A strange tension filled the air. The kind that was razor-thin, ready to snap.

Gojo’s fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair, the sound slow, calculated. Then, his foot lifted, pressing beneath Suguru’s chin, forcing his head up until their gazes met.

A pair of icy cerulean orbs bore into plum ones.

“You would never do anything to betray my trust, no?”

The room turned frigid.

Suguru’s entire body tensed, though his face remained still. The weight of those words pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. The deadly tone, Gojo’s battle tone, was one Suguru had only ever heard on the battlefield, when his friend was overtaken with bloodlust.

He felt his blood go cold.

“No, of course not.” His head remained low, eyes staring at the spilled wine pooling along the floor, the blood-red liquid almost taunting him. A warning.

“Then tell me that the rumors are false, dear friend.”

Suguru’s eyes flickered.

Gojo pressed harder with his foot. “Tell me that you did not let my [Name] leave.” His voice trembled, cold and sharp. “Tell me that you did not send her a carriage.”

Silence.

“Tell me that you did not leave her in the hands of another man after I had worked so hard to bring her back.”

Suguru said nothing.

And that was the confirmation Gojo needed.

His hands clenched. His chest heaved.

And then,

“I TRUSTED YOU!”

The chamber shook as Gojo kicked Suguru back, sending him crashing into a wooden table. Artifacts shattered, glass shards scattering across the floor.

Himiko shrieked at the violent display.

Suguru groaned, coughing as the pain tore through his ribs. He barely flinched at the glass buried in his side. Instead, he tilted his head, wiping the blood from his lip.

“She made her choice.” His voice was eerily calm.

Gojo froze.

His breath hitched, stomach twisting

“You don’t know that.” His voice was hoarse, cracking beneath the weight of his own grief. The emperor grabbed a dagger, well hidden in his garments and held it in Suguru’s direction.

Himiko scoffed.

“Why does it matter?” she demanded, stepping between them, fury flashing in her gaze. “She is nothing now! She abandoned you. She left you for another man–”

“Shut your mouth,” Gojo snapped.

Himiko stiffened, stunned by the venom in his voice.

“You chose me!” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “You made your decision.”

“Because I had no choice!” His roar was thunderous, shaking the very foundation of the palace. His breath was ragged, vision tunneled. “But if I did,” He swallowed hard, the taste of regret thick in his throat.

His voice wavered, quieter now.

“If I did… it would have never been you.”

Silence.

Suguru exhaled, tilting his head. “I told you,” he murmured, watching the scene unfold with mild amusement. “You should have let her go when she asked.”

But Gojo Satoru, Emperor of Japan, the strongest man alive, had never known how to let go.

“If you want to live, you will follow my next command carefully.”

The village was quiet in the way only forgotten places could be, tucked away between rolling green fields and a quiet forest.

Unlike the grand palaces and bustling cities, this place moved at its own pace, undisturbed by the heavy weight of politics and war. Here, the air smelled of damn earth and fresh rice paddies, of firewood burning in stone hearths, of crisp morning dew that clung to thatched roofs, mingling with the distant sound of laughter from children playing. The dirt paths were lined with modest homes, their roofs sagging under years of wear. 

It had been two weeks since your disappearance. Two weeks of living as someone else.

Gone were the weight of expectations heavy upon your shoulders. Your hands, once unblemished and soft, now bored faint callouses from work you were never meant to do. And you didn’t mind.

“[Name].”

A familiar voice, steady and unmistakable cut through the quiet morning. You turned, catching sight of Nanami standing near the well, sleeves rolled to his forearms. A basket of vegetables hung from his grasp, the crisp greens contrasting against his neutral-toned kimono. His expression, as always, was measured.

A quiet sigh left your lips, “You’re back early.”

Nanami stepped forward, his glaze flickering down to your hands, observing the red marks on your palms from the rough mortar and pestle. He frowned.

“You shouldn’t be doing this kind of work,” he said, voice low but firm. “You’ll only injure yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t seem convinced. But instead of arguing, Nanami placed the basket down and gestured for you to follow him back towards the small house you shared. The villagers were already accustomed to seeing the two of you together, and while they didn’t openly question your presence, there was an unspoken distance between you and them.

As you walked beside him, you caught glimpses of their gazes, wary, guarded.

You  adjusted the strap of your bag, “They won’t even look at me in the eye,” you muttered as the other villagers brushed past you without a second thought. “Why?”

Nanami didn’t look at you immediately, instead adjusting his grip on the basket. “They don’t know who you are.”

“That’s exactly why they don’t trust me.” You exhaled sharply. “I don’t blame them.”

A pause.

Then, Nanami glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “It’s not just that.”

You blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”

His steps slowed as the two of you reached the wooden house, a modest structure, small but well-kept. He set the basket down on the porch, and after a beat of silence, he gestured to you.

“Look at yourself.”

You frowned but obeyed, glancing down at your clothes. “And what of it?” You eyes trail down to the garments. The robes you worn, though simple, were still of a higher quality than the villagers. The stitching, the cut, the deep indigo dye that refused to fade even after days of wear. The silk made you stick out like a sore thumb, but surely it was not envy that caused the entire village avoid you like the plague. These fabrics were a gift from your former mentor Yaga, after all. You couldn’t simply dispose of them.

“The embroidery on your robes, the color… no one other than those of the Imperial Royal Family may be adorned in it.” He exhaled, voice lowering. “It all says one thing: you belong to the emperor.”

A chill ran down your spine.

You swallowed.

Nanami studied your reaction before exhaling, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It was always him,” he murmured.

You looked up. “What?”

“He never let you out of his grasp.” His voice was quiet but weighted. “Even now, when you’re here… Gojo still lingers.”

The name alone sent a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers clenched at the fabric of your robes, suddenly feeling suffocated by it. You had spent so long trying to distance yourself from him, from the golden cage he had kept you in. And yet, here you were.

Still marked by him.

“Well then I need to get myself new clothes,” your hands fidgeting with the rich fibers of your clothing.

“No need,” Nanami pauses his ministrations to look at you. “I’ve already talked to the local seamstress and requested a much more appropriate wardrobe for you.”

For the first time in weeks, you feel a smile form on your face, “Just what would I do without you, Nanami?”

“I wonder the same thing,” he mutters, but you can hear the jest in his voice. He turns away to hide the small smile on his lips.

“Oh, you!” You point straight at the curve of his lips, disregarding the dirt on your hands. He tries to wave them away. “If it wasn’t for the fact that you are an eunuch you would make a damn good husband.”

“That’s… highly inappropriate for you to say,” a flush of pink makes its way to his face.

“Loosen up,” you shrug. “We’re not in the palace anymore.”

“There could be listening ears.”

“Here?” You scoff. “No way. They’ll never find us.”

A gust of wind passed through, rustling the trees. The scent of rain hung in the air, thick and heavy.

You followed him onto the porch, sinking down onto the wooden steps. A comfortable silence stretched between you both.

Nanami turned his head slightly. “Did you ever love him?”

The question wasn’t unexpected. But the answer…

Your hands tightened in your lap. Your chest ached.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I did.”

Nanami hummed, as if he already knew.

You bit your lip, gaze distant. “And that’s what makes it so hard.”

Nanami nodded, his usual sharp demeanor softening. “Love is never simple.”

You turned your head, looking at him with something close to curiosity. “Have you ever been in love, Nanami?”

For the first time that morning, you saw the corner of his lips twitch upward in something resembling amusement.

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

You raised a brow. “What would you call it, then?”

Nanami exhaled, resting his elbows on his knees. “An unfortunate attachment.”

That made you laugh, genuinely. The sound was warm, familiar, a reminder of a life before everything unraveled.

The tension in your chest eased, just slightly.

The wind blew again, carrying with it the distant laughter of children, the sound of a woman calling her husband home, the rustling of bamboo trees swaying in the breeze.

For a moment, just a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to believe that this could last.

That this small, quiet life could be yours.

The village was peaceful that evening.

The last remnants of sunlight bled into the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep amber and violet. The rice paddies stretched far into the distance, their golden stalks swaying gently with the breeze. Smoke curled from the thatched roofs of houses, the scent of simmering miso and fresh grain filling the air. Children ran through the dirt paths, their laughter ringing out like wind chimes, their innocence untouched by the quiet storm that lurked on the horizon.

You stood at the entrance of your small home, eyes trained on the fading sun. A cool wind brushed against your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms. Something about the stillness of the evening set you on edge, like the world itself was holding its breath.

Behind you, Nanami finished setting the table, his movements practiced and efficient. “Come inside,” he called, his voice steady as ever. “It’s getting cold.”

You hesitated, something in your gut twisting.

You had felt this before. A warning. A shift.

Slowly, you stepped inside, closing the wooden door behind you. The candlelight flickered, casting soft shadows against the walls. Nanami had prepared a modest meal, steamed rice, pickled vegetables, miso soup with tofu. You sat across from him, but the unease in your chest remained.

Nanami noticed. He always did.

His gaze flickered up, studying your expression. “You’re unsettled.”

You exhaled, pressing your palms against the warm ceramic of your bowl, seeking comfort in its heat. “It’s… too quiet.”

“The village is always quiet at this hour,” he pointed out.

You shook your head. “Not like this.”

A pause. Then, Nanami set down his chopsticks. “You sense something.”

You swallowed. “Don’t you?”

Nanami didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping against the wooden table in thought. Finally, he spoke.

“There have been whispers.”

Your breath hitched. “What kind of whispers?”

He looked at you then, and something in his gaze was heavier than before.

“The kind that don’t reach villages like this unless they are meant to be heard.”

The food in your mouth suddenly tasted like dust.

Nanami continued, voice even but firm. “Travelers passing through have spoken of movement in the capital. The Zenin and Gojo clans are consolidating their forces after rumors of resistance in this region.”

Your stomach twisted.

The Gojo and Zenin clans consolidating must only mean one thing. 

Your fists clenched beneath the table. “It’s him, isn’t it? He married Himiko—and now they’re coming for us, calling it treason.” No matter how powerful Suguru was, you knew his silver tongue and lofty rank could only shield you for so long.

Nanami studied you for a moment. “There’s no confirmation.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “It doesn’t need confirmation.”

Because of course it would be him.

Who else could unite the two most powerful clans in Japan? Who else had the power to move an entire army without resistance? Who else had enough obsession to still chase you after all this time?

Nanami sighed, his expression unreadable. “If it is him… then this village may not be safe much longer.”

The air around you grew suffocating.

He was coming.

The weight of that realization settled deep into your bones, into the very marrow of your being. The small, fleeting life you had begun to carve out here, the quiet mornings, the warmth of the village, the laughter of children, the routine of simple tasks. It was all temporary.

Because Gojo Satoru was coming.

And he would burn the world to the ground to take you back. Out of cruelty. 

You pushed your bowl aside, suddenly losing your appetite. “We should leave.”

Nanami’s gaze darkened. “Not yet.”

Your brows furrowed. “Nanami–”

“If we leave now, we confirm the suspicions of anyone watching,” he said, voice low, calculated. “We need to be smart. We need time.”

You hated that he was right.

Silence stretched between you both, filled only by the distant sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

Then, Nanami did something unexpected.

He reached across the table, placing a hand over yours.

The touch was brief, steady, grounding. “We will figure this out.”

You stared at him, at the sharp angles of his face, at the unwavering certainty in his gaze. And for the first time since the unease settled into your chest, you believed him.

But still, deep in the back of your mind, you knew this was only the calm before the storm.

The night, you dreamt of him. 

Not the kind of fleeting, disjointed dream that dissolves like mist upon waking, but the kind that wraps around your very soul, warm and golden, refusing to let go. It was the kind of dream that felt real, so heartbreakingly vivid that, for a moment, you were no longer lying in a modest village home with the scent of burning wood creeping in from the outside world, no longer burdened by the weight of the choices you had made. You were home.

Not the home you had made for yourself in exile, but the home of your past, a home gilded with silken screens and quiet whispers, with polished floors that gleamed beneath lantern light, and with delicate tapestries woven with the history of an empire you had once believed could be yours. The place where you had once walked with the quiet assurance of someone who belonged, where your voice had been heard, where your name had been spoken with reverence rather than secrecy.

It was spring. The season of renewal, of beginnings, of hope.

You found yourself beneath the vast expanse of the sky, the air thick with the heady perfume of blooming wisteria and the faint, refreshing scent of the nearby stream that wound through the imperial gardens. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, their pale petals drifting lazily through the air like whispered promises, catching in your hair and dusting the ground in a carpet of soft pink. The wind carried the sound of distant laughter, the gentle rustling of leaves.

And above you–

Satoru.

His silhouette was bathed in the afternoon light, the golden hues catching in his white hair, making him look almost otherworldly. He leaned over you, one arm braced against the soft grass, shielding his eyes against the sun’s glare, the other resting lightly beside your shoulder. His robes, though still of the finest silk, were simple today, stripped of the heavy embroidery and rigid embellishments that marked him as the heir to the most powerful clan in the land. The imperial crest was absent from his attire, and for once, he was just Satoru.

And his eyes.

Brilliant, piercing cerulean, sharp and knowing yet warm in a way that only he could be. You had spent so much of your life searching for the ocean’s reflection in them, for the endless sky in the depths of that unrelenting blue, and now, after all this time, they looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever truly mattered.

He studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“You’re staring,” he mused, his voice smooth as silk, his amusement evident in the lazy drawl of his words.

You huffed softly, turning onto your side, the grass cool beneath your palms. “I’m admiring,” you corrected, your tone just as light.

Satoru chuckled, his laughter as rich and effortless as it had always been, a sound that made the world feel lighter, that made you feel lighter. “Is there a difference?” he asked, feigning innocence, though the mischief in his eyes betrayed him.

You sighed, exasperated but fond. “One makes you sound less arrogant.”

He grinned at that, finally shifting to lie beside you, stretching out as if the entire world belonged to him. And in a way, it did.

But in this moment, he belonged to you.

“Pft,” he blows a raspberry into the air. “Let me bask in it, will you? You never give me this kind of attention.”

The wind stirred the branches above, sending another cascade of petals drifting down around you, a few landing in the silver strands of his hair. Without thinking, you reached out, brushing them away, your fingertips barely skimming the silk of his robes as you did. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, only watched you with that same unwavering gaze, as if he were committing you to memory, as if he were terrified you might disappear before his eyes.

“You know,” he murmured after a moment, his voice quieter now, as though he, too, did not want to shatter the fragile peace between you, “I wish we could stay like this.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Because so did you.

More than anything, you wished for a world in which this moment, this feeling, this love could exist without consequence.

But you were not foolish. You had always known the truth.

This was never a love that could be without suffering. You were only a concubine, after all. A spoil of war. Not fit to be made an empress. 

You swallowed, willing yourself to keep your voice steady. “We can’t,” you said, though you hated the way the words tasted on your tongue.

Satoru turned his head to face you more fully, his expression unreadable at first, before something flickered across his features, something softer, something pleading.

“Who says?” he asked, and his tone was so quiet, so unlike the brash, overconfident man you had known, that it made your heart ache. “Tell me who says we can’t, and I’ll destroy them.”

You laughed then, a small, sad sound, because you knew he meant it.

“Satoru.”

“I’m serious.” He propped himself up on one elbow, his free hand coming to rest just beside your wrist, close enough that you could feel his warmth but far enough that he wasn’t touching you. “What’s stopping us? The court? The elders? The weight of the empire? Let them have it all. I don’t need any of it.”

You turned to look at him fully now, your chest tightening at the raw honesty in his face, the way he looked at you as if you were his entire world.

And maybe, once upon a time, you had been.

But the world did not belong to you and Satoru alone.

You reached out, letting your fingers trail lightly over his knuckles before pulling away. “You don’t mean that,” you whispered, though a part of you desperately wanted to believe that he did.

Satoru’s jaw clenched, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to grab your hand and never let go. “I do.”

And maybe, for that moment, he truly believed it.

But deep down, you both knew better.

The empire would never let him go.

Just as it would never let you be his.

The breeze picked up again, scattering more petals through the air, the scent of cherry blossoms thick and sweet, overwhelming. You wanted to stay here, in this moment, forever. You wanted to pretend that this could last, that you could stay in his arms and never worry about what came next.

But the moment began to waver, the edges of the dream blurring, the sunlight dimming.

And then, suddenly, the gardens were gone.

The warmth, the laughter, the scent of cherry blossoms… all of it melted away into smoke.

Your dream had shifted to another scene.

It was of the familiar scene of the bustling city just outside of the Outer Palace. The capital city had always been lively, but today it seemed to hum with an extra spark. The streets bustled with merchants peddling fragrant spices and embroidered silks, laughter echoed from the open-air teahouses, and the golden rooftops of the imperial palace gleamed under the afternoon sun like something out of a story.

You had just returned from your weekly errand, fetching a fresh batch of pastries from the emperor’s favorite bakery. The baker’s son had been in high spirits as usual, teasing you for being the only person in the city who could make the imperial kitchens jealous with how often you snuck in outside food.

But it wasn’t just the pastries you carried today.

A tiny, delicate flower rested in the palm of your hand, given to you by a child, a sweet little girl who had tugged on your sleeve just as you were leaving the marketplace.

"For you, miss!" she had chirped, eyes bright with admiration.

You had accepted it with a beaming smile, ruffling her hair before she scurried back to her group of friends, giggling and chattering about how pretty the imperial concubine was.

The city loved you.

Perhaps it was because you were one of them, despite the palace silks and the golden embroidery of the Gojo clan stitched into your robes, you had never let your status turn you into something untouchable.

So there you were, practically glowing, a flower twirling between your fingers as you strolled through the palace gardens, utterly unaware that your mere existence was about to ruin the emperor’s evening.

Because at that very moment, Satoru Gojo was staring at you with the expression of a man moments away from declaring war. He had been waiting at the gates of his own palace unceremoniously, counting down the seconds until you made it back, only for his bright spirits to be crushed.

By a flower.

A single, wretched flower.

In your hand.

And you were smiling.

Satoru didn’t even realize he had stopped in his tracks. His mind, sharp and dangerously quick, was already cycling through the list of punishments he could bestow upon the unfortunate soul who had given it to you.

Banishment? Too lenient. Public humiliation? Getting warmer. Immediate execution? …No, too messy. Forced labor in the outer provinces? Perfect.

His hands flexed at his sides. His jaw ticked. His vision tunneled.

He was going to make an example out of whoever had dared…

And then, you turned, your eyes meeting his.

And you smiled even brighter.

"Your Majesty!" you called, voice light with amusement, as if he weren’t currently five seconds away from storming the dungeons and demanding names.

You all but skipped toward him, the flower still twirling between your fingers, completely unaware of the absolute existential crisis you had just caused.

Gojo’s icy blue gaze flickered between your face and the flower, as if trying to determine which offended him more.

"What," he began, his tone deceptively casual, "is that?"

You blinked. "A flower?"

His eye twitched.

"I can see that," he muttered, before stepping closer—close enough that the sheer heat of his presence sent a shiver down your spine. "I meant, who gave it to you?"

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "Why do you assume someone gave it to me? Maybe I plucked it from the fields myself."

Satoru let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Ha." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Try again, sweetheart."

Your lips twitched, but before you could answer, a voice piped up–

"It was me!"

Both of you turned to find a child, the same little girl from earlier, standing at the edge of the gates of the Outer Palace, her face alight with pride.

"I gave her the flower!" she repeated, puffing out her chest. "Because she’s the prettiest lady in the whole city!"

Silence. A long, long silence.

Gojo stared. You suppressed laughter.

His entire body visibly relaxed.

The tension in his jaw disappeared, the storm in his eyes cleared, and for a single, fleeting moment, the Emperor of Japan looked genuinely speechless.

And then, he scoffed.

"Well, I suppose I can’t punish a child," he muttered, crossing his arms with a dramatic sigh. "What a shame."

You finally let out a laugh, shaking your head as you knelt beside the girl. "Thank you, little one," you whispered, tucking the flower into your sleeve.

The girl giggled before scurrying away, leaving just the two of you standing in the palace once more.

Satoru watched you carefully, his arms still crossed, his signature smirk just barely returning to his lips.

"You looked like you were five seconds away from passing a death sentence," you teased, eyeing him with amusement.

His expression didn’t waver.

"Oh, I was."

You rolled your eyes. "And what would you have done if it wasn’t a child?"

Gojo hummed, tilting his head as if considering. "Well…" His smirk sharpened. "Let’s just say the baker’s son would have found himself mysteriously exiled to the coldest province in the empire."

You froze.

Your stomach dropped.

Because oh– oh no.

He knew.

Satoru watched, relishing in the way your posture stiffened, the way your gaze flickered just slightly, as if calculating whether it was worth denying it.

"Your Majesty, I–"

"You what?" He raised a brow, leaning in once more, his voice dipping into something dangerously sweet.

"You think I wouldn’t hear about the little romance rumors floating around the palace?" He chuckled, voice laced with something possessive, something undeniably jealous. "You think I wouldn’t know about the way the baker’s son looks at you?"

You swallowed. "It’s just gossip."

"Is it?"

Gojo’s voice was far too amused, far too smug, because he already knew the answer.

And then, just because he could, he lowered his voice even further, leaning in until his lips were barely a breath away from your ear.

"Promise me you won’t leave me."

Your heart stopped.

You turned to him, but the moment you did, he pulled back, flashing you a grin that was far too pleased with itself.

"Don’t look so surprised," he mused, turning on his heel and walking away, hands tucked into his sleeves.

Then, over his shoulder.

"After all, I won’t let anyone take you away."

And then you’re awaken.

Your chest heaved, your skin damp with sweat, your heart pounding so violently against your ribs that for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

The room was dark. Cold.

How cruel your mind was to remind you of such warm times.

The early morning light filtered through the wooden shutters, casting long golden streaks across the small room. Outside, the village was already stirring with women gathering water from the well, the rhythmic pounding of rice in wooden mortars, the occasional laugh of a child running past. The scent of damp earth and fresh grass filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of dried herbs that hung from the ceiling.

Inside, you sat on the floor, weaving together dried reeds into a basket, fingers moving deftly despite the lingering morning chill. Across from you, Nanami was sharpening a knife, the slow, deliberate drag of steel against stone filling the quiet space between you.

It was a comfortable silence, one that had settled between you both over the past two weeks, a rhythm that neither of you spoke of, yet understood nonetheless.

“You’re getting better at that,” Nanami remarked, not looking up from his work.

You snorted softly, twisting another reed into place. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

You tossed a loose strand of reed at him. He caught it midair without even glancing, setting it aside with a faint huff of amusement.

Nanami tilted his head slightly, observing you from the corner of his eye. “What?”

You blinked, realizing you had been staring. “Nothing.”

His brow arched slightly, but he let it go, returning to his blade. The light glinted off the edge, sharp and lethal. You watched the way his hands moved steady.

Something in your chest tightened.

“You don’t think this is going to last, do you?” you asked suddenly.

Nanami paused.

The scrape of the whetstone against steel stopped, leaving only the distant sounds of the village outside. Slowly, he set the blade down, his gaze meeting yours, level and unreadable.

“…No.”

A lump formed in your throat. You nodded, looking away. “Neither do I.”

Silence.

Then, a sound.

Distant, almost imperceptible. A strange sort of rumbling.

Your fingers stopped weaving.

Nanami was already rising to his feet, his entire body going rigid. His hand went to the knife on the table. His sharp gaze flickered toward the window, toward the thin slit between the shutters. His breath was slow, measured, but you could feel the shift in his presence, the quiet kind of alertness that came before a storm.

And then a scream erupted.

Distant. But close enough.

Your blood ran cold.

Nanami moved.

He crossed the room in two strides, yanking the shutters open. And what you saw fire.

Distant but spreading.

Smoke rising in thick columns from the edge of the village, black against the early morning sky. The distinct sound of hooves against dirt, of metal clashing, of doors being kicked in. Then, through the haze of rising flames, you saw banners. Not just any banners.

Gojo’s crest.

Your breath hitched.

Nanami didn’t hesitate. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the back entrance. “We need to move.”

Your heart was hammering in your chest, feet stumbling as you let him drag you forward. This was happening.

He had found you.

Gojo had found you.

Days before the raid, the palace pulsed with restless energy. Servants flitted through the corridors, their hurried steps echoing against the lacquered floors as they fastened armor, sharpened blades, and prepared provisions. The campaign was supposed to be routine, a small raid to quell rumors of insurrection in a remote village. Yet, the Emperor himself was leading the charge.

No one questioned it aloud. But the whispers wove through the palace like smoke.

In his private chambers, Gojo stood at the window, watching the courtyard below as soldiers mounted their horses, their banners snapping in the cold wind. His reflection stared back at him in the glass. His grip tightened behind his back.

"You’re awfully tense for such a minor skirmish," Himiko mused, lounging on the divan behind him. The golden silk of her robes pooled around her like a shimmering snare. She lifted a cup to her lips, watching him over the rim, her gaze sharp. "One might think there’s more at stake here than a simple village purge."

Gojo didn’t turn.

"One might."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Himiko hummed, setting her cup down with a delicate clink. "You’ve always been so stubborn. So unwilling to accept the order of things." She rose, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps. "It’s a shame, really. You could’ve been content. You could’ve let go."

Her fingers brushed his sleeve. A touch meant to soothe. To remind.

His hand snapped up, catching her wrist before she could go any further.

Himiko stilled, lips parting in the slightest gasp. Not from pain, he wasn’t squeezing hard enough for that. But his grip was firm, unyielding. The weight of it said more than any words could.

A muscle flickered in Gojo’s jaw. "Do you think this is forever?" His voice was quiet, but there was something in it that made the candlelight tremble.

Himiko’s smile didn’t falter, but something in her gaze shifted. "I think," she murmured, tilting her head, "that you’re still bound by the same chains as always. No matter how strong you are, some things can’t be undone."

Gojo released her. The moment stretched, brittle as ice. Then he turned, striding toward the door, his long robes whispering against the floor.

Outside, his men were waiting. His horse was waiting.

And somewhere beyond the mountains, the one thing he had ever truly wanted was waiting.

He had wasted enough time.

The streets were already chaos. Villagers running, shrieking, clutching their children as armed soldiers stormed through the narrow paths. Houses were being torn apart, doors broken down. Soldiers clad in imperial armor barked orders, swords flashing as they cut down those who resisted.

Your breath came short, panic clawing at your throat.

Nanami’s grip on your wrist was firm. “Stay close.”

You barely nodded, your body moving on instinct as he guided you through the chaos. You ducked behind a stack of crates, pressing yourself against the wood as two soldiers passed by. Nanami’s body shielded yours, his presence grounding you even as your hands trembled.

A sharp whistle.

Nanami cursed, shoving you aside just as an arrow embedded itself into the wood where your head had been a moment ago.

You gasped.

Another whistle.

Nanami moved. He spun, his knife flashing, a throw, a sickening thud, a body crumpling.

Blood.

It hit the dirt in a slow, steady stream.

You stared.

Nanami grabbed your face, forcing your gaze back to him. “Focus.”

Your lips parted, breath shuddering. But you nodded.

He pulled you forward, weaving through the panicked masses. The exit. You needed to get to the forest to escape before it was too late.

A tall figure clad in white and blue, standing at the center of the destruction, untouched by the chaos.

Gojo Satoru.

Your feet froze.

His eyes locked onto yours instantly. Even from across the village square, even through the haze of smoke and bodies, you could feel the weight of his gaze. The way his body shifted the moment he saw you.

For a moment, nothing else existed.

Nanami saw him at the same time. His entire body went rigid.

Gojo took a slow step forward. His imperial robes billowed slightly with the movement, the embroidery glinting under the firelight, his armor forged from precious metals glistened in the sunlight. His sword hung at his hip, untouched, as if he hadn’t even needed to lift it.

Nanami’s grip on your arm tightened.

Gojo’s expression darkened. His gaze flickered between the two of you visibly irked by the domestic dynamic that had recently developed.

His lips parted, his voice cutting through the carnage like a blade. “Found you.”

Your stomach twisted.

Nanami moved.

But Gojo was faster.

Before either of you could react, a blur of motion, a gust of force, unstoppable. Nanami was on the ground. The blond man coughed out blood.

Your scream barely had time to leave your throat before Gojo was in front of you, too close, too fast. His fingers wrapped around your wrist. Unyielding.

The air was thick with the scent of smoke and blood, the distant wails of the ravaged village melding into the wind. Your hands trembled as you clenched them at your sides, willing yourself to remain still. The weight of the past, of every wound he had inflicted upon you, settled deep in your bones.

“Running from me again?” His voice was a whisper of thunder, low and dangerous. “I thought we were past that.”

You had been running for so long, but had you ever truly escaped him? Every step you took away from him, every sleepless night, every whispered prayer for his absence, and yet here he was, a specter that refused to fade.

Your heart leapt to your throat as his fingers clamped around your wrist, tightening as you attempted to yank yourself free. His other hand rose, tracing the curve of your cheek with deceptive gentleness, the callouses rough against your skin.

“Did you truly believe I wouldn’t come for you?”

Your breath came shallow. “Gojo–”

His fingers curled against your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but his unrelenting grip told a different story. He had always been relentless, hadn’t he? No matter how much you tried to pull away, he found his way back, like a tide that refused to recede.

“Nanami,” he said coldly. “Do your job. Lead the men back.”

A moment of hesitation, a flicker of something like pity in Nanami’s eyes before he turned away. You were glad he did. Gojo had spared him enough not to strike him down on the spot. 

Soon, only the two of you remained, locked in a battle more ferocious than the ones fought with swords.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with your own. Your attempts to struggle were fruitless; his body caged you, muscles honed by years of war making it impossible to flee. The warmth of him, the sheer familiarity of his presence, made something inside you ache against your will.

“Why do you run?” His voice was softer now, coaxing.

Your lips curled in a bitter smile. “Are you nothing more than a brute?”

His grip faltered, a shadow of hurt flashing in his eyes. But you didn’t care. His pain was nothing compared to the agony he had inflicted upon you.

“You claim to care for me,” you spat, voice shaking with fury, “yet you cast me aside like a discarded pawn. You chose another, again and again, and then have the audacity to crawl back to me.”

Your voice cracked, but your anger did not waver.

“You humiliated me. You shattered my world and toyed with my heart like it was nothing more than a trinket. I hate you, Gojo Satoru. I hate you so much it consumes me.”

The tears spilled unchecked, your body trembling as the dam within you finally broke. You were certain you looked wretched, but dignity was a luxury you had long since abandoned.

His silence was unbearable. The weight of his guilt pressed between you, thick and suffocating, but you refused to let it soften you.

“You have hurt me beyond repair,” you whispered. “I always knew our love would bring pain, but I never thought it would be at your hands.”

Satoru swallowed hard, his large hands wiping away each tear as they fell.

“You lied to me,” you murmured, fists weakly beating against his chest. He lets you.

“I did.”

“You banished me.”

“I did.”

“You told me you loved me.”

His grip tightened. “I do.”

Your breath hitched. “I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you insisted, though the conviction was waning. Did you? Did you truly?

His lips brushed against your temple, his hands cradling your face with unbearable tenderness, “Don’t you know that you’re killing me? That your words pierce me like no other blade?”

You exhaled shakily. “Then why aren’t you dead yet?”

A broken sound left his throat as he pulled you impossibly closer, until your bodies were melded together, until his warmth became a prison of its own.

“Take it back,” he pleaded, his voice hoarse. “Please.”

But you said nothing, staring past him to the charred ruins beyond. Nanami had rallied the men, but the damage had already been done. And so had the damage to your heart. 

“Your army is leaving,” you said numbly. “Why don’t you go join them, General?”

His face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot. And yet, as much as you wanted it to, the sight did not disgust you. Instead, a sick sense of satisfaction curled within you at his suffering.

“Not until you come back,” he declared. "Until you let me explain myself."

You laughed, sharp and humorless. It did not deter him.

He continues his plea, “You can humiliate me in the palace. You can strip me of every last shred of dignity. Do whatever you wish."

He pauses.

"Just come back.”

You tried to put distance between you, but his hold remained firm.

“You still don’t understand, do you?” Your voice wavered. “I am not yours anymore. I haven’t been yours since you chose her. Since you cast me aside for the sake of your kingdom.”

By now, Satoru’s trembling lips had given way to the relentless shaking of his entire body, “I never touched her. My hand was forced. Nothing happened.” Somewhere amid your onslaught, Satoru had forgotten how to breathe. His chest rose in shallow, uneven gasps, his shoulders trembling beneath the weight of words he couldn’t take back. His fingers curled into fists so tight they trembled, knuckles drained of color. He was unraveling right in front of you.

“Everyone around me speaks of my destiny, as if it were carved into the heavens themselves. They whisper that I was born to rule Japan, to claim a throne, to take a noble wife like Himiko and secure a legacy of power.” Satoru’s voice trembles, raw and desperate, as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply like he’s trying to commit you to memory. His hands clutch you tighter, as if you might slip through his fingers at any moment.

“But none of that means a damn thing to me. My destiny isn’t a kingdom—it’s you. It always has been. My place is by your side, not on a throne. I would spend a thousand lifetimes serving you, worshiping you, loving you. We were made for each other, meant to grow old together, to laugh and fight and dream until the very end. To pass down our love, our story—not to this damn empire, but to our grandchildren.”

His breath is shaky against your skin, his grip unrelenting. “Please,” he whispers, voice breaking, “don’t take that from me.”

You wanted to. Wanted to reach for him, to piece him back together, but the raw ache in your chest held you still.

How many times have you stood here, waiting for him to say something, anything, that would make the hurt go away? How many times have you let yourself believe that his silence wasn’t a choice?

You swallowed hard, throat burning. “You don’t get to do this,” you whispered.

His head jerked up, eyes wide, pleading.

“You don’t get to shake and break down and expect me to forget everything,” you continued, voice cracking. “You left me. You let me believe I didn’t matter.”

Satoru exhaled sharply, like the words had physically struck him. “I never–”

“Don’t.” You shook your head, stepping back when he tried to move closer. “Just don’t.”

The silence between them was thick, heavy with unsaid things. Satoru’s breaths came fast and shallow, his entire body vibrating with something between anguish and regret.

Still, you held on to the hurt. Let it press against your ribs, let it remind you that you weren’t just here to be broken all over again. You weren’t ready to forgive him. Not yet. But damn it, you wanted to.

“If it will ease your doubts, I’ll have her head in glass by morning.”

You shuddered. “I don’t want her dead.”

“Then she lives to see another day.”

“And the Zenins?” Your teeth clenched, voice shaking with restrained fury. “I tried to warn you about them, tried to protect you, but you chose to humiliate me instead.”

His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, deliberate and lingering, as if etching you into his memory. “I am truly sorry,” he murmured, his voice softer now, edged with regret. “It was a foolish attempt to keep you safe from those damn elders. I may be the ceremonial head of this country, but their power is undeniable. Your banishment was my own foolish doing to protect you after my mistress was forced upon me. I knew I was lost when I couldn’t breathe without your presence in the palace. The days blurred together, and my duties felt like nothing but a slow death. So, I tried to bring you back as my servant. It was safer that way. You were close, within reach, but still out of grasp. At least you were there. But then... I ruined it all. ”

You hadn’t tried to bite his finger off yet. He took it as an unspoken truce, leaning in, his presence overwhelming, his warmth sinking into your skin. “Not that it matters though. I'm going to kill those geezers and have their heads strung in front of the palace.” A flicker of a smirk ghosted his lips, but his eyes held something far more dangerous.

“I may be a fool,” he admitted, his breath brushing against you, “but I am not weak. So don’t waste a single thought on them.” His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face toward his. “No one, not them, not fate itself, will take you from me.”

A cruel part of you savored the power you held over him. But you wanted him to suffer longer before you gave the satisfaction of knowing that your heart had softened. “I haven’t forgiven you.”

His hands trembled. “We have a lifetime for that.”

"How arrogant of you to assume I’d ever choose to spend a lifetime with you." Your voice was quiet, but the weight of your words struck like a blade.

You shouldn't feel as satisfied as you did when you watched Gojo Satoru, the strongest man alive crumpled. His breath hitched, his knees buckling beneath him as if the sheer force of your rejection had stolen the ground from under him.

Still, he reached for you. Desperation bled into his touch, fingers digging into your sleeves as though letting go would mean losing you forever. His voice, usually laced with arrogance and ease, was stripped raw.

“Then I don’t see a point in living.”

The weight of his confession clung to the air, thick and suffocating, and yet he only looked at you, as if the universe itself had been reduced to the space between his hands and your skin.

“And what of your crown?” you finally whispered.

His laugh was hollow, almost broken. “I’d throw it away if it meant keeping you. If it meant you will let me be yours.”

Then, as if surrendering himself entirely, both knees met the dirt. His hands, once accustomed to wielding absolute power, clung to your waist, not as an emperor, not as the strongest, but as a man begging to be allowed to stay.

His eyes burned into yours, pleading, unraveling.

And for the first time, you let him hold you. This time, you didn’t pull away.

A shuddering breath left his lips against your skin, as if he couldn’t believe you were real, as if he feared you might slip away the moment he let go. His grip tightened, not in possession, but in reverence.

The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of rain, of earth, of something on the verge of breaking.

"I expect you to kneel at my feet and beg for years to come." You murmured, fingers brushing against the strands of his silver hair. A handful of hair is gripped tightly, fingers digging in with purpose. "Perhaps then, I might even consider you once more."

His throat bobbed. "If that is what it takes."

This was not just an apology, nor was it a confession. It was surrender in the purest sense. The weight of his kingdom, his sins, his power. All of it, cast aside for you. It was the justice you deserved after all the pain you endured.

reblogs and comments are appreciated mwah!

@gunsandfireandshit @lesbiantennas @ophiocordyceps @noble-kale @the-stray-liger @pickledangel @oldmanontumbler

@nevert-the-guy @lesbiancube @thegreatdemonzhuyan

@tapir @gamer-goo @uglyinpinkk @kiirodora @commiekinkshamer @scary-ivy @fictionkinfessions @yekkes @stemmonade @osmanthusoolong @rednines @kallistoi @xxx-sparkydemon-xxx

@commiegoth @papasmoke @pinnyy @mauesartetc @omegaversereloaded @deltasblue

And make the terrible mistake of pretending to be hurt, ending up on the doorsteps to your favorite character’s home. At first you were ecstatic, spending days to months at his manor getting to ‘know’ him. Enjoying nightly suppers and evening walks with him by your side. He thinks of you as weird and peculiar while you thought of it as a growing romance, dreaming about ‘candlelit dinners’ where he professes his love for you.

Because there was no electricity yet.

All you wanted was to be close to him, your favorite character— from the very game you’ve played for months and years on end. Saving up to pull for his character without everytime he shows up in the gacha, spending whatever money you had left to purchase HIS limited skins because you love him that much!

but then….

You end up slipping,

You say too much, information you wouldn’t and should not know and now?

You’re in his basement. Beaten and tied up in a creaky chair, with nothing but the tattered clothes on your back and a dingy little light hanging above to keep you company. Wounds littered your body, some still bleeding and your eye hurts, you can still remember the feeling of his fingers digging in.

Tortured for days, you sit there, secured with chains. There’s no windows so you don’t know how long you’ve been down here. But you’re hungry, he seldom feeds you, only coming down to cause more pain. You beg for water and he grants it by feeding you a boiling cup of it.

You can’t tasted much anymore because of that.

Begging for mercy but he doesn’t listen. You’re in pain, so much pain, body aching from all the hurt he’s caused.

Please stop.

To you, he’s your favorite character, someone you admire, you learn to care for, love with all your heart, and….. hopefully wish to be with.

To him, you’re a stranger, a stranger that knows too much, a stranger that sees him as nothing but code and fiction, where all his experiences, all his pain and hurt. The trauma he’s had to witness, the past that made him who he was….

Was nothing but entertainment for you.

The thought leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

He leaves you out to die with a gift,

And what better gift than to remove the very thing that started it all? Cutting off your tongue brought him satisfaction, a deed to make sure you don’t spill anything to anyone, he could kill you but you’ll die out there and he’ll feel better knowing you will die a painful and wretchedly awful death.

It’s what creatures like you deserve.

You run off into the deepest parts of the nearby woods. Up into the mountains where snow falls all year round, you know this place, having been here multiple for daily quests and picture - taking. It was beautiful then but the biting cold does nothing but make you hate it all the more.

You find an abandoned hut, it’s somehow furnished, cozy and you decided—fuck it you’ll live here, i mean, where else can you go? He’s known everywhere. Any town will send you to hang in the gallows if you dare speak— not that you could anymore.

Dressing your wounds as best you can, the ice helps to stop the bleeding, Relief and surprise is all you feel everyday you wake up still alive, infection barely seeping into your wounds.

Was it mercy from whoever brought you here?

You don’t know.

————

It’s been 2 years and you learn to forage, picking up familiar plants you know are edible and exploring collection spots you remember from your days simply gaming.

Oh how simple it was then.

Learning to trap small critters and skinning them to make cloth comes naturally to you, sometimes you wonder who’s body is it you’re controlling. Yet the reflection you see is yours—no one else.

It’s easy to avoid the monsters when you time it right. It’s suppose to be peaceful, a life that’s quiet. You don’t know how to get back but you’re fine living here.

Then…

He appears in front of your doorstep.

It’s almost laughable, the irony,

But unlike you, he’s actually injured. Unconscious. Wounded, battered.

Like how he left you.

Probably bit off more than he can chew when he fought his enemies on these mountains you remember, Heart and Head fight each other, your body still aches. Looking down onto his blood that splattered when he fell and continue to bleed into the ground.

You grit your teeth….

And bring in him.

You nurse him back to health to the best of your abilities, checking on him day after day, sleeping next to him on the floor while he bled all over your little cot you call a bed. He wakes, but he doesn’t recognize you. You keep yourself covered, hoods and unkempt hair does the trick.

He tries to thank you but you urge him to leave, a lack of a tongue makes it difficult to say what you really want which is ‘Get the fuck away from me’ but he eventually does. You wish it was the last you’ll see of him but alas….

He comes back, this time bearing gifts, money, food, fabric but you refused everything, almost slamming the door in his face, telling him no again and again as best you could without a tongue.

A threat to your life but he doesn’t know that.

He doesn’t recognize you, a cloak almost permanently stiched to your body, effectively hiding your appearance from him, a mask you’ve fashioned out of animal skin that stays on the lower part of your face, never making eye contact.

To him, you were a lonely, broken soul. Left to fend for themselves all alone in the mountains, no family, no friends, an eye bandaged because you can barely see with it after he tried gouging it out, the other one thankfully still works— missing fingers on both hands. It was no doubt that you were crippled, walking around with a limp because your left foot never healed correctly. Using a stick to support your weight when it got too cold. It warmed his heart to know people like you still existed….

But of course that was before he knew of who you really are.

Following you to the river to leave you high-quality soaps, he accidentally saw you undressed, and with it—your identity. At first he was ashamed, then disgusted, and then enraged. He recognized those wounds. He caused them.

The deep anger he feels coursing through his veins that you managed to fool him twice with your ‘supposed’ kindness has him going back to the hut you’ve made your home to ambush you there. Walking back unknowingly to your death. Tackling you at your doorstep and ripping off your hood— showing your hair and features, he seethes curses at you and sneers at your feeble attempts to escape him.

Insults leaves his lips, ones he’s never uttered before, would never use because he was raised better, because he wasn’t the type to do so. Terrible words you wouldn’t expect to leave your favorite character's mouth…

Yet here you are.

With his final words wishing you would burn in hell, he stabs you in the face. It’s almost peaceful that you instantly die but he wasn’t satisfied, the dagger he holds—a family heirloom, plunges into your face multiple times long after your death,skull almost breaking apart from the sheer force of his strength.

It’s quiet.

Nothing but the sounds of the howling winds billowing through the poorly covered windows. The makeshift door still wide open. A sigh of relief leaves him, somehow your death brings him peace—like something has finally gone right.

He looks down at the corpse beneath him in disgust, immediately getting off. He rushes home to clean himself of the filth, leaving your body there to rot, laying uncaringly in those barren mountains, unknown to the world.

Just the way he would like it.

Yet….

Why is it—

It’s been months later—but here is he, plagued with nightmares of you. Why? The memories of your fear-filled face from the moment he mercilessly sliced off your tongue to the final moments of your life where he caved your skull in with that Dagger. The same dagger on his desk that he cleaned off with mirth— Mere hours after your death, satisfied. Memories of your time together in the snowy alps when he didn’t know it was you raced through his head every waking moment. No matter how much he tried to turn off his thoughts.

He resorted to drinking it away, night after night, locking himself inside his bedroom where no-one in the manor would notice, not his family, nor the maids. Drinking himself into a stupor until he can’t anymore and passing out only to repeat it again the very next day.

Why was he doing this?

What’s happening to him?

Did he….feel guilty? For what he did to you?

Impossible! You deserved it! Every waking moment of your life from when he met you that was spent in torture was well-deserved! You caused all his hurt, the decisions you made when playing his route that led to him experiencing every god awful memory that made him who he was!

Right?

He didn’t know anymore…..all he could recall was that you never took advantage of him, from the day you ‘met’ him, you never once used your knowledge of him for your own benefit. All he knows, you could’ve blackmailed him, threaten him—anything!

And yet you didn’t…

All you did was enjoy your time with him—whatever you could get, even time after when you were but a shell of your former self….you still cared.

After realizing this, he ends up sobbing and bawling all over his sheets, hours upon hours spent just sobbing until he finally plucks the courage to leave his room by escaping through his bedroom window—to avoid anyone’s questions. Never minding it was on the second-floor, He ran non-stop.

With only one place in mind.

Finally arriving at his destination, he stopped to take a breath, in front of him was your hut, The little home you made yours, what little semblance of safety you had left—until he took everything away from you. The second time.

The cold biting air of the snowy mountains feels like nothing compared to the feeling in his chest, taking slow steps forward, each feeling like a heavy weight added to his back with each foot placed onward. He was afraid—-

But of what?

The entryway was snowed in, blocking his path but his abilities made quick work of it, revealing a cracked, moldy and deteriorated wooden door, shaking fingers reach out to push it open. He didn’t know what to expect.

But there you still were. Body left on the ground where he brutally murdered you. Falling to his knees almost immediately, mournful sobs racked through his body, but his eyes refuse to close, choosing to look at the macabre display he had made of you —only to never be found.

Using whatever strength he had left to crawl towards you, hands shaking as he reaches out to touch you—cold, god you were so cold. What was he expecting?? Face cracked open, body stiff and limp, the extreme weather doing it’s job to preserve your body well, not a single maggot to be seen on your still corpse.

He doesn’t know if that made him feel better or worse.

It’s like he can almost see it—right there, on your lips, a sweet serene smile, if as you were happy. Not regretting a single thing. Maybe…. glad he was the one to kill you. To finish the job. An uncharacteristic scream echoes throughout the room and it took him a second to realize that it came from him.

Gently scooping you into his arms, he sobs into your no longer beating chest, begging for forgiveness, to come back, to hurt him, punish him—anything! He cries and wails for hours into the white void until he couldn’t anymore, until all he could do was carry your dead body to the corner, to the small pathetic cot you called a bed—the one he laid in for days while you helped him back to health. He holds you there, throughout the snowstorms he held you. Whispering words of sorrow and agony, uselessly using whatever power he had to warm your cold body up—as thought it might magically bring you back.

As if the wailing, the screaming, the begging and whatnot could bring you back and mend the broken pieces of your face together. But nevertheless..

Lifeless you stay.

For he was the one to end it.

The one who left you there for months….

To rot.

—

Ever since that day, he started spending more time in your little space than anywhere else, still continuing his duties as normal, his nightly job of beating down criminals was met with even more ferocity—finding no remorse in slicing down actually bad people. A sick thought crosses his mind where you would be….proud of him for killing them. He would still visit his manor from time to time. To avoid the questions, continue to do his work in the towns and cities as the master on his house, still refusing the countless marriage proposals littering his desk. Ignoring the questions concerned for his behavior, they say he looked out of it but he feels fine—even his most closest companion asked if he was okay but he told them all with a warm smile;

That everything was fine and there was nothing to worry about. A man known to all to be cold and closed off—smiled at them. It unsettled them all—It was weird, but he didn’t care, let them think what they wanted. The rumors go around that he has fallen in love, but they’ve seen neither hair nor tail of this supposed ‘lover’.

With time he had come to think of your home as his, taking care of it and sweeping away the accumulating snow and dust but he never dared to move the possessions or add to the home.

He liked it as is, didn’t want to disturb them in any case you wouldn’t like it, everyday—like clockwork, he would sweep the floor and cook his meals in a little pot and bonfire you had prepared in the middle of the room, sleeping in the little cot in the corner. Water the plants that surprisingly survived the harsh climate. Everyday he would find something to fix, whether it was a crack in the walls or a hole in the floorboards he would patch it up, in delusional hope that you would come back happy to see that your home was well taken care of.

But his most favorite part of the day?

Was at night when he wasn’t doing his nightly duties of finding criminals to bring to their knees, gently caressing the little possessions you owned, little knick knacks here and there, kissing the books he knows your sweet and soft hands touched, he knows they were soft, remembering the feel of them when you tended to him while he was weak and vulnerable. He sees a figurine you carved from your time still alive, he watched your hands—when you thought he was asleep. Pretty fingers that though inexperienced, carve away into a piece of wood to create a familiar animal that he realizes is his favorite. It squeezes at his heart the first time he saw it, dusting at the shelves. He broke down crying, this session long and tiring. Only stopping when the blinding sun switched into the calm crescent moon.

And your body? The one he spent 3 whole weeks holding and caressing? Offering empty apologies and promises that couldn’t be fulfilled because you will not come back. Never he thinks.

After mourning you enough, he brings your body to a bright field full of flowers in every color—a place he remembered you telling him was your favorite spot.

In the dead of night, he dug your grave all by himself, buried you before covering it the prettiest flowers he can find. Coming back every 3 days without fail to replace the flowers, and then planting more seeds, Rare ones, ones with the prettiest blooms—to decorate your grave.

All for you.

It’s been a year and a half of this—from when he…killed you. He found himself feeling happier than ever, it was so strange he thinks. From hating a person’s entire existence enough to torture them for days on end—to crying to them for repentance after realizing all the wrong he did.

He didn’t even think falling in love was something he could do, much less with a dead body. It wasn’t an emotion he thought of. Too busy taking care of the people of his manor and the criminals that littered the streets of his home.

Never mind pursuing love or potential marriage, a feat even the locals thought impossible—usually because how he, a young, successful and handsome bachelor often shies away from the opposite populace, rarely gracing the public gatherings with his presence.

Yet now….all he thinks about is you, awake or sleeping you’re all he sees, and now he finds a small pile of bedsheets and blankets, something you either made yourself or found within the home he doesn’t care, what does is that they smell like you. pressing them to his nose, he breathes in the scent that is you.

Laying them down onto the cot, he presses his face down into it, breathing in until his ribs show.

His cock swells with desire.

You smelt so good—addicting, and before he knew it, there he was. Stroking his cock to your smell, rubbing his face here and there as though trying to cover himself in it. Imaginging you on this very bed, sleeping.

He whimpers—shit..ahn….!….he’s gonna cum…!

Creak..

He snaps towards the door, the door slowly opens and in the doorway was a perosn he didn’t think he’d see again.

You.

He leans into your arms, basking in the warmth of your embrace. Winter arrived and he couldn’t thank the cold enough for giving him the excuse of laying on your couch, wrapped up in the fuzzy jumbo Nightwing themed blanket he got you last week. 

You called him self-centered, wrapped it around yourself, then kissed him so sweetly he was ready to head back to the store and sell them out. But you had hot chocolate ready for him, a movie picked out and a smile so captivating it had him planted in his spot. 

He couldn’t resist you. He’d end patrol early just to see you now. Looking forward to getting work done on time so you’d walk through the elevator doors and greet him every morning. He had you day and night, and it still wasn’t enough. 

Was it the facade? The mask? The limit it made? It had him conflicted. He had you both as Dick and Nightwing.

He should tell you. He knows he should but what was holding him back?

You on the other hand, hated you only got him at night. You started seeing a different side of him. You can’t tell if you missed it before but he was so much more than a best friend to you now. And it frustrated you knowing he didn’t know that. 

You wanted to tell him. Every night when you got home before him after patrol. Every time he’d kiss you. Every moment you shared because the past 2 months have been nothing but pure bliss. 

After the first kiss you two shared, you had to avoid him on patrol. Thanks to Barbara, he didn’t question it. You couldn’t explain the busted lip and bruise without being suspicious. But from that point, you had to be smart.

You had to get home before him. Go through your bedroom window, change and start up the hot chocolate, then sit on your couch until you hear the soft knock of glass.

Two months of hiding and you were starting to hate the lies. It felt cowardly. Even Barb was starting to realize it. 

“You okay?” 

You look down at your lap, the soft weight of him laying there felt secure and so perfect. 

“Mhm.”

“You’ve been thinking about something these past few days. What’s occupying that marvelous mind of yours?” He pouts as his finger taps against your temple and you giggle softly before placing a soft peck on his lips. 

“Unsure, but,” Another kiss. “I could tell you what’s occupying these marvelous lips.” 

His hand creeps into your hair and caresses the back of your head softly, holding you against him. There’s a small curve of his lips as you sigh into the kiss. As you softly pull away he’s quickly pulling you back, muttering against your lips.

“Keep occupying them.”

Nightwing pushes himself up, guiding you closer into his embrace.

As the sun rises, you stir awake for some unknown reason. The scent of coffee fills the air and you fully expect to find Nightwing gone and a note on the table based off of the countless times you fell asleep on the couch beside him after a movie. 

But you find that there's only a cup of coffee, Tikki is not next to you and the lights are on.

“Has anyone told you, you talk in your sleep?” You nearly jump off the couch, clenching the blanket in your hands. Right. He's Nightwing. Of course you couldn't sense him. 

He’s leaning against the wall with his hand on his hip and a cup of coffee in the other. He stayed this time. Which you both didn’t expect but if it wasn’t for Tikki waking him up, he would’ve forgotten about work.

He notices the way your shoulders relax after spotting him and the tired smile that spreads across your face. 

“No, but my dreams had quite the story tonight.” You glance at the clock and notice you still had an hour before needing to wake up. You slowly pull off the blanket and push your hair back to hopefully tame the frizz that definitely took over as you slept. 

Nightwing admires you silently before pushing himself off the wall with a playful sneer. 

“Well, I'll make sure that when you're playing superhero in your dreams, you don't try to fight Killer Croc.” He huffs a laugh completely unaware of the way his words smacked you wide awake.

Had you said something that could've revealed your identity? 

There’s a drop in your stomach that causes a rush of nausea to hit you.

“What did I say?” You ask curiously but in reality it was pure fear of what was told.

“It was a ton of incoherent mumbles and random curse words shouted. Something along the lines of ‘Killer Croc’ and ‘Move, I've got this’.” He walked over to you, acting out the way you rolled and tossed in your sleep. 

You laugh softly and reach for your coffee. A slight tremble in your hand. 

“Killer Croc’ and ‘I've got this’ from me in one sentence?” You scoff, “Let that stay a dream.” Then take a small sip of your drink before he leans over next to you.

“I agree.” He plants a soft kiss on your cheek and makes his way to the balcony door. “I wouldn’t want to see you in any sort of danger.” You watch as he places his mug down (yes, his mug. He bought it to match the one you’re holding.) and stretches his arms out. 

When you place the cup back down, you certainly catch the way he slightly flexes his arms and pushes them back in order to display his back muscles. You’re not complaining– the sunrise was perfectly shining against them, contouring every curve and side. You make a mental note to make sure you get a better look when cuddling next time because how did you miss that? 

He looks over his shoulder, as smug as ever, once he finds you staring. “But, it was nice hearing you say my name.” He adds. 

You look away from the absolute art of a shape he has once he says that. Overlooking the way he was smirking because you give him a confused expression and he clarifies, “You clearly needed my help and called my name in the midst of whatever battle you were conjuring up-”

Spotting the way he’s boasting, you grab the throw pillow beside you and chuck it at him before he could finish. He dodges effortlessly and snickers. 

“Nightwing, help! Nightwin-” He mimics and you're up and moving when he starts. He doesn’t even try continuing before he’s doubling over in laughter at your tired figure charging at him. You smack his arm teasingly and try to seem offended but you’re grinning along with him. 

It was that contagious beaming smile of his. That smile that he blinds you with before pulling you in gently, hands warm against your waist, and lips find yours intimately. 

“Good morning.” He says fondly and you reply,

“Good morning.” 

As the sun’s rays gleam through the glass door, illuminating the room in a soft orange hue, Tikki passes by and rubs against your legs, gaining your attention.

“She’s a greedy one. I was spoiling her all morning. Now, she wants to act like she’s being excluded.” His tone is judgmental but playful as he reaches down and scoops her up in his arms. You love how gentle he is with her as he wraps her in his arms and cradles her.

“And who set that system up?” You tease. 

He looks around, behind him, out the window, and then back at you. “Ahh.. right.” He snaps like he’s figured it out, then hands Tikki over to you. “Like mother, Like daughter.” And your jaw falls slack.

“You have a death wish.” 

“And a miraculous woman who can, without a doubt, grant it.” 

The flutter in your chest blooms in quick movements. Your stomach is hollow as the butterflies make their way into your entire nervous system. 

You've been.. seeing each other for 2 months now. How did he still manage to have you all flustered like some lovesick teenage girl? 

You're mouth is still wide open and there was no words you could formulate for a moment until you blurt out,

“Are you insisting that you have me?” 

And that has you picking up your jaw faster than the Flash once the sentence was said. If you thought you were nervous before, forget that, you're walking on a thin line right now with arms tucked in and making it worse with embarrassment that's heavier than you can handle.

Nightwing could laugh from the way your actions were exposing your bashfulness. You were clearly debating using Tikki as some shield in hiding your face but ended up looking away instead. Panic written all over your face. 

“I'm insisting you have me.” He answers. Watching as you ease slightly to his voice; alleviating your embarrassment. 

“So..” You draw out the ‘O’ and pout your lips, “thatbasicallymeansyourmine.” You say so quickly he almost misses it. 

His shoulders shake softly as a soft chuckle rises from his chest. 

“I'm yours, princess.” 

Someone calls your name from across the station and you look up to spot Barbara. 

You beam at her in excitement, crossing over to her in quick strides.

“Barb! What brings you here?” 

She eyes you though her glasses, taking you in for a moment then pushing her lenses up. “I came to check in on something. Can we speak in private?”

With a nod, you two head towards your office and shut the door after you. 

“Is this about the missing tube case? I handed the evidence over to Robin last night.” You ask curiously as Barbara strolls farther into the office. 

“Did you and Nightwing fuck?” 

She said it so casually it catches you off guard when you comprehend what she just asked.

“What?- hold on, let's slow down.” You laugh through your words and hold your palm out. “Where is this coming from?”

“You two were in your apartment till morning.” Barbara states as if she was reading facts given to her through a file. 

“Barb, he can be over and not sleep with me.” 

“You don't know his secret identity?” 

“Why am I being interrogated?” You're pointing at yourself, confused and bewildered. “No, he hasn't told me.”

“And you haven't told him?” She snaps back without missing a beat.

“Barb, we agreed that was a no. Not until I know it won't fuck up this whole thing.”

“Oh, dear god.” She pinches the bridge of her nose with a loud sigh and a wave of her hand. “This shit's gonna drive me crazy.” 

“So, let me get this straight. You're dating him and you have no idea who he is, and he has no idea who you really are.” She announces trying to show you how stupid it sounds. 

“It's just hard beca- wait, how did you know we were dating?” You squint your eyes in suspicion because you haven't said a thing to her. 

“I got here and you were grinning like you don’t live in Gotham, your hair is done, your face is beaming like you've finally got laid after decades, and Nightwing told me literally 5 minutes after because he couldn't contain his excitement. Which gave me perfect blackmail material.”

You forgot how precise and sharp she was. But your face was already flushed and a sheepish smile was growing after hearing that last bit. 

Barbara says your name, “I love that you've been happy, truly. But, you can't hide the truth forever.” 

She's right. You know she is. But..

“But, wouldn't he think it's a dick move to go and date him as another person after I rejected him?” 

She replies with a loud groan before you can even finish your sentence. “What?” You exclaim confused on why she was annoyed. 

“I’m not even gonna try anymore.” She puts her hands up in surrender, as if we’ve been arguing all morning. “I’ll leave it to you.” 

A knock on the door cuts your conversation short and the debate is put on a pause for now. 

Dick worked like he was getting paid twice of Bruce’s net worth this morning. After seeing you walk in just as happy as he was, he had to refrain from going up to your office and spending the rest of his day with you. 

He does sort of regret calling Barbara after he realized she recorded him practically kicking his feet ecstatically after leaving your house. Who could blame him? You two were together now. He’s yours and you're his. 

And he’s shoving his face in his papers, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. The thought itself fueled him with enough excitement for weeks. 

“Grayson?” An angel has called his name. 

He picks his head up, grin still stuck in place, and takes in your standing form. You raise a brow at him and snort. “What’s got you so smiley?” 

“A woman.” He shrugs sheepishly. 

“Okay, lover boy.” With a roll of your eyes, you hand him a copy of names and point to a specific person. “You arrested her three days ago. I want the full report and your body cam footage. Send it over please.”

“She was only trespassing on private property, is there something new?” He asks curiously, still smiling, and you squint your eyes at him with a small smile. The turn of his lips was contagious but was so familiar. 

“Yeah, her son was taken into custody last night and claims his mother was framed. I’m gonna look into it.” He nods in understanding and turns to his computer to pull up his files.

Patrol that night was also joyous. Shocker. 

You and Wing were having the time of your lives. The thugs were offended by the way you two were practically toying with them. 

“You bitch!” A hammer curves past you as you grab his arm and throw him over your shoulder towards Nightwing. Who kicks down the men behind you and electrocutes the man you just threw as he collides with the floor. 

“Is that it?” Unbothered, Nightwing nods. “Oracle, where to?” You ask into the comms and she replies saying two men had driven out of the facility towards the highway. 

You two manage to hunt them down and stop the cargo before it could get any further.

“Pound it!” You chuckle as you to fist bump each other. Nightwing takes the wheel as you sit in the passenger seat. Driving the truck to the spot Batman had instructed to meet. “What a night!”

“You’re in an awfully good mood today.” He smirks and you nod in agreement.

“I could say the same for you. What made you so joyful?” You lean against the car seat, one leg up and your head resting to the side. 

“You first.”

“I asked before you.” and he sighs in defeat.

“..Remember how I told you I was seeing someone?” 

“You briefly mentioned it, yes.” No, he didn't. He actually didn’t shut up one night about how he was trying to finish up to go see you and it pissed you off because you had to keep him there till you could leave.

“No, I didn’t- Anyway!” He cuts himself off before he falls for your tricks. “We sort of..” He trails off and licks his lips nervously. 

“Made it official?” He says it with a wince almost like he couldn’t believe it. 

“No way!” Here comes your hidden talent for acting. “Wing! That’s amazing!” You drag out your words fondly. 

He laughs bashfully and covers his mouth, one hand on the wheel and another hiding his excitement. The way he stares into the distance enamored has your heart melting. You adored him.

“We made it official this morning. You should’ve seen the way she was smiling.” He continued to explain the moment to you, unaware of the way you cherished his every word. “She had her hair in a mess but the cat was in her arms and the sun was shining on her like it was made to emphasize her existence- and her eyes– her eyes were gleaming when I said we were official– like literally sparkling! I practically saw stars in her eyes and-” When he looks over to you for a moment, noticing how quiet you’ve gotten, he asks with a shaky laugh, “What?”

You couldn't help the way you stared at him. So fascinated. He saw you like you were the world. The explanation itself had you in awe. Never would you have expected him to see you in this way. So struck and dear to him. 

“She must mean a lot to you.” 

He smiles at that. 

“Everything.”

When you get home, quickly changing out your suit, you hear Nightwing walk into the living room calling your name. 

“I’ll be right out!” You throw your suit under the bed and swing the door open. “Sorry, I was going to shower but remembered last second you were coming.” You play it off and make your way over to him. Distracting him with a kiss.

“I could wait.” He says with a smirk, that damn smirk, as you turn to head for the kitchen. 

“It’s fine. I’ll start on the hot chocolate and you can pick the movie-” You’re cut off when he’s pulling you back by your waist with his touch cold against your warm skin. Your breath hitches from the freezing contact.

“I was hoping you didn’t make it tonight, I wanna take you somewhere.” He gestures outside and you tilt your head slightly. 

“You want to go out?” You two haven’t gone out together since the night you started talking. 

“Why not? Go grab your coat.” He lets go of you and you’re smiling ear to ear. You’re back in your room not even a minute after you left it, grabbing your coat enthusiastically. 

“Where are we going?” 

“For some hot chocolate.”

So, you kick your feet on the ledge of the roof, waiting for Nightwing to come back.

He lands beside you with two cups in hand. “Please do not sit there when I'm not next to you.” He joins you and takes a seat. 

“I’ll be fine.” You take the cup from him as he sighs like he clearly disagrees. “Thank you for the drinks.” 

“You're treating me to one every night. I might as well do the same.”

Your cup warms your hands as you two chatter into the night. Once you thought your drink was cooled down, you take a small sip as he tells you about his brothers. Who, you already knew, were the robins. 

As you listen, you slightly burn your tongue from drinking too fast, the hot liquid stinging you unexpectedly, you hiss in response. 

“Still too hot?” You nod, pressing a hand to your mouth before removing the lid to let the drink cool down some more. 

“Robin once doubted how hot it would be, believe it or not, he was 11 and never tried hot chocolate.” You turn to him, eyes wide. 

“You failed as a sibling there.” 

“I didn’t even know him before that!” 

“Still. Tell me you warned him?”

He shrugs, “He ignored us and said he always had his tea hot. He must’ve never really tried actual hot tea because he never took a drink from us again for months.” 

“He definitely knows how to hold a grudge.” 

“Tell me about it. One time, we were in a Metropolis…” As he tells the story, you go for another sip, this time more carefully. 

While being invested in his memories, you notice the way the hot chocolate tasted familiar. Without a second thought you glance at the sticker, reading off the ingredients. 

It was exactly how you liked it. 

Still focused on Nightwing, you overlook it. Glad he was able to get something you liked. 

Eventually once the night is over, and the breeze is too cold for you to handle, Nightwing takes you home and kisses you good night. A promise to be over tomorrow too before he makes his way back into the night and you head to bed.

When Dick gets back to the Batcave, Bruce is typing away on the computer. Dick attempts to head inside quietly, careful not to make a sound and avoid capturing Bruce’s attentio-

“Dick.” Shit.

“Hey B.” He groans as his shoulders slump. “I just got back.” He complains as Bruce turns in his chair, clearly ready to ask something of him. 

“The gala this weekend.” He crosses his arms and Dick runs his hand through his hair before pulling off his mask.

“There’s a gala this weekend?” 

“I need you to be present.” Bruce states firmly and Dick is already shaking his head. 

“Just have one of the others go with you.”

“I won’t be there. Everyone else is occupied and Alfred said it has to be you.” 

Dick winces in annoyance. Not the Alfred card. “That’s not fair. Can’t one of them join me at least? Tim?”

“Has a case with Kon-El.”

“Steph?”

“Out of state with Cassandra.”

“Damn it- not even Duke!?”

“Jason warned him, now, he won’t do it.”

“Oh my god- Dami- no. Nevermind.” He’s pinching his temple in frustration. “When is the gala?”

“Saturday.”

He wants the cave to collapse on him right now. He covered for Bruce once and this is what he gets.

“Go ahead and bring yourself a plus one if it helps.” Bruce comments as he turns back to the computer completely unaware of the way Dick brightens up. 

A plus one? 

Once your lunch break starts, you're heading to Dick’s desk. “3:25. Come on, I want a fruit tart.” Dick looks up from his work then at the clock, not noticing how much time has passed. 

“Sorry, I am slumped after this morning’s call in.” You hum in understanding. Based on what you heard, there was a lot of havoc at a restaurant a few miles away. Turned out to be more than just a snobby customer.

“I’m sure a coffee will help. Up you go, come on. We had to ditch last week’s coffee run because you took more hours. And just your luck we have 2 hours before shift rotations.” 

Dick smiles tiredly, but forces himself up, nonetheless. He couldn’t let the opportunity to hang out with you slide so easily. 

So, as you two head to the coffee shop, he tries to introduce the topic of the gala in order to ask..

“But, I kind of don’t want to go because it’ll be a pain in the ass to spend the day alone, so.. I was gonna ask you if, y’know, you were interested in joining me?” 

You stare at him blankly for a moment and shake your head, “Me?” He nods. “You want me to join you? At a Bruce Wayne gala?” Then he nods slower this time. Unsure if you were onboard or not.

“Dick, I’ve never been to one. Not that I'm ungrateful. Thank you. For inviting me. But are you sure?” 

He opens the door to the cafe for you, stepping in after you with a reassuring smile. “I’d rather not go if it meant going alone.” And you stare at him for a moment, still debating. He waits patiently as you two stand in line.

“Okay. I’ll come.” In agreement, Dick is already looking forward to it. 

“That didn’t take much convincing.”

“It’s a Bruce Wayne gala, Dick. Who actually needs convincing?” He points to himself.

After you agreed, a thought lingered in your mind. How would Nightwing feel about this? You'll ask him.

Once you're seated with your drinks, you two are recapping your week to each other. Mainly to get rid of anything bothering you or some work drama. 

“Oh, please. Michael is not holding something against me.. right?” 

Dick sipped his drink with a disapproving frown, “Not what he told me.”

You gasp, “Wait, he said something about it?” Dick shrugs like he has no idea what you're talking about.

“Dick. Tell me he’s holding a grudge. I need to know.” You fold your hands together, begging him to tell you. 

He folds with no hesitation. “He was pissed you were all giddy yesterday after he lost the promotion. Saw it as you trying to annoy him.” And your hand falls against the table with a soft slam before pointing at Dick. 

“He is a two faced liar.” You cross your arms, “He knows damn well why I was having a good day. Not everything is about him you know.” 

Dick raises a brow at that. Obviously he knew why you were in a good mood yesterday. He was just as uplifting as you when your day started. Still, he decides to ask, 

“Say.. Why were you in such a good mood yesterday, anyway?” 

He eyes the way you think back for a moment, then hide your face sheepishly. Something about the way you were flustered in the moment reminded him of when you liked him. Not as Nightwing, but as Dick. He would never get tired of that.

“Just.. Some guy..” You're basically mumbling your words and Dick still has a brow raised. He’s heard those words before.

 “Okay, he’s not just some guy. Yesterday morning was when he and I made our relationship official and it was just a really good morning overall because he stayed over.” 

“How haven’t you told me about this? Now I'm curious!” Dick raises his cup, draining the last drops of his drink then leaning against the back of his chair. “I want to know every detail.” More like, he wants to hear your perspective. You’re clearly excited to talk about it because you don’t waste a second. 

“It started a while back.” You’re already leaning forward in anticipation, like you were about to tell him the gossip of the year. He bites back a smile and leans in as well. Also deciding to play his role in listening to said ‘gossip’.

“Well- if you include how long we’ve been friends, it’s been years.” 

And the noise of chattering and sounds of reality vanish in a moment. The world blurred for a moment. Years?

“We’ve been best friends since… anyway. We-.. you alright?” You ask, noticing the way his gaze was lost for a moment and his expression seemed to slightly slack.

No. No he wasn’t because you were one sentence into this and his whole day just fell apart. His thoughts scrambled to make sense of this.

He manages to reply, “Hm? Yeah, of course. Keep going.”

“Okay, so.. We’ve been friends for a few years now. A few months back, he confessed to me.” 

Confessed? That’s not right. He hasn’t even had the chance to say he loves you. 

“I sorta rejected him at the time, cause, I was.. into someone else.” You decide not to tell him, not sure how he would take the information. “But then the next day, I also was sorta rejected.”

Now, Dick was lost. Were you seeing someone else? 

“I guess after that… I had a different perspective of things.” You press a finger to your chin trying to figure out how to word the situation, “Not because I saw him as some rebound! I just.. Had the opportunity to see him in a different light? It’s complicated.” You wave it off but Dick wanted to push past that complication. 

What was complicated? Wasn’t he the first person you spoke to after getting rejected by him?

He didn’t feel like himself right now. He felt like Nightwing. Not because he was with you, but because of you. He didn’t like the way his mind started to question every possibility. How he was planning ahead. That is the one thing he enjoyed about being with you; not having to feel like he was fighting to survive a normal relationship. 

Was he wrong?

“Him and I have these movie nights. They weren’t really planned at first, just kinda happened.” And the way you smile upon mentioning that, completely cut off his anxiety for just a moment. 

“We had this fresh start.. I don’t think he sees it the way I do though, but it was refreshing. New, in a way. But from that point forward, he’s over every night for hot chocolate and movies.” 

Dick is scrambling to make sense of this. It sounds familiar. Why? What doesn't make sense?

“We knew we liked each other, We kissed and all. Yesterday was just the day we made it official.” You decide to end the story there. Dick hasn’t said a word the whole time. Which is weird because you were expecting more questions out of him.

“You’ve known him for years and you only now started dating?” He says like he’s trying to clarify that. His voice is oddly hollow in a way.

“Yeah. I know, I don’t know how I missed it either. You should’ve heard the way he spoke about me.” Then you're covering your face again. Stopping yourself from saying more. 

“What’d he say?” 

What did I say? He wanted to ask instead because he can’t recall saying something about you before he left, but your next words shock him to his core. 

“He said the sun was shining on me like it was made to emphasize my existence. Then complimented my eyes and called me everything..” And Dick is barely listening now. 

It was like a spotlight shone down on you. The warmth of his coffee reached all the way to his chest as the realization dawned on him.

Has the world just shifted? 

It was like out of those movies you two watched every night. 

The way the pieces fell into place. 

Your smile is now clear as day. Your laugh is now as recognizable as your name. The atmosphere, the love, the dynamic. It was all so new but familiar. He never could put a finger on it till now.

Because you were his.

In and out of costume. 

His surroundings melted away as you went on and on about the way he spoke about you yesterday. When you two were driving back to the city in the truck you stopped together. 

You were his partner. 

“Dick?” You call out his name for the third time and he just blinks before smiling, dimples flashing and teeth beaming. 

“Sorry- just.. Glad to hear you're happy. Sounds like he really loves you.” Slipping his confession past you, you have no idea of the way his heart was pounding against his chest. 

The way he couldn’t thank his overworking mind enough. 

Should he say something? Should he ask? What if he was wrong? No. He couldn’t be. 

Because he could see it now. The similarities. Your laugh, your hair, your interests, your voice, even down to the facial expressions you made. 

Just like now, that knit of your brows you do when you want to deny something but know it’s true.

“Love is a strong word..” You scoff with a wave of your hand but Dick doesn’t seem to think so. 

He meant that with every fiber of his being. His clear blue eyes held a meaning you couldn’t decipher. But it was one of pure honesty. As he holds your gaze, your lips curve upward as you try to force them down. 

“Or we have..? I dunno..” Turning away, you take another sip of your coffee. Which you got instead of a hot chocolate today because Wing had taken you to get some. 

Which brought your thoughts back to last night and your drink. Your focus falls to your cup, a new mystery sparks up in your mind. How did he know your hot chocolate order from this cafe? 

You glance up at Dick who seems to be lost in thought. When you look back down at the drink, your detective gears shift, a hint of a light bulb turning on before it blinks shut. No one even knew you liked hot chocolate at work besides Dick. 

Does he know Nightwing? His family does have connections to Batman, That’s something all of Gotham can figure out. When something happens to the Wayne family, Batman is quick to know. You would know because he’s had you on alert for years when it came to saving Bruce Wayne. 

“What's little Ms. Detective thinking?” Dick teases, now snapping you out of your trance. 

“Just thinking about a case.”

Dick from that point on was.. different. He wasn't really different, but something was.. different. 

The next two days went by and you've had him in the back of your mind. He lingered like an unsolved mystery. You just didn't know what the mystery was yet. 

But this is what being a detective is for.

On your next patrol, you and Nightwing sat on top of Wayne enterprises. Why? Oracle said so. 

So, here you two sit, playing cards, waiting for Oracle to report back on whatever she was doing. 

“You can't place an ace.” You argue and his lips turn downwards defeated before pulling back his ace. “You knew that, don't play dumb.” You snicker.

You hear your names over the comms and your game is cut short. 

“Oracle, we were starting to think you were gonna let us off early tonight.” Wing teases, shooting you a mischievous smirk. You shake your head with a huff as Oracle sighs on the other end.

“You’ll see your girlfriend early tonight, wing. Trust me, I don’t want to be here any longer than you.”

“Your words, not mine.” He shrugs.

“In 3 minutes, Bruce Wayne is going to meet you two.”

“What?” You two snap in unison.

“Batman’s orders.” She adds before she goes radio silent again.

Nightwing drags out a long sigh and lays against the pavement. “He’s gonna ask for a favor.”

“Does Batman just put us in these situations for his entertainment?” You grumble.

“You have no idea.”

“You're gonna have to do it.” Once Bruce left and you two were now alone again, Nightwing wanted to fall back and let the Gotham streets take him. 

“What?” His head snaps at you and you sigh. 

“I hate to do this to you but I’m gonna be busy on Saturday night. I was gonna ask you to cover that day for me.” Crossing your arms, Nightwing seems to be in disbelief but then he sighs in realization. 

“I was also going to ask you to cover me that day.” 

So you’re both fucked. Bruce Wayne has just asked you two to keep watch over his charity gala this weekend because he’s been receiving threats. 

You were conflicted because you planned on going with Dick. 

Nightwing was conflicted because what game was Bruce playing with him? He just asked him to be there in his stead then asked him to keep watch? What plan did he have now? And why is he bringing his girl into this?

“I’ll figure it out.” He says once he catches the way your brows scrunch in thought. He’d figure it out for you. He wanted you to enjoy that gala. 

“Are you sure?”

No. “Leave it to me.” 

Something was brewing. Not in a bad way (you hope) but there was something your mind was pushing you to figure out. 

You decided maybe it was one of your unfinished cases. So, you went over your notes but no. It was something else. 

Dick Grayson.

But also, your boyfriend was off too. 

Did you tell Nightwing about this? You should and you want to. But, you don't. Another mystery to solve. Why wouldn't you tell him?

“Babe, you lost twice now. I'm starting to think you're letting me win and I told you that hurts my precious ego.” Wing is snuggled into your side as you two play video games and he tilts his chin up at you but his focus is still on the screen where the next round begins.

“Sorry, just tired today.” You brush it off quickly before you lose once again. 

“Okay, that's my first winning streak against you and I'm heartbroken it wasn’t my fault.” Rising from your side, he tilts his head to get a better look at you. “Wanna let me into your thoughts, sweets?” 

That's another thing. Nightwing is calling you nicknames. Which isn't new, of course. But the ones he's using now are similar to the ones he used on vigilante you. 

“Sweets? That's a new one.” You question and he pecks your lips lightly in response.

“For a sweet girl like you, it's fitting.” Okay, maybe you were overthinking this. Your job is to overthink and you're probably letting that slip into your daily life. 

But, the thought lingers. What thought? No idea. 

“You remember that guy Dick Grayson?” Maybe you should get it off your chest. Saying things out loud always seems to get your head in the right space. 

“The officer? Yeah. Isn't he your friend now?” 

But now your conflicted again. Because that bothered you. Why was Nightwing so okay with that?

“Yeah. He asked me to be his plus one at a Wayne Gala Saturday.” Surely this will make him second guess Dick. 

“Really? Are you going?” He seems eager. Suspicion bubbles up in your throat when you ask,

“I dunno. I'm debating against it.” 

His face falls slowly. “Why? You should go out more. Clear your head.” 

“Okay, this is weird. Why are you okay with me going to a gala with a guy I told you rejected me?” You furrow your brows in confusion and Wing tilts his head like a lost puppy.

“It's up to you. I trust you. If you want to go and enjoy yourself, who am I to say anything?”

You were definitely overthinking and it's making you rash. You rub your palm against your temple and lay your weight against him.

“Sorry. I don't know what's coming over me.” 

“You don't have to apologize. I understand.” He hums as he plants another kiss to your lips and you two spend the rest of night in each other's arms.

The gala was tonight. Unfortunately for Dick, he was going to be stuck working. In more ways than one. 

When he spoke to Bruce about the gala, Bruce told him that there was a heist planned to take place that night. He unfortunately won't make it back to the gala till midnight. So, Dick had to keep watch from the inside and his partner would keep watch from the outside. 

But what Bruce didn't know (Bruce knows everything) was that his partner was also his plus one. 

How was he going to make this work? 

His plan: have his Nightwing suit under his tux. 

Once there's one sign of danger, he'll leave quickly and take care of it. 

On your end, you've been formulating theories since that coffee run with Dick. 

It's 5pm and the gala is at 9pm. You haven’t even started getting ready. Instead, you're in your office standing in front of your cork board. 

These past few days have been an ongoing breakthrough for you. 

You were suspecting Dick Grayson. And you had no idea why. 

No, you had no conclusion, hypothesis, or even an accusation. But it was itching at you. It made you feel insane!

Once the clock hit 6, you decided to finally go home and get dressed. Which also made you realize, you didn't have a dress. 

You were ready to scramble through your closet once you got home but found a package at your door. 

Once you get inside, you grab a pair of scissors and cut open the package. You usually order things over your lunch break so it could be anything. 

The box opens to reveal a note atop a thick folded dress. Lifting the note, you open it and read the contents. 

-

Let's match! You don’t have to wear it but accept it as a gift from me for joining me.

-DG

-

After you read over the letter. You double-check. Beside his initials was a faint pencil mark. Like he had erased something. You pull the note closer and try to make out the words.

‘Xoxo’

You had to be mistaken. He wouldn't write that knowing you had a boyfriend. He wouldn't do that. 

Then there's a buzz in the back of your mind. That dawning that you feel once you're getting closer to finishing the answer you're looking for. But what?

Being a detective had its cons. The suspicion was unrestricted and endless. You force it down and pull out the dress. It's perfect. Something right out of your Pinterest board. 

Then there's that buzz again. 

You push it back once more. Grabbing the letter Dick wrote you and putting it to the side in a drawer where you keep all the other letters you've gotten. Which has now been filled by Nightwin…

Pause. 

You slam the drawer back open. Snatching the letter Dick wrote you. Your eyes scan it over and over again. 

You know that hand writing. 

You read it every morning before work on your coffee table. 

Stop. Wait. You're getting ahead of yourself. Breathe.

But your already snatching another letter and comparing it to the other. 

Tikki is by your feet in hopes to gain your attention but you're frozen still. Heels planted against the tiles. 

Your eyes dart between the two letters. The two separate notes. The same handwriting. Your mind ran a million miles a minute. 

Could Dick Grayson be Nightwing?

The thought alone was bizarre. Right? 

Dick was a police officer. Nightwing was a vigilante. On top of that, Dick had a life. He tells me about his nights at the manor with his family. There’s no way he…

Then, in waves, the connections clicked. 

The hot chocolate. The apology after rejection. Hanging out more. The way he didn’t mind you being friends with Dick. 

Then the similarities. His smile, his humor, his hair, the build, his personality, and the damn comfort of him. 

It was all like one big joke. Did you seriously end up dating the guy who rejected you? And he ended up dating the girl who rejected him? A laugh escapes you in disbelief. Cause you don’t believe this. 

You look down at Tikki then back at the letters. 

-NW xoxo

-DG xoxo

Then you’re smiling. Cheeks curving with the turn of your lips as you break out in laughter. No wonder he got you a dress that perfectly suited you. You showed him your Pinterest board last week. Every time you thought back further, it all made sense. 

All you needed was proof. Solid proof that it was him. 

You glance back at the dress. An idea sparking to life. He was going to try and keep watch tonight so you could enjoy the event. You, on the other hand, had other ideas. 

You waste no time getting ready. Eventually uncovering more secrets as your mind played with the puzzle pieces. 

Bruce Wayne was Batman. His kids were all robins and Barb has to know this bullshit. Everything just clicked into place and that buzzing in your head has finally subdued. Case closed. 

Now all you worried about was, how were you going to tell him?

It's only fair you revealed your identity. Well.. even though you figured out his. But that's totally on him. 

Now the more you thought about it, the heavier it felt. This wasn't right. You two were completely lying to each other in and out of costumes. 

This is what Barbara was talking about. 

You lower the lipstick you were putting on and stare at your reflection. He didn't know who he was with. 

But he also was dating you as Nightwing after rejecting you as Dick. You scoff and continue getting ready. 

He's pulling the same shit you are! Why would he hate you for it? 

You don't beat yourself up any more about it. Throwing that anxiety away and grabbing your car keys. Before you leave you take one more look around the area to check if you forgot anything and your eyes land on your suit. 

Which you quickly grab and shove into your purse with your mask. Just in case. No gadgets and accessories. Only if you need to help Dick. 

You catch the way you've already associated Dick with Nightwing. A new accommodation you're getting comfortable with quickly. 

You get a message right before heading out your door, from Dick:

-Your ride is outside, can't let my plus one show up without style 😝

You leave your apartment with a cheeky grin and the most anticipating night to look forward to.

Part 4... soon!

before you kill me, hear me out. IF U WATCHED THE MIRACULOUS MOVIE YOU KNOW WHAT'S COMING. BUT PLEASE UNDERSTAND I HAD TO CUT IT. Even with all of you being so supportive i felt so anxious about uploading and i kept rushing to get it out asap. I really didn't like that at all so i want to get this out for u guys so i feel like i accomplished something </3 I hope you all understand! Thank you for everything! ^^ ill be working on part 4 asap!

TAGLIST IS CLOSED !!!

Jason.

You almost let out a relieved sigh. Your hand found his automatically, fingers lacing together.

“Hey.” You greet him back in a near whisper as you force a smile on your face.

“How are you doing, your first day back?” His voice was so gentle when he spoke to you. 

Part of you felt guilty. Jason was there when it had happened. Jason had witnessed her death, held her as she bled out, and yet he was back to school and into his regular routine after just a few days. You wondered if you'd ever be as strong as he was.

“Okay, I guess.” You shrug in response. Your focus is on the hall in front of you. It felt never ending - empty, now that Summer wasn't there to greet you with her bright smile and enthusiastic wave. Jason hums.

“Did you hear?” He asks, turning his head to look at you. The confused look on your face is answer enough for him. “There’s going to be an assembly later today. For Summer. A… memorial of some sort, I guess.”

Your lips pull down into a frown, “Are you serious? Why today?”

“Well,” he answers, “it was supposed to be last week but the school had to go on lock down because of Condiment King.” He explains. Your nose wrinkles.

“Lockdown for that bozo? Seems like overkill.” You mumble. Jason hums in agreement.

“So it got rescheduled for Friday but then - remember I told you - they had to close the school early because Killer Croc did something God awful to the sewers. It took all weekend for them to fix the damage.”

“Ugh, that's right.” you took in a breath and slowly let it out. 

You and Jason stop in front of your locker, he leans against the neighboring one as he watches you pull out the books you need.

“You gonna be okay?” He asks, gentle. It makes your chest ache. You don't look at him right away, instead staring at the Polaroid of you and Summer that you raped to the wall of your locker.

“Yeah,” you finally answer, “I'll be okay…” you close the metal door and look at him, “Will you?”

“S’long as I've got you, I'll be alright.” He answers. It's so genuine you can't help but smile at him, a lopsided grin forming on his own face in return. 

You take a second to really look at him. The dark bags under his eyes, the slight crease between his brows. You know he's not okay - he's about as worse off as you are. You take in a small breath and slowly let it out as you force on a smile.

Because yeah, your best friend died. But Jason had to live with the fact that she died because of him. And if putting on a smile and pretending you're not hurting as much as you really are is the only way to get him to smile again then so be it.

“That was really lame, by the way.” You tease him as he guides you down the hall with an arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. He lets out a soft little laugh.

“It was not. It was super romantic.”

“Yeah, sure.” You bump your hip into his.

The memorial that the school puts on for Summer is a joke. It was held right before lunch when everyone was already ready to leave the building, ready to stretch their legs and fill their bellies and laugh with friends - no one was interested. 

“This is bullshit.” You whisper to Jason. Your hands are balled into right fists on your lap, the dean just mispronounced Summer’s last night. You're fighting back tears through clenched teeth. Jason's hand is on yours in an instant and you can hear him let out a shaky breath.

“I know.” He whispers back. He hates seeing you like this, hurt and broken and angry. Something white hot and vicious bubbles in his stomach.

“Excuse me-” he stands up suddenly, your hand still in his. You stare up at him in shock, eyes wide, heart racing. What is he doing?! “Her name is rue-ball-ka-vuh.” Jason enunciates each syllable of Summer’s last name. “Rubalcava. Summer Rubalcava. Not rue-bava. Have some respect.” 

All eyes are on him now.

The dean’s eyes narrow in on him, he’s flustered - angry for being called out in front of the entire school body. 

“Right. Thank you, Mr. Todd. I apologize. Now, if you would please sit down.” His face is stern, set, he’s not playing around. You and Jason both already know that he’s going to get in trouble for his outburst. He takes his spot next to you, his jaw working as he clenches his teeth together.

All you can do is stare in awe, admiration, and it hits you just how much you love him. 

“Thank you.” You whisper. All he does is nod once in response. Finally he looks at you sideways, as if he was checking on you, and you can see the way he visibly deflates, hearing the steady breath he let out as his anger melted away.

After the assembly the crowd leaving the gymnasium is suffocating and hot. Most of the noise is muffled together like background extras in a movie. Your head hurts, it’s pounding, but Jason’s presence next to you is steady and keeps you grounded. Part of you feels like you would float away in your daze if he didn’t have a hold on your hand. But then you hear it, somewhere far off - or maybe it’s closer than you think, you’re not sure, but you hear it all the same.

“Who cares if she died. She was buying drugs, she deserved it.”

Your head snaps up, eyes zeroing in on the girl in an instant. You knew who the voice belonged to, some girl in your grade who had a tendency to talk shit - about anyone and everyone. You kept your distance, mostly, knew she wasn’t worth it. Jason’s still lost in his world, eyes focused ahead, trying to guide you somewhere quiet for lunch - but the second your hand tightens around his he turns to look at you, instantly knowing something is wrong.

“What is it-”

And before he can get a word in you’re dragging him over to the girl, a scowl on your face, a fire in your eyes. 

“What did you say?” You speak up as you push through the crowd of students. Most everyone ignores you, or mumbles something about getting out of their way, but you’re a force. No one is going to get in your way or stop you from confronting the girl.

She looks up, looks around, like she doesn’t hear you. That pisses you off even more. “Hm?” She questions innocently in a hum.

“Hey-” Jason tries to get your attention but it’s no use.

“You heard me. Now I wanna hear what you said. What was it, what did you say? She deserved it?” You’re standing right in front of her now, crowding her backwards away from the crowd. Jason pulls on your hand but you rip yours out of his. He’s been around enough angry people to know what happens next.

The girl looks around at her friends but they stay silent, looking around feigning innocence. But then she squares her shoulders and looks at you defiantly.

“Yeah, I said she deserved it. She shouldn’t have been out buying drugs. If she didn’t die then she would have just died later on down the road as a junkie.” She scoffs.

You’re not sure when it happens, at what point your vision blanks, but the next thing you know she’s on the ground crying and your knuckles are split open.

“Holy shit.” Jason lets out a laugh of disbelief and awe.

“Say that shit to me again and see what happens.” You spit at the girl who's now holding her bleeding nose.

“You’re a psychopath!” She yells at you. Her friends are surrounding her, trying to get her to sit up to assess the damage. There’s a small group of students who have stopped dead in their tracks to watch the “fight”.

You bend down, your face etched with anger, “Fuck you.” your voice comes out low and dangerous. Jason’s hand on your shoulder pulls you back but he’s not smiling anymore when you turn to look at him, to yell at him for trying to pull you away. But when his eyes dart to the side you notice what he’s silently pointing at.

The dean.

Fuck.

An entire week's suspension is your sentence after a meeting that afternoon with your parents and the dean. You didn’t care, not really. The only downside would be not seeing Jason as often. But you were too depressed, too tired recently, to really care. Everything had been weighing down on you recently and it was like you couldn’t keep up. Like a snowball rolling uncontrollably down a hill, everything continues to pile up and you keep spiraling further down the hill with no brakes. Your parents however, saw it in a completely different light. Their daughter, turning into a delinquent. Your dad tried to reason that you were going through a lot, more than any teenager should. Your mom blamed Jason. She argued that he was a bad influence on you.

“That’s such shit!” You yell as you throw your backpack down in the entry way after getting home. You can hear your dad sigh in resignation, the coward. Your mom is behind you, silent and that scares you more than anything.

“What’s shit is getting a call at work saying that my daughter attacked another student.” She finally says. Her voice is full of anger. “And I do not appreciate you using that language in this house!”

You’re seething with rage, ready to snap or throw something or punch something again. Your knuckles were still sore even with the bandages now.

“I didn’t “attack” her and she deserved it!”

“No one ‘deserves’ to be punched in the face. You broke her nose! And now we have to pay her hospital bills, young lady!”

You scoff and let out a sardonic laugh, “Oh please, she was going to get a nose job for graduation anyway - I just sped up the procedure for her. She should be thanking me.”

“This isn’t a game and it isn’t funny.” 

Your mom is standing right in front of you now, toe to toe, eye to eye. You cross your arms defiantly and you swear you can see the vein in her forehead bulging even more. Your dad stands in the doorway watching. He never got between your fights, never stood up for you, never had your back. You hated it.

“I never said it was a game.” You challenge her in a low voice. “And it also wasn’t funny when she said that Summer deserved to die, to be murdered. What, you wanted me to just let her say that and go tell on her like a child?”

“Yes! That’s exactly what I want you to do!”

Your hands tighten into fists again and you hold back the urge to scream at her. 

“Two weeks, you’re grounded.” She finally states. Your eyes go wide.

“What?! Are you serious?”

“No phone, no TV, no computer unless it’s for school, and no Jason.”

“No Jason?!”

“No Jason!”

“Dad!” You turn to him. He’s wide eyed and he looks scared. It makes you want to punch him next, or scream him to grow a fucking back bone for once.

“What, honey? She- your mother has a point.” He states meekly. You look at him in disbelief. 

You shake your head but you know that whatever you say next, no matter how badly you want to say it, will only extend your grounding. So you shoot your mom one last glare before stomping upstairs to your room. You slam your bedroom door behind you and lock it. You throw yourself face first into your bed and let out a scream into your pillow that is part anger and pain all rolled up together like a tornado.

And then you let yourself cry. Ugly and unbidden, loud and gasping, ugly. You don’t know how long you lay there, how long your parents let you lay there alone, gasping for air, losing your voice. By the time you’ve finally quieted down your headache is worse than before, your face feels swollen and raw from how often you had wiped away tears and snot. When you finally look at the clock in your room it’s well past midnight. The fact that your parents had gone to bed while you were in your room hurting, needing them, made your chest hurt. 

Then there’s a light knock on your window and without having to get up you know who it is. 

Jason.

Recently he thought it would be “romantic” to climb up to your second story window to sneak in. Only it wasn’t really sneaking because nine times out of ten your parents knew he was there. But it was cute and silly and you loved the smile on his face every time it popped up in your window, like he was a medieval knight coming to steal you away and he was oh so proud of himself.

You’re slow to get out of bed, your movements stiff, but you finally open the window and Jason climbs in. He’s in a sweatshirt, some vintage Gotham Knights sweater, and sweatpants and you wonder if he snuck out of bed at the manor to come see you or if Bruce knew where he was.

“Hey, hi.” His tone is soft, gentle, as he gathers you in his arms. You don’t have anymore tears to cry, but if you did you would be with how soft he’s being with you.

You don’t say anything, don’t need to. Your arms wrap around him, hands fisting weakly at the back of his sweater. One of his hands is on your back while the other holds the back of your head as he pulls you into him. The two of you stand there for just a few minutes before Jason’s pulling back, cupping your cheeks with his hands. There’s a gleam in his eyes, one you’ve never seen before, but it makes your stomach twist in the weirdest way.

“Are you okay?” He asks.. 

You shake your head, “No. My mom says I’m grounded for the next two weeks.” Your voice comes out hoarse, raw. “Which means I’m grounded from seeing you too.”

He frowns softly but there’s an understanding in his eyes that you can’t stand. He’s too good. “That’s okay, we can still see each other at school.” He reasons.

You shake your head again, “I’m suspended for the week.”

“Oh… Well that really puts a damper on things, doesn’t it…?” He hums before running his hand over your back.

You close your eyes, they’re raw and heavy, and you suddenly feel so tired. You’re completely wiped out.

“Little bit….” you finally mumble. Jason hums again in agreement before kissing the top of your head.

“So.. I guess that means you can’t come with me.” He says. You sniffle quietly before you speak up again.

“Go with you? Where, back to the manor?”

“No,” Jason shakes his head before resting his chin on the top of yours. “Uh, so… long story.”

He sits you down on the edge of your bed and goes on a long story about how Catherine really isn’t his mom, how his biological mom is in Ethiopia and how Bruce has promised to take him there to meet her. 

“I know it’s a lot, after everything. And I don’t want to leave you. That’s why I came over, to see if you would be able to come with us. I haven’t asked Bruce yet but I don’t think he would mind.”

You rub your hand against your forehead as you try to process everything. “You know I would love to Jason, but… even if I wasn’t grounded my parents would never let me go to a different country with you.” You look down solemnly at your hands that are engulfed by Jason’s. He’s quiet before he lets out a breath.

“Yeah, I kinda figured….”

And then he wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side.

“When do you leave?” You ask him in a near whisper. You really don’t want to hear the answer. You don’t want to be alone, not after everything, for God knows how long. Just thinking about Jason being that far away from you for that long sends your nervous system into a frenzy.

“Day after tomorrow.” He whispers against your hair. There’s a note of regret in his voice, part of you wonders if he’ll call the whole trip off if you ask him - but you know you can’t.

“For how long?”

“Dunno… couple weeks at most.”

There’s a sad, heavy silence that settles between the two of you. You sniffle again and your body attempts to cry even if nothing comes at.

“Will you stay?” You ask him desperately. And you both know he won’t stay, not through the night, not at the risk of getting caught by your parents.

“Yeah, I will.”

He helps you into bed, pulling back your pink duvet, covering you back up like you’re something special to be cared for. It makes your heart feel like it’s swelling. And when you’re finally tucked in and comfortable he crawls in next to you into the spot that he’s claimed as his own over the last year.

Staggering, you step out of bed, thighs protesting with every move. The events of last night seemingly have a bigger effect on you than usual. Though the soreness isn’t a burden but a reminder, a sweet ache.

It wasn’t soft, not this time. Instead passionate, full of hunger, drive, desperation. All the time you’d spent keeping this a secret from everyone ;Trying to act like you didn’t yearn to touch, like you weren’t entirely drawn to the other , as though your souls weren’t intertwined.

Tension that had built up into something raw and animalistic.

Hands gripped, mouths roamed, clothes left ripped and forgotten on the floor. There was too much heat and too little restraint, and it left your body aching in the most satisfying ways.

You burned for Jason Todd.

It’s fine, really. Probably not even noticeable. And anyway, you’re a vigilante; in the amount of near-death experiences you’ve had in your life, you couldn’t possibly count on your hands. One limping leg isn’t going to be enough to cause suspicion. Right?

Wrong.

“You’re limping.” Tim states as soon as you step into the kitchen. The newspaper in his left hand as he surveying you over his coffee cup like a jugmetal parent.

You mentally roll your eyes because, of course, Tim notices. In fact, you’re slightly surprised he hasn’t already figured out the little secret between you and Jason.

“Yeah, I had a rough night.” You responded almost immediately, and you’re not even lying.

“Patrol was hard.” That’s, one word for it.

“Hard?” Tim sets his coffee down, now giving you his full attention. You don’t miss the accusing tone in his voice.

“Condiment king.” It’s insistent regret went it slips from your lips , but unfortunately, the joke of a villain was the first thing that came to mind.

“Not something I ever thought anyone would say. “ Dick pipes up from his spot, casually perched on the kitchen bench like a nested bird. His legs dangling over the edge as he leans back on his palms. Alfred would have a fit if he was here.

There’s a sudden shift in the air like the universe has tilted, yet so subtle that no one else seems to have noticed. It’s like a secret sixth sense.

You sense his presence before you even see him. Jason. Your Jason.

Lazily strolls into the kitchen in his quiet manner unaware of the growing tension.

You’re eyes lock on his; bright blue swimming through emerald green. They are so beautiful. so much is said without even uttering a word. It’s as if time freezes, and it’s just you two together.

You wish you could stare at him forever, but you know that any longer and the cover will be blown, so you force yourself to.

Tim is still sitting, still staring at you like you’re a case he’s trying to solve, and you almost give up because Tim Drake always solves cases.

Unfortunately or fortunately because you would definitely combust you don’t catch Jason discarding his hoodie. The way he swiftly pulls it off, the black shirt underneath rides up slightly, revealing his bare back, firm, toned, and littered with scratches.

The first time it happened, it was accidental, almost not there, but his subtle -groan had told you enough. So you’d let your nails wonder, not hard, not yet, just enough to wake his skin, and you feel him shiver beneath your fingertips. Encouraged, you press a little deeper , nails drag deliciously from the nape of his neck to his lower back leaving red trails in your wake.

Now they cover his back like markings, some faint, some fresh, all from you.

At first, one notices, and then:

“It seems Todd shares your difficulties.”

“What are you talking about, Demon brat?” Jason huffs, tossing his hoodie on the chair as he pulls his shirt down, successfully covering the sharp ridges of his lower abs that trail down into his defined v line. His hair is slightly messy, wind-swept; your eyes trail on his hand as he drags it roughly through his hair.

“You’re back.” Damian states

Jason’s dark brows furrowed before his eyes light up with subtle recognition.

Fuck.

“Perhaps you had an encounter with the killer croc.”Damian tts for a second before adding, “or a raccoon, that would be more your territory, no?”

If it was any other situation, you may have laughed at Damian’s dig, but instead, you stiffen, and so does Jason.

“Turn around,” Tim commands.

“No.”

“Take. off. your. shirt,” he continues, and Jason’s eyebrows shoot up. It’s insane , and you’re certain you physically cringe.

“Uh No.”

Silence.

Then in split second, all of them are up. Tim onJasons shoulders like a spider. Damian tackling his legs. Dick yanked at the t-shirt. Jason staggering around, swinging his arms blindly. He spun nearly flinging Tim off, but Dick caught him - mid-air bridal style - and ceremonially shoved the t-shirt halfway up.

Dick lets out a low whistle at the sight of Jason’s back.

Jason marked with a series of deep, red scratches. His skin, flushed and sensitive, bore the faint crescent shapes of your nails. An intimate reminder of hands that once clung to him with intensity.

Your eyes widen animatedly, unaware of the number you did on him in your blissed out state. You almost feel guilty about how attractive you find him right now. Almost. You wonder what Jason thinks about them, but if his soft murmurs of praise were any indication you’re pretty sure you already know.

“Patrol was rougher than usual,” Jason explains, slapping his brother’s hand away as he went to cover his back; however, the damage is already done.

“Yeah, I’m sure it was” Dick smirks wiggling his brows, nudging Tim with his elbow for approval,the boy in question however still staring Jason down with an harsh expression.

Jason’s gazes lands on you, and your lips part automatically.

“One’s limping, and the others all scratched up. Must’ve been an eventful night.” Dick continues. There’s something behind his words I gentle teasing you can’t quite place just yet.

Jasons eyes flicker down your frame to your legs, raising his raising his brows.There something lingering in his gaze; pride, pleasure. Heat floods your cheeks. Smug bastard.

“What happened last night?” Tim presses

“Had a run-in with Condiment King.” You fight the urge to audibly groan.Seriously Jason the amount of criminals in Gotham and that who he goes with. Not like you can judge really. It’s honestly sweet that you thought of the same thing must be because you’re soulmates idiots

“Condiment King?”

“Yes, Replacement. He was extra saucy.” Jason replies sarcastically.

Tim locks onto Jason challengingly. You can almost see the cogs turning in his head. He looks at Jason. Then you. Jason back. Your leg. Jason’s eyes. Yours too.

Damian tts . “That cannot be true, Todd, because—”

“No. No.”Tim gasps. “Ew. No.” Then goes completely white, more so than usual , and that already seems impossible. “Jason? Really? That’s sick.”

Dick doubles over in a fit of cackles next to an impressed Damian.

“That’s dramatic coming from someone who can’t even get a date.” Jason states, subconsciously gravitating toward you.

“Hey, you know that’s still fresh.”

“You’re all so childish,” you state fondly rolling your eyes.

“I know you don’t really think that, sweetheart.” His voice was velvety, half teasing, half affectionate. The corner of his mouth tilted up smugly.

Tim fake gags. At least you think it’s fake

Damian voice breaks through the commotion

“Are you and Todd performing coitus”

Bonus:

Honestly, even with the events that have transpired, you’re glad it’s out in the open now. You sit on the sofa, tucked into Jason’s side, as Dick sits across from you both in an armchair.

Jason has a smile on his face, usually reserved for just you. Dick can’t help but think Jason looks like he did years ago, that happy kid. He loves it. He loves how happy you both look.

“So on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate it?” Dick pipes up eyeing you both.

You scoff “I’m not answering-“

“Twelve.” Jason cuts you off in a deadpan voice.

Huffing out a laugh you turn to him eyebrows raised and he stare back with the same intensity

Shrugging lazily he tucks a piece of hair gently behind your ear. “Just being honest, doll.”

“So it’s that good you can’t put a number on it?” Dick teases you further with a wink.

But in all seriousness he’s right.

“Yes. Dick. If you must know, it is.”

“I keep texting her before I realize…” You’re in Jason’s bed at the Wayne household buried under a pile of blankets. It’s where you’ve been spending most of your time, even skipping school to hide away from everything, Alfred and Mr. Wayne never seemed to notice - or they just didn’t mind if they did notice. Your parents let it happen, knew you needed some way to cope. And it was easier to do it at the manor than at your own house where there were still too many memories of Summer that littered your room.

“I know.” He responds with his arms wrapped around you, one hand runs soothingly up and down your back. There’s still a hint of guilt in his voice that makes your chest ache, no matter how many times you and Mr. Wayne tell him it’s not his fault he still refuses to believe it. 

You had spent the last few tells trying to figure out why she was even out buying drugs. When did she start using? Was that her first time? Did someone introduce her to it, and if so who was it? All questions that would remain unanswered. There wasn’t even a trace of her making plans with the drug dealers and they were still refusing to talk.

“I should have been there for her. Maybe I would have noticed-”

“Hey.” Jason cuts you off with a soft tone. His hand stops in the middle of your back and you can feel his fingers dig into your skin before he relaxes and starts rubbing again. “It’s not your fault.” He assures you the same way you’ve been assuring him. Each time falling on deaf ears. “It’s…” Jason trails off before he swallows quietly, “It’s no one’s fault.” and it sounds like it pains him to say, like he doesn’t believe it himself, like he’s lying straight to your face and feels guilt.

“No one knew. No one.” He reiterates for the nth time since her death.

“I should have. I’m her-” the anger that’s brewing low in your stomach makes you cut yourself off and correct yourself, “I was her best friend. I should have seen the signs.”

“Babe…” Jason keeps his voice low and calm for you. “Don’t do that… don’t talk like that.” Your sniffling makes him hold you closer against his chest, “I personally know all the telltale signs of when a person is using, or planning to use. And she never showed any signs. You gotta stop blaming yourself.”

“I could say the same thing to you.” You mumble with a scowl on your face before you’re nuzzling into his warm chest again. He doesn’t push you away, he would never, not in a million years, but what you say does hurt him. He takes a second to get a better control on his breathing.

“That’s not fair.” His hand not on your back holds the back of your head. You sniffle again.

“Sorry…” You whisper.

“I know.” His thumb rubs against your hair, “It.. it’s okay.” 

But you know it’s not. You know he’s hurting just as much, if not more. She was your best friend, yeah, but Jason? Jason watched it happen, Jason could have - potentially - prevented it from happening in the first place. His survivor’s guilt ate at him every single day. Bruce told him it was normal to experience guilt with his first loss on patrol but that didn’t make it any easier. 

Jason holds you, for how long you have no idea. Time seems to slow down and speed up these days. Everything happens too slow and too fast, because what do you mean it’s sunset already? Another one that Summer won’t get to experience. 

“You know…” Jason finally speaks up. His voice is rough and thick, like he’s tired and trying not to cry all at the same time. “She’d be making fun of us right now.” “Hm?” You hum, wanting him to elaborate.

“She’d totally be making fun of us.” You can hear how badly he wants to smile in his voice and that makes your chest feel a little lighter. “She’d be calling us sappy and gross. She hated whenever we’d be.. affectionate in front of her.” 

You breathe out a small laugh. It’s the first one in weeks. Jason almost sighs in relief.

“Yeah, she would be.” You agree. “She’d probably make some joke about ‘if you’re going to be straight that’s fine, just do it in your home where I can’t see it’.”

Jason laughs at that followed by a quiet sniff, “Yeah, she was funny like that.” He murmurs against the top of your head. 

For the first time in weeks you feel just a little lighter, like that weight sitting heavy in your chest was finally starting to dissolve - even if it was just by a little bit. Nothing would bring your best friend back, no amount of self blame or guilt, but with Jason to hold on to you, to whisper those bittersweet memories in your ear, maybe it wouldn’t be as hard to navigate.

You pull back just enough to look at him, really look at him for the first time in a while. He’s paler than usual with dark bags under his eyes. You let out a sigh because even in the midst of his grief he’s still as stupidly handsome as ever.

“What?” He asks in a whisper after letting you stare at him, his lips quirk up just barely into a lopsided grin.

“Nothing.” You answer.

“Nah, it’s not nothin’. It’s never just ‘nothing’ with you. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?”

“Mm, you think you know me so well, don’t you?” Your question comes out quiet but almost playful. Jason could thank his lucky stars that a small spark of your old self was finally shining through.

He nods, “I do know you so well.” he answers before kissing your forehead. You let your eyes close at the gesture before you’re looking at him again. “Then what am I thinking about right now?”

He pretends to hum in thought, “You’re thinking ‘bout how handsome I am, huh? And smart. And funny. You’re always thinkin’ about how great I am.”

That finally gets you to laugh. Your smile almost reaches your eyes, “You’re ridiculous.” you tell him.

“But am I wrong?” He cocks an eyebrow and you roll your eyes in response, giving him his answer. His smile gets wider and he pulls you closer. “Knew it.” He whispers, kissing the top of your head now.

“Cocky.” You tease him softly. He kisses your temple.

“Yeah, sure am.” He agrees, but it’s half hearted. He doesn’t fully believe it and you both know it. He kisses your cheek and your eyes close again at the tender gestures. There’s a shift in the air of his room. One you can’t put your finger on but it makes your stomach feel weird, fluttery and warm.

There’s a nagging in the back of your head that tells you to assure Jason, again, that he did everything he could. That truly it’s not his fault. But the repetitive words don’t come out, they die out in your throat as he pushes you gently onto your back. He kisses the corner of your mouth and stops.

“I love you.” He whispers against your skin. And although you’ve heard it a million times before, something about this time makes your breath catch in your throat. It’s like hearing it for the first time before but now it’s full of heat.

“I love you too.” You respond automatically. You finally open your eyes and look at Jason. He’s looking at you almost pleadingly, like he’s begging, but there’s a heat in his gaze that makes you squirm. His hand trails from the back of your head down your neck, to your shoulder, before finally landing on your hip.

“Do you trust me?” He asks suddenly and with that look in his eyes you know exactly what he’s asking and why.

The thought makes you swallow. 

“With my life.” You answer and it was the God’s honest truth. 

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

“Holy shit.” Jason pants, his forehead resting against your shoulder. Sweat beads at his temple and he swallows thickly in a vain attempt to wet his dry throat. Your hand tangles in the back of his damp hair as you hold him close to you, your chest heaving with each breath.

“That was amazing. You’re amazing.” He kisses your neck and you squirm with a tired smile. “Thank you.” He pants again.

“Are you thanking me?” You ask with a breathless laugh. He nods. “Why?”

“For.. for letting me do.. that with you.” He answers. He pulls back and gives you a grin that makes him look boyish with his flushed cheeks. You smile and shake your head.

“It wasn’t just for you, you know.” You comment.

“I know,” he lowers himself next to you and wraps his arms around you, pulling your sweaty body against his. His palm is spread flat against your stomach, his thumb rubbing idle circles against your skin. “Did I hurt you?” He asks quietly. When you shake your head he sighs. “Good.”

“I am kinda thirsty, though.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” He breathes out a laugh. “Me too.”

“And hungry.” You admit shyly. His thumb stops and you almost laugh.

“Hungry? I did put you through a pretty rigorous work out.” He teases. You swat at his arm but that only makes him laugh. “What do you want to eat, pretty? I’ll have Alfred whip something up while you shower.”

“Mm….” you hum in thought, “I won’t lie, strawberry waffles sound pretty good right now.”

“Strawberry waffles coming right up.”

“Psst.” She tries to get Jason’s attention, a hushed whisper, mischievous smile on her face. The teacher’s attention is back on the board. “Psst, Jason. Jason Todd.” She whisper hisses again. You hold back your laughter when Jason turns around, wide eyed and curious.

“Yeah?” He whispers in response. It’s obvious he’s trying to keep his attention on the board so he doesn’t get in trouble on the first day, but Summer is more persistent than the need to be a good student.

“Where’re you from? Didja just move here?”

He shakes his head, “N-no. I-.. I’m from here. Gotham, I mean. I’m from Gotham.”

“Yeah, I got that with your accent. But, like, what neighborhood are you from?”

You roll your eyes at Summer, “Shut up, dummy, you’re gonna get us in trouble.” You scold her in a whisper. She waves you off and waits for Jason’s answer.

“Girls.” Your teacher’s voice rings out causing you two to sit up straight in your seats, Jason turns around with wide eyes. “He’s a new student, not an animal at the zoo. Pay attention and leave the yapping for after class, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You and Summer reply in unison. Satisfied, she nods and turns back to the board. A few kids around you snicker at your scolding.

“You should sit with us at lunch.” You tell Jason, your whisper as soft as a feather.

“Hush.” He responds, not even turning back around this time. But you see the way his cheeks turn up, telling you he’s smiling.

Summer elbows you softly with her own smile.

And so that day at lunch, just a few hours later, you find yourself calling out to Jason from across the lunch room, earning a groan from him as he keeps from shrinking at the unwanted attention that's drawn to him. The lunch room is crowded, like always, some smaller whisperings of the new student, rumors already starting.

“So, new kid-” Summer starts, sipping her milk.

“Jason.” He corrects her easily as he sits across from the two of you. His lunch tray clatters against the table as he sits with a huff.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she waves him off. You laugh under your breath at her. “You never said where you’re from. It’s not every day we get a transfer in halfway through the year, y’know.”

Jason pokes at his food like he doesn’t really want to answer. You narrow your eyes as you look at him, head tilting to the side. You make a mental note of how secretive he is. 

“You don’t have to answer her.” You tell him, kindly and with a warm smile. He looks at you and blinks once before he clears his throat. How eyes are focused back on his food.

“Uh, it- it’s okay. I was um… adopted.” He says it carefully like he’s trying to be vague. It makes your focus on him more intent, he shifts in his seat in response as he feels your eyes on him. 

“Cool! I’m adopted too!” Summer smiles before she’s sucking down the rest of her milk. Jason visibly relaxes at her revelation. He smiles in return and mutters a quick “cool” before he starts eating. “My mom and dad adopted me from….” Summer drones on, talking and talking, but your focus is solely on Jason.

The way his nose scrunches when he eats, the way he mutters along to Summer’s ramblings, but most importantly your focus is on how he keeps glancing at you only to look away causing the tips of his ears to turn red. Your face feels hot in response, a smile creeping up that you try to force back.

“Hey, when is your birthday?” You as Jason while Summer is too busy eating to say much of anything else.

“August sixteenth.”

“Oh. So you’re a Leo.” You tell him. He blinks once.

“I.. what do you mean?”

“Leo. Your zodiac sign. You’re a Leo. You can tell a lot about a person by their zodiac sign.” You repeat. Summer rolls her eyes. Jason just looks at you confused.

“Oh. So what does that mean? Me being a Leo.”

“It means you’re confident and loyal. Could also mean that you would make a good leader.” You nod once.

“She’s super into astrology and dumb stuff like that.”

“Hey, it’s not dumb.” You scowl at Summer, face warm with embarrassment. Jason smiles and you look away.

“She’s always trying to read my palm and stuff.” She continues to tease you. “It’s all hocus pocus, my mom says.”

“It is not, it’s real.”

“I think it’s kind of cool.” Jason pipes up. You and Summer stare at him like he grew a third head - Summer for the way he’s agreeing with you, you for him sticking up for you. “Yeah, you should read my palm.” He places his hand in the middle of the lunch table, palm up.

An excuse to get you to hold his hand.

“Are you sure?” You ask before he nods and you take his hand in both of yours. You swallow. His hand is so warm compared to yours. You bite down on your bottom lip before you trace over a line in his palm with your index finger, it's the first time you've ever held a boy's hand. It makes your heart race in your chest. But you breathe out slowly to control the way your stomach knots.

“Uh, so… this is your life line.” You point it out to Jason. Summer rolls her eyes, again, but goes back to eating her lunch. Jason nods with a hum. “It has a break,” you lean over the table to get a better look at his palm, “which gen- generally means there’s going to be a sudden change in your lifestyle.”

Jason laughs once, almost scoffing, before he nods once. “Yeah, checks out.” He mumbles. You tilt your head again but he shakes his in response, silently telling you to continue.

“Right, um.. So, a lifestyle change. And uh, you have a circle right before the break which could mean you’re going to be injured or-”

“Or what, die? Geez, don’t scare him off already!” Summer cuts you off with a scoff. “You’re gonna have him scared out of his mind with that talk! Told ya, hocus pocus.”

You shove your elbow into her arm and she sticks her tongue out in response.

“I am not! And it’s not hocus pocus!”

“An injury?” Jason ignores the bickering, his focus is on you now - intent and purposeful. Eyebrows set, lips pulling into a frown. You turn your attention back to him and stare for a second before nodding.

“That’s what it could mean, yes. And your fate line,” you trace that one next with your finger, “is broken as well. That could mean many changes in your life from outside forces.”

“Or it could just mean he has a lot of lines in his hand.” Summer scoffs.

Jason takes his hand from yours, slowly like he doesn’t want you to let go - but maybe that’s just your mind playing tricks on you.

“I don’t know, that stuff is kinda cool.” He shrugs, trying to act nonchalant but it's obvious that what you've said has struck something in him. “Bru- my dad,” he corrects himself, “knows a guy who does magic. He's kind of an asshole though. British.” He smiles at the use of the swear. Your eyes go wide before you and Summer laugh.

“A magician in Gotham? I thought we just had killer clowns and doofuses with cheesy riddles.” Summer teases before laughing again. “I don't believe it. Not for a second. All just a bunch of hocus pocus.” She smiles.

“Oh, ha ha.” You smirk softly at Summer before you start to eat your lunch. Your hand that traced against Jason’s rests in your lap now, you can still feel the tingle of his skin against your own. “You say that a lot. Hocus pocus.” You joke.

“It's what m’mom says.” She shrugs.

“Your mom also says that Batman is a vampire, so is she really the most credible source?”

Jason bursts out laughing at that. Hand on his stomach, nose scrunching, tears in his eyes, type of laughter.

“You guys are funny.” Jason tells you two as his bubbly laughs die down. It’s obvious how much he’s relaxed, a sense of accomplishment washing over you.

And so the three of you eat lunch together that day and every day after. Thick as thieves, the three of you. Wherever one of you went the other two were sure to be close behind.

Jason ended up being in a lot more of your classes than you expected. Almost all of them, to be exact, aside from three. And the proud little smile he wore at the start of each class period made you wonder if there really was a “scheduling conflict” or “too many kids in one class” like he told you. But you didn't mind, not really, not when he made class fun - made you want to actually go to class instead of dreading it like you usually did.

“Psst, what's the answer to three B?” He whispers to you from across the aisle in your math class. His worksheet is already complete, front and back, and you know all of the answers are correct because Jason is one of the smartest kids you've ever met.

“So, wait- what year did the war of 1812 start again?” He asks in history to get a giggle out of you. He'll never admit that the way you roll your eyes at him and call him stupid makes his chest feel tight and warm in a way he's never experienced before. 

“Can I borrow a pencil?” He asks in your art class. You eye the pencil on his desk and in the blink of an eye it's being tossed across the room with a smile on his face. “Lost mine,” he shrugs, “dunno where it went.” And for the third time that week you give him a smile that says you know what he's up to.

“Jason, that was my pencil.” You shake your head in amusement as his eyes go wide, as his smile falls.

“Oh shoot, it was.” The tips of his ears go red again before he's scrambling to collect the thrown pencil without getting caught like it's a stealth operation and he's the world's greatest spy.

“You're so weird.” You laugh under your breath when he makes it back to his seat.

“Mm, so I've been told. But you're still my friend.” He shrugs, holding the pencil in his hand like it's the lost holy grail.

Class drags on, the last one before the end of the day normally did. You're lost in your drawing - some still life of a bowl of fruit - when Jason clears his throat to get your attention.

“Hey, so what's this dance coming up?” He asks quietly. You hum to acknowledge you heard him before you actually answer.

“The school dance?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Did your old school have school dances?”

Jason shakes his head in response.

“Hm, they're okay. There's normally snacks and drinks and the school hires a DJ.” You tell him. He nods once and hums.

“We should go.” He finally says.

You look sideways at him, hand stilling against your paper. You never took him for someone who'd <I>want</I> to go to a dance.

“Yeah, we can talk to Summer after class and see-”

“No.” He shakes his head, ears red again. He can't even look at you and his voice sounds shaky, unsure of himself which is so unlike him. “Just… I mean, like.. just us. You and me.”

You blink once, twice, a third time before biting down on your bottom lip, smiling.

“Like a date?” You ask in a near whisper.

Jason looks like he's been electrocuted but slowly he nods his head twice.

“Yeah. A date. You and me, the school dance.”

Oh.

Your heart feels like it's beating so fast it's going to stop at any second. But you nod, your face warm, and there's no way you can stop yourself from smiling now.

“Um, y- yeah.” You stammer before clearing your throat softly. “Yes.” You say, more confident in your answer. “Yes, I would.. love to go with you. On a date. To the dance.”

Jason visibly deflates and lets himself smile, turning his head to look at you with a softness in his expression.

“We should totally color coordinate outfits.” He says. You laugh quietly.

“That's so lame.” You tease him. Then quickly add on, “Okay.”

"i ran and it was already pouring hard- so well—" you ceased his apology midway as you took the bouquet with furrowed brows and smile, "you didn't have to."

his eyes paused as they stared at your lips, his lips tugging up in sync to yours before he coughed and moved to sit across you, draping his jacket on the back of the chair.

"i did. otherwise im pretty sure I'd get an earful for being late."

"so this is bribery?"

"your words not mine."

but he really hadn't planned on being late, he was thorough in his selection of the flowers, hoping and praying that whatever he chose brings a smile on your face.

you had planned on being mad at him, maybe ending this little date sooner than decided but his charm was rubbing off on you in all the right ways.

he ruffled his hair to shake out the water before brushing them to make them seem less unruly. which didn't work. you had to stifle a laugh as you bit your lips.

"so can i know why you're—" you looked at your watch before back up at him, "thirty minutes late? the flowers are good enough bribe but I'd like to really know now."

he sighed out and a sheepish smile adorned his lips, his eyes glancing away from yours and finding solace on the drops accumulated on the window.

"before i tell you, i really had not planned on being late—"

"no one ever plans to be late i suppose." you interrupted with an amused smile, watching a big man squirm gives you just another kind of satisfaction.

"yes. yes you're right—"

"unless they're trying to be fashionably late." you bite back a grin at his pointed look, "i wasn't being fashionably late. now would you stop finding my misery hilarious and let me apologise properly?" he begged with a pleading smile and you chuckled before leaning back and nodding.

"right. so, i left my place on time—thirty minutes early even." he began explaining, "i thought it wouldn't be that hard to pick a bouquet. they make it look so easy in the films—"

"you watch romcoms?" you ask with a surprised grin, your brows raised a bit and he raised a brow at you, his lips tugging up, "is that judgement i hear in your voice?"

"no. i mean, i just thought that- well-" now that you have to put it into words it does feel judgemental, "someone like you—" you hadn't even finished your sentence and his brows raised up as he huffed out a chuckle, feigning disbelief.

"someone like me? wow." he shook his head slowly and you rolled your eyes as you gave him a deadpanned stare, though your smile wasn't the least bit deterred, "that is judgement. didn't know you were so..."

you raised a brow, smile turning as playful as his, daring him to continue.

and he thought he could wing this whole date, sail through smooth. he had game, he had flirted and dated— sometimes he didn't even need to— he can do this. yet his confidence dwindled, his cheeks turned reddish like an apple, heart plummeting to his stomach at the mere sight of your smile, at the realisation of its effects. disastrous, so very disastrous and still, he was attracted to it like a moth to a flame.

his mind went blank and his smile suddenly wasn't so smug. "....judgy."

your brows furrowed at his quiet answer and you chuckled, the sight confusing you yet you liked how you affected him. you shook your head and waved your hand, "continue please."

"right so bouquets." he wished he had at least ordered something so he could rather stare at it than face you, but it was inevitable right now, "i took too much time. i just— i didn't know what you would like and i didn't want to simply hand a rose bouquet. that would seem effortless and thoughtless—" he explained quite animatedly, his hands moving around, and your focus divided. in your defense, those are some brilliant hands, solid and sculpted.

but unknown to your thoughts, he mistook the wavering of your smile for displeasure , "—i mean i have nothing against it, of course. sorry do you like roses instead?"

"huh? oh no— no i love tulips!" you blink your eyes as you shook your head, cheeks reddening with embarrassment though you mask it quick, but then his words push through the haze and you realise he took all that mental trouble, just to choose a bouquet. many didn't even bring a bouquet, while he was hoping to get the one you liked.

"thank you." you smiled softly as you leaned in and kept a hand on his, hoping its enough to calm his alarmed mind.

it worked the opposite.

for a spilt second he even forgot the conversation, his eyes snapping to your soft ones resting over his. your hand wasn't necessarily small, yet over his they seemed dwarfed. it endeared him to no end, and he vehemently fought the urge to turn his hand over to engulf yours.

maybe this is what yearning is like, he thought, a simple touch of your hand is enough to make his senses come undone, his sanity go haywire, his soul to greed for more and more, still his mind reminds caution. caution because he doesn't want to corrupt you, you who deserved to be happy.

but he's already stepped in far too deep, what would it matter now to cross another few lines?

and with that, he turns his hand, not yet holding your hand but simply caressing your palm with his finger. your smile falters as it sends a shiver down your spine and he feels it too, and he likes it.

he pushed down the urge to grin and instead continued, "alright good. im glad you liked them." he smiled, so innocent as if he knows nothing about the tremors he's causing in your heart.

your mind's racing, racing so fast. this feels intimate. he's just holding— not even holding your hand— but this is worse! this feels rushed, you barely know the guy and yet his touch doesn't raise any flags in your mind. that gnawing feeling in your gut simply increases, like you know him, to explain why you're so okay with his touch.

his caress turned into a soft scratch and your eyes widened slightly as you looked up at him, only to find him smiling with a brow raised. you realised you didn't reply and instead were staring at your intertwined hands like a fool.

he can't already have put a spell on you. you can't accept that.

"so thirty minutes late? just from bouquet selection?" you cocked your head to the side and withdrew your hand, instead holding it around your cup and taking a big, embarrassing gulp instead of a sip. but the tea had already gone cold. "that still seems a bit much."

"my bike broke down then." he said the first thing that came to his mind, because if you knew him completely you'd know he keeps his bike in top condition, it can never break down.

to his utter misfortune, dick bumped into him, though he has a suspicion it maybe wasn't a coincidence. it took great restraint and patience to dodge dick's questions and teasing glance. he even aimlessly drove around in case dick was on his tail.

that's what took him so much time.

your brows rose up and you leaned in again, your eyes sparkling with curiosity, "you got a bike?" he paused, trying to discern your sudden interest in his bike.

"..yeah. why, you like em?" he asked and you laughed softly with a nod, "yeah. my dad loves bikes, he had a really sweet one. i learned to ride on that bike." you recalled with yearning in your eyes before looking down at your cup as you shrugged, "but its been years now since I've drove a bike."

his eyes sparkled like yours, even brighter since he realised you shared interests with him. conversation was easier after that, it went on for a good hour and you didn't even realise it. the conversation didn't feeling boring, they didn't feel forced or rushed— it felt normal and easy.

there was more than just words though. the lingering gazes, the teasing smile that bordered on something stronger than yearning, stolen touches. sometimes it was the fingers, sometimes his feet brushing against yours or his feet. when he felt particularly bold he kept his knees right there, close enough to touch but not quite. he liked the way your eyes widened slightly each time your legs brushed his, it was adorable how you scrambled to compose yourself. if he didn't already know you he wouldn't know just how affected you are.

you didn't get to know about him much besides his few likes and dislikes, you didn't pry much into his personal life. despite how much you felt like you knew him, you didn't want to push it. it had been the first time in a long time since a date went this well, you didn't want to spoil it.

"i can drop you home." he said and tilted his face in the same way that gets blood rushing to your face, and he knows it, since his smile widens playfully. you shook your head with a hesitant smile, "no i can walk home. i don't want to be a bother—"

"trust me you won't be." he gave you a pointed look before holding the extra helmet towards you and your brows furrowed, "you always carry an extra helmet?"

he hesitates and you smile as you take the helmet, your fingers brushing his, "or were you that confident about the date going so well that I'd agree to be dropped off?"

he was.

"just get on." he pretended to huff as he swung his leg on the bike, your eyes shamelessly staring before you put on your helmet and sit behind him.

"your bike's nice." you said quietly, you just needed to fill the awkward silence as you wondered where to put your hand on, the one thats not holding the bouquet to your chest. you've never been this awkward before and you reckon it has something to do with the butterflies in your stomach.

"i thought you've ridden on a bike before?" he playfully mused as he put on his helmet and your rolled your eyes. "i have, smartass, i just don't wanna make you uncomfortable—"

he grabbed your hands and pulled them around his waist, his own cheek reddening and throat closing up as his heart raced, "not a chance."

he revved the bike to life, the vibrations travelling through your very own body and you smile despite the tension between you both. its been a good while since you've been on one and it feels great. behind a man such as jason is a bonus.

as he drives through the gloomy roads of gotham your eyes linger on them. they dont seem that scary as they do when you're alone, even though the sound of the bike turns a few heads, the attention doesn't make you jumpy or alert.

your hands lingered just above his abs at first, before they gradually settled over his body, feeling the ridges and hard planes of his abs. unintentionally your hand travelled up, you didn't know when it happened and you realised it when you felt his racing heart under your palm. suddenly his hand closed over yours as he stopped the bike at the signal.

"someone's bold." he remarks despite his racing heart and your lips tug upwards, "does your heart always beat that fast when you drop off your date?"

only with you.

"only with you." you didn't expect him to say that, he didn't expect to say it out loud.

"that was corny. sorry."

"no it was adorable. its totally fine."

"you're making fun of me now?"

"and is that gonna be a problem?"

he chuckled as he slightly shook his head, and you felt it shaking your hand, bringing a smile to your lips, "smartass."

"what was that?" but he revved the engine and accelerated suddenly, causing you to yelp as your body is pulled behind for a moment by the inertia.

"show off." you muttered before lightly bumping your helmet with his and he simply smiled.

to your dismay your apartment reached sooner than later, and you got your hands off him reluctantly.

"the ride was nice. thank you for dropping me off." you said softly as you card through your now tangled hair, nose wrinkling as your hair tugged.

"no problem." he murmured, so low you might not have noticed it if you weren't already looking at his lips. he was staring, and so were you. he didn't know what good he did that he could be in your life as jason, but he promised to himself right then and there, that he wasn't going to mess this up.

your hands tightened around the bouquet as your looked away, subtly bringing your hair at the sides of your face so they cover your reddened ears, "have a safe ride home. bye."

he nodded as he watched you turn before his eyes widened, and as always, his hands worked faster than his voice.

"wait!" he had leaned a bit and grabbed your hand, tugging you back slightly causing you to turn around with your brows raised up.

"yeah?"

"you didn't..." he rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand as he huffed in frustration, frustration at his own inability to act cool. "second date. is there gonna be one?" he asked, rather grumpily, his brows furrowing as he appears to be less affected than he is.

for a moment you just stared. a man, almost the size of a certain vigilante you know, with a voice like that and a presence so heavy like that, is a grumpy mess. because of you.

and he still hasn't let go of your hand.

you tried stifling your laugh in a poor attempt as you nodded, "I'll text you, jason." you said gently in a playful manner before squeezing his hand.

his downturned lips slowly pulled into a smile as he squeezed your hand back, his hand lingering in the air as you let go. "goodbye."

"bye jason."

the bouquet might have gotten a bit wrinkled and missed a few petals, yet you arranged it delicately in your vase as soon as you stepped in your apartment. your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, your heart hurt from the shock of a date going so well.

maybe you were imagining it, but the flowery scent filled the air of your apartment just minutes into your home, just like he did into your heart.

yet a thought stayed into your mind, was it just your delusion or was he built exactly like red hood?

the patrol night was awfully weird for others as the usually snippy and sarcastic jason was in a rather tame mood. he was... happy? it got everyone's brain short circuiting, everyone except dick who had, in fact, followed him to see the cute little date he was on.

for once jason wasn't thinking of ways this could go wrong, he wasn't scared to take the leap of faith, he was simply... living. thats a rare word for a man like him in a profession like that. living is a luxury and you've got him feeling that. there's still a nagging feeling in his mind that rages saying its just the calm before the storm, its gonna end soon, you're gonna leave soon like everyone does— but for once he's strong enough to ignore it.

and that strength increases when he peers inside the window of your living room, despite the fact he hasn't visited as red hood for a good few days, you still sleep on the couch, awaiting him.

with the flowers he gave in the vase beside the couch.

maybe its okay to hope.

reblogs are much appreciated! :)

taglist : @itzmeme @bmyva1entine @sept3mberchild @lightthatgoout @satan-s-ass @deadbeatphobos @starshinegrl @ttdamian @lexi2005 @dontyouthinkitstrange @zhentheraven @justheretochillabitlowkey @nori-is-me @kvzutora @mischief-somehow-managed