Am I the only one who thinks that Jason Peter Todd, built like a brick-shit house, would be a Trust Fund Baby (By Why Don't We) coded /type of man?
Like yes, he's rich, he's the (adopted) son of a billionaire and has like a side-line of being an underground criminal boss, there's prolly a shit ton of money he's pulling in, but he'd like someone who's not FROM his social class?
I'd imagine the person like, being some local clinic nurse or a barista or something else entirely, raised by their dad, knows their way around the streets, sassy, and has a no nonsense attitude that he just HAS to find hot?
But we all know he's too socially awkward, having died in his teens, to actually make a move
(ignore all the question marks, I'm very sleep deprived and cannot think straight rn)
divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto & @omi-resources
word count: 835
synopsis: Jason’s secret relationship is discovered by Damian—who keeps showing up uninvited. Jason’s patience is tested, popcorn is made, but at least Damian brought cinnamon rolls.
a/n: this one went off the rails slightly and the rest of the upcoming parts are equally as unhinged (at least compared to what I usually write).
Compared to your apartment, Jason’s place was practically Fort Knox. You and he had been dating long enough that you’d practically moved in—and you knew his secret identity. Still, you’d never met his family, something Jason was adamant about keeping that way. You knew of them, of course, but hadn’t expected to meet them anytime soon.
Which was why you definitely weren’t expecting a ten-year-old ninja to break in.
You had just stepped out of the shower when you heard it—the quiet thud. At first, you thought it might’ve been Jason returning from patrol early. But then came the faint creak of the window opening.
Jason never used the window.
Cautiously, you stepped into the living room, still in a robe, hair dripping. And froze.
There, near the kitchen counter, stood a boy. Arms crossed. Hood down. Eyes sharp as blades.
“You’re not his roommate,” he said flatly.
You blinked. Your shoulders slowly relaxed. While you’d never met Damian Wayne personally, you’d seen enough pictures—and heard Jason complain just enough about the “demon child”—to recognize him instantly.
“…And you’re not the pizza guy,” you replied, equally dry, one brow raised. “So I guess we’re both surprised.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t even blink. Just stared, like he was trying to unearth your darkest secrets with sheer willpower.
“Who are you?” he demanded, stepping forward.
“His girlfriend,” you said, calmly. And waited for the explosion.
There was no point in hiding it. You figured that now that you’d met Damian, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the Bat-family found out. Honestly, you were surprised they hadn’t already—weren’t they supposed to be the world’s greatest detectives?
It didn’t take long.
“I knew it,” the boy hissed. “He’s been acting suspicious for weeks. Staying out longer. Not snapping at everyone. There was even a smile—a smile—on his face during training.”
He circled you slowly, hands behind his back like a miniature detective—or a very judgmental cat. “I assumed he was hiding something. Drugs. Maybe a dog. But you… you’re worse.”
Your lips twitched. “A dog would’ve been worse, to be honest. He’s not exactly home on time for walkies.”
He ignored your joke. “How do I know you’re not a threat? An assassin. A spy. Someone sent to manipulate him.”
You raised your hands in mock surrender. “You think I’m seducing Jason Todd for intel?” You snorted. “Believe me, no one’s paying me for this kind of emotional labor.”
His lips twitched—just barely. Not a smile. Not quite. But something close.
Still, he didn’t back down. “What do you know about him?”
“Enough to stay,” you answered simply, dropping onto the couch and toweling off your hair. “Enough to know he sleeps better when I’m here. Eats better. Talks more. Still leaves his laundry everywhere, but that’s apparently not fixable.”
Damian stood frozen, like he was running your answer through a thousand internal filters.
Eventually, he moved to sit—perching like a hawk on the armrest across from you, expression still wary but less… militant.
“So you know what he does,” Damian said stiffly.
“It’s how we met,” you replied, reaching for the remote. “He was horrible at keeping the whole alter ego a secret.”
“Are you trained?” he asked next.
“To deal with him? Yes.” You shot him a grin. “To fight? Not really. But I have excellent aim with a frying pan.”
For the first time, a snort escaped him—quick and unintentional. And then: “I suppose you’re tolerable.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone under five feet has said to me.”
Damian frowned. “I’m ten.”
“Still under five feet.”
He huffed but stayed where he was, and after a moment, reached for the coffee table and grabbed the half-finished puzzle you’d been working on. Without asking, he began fitting pieces into place with alarming precision.
An hour later, Jason came home through the fire escape, expecting silence—or maybe the sound of you watching reruns, bundled up in one of his old shirts.
What he didn’t expect was the sight of you and his youngest brother sitting side by side on the floor, surrounded by puzzle pieces and popcorn, mid-argument about whether Red Hood could beat a grizzly bear in a fight on pure strength alone.
He stopped in the doorway and stared.
Damian glanced up. “You’re late.”
Jason blinked. “You broke in.”
“He made popcorn,” you said helpfully, tossing a piece into your mouth.
Jason pointed between the two of you. “What the hell is happening?”
“She’s tolerable,” Damian said, as if that answered everything.
Jason groaned. “I leave for two hours…”
“And you almost lost your popcorn privileges for keeping me hidden,” you added, smirking at him. “Apparently, I’m a national security threat.”
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about Wayne surveillance equipment and upgrading the locks to keep out demons.
But secretly?
He didn’t mind the sight of the two people he cared about most, sitting there together and getting along.
divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto & @omi-resources
word count: 835
synopsis: Jason’s secret relationship is discovered by Damian—who keeps showing up uninvited. Jason’s patience is tested, popcorn is made, but at least Damian brought cinnamon rolls.
a/n: this one went off the rails slightly and the rest of the upcoming parts are equally as unhinged (at least compared to what I usually write).
Compared to your apartment, Jason’s place was practically Fort Knox. You and he had been dating long enough that you’d practically moved in—and you knew his secret identity. Still, you’d never met his family, something Jason was adamant about keeping that way. You knew of them, of course, but hadn’t expected to meet them anytime soon.
Which was why you definitely weren’t expecting a ten-year-old ninja to break in.
You had just stepped out of the shower when you heard it—the quiet thud. At first, you thought it might’ve been Jason returning from patrol early. But then came the faint creak of the window opening.
Jason never used the window.
Cautiously, you stepped into the living room, still in a robe, hair dripping. And froze.
There, near the kitchen counter, stood a boy. Arms crossed. Hood down. Eyes sharp as blades.
“You’re not his roommate,” he said flatly.
You blinked. Your shoulders slowly relaxed. While you’d never met Damian Wayne personally, you’d seen enough pictures—and heard Jason complain just enough about the “demon child”—to recognize him instantly.
“…And you’re not the pizza guy,” you replied, equally dry, one brow raised. “So I guess we’re both surprised.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t even blink. Just stared, like he was trying to unearth your darkest secrets with sheer willpower.
“Who are you?” he demanded, stepping forward.
“His girlfriend,” you said, calmly. And waited for the explosion.
There was no point in hiding it. You figured that now that you’d met Damian, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the Bat-family found out. Honestly, you were surprised they hadn’t already—weren’t they supposed to be the world’s greatest detectives?
It didn’t take long.
“I knew it,” the boy hissed. “He’s been acting suspicious for weeks. Staying out longer. Not snapping at everyone. There was even a smile—a smile—on his face during training.”
He circled you slowly, hands behind his back like a miniature detective—or a very judgmental cat. “I assumed he was hiding something. Drugs. Maybe a dog. But you… you’re worse.”
Your lips twitched. “A dog would’ve been worse, to be honest. He’s not exactly home on time for walkies.”
He ignored your joke. “How do I know you’re not a threat? An assassin. A spy. Someone sent to manipulate him.”
You raised your hands in mock surrender. “You think I’m seducing Jason Todd for intel?” You snorted. “Believe me, no one’s paying me for this kind of emotional labor.”
His lips twitched—just barely. Not a smile. Not quite. But something close.
Still, he didn’t back down. “What do you know about him?”
“Enough to stay,” you answered simply, dropping onto the couch and toweling off your hair. “Enough to know he sleeps better when I’m here. Eats better. Talks more. Still leaves his laundry everywhere, but that’s apparently not fixable.”
Damian stood frozen, like he was running your answer through a thousand internal filters.
Eventually, he moved to sit—perching like a hawk on the armrest across from you, expression still wary but less… militant.
“So you know what he does,” Damian said stiffly.
“It’s how we met,” you replied, reaching for the remote. “He was horrible at keeping the whole alter ego a secret.”
“Are you trained?” he asked next.
“To deal with him? Yes.” You shot him a grin. “To fight? Not really. But I have excellent aim with a frying pan.”
For the first time, a snort escaped him—quick and unintentional. And then: “I suppose you’re tolerable.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone under five feet has said to me.”
Damian frowned. “I’m ten.”
“Still under five feet.”
He huffed but stayed where he was, and after a moment, reached for the coffee table and grabbed the half-finished puzzle you’d been working on. Without asking, he began fitting pieces into place with alarming precision.
An hour later, Jason came home through the fire escape, expecting silence—or maybe the sound of you watching reruns, bundled up in one of his old shirts.
What he didn’t expect was the sight of you and his youngest brother sitting side by side on the floor, surrounded by puzzle pieces and popcorn, mid-argument about whether Red Hood could beat a grizzly bear in a fight on pure strength alone.
He stopped in the doorway and stared.
Damian glanced up. “You’re late.”
Jason blinked. “You broke in.”
“He made popcorn,” you said helpfully, tossing a piece into your mouth.
Jason pointed between the two of you. “What the hell is happening?”
“She’s tolerable,” Damian said, as if that answered everything.
Jason groaned. “I leave for two hours…”
“And you almost lost your popcorn privileges for keeping me hidden,” you added, smirking at him. “Apparently, I’m a national security threat.”
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about Wayne surveillance equipment and upgrading the locks to keep out demons.
But secretly?
He didn’t mind the sight of the two people he cared about most, sitting there together and getting along.
🧷 𑁯 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐘 ── 𝓙𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 w/ an 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! reader ഒ
♡ · REQUEST ── ❝ Could I pretty please request a fic thats Jason Todd X reader!!! But like... Reader is THAT girl . . . She has and always will be the shit of Gotham . . . Jason and reader have been friends since his robin dayz, and after he dies they still get back together and resume their bad bitch couple shit . . . it melts ppls hearts. ❞
⊹ 💬 · these reqs are so fun i love writing jaybeans and reader totally in love and being the hottest people in the room <3
ഒ DIRECTORY⠀;⠀RULES⠀;⠀REQ HERE (CUR. OPEN).
Jason thinks he knows what sanctuary feels like—heaven built brick by brick by the hands of an angel he once knew before the waves of the Lazarus Pit covered him completely. It changed his young skin into something marred.
He did come back. He clawed his way out of his grave. But he came back wrong. He left something of the boy he used to be under that dirt. The name ‘Jason Todd’ etched upon that gravestone was long forgotten by most.
By most. Not all.
There had been white lilies upon his grave. It was like clockwork. Every month She came to him—or where She thought he rested. He watched from afar. His eyes never left the angel he used to know—his sanctuary.
She had grown up into something otherworldly. She wasn’t the girl he used to see during the Galas Bruce dragged him to, clinging to her parents as if everyone else around her scared her. Her glossy eyed stare had found him then. It had been so easy to attach himself to Her.
She was his friend. Is still now by the look of it. She never stopped visiting with those White Lilies, grieving losing something as if he was something She held dear.
She’s something different now. The girl She was still lingered behind those sharp eyes—hypnotizing to a fault—eyes that used to trap him in their hold and still continue to do so to this day.
She walks with a purpose now. Every step is calculated. People in Gotham City worship or curse the ground She walks on. It doesn’t change the fact everyone knows Her. Everyone notices Her.
She shines the brightest in this whole damned city.
He had wished She could shine upon him as well. He took his chance. Like a dog scratching at its owner’s door, begging to be let in—he caved and ran to the only sanctuary he’d known—Her.
She opened the door.
It was a dark night when he visited Her. The alabaster moon’s light was akin to a halo around Her. Her hair was perfectly imperfect—styled but slightly messy from sleeping. Her skin just as alive as he remembered it.
Her eyes still looked at him as if She loved his own sea-green eyes. Her hands now slender and soft—different from the calloused hands of his—still tender as they grazed his face, testing if he was real. As if this was a dream for Her, as if She dreamed of him.
The way She brought him into Her hold felt like a dream. The way She let him wrap his arms around her felt like a dream.
He’d entered the sanctuary again after that night alongside Her. Or maybe, the sanctuary was always just Her.
Next to Her he felt alive. The boy Jason Todd came alive under Her touch. It felt akin to lightning under his fingertips. It felt like a drug he was getting addicted to.
She was his. He was Hers.
The wide-eyed stares the two of them got was ever so worth it. Gotham City’s angel had brought heaven to the devil. Her hands played the entire Gotham elite like an instrument. She was Gotham City’s crowned princess, and him—the prince.
The media was alive with rumors about the two of them.
‘Is Love Real? Jason Todd's Soft Eyes™ Only for Gotham's It Girl: Gotham gasps. Media combusts. Hearts melt.’
Jason wasn’t used to this kind of light.
Not from the moon, not from Her living room dimmed by candlelight, not from the soft flash of paparazzi bulbs trying to catch a glimpse of their joined silhouettes through the tinted windows of a passing car.
He wasn’t used to being seen like this.
Not as a weapon. Not as a story of resurrection gone wrong.
But as Hers.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
There's something about the way She walks beside him. Like Gotham belongs to Her and She’s just letting everyone else borrow the sidewalk.
Jason doesn’t flinch under the eyes anymore. He used to. Used to brace himself for whispers or stares, expecting judgment or recognition or worse.
But now—now the stares are different.
They’re envious.
Jason said, “You wanna ditch this place?” His voice carried the weight of a man who’d learned the value of simple pleasures after tasting both death and resurrection.
She turned to him, eyes gleaming like She knew every life he'd lived—and said, “Yeah. But I'm driving.” The words simple but carrying universes between them.
He’d never loved a voice more in his life.
The next morning, tabloids were in flames.
‘Gotham's Golden Girl and the Reformed Robin.’
A grainy photo of them in a booth at some dive on the east end—Her in his leather jacket, him smiling like he forgot how to scowl, like happiness wasn’t just something that happened to other people.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
Tim said, “So, this is a thing now?” His voice cutting through the manor’s morning quiet like a curious bird.
Jason shrugged, sipping coffee in the manor kitchen like he didn’t just spend the night wrapped in silk sheets and Her perfume, like dawn hadn’t broken over his skin with Her breath against his neck. “Guess it is.”
“Since when?”
“Since she opened the damn door.” And with those words, heaven had let him back in.
Dick walked in, caught sight of the look on Jason's face and went, “Oh my god, he's in love.” The words hanging in the air like a revelation.
That’s when Roy burst in through the back entrance, wild-haired and sleep-deprived, clearly running off three hours of rest and one Red Bull, a whirlwind of motion and disbelief.
“I just saw the photo, and I swear to God, tell me it's Photoshop.”
Jason blinked. “Morning to you too, Harper.”
Roy stormed into the kitchen, phone in hand, showing the now-viral tabloid shot of Her sitting on Jason’s motorcycle in a black leather mini-dress and his jacket like she was the poster girl for ‘my boyfriend’s a reformed vigilante and I run this city.’
“This. This is real?! You and her?!”
Jason didn't even look. “Yeah. Real.” In those two words, the certainty of a man who’d touched divinity and lived to tell about it.
Tim sipped his drink like this was better than reality television.
Dick leaned against the fridge, smirking. “He’s been soft for her since we were kids.”
Roy stared at all of them, processing, then slowly sat down at the kitchen island like his legs gave out. “No, I need a minute. I’m dizzy. Jason Todd has a goddess who voluntarily chooses to hang out with him?”
Jason raised a brow. “You good?”
“No! I am not good!” Roy pointed dramatically. “You’re hot in a feral, ‘I fought my way out of hell’ kinda way. She’s hot in a ‘Vogue cover and private yacht in Monaco’ kinda way. That math doesn't math.”
“Sounds like jealousy to me.” Jason just grinned like the devil himself got a second chance at heaven.
after learning about nagumo rejecting any confessions by lying & saying he has multiple partners, it felt right to include this in a v-day fic (wc: 3k...please don't judge) (sigh)
“Nagumo-senpai! Please accept these chocolates I made just for you!”
“Hm?” The man of the hour–and frankly, of the day, based on the mountains of gift boxes surrounding him–finally looks up mid-bite from the dark chocolate bar in his hands. He glances at the furiously blushing girl for half a second before shrugging languidly and giving his signature closed eye smile known to enrapture every JCC girl caught in the Nagumo Yoichi stratosphere.
The same smile that irritates you to no end.
Like a spoiled child on his birthday, he grabs the gift first before expressing any shred of gratitude. “Wow, that’s so nice of you!”
A beat passes as he opens the fuchsia heart-shaped box, a charge of giddiness felt in the air despite him performing the same action for at least the hundredth time today.
Square chocolate truffles that resemble the dice Nagumo always fiddles with during class. Such creativity would’ve earned your impressed nod, Sakamoto’s brief–but altogether curious–glance, or perhaps a slight brow raise from Akao. Unfortunately, any factor of originality became lost after some first year from the public relations department had gifted him nearly identical ones a few hours earlier. (Not to mention, the same concept was already executed exactly one year ago.)
To your pleasant surprise, Nagumo is considerate enough to take a bite and not immediately chuck the gift into the large cardboard box of chocolates he’s been wheeling around all day. You’re afraid that this year, he might actually have to bribe someone from the weapons manufacturing department with his never-ending supply of chocolates in exchange for another hand truck to hold all the remaining confectionery he has and will continue to receive in the next twelve hours. Maybe he should’ve considered doing a parade float to catch all the chocolates at once. Akao stopped keeping count two hours ago (“I ran outta space!” she huffed before shaking her sharpie to add yet another tally to her arm), but you’re quite confident he’s easily passed the 200 threshold he had set last Valentine’s Day. At the very least, he’s certainly passed the limit of 152 chocolates he got two years ago.
After three years at the JCC, it’s become both a well-established tradition and record-breaking event.
(There’s a reason why Nagumo holds no qualms in declaring it as his favorite holiday.)
“Thank you, these are soooo good!” It comes off as sincere to everyone but those currently sitting at the table, and it takes all your willpower not to have your eyes roll into the back of your head. “Oh, also, do we know each other?”
Akao, who sits on Nagumo’s other side, chokes on her drink as she fails to hold in the rowdy laughter that makes her shoulders shake. You guess you spoke too soon, beginning to notice all the other...quirks…his countless admirers easily gloss over. He doesn’t even have the decency to wipe off the dark crumbs coating the corner of his mouth, a melted mess you have to avert your gaze from lest your twitching fingers find themselves in a place they shouldn’t be.
And your heart almost aches for the girl, who quickly recovers from her crestfallen expression while she musters a determined smile. “We were paired for an assignment in History of the 20th Century Assassins Industry.”
“Nagumo attending class? This jerkface? You sure it wasn't a dummy in his spot?” Akao asks while she grabs an extra piece of steak from the plate of a frowning Sakamoto. However, her disinterested tone makes it sound less like a question and more like a recitation of a textbook she's been forced to read.
The girl’s mouth opens and closes like a flailing fish gasping for water. But even then, she’s gorgeous, with an angelic face framed by long lashes and full, glossy lips. Her nails are perfectly manicured, the dark red color matching the color of her headband, which helps hold her shiny hair into a sleek ponytail. You can see the gears in her head turning–perhaps the conversation she recalled with Nagumo that fateful day in class was a figment of her imagination–but she persists.
“O-of course it wasn't! He wouldn’t do that!”
“Yeah, of course I wouldn’t! I’m a diligent student and assassin, first and foremost,” he agrees with an emphatic nod, though for some reason those large, dark eyes don’t meet hers and instead remain on you.
Ashamedly, you’re the first to break the gaze, trying to ignore the strange flutter in your chest by joining Akao in eating the new chocolates now placed on the lunch table for everyone to consume.
You regret trying it the moment the die-shaped chocolate melts on your tongue. It’s too bitter, and you surmise that the waxy, almost crayon-like texture ruining the taste is due to the lack of lecithin. The aftertaste is so unpleasant that you attempt to wash it down with a reluctant bite of your dreaded JCC bowl.
Nagumo has always sworn not to accept chocolates from students in the poisons department. Although your background might make you slightly biased, you rather risk dying from the very slim odds of ingesting a poisonous set of chocolates (and sure, chances may be non-zero, but they are slim!) rather than trying hundreds of cheap, crappy ones.
“Not to kick ya out or anything,” Akao says while switching to the tomo-choco you had given her earlier today, a smug smile on her face while she swats away Nagumo’s greedy hands, “but we’re almost done with lunch, and this line keeps getting longer.”
What had been something you ignored earlier can no longer be dismissed; in fact, you swear the line of about ten eager girls now doubled in the five mere minutes since this alleged Assassins History classmate–who you still don’t know the name of–offered her crudely made chocolates to Nagumo.
“My apologies!” Her face turns a shade redder than you think is possible. Every JCC student, regardless of the department they're in, knows not to mess with Akao. “I just have one more request.”
“Oh?” An agreeable Nagumo tilts his head before lying on his palm, clearly amused. “And what’s that?”
“Please let me make you miso soup every day!” she exclaims with a sharp bow that causes your own face to flush from embarrassment.
Akao spits out her drink, Sakamoto unamused by the spray of green tea that ruins his shirt and hard-earned steak. However, some of the girls who also want to give chocolates to the aloof silver-haired man stay in the second line that has more recently formed behind him, chocolates still grasped tightly in their hands while remaining undeterred by any rapid changes in the inclement weather.
“No way! A marriage proposal, that’s a first!” Akao guffaws, wiping away the tears in her eyes. “And here I was thinkin’ I had already seen everything. Whatever happened to just going on a date?”
“Like going to a shooting range?” Sakamoto inquires.
“No, you idiot,” she says in between Nagumo’s breezy laughs, which do not betray a hint of jumbled nerves you’d undoubtedly feel if some random stranger had asked to marry you. “I mean like going to an aquarium or hell, even doing something as cliche as watching a movie together.”
“Nagumo does like Christopher Nolan movies,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else. He had expressed a rather alarming level of excitement over the latest trailer of Inception, especially after finding out parts of it were filmed in Tokyo and Kyoto.
Yet what surprises you more is not that you echoed your thoughts aloud but that you instantly feel a heavy arm wrapped around your shoulder.
Suddenly, your face is squished against the crook of someone’s neck.
“And I’m sorry, but this is exactly why I must reject your kind offer!” Nagumo chirps, and you can feel the way his neck tightens so he can give that wide, carefree smile to the girl whose dreams he’s about to shatter. “Because I’m already dating someone!”
All at once, you feel your blood simultaneously freeze and boil.
You’re somewhat relieved that the loud pounding of your heart blocks your ears from fully hearing the chorus of groans, cries, and gasps around the lunch table. Your frenetic train of thought halts temporarily when you notice the new tattoo on the bicep wrapped around you.
An inverted black and white triangle comprised of rectangles, some decorated with words and others remaining blank spaces he has yet to fill out. Your eyes remain fixed on the letters that spell out ‘FRIEND’, your mind wracking for the reference this new art project is making.
“Neat, huh?” he whispers, uncaring for all the surprised reactions to the recent (and more importantly, fake) news that threaten to swallow you two whole. “Still need to work on my lettering, but I’m getting there. It should be ready before Inception comes out. Hopefully, it’s as good as Memento. By the way, we should watch that together!”
The warmth of his breath tickles your skin, the smell of chocolate overwhelming. Though your mouth tries to form some words of protest, nothing comes out. And the more you try to squirm out of his grasp, the more he holds you flush against him, an effective finger trap there is no escaping from.
Amidst all this, you can feel the calm beat of his heart, unperturbed by the mess he’s created. By the chaos that even the god of mischief would struggle to unleash so easily.
“You’re dating each other?” the girl finds the courage to ask, but not before casting a strange look your way. You only wish your mouth could work to tell her there is no reason to be jealous. And with the constant somersaults in your stomach, you wonder if your face is as green as her envious one.
“I can’t believe it!” another student shouts.
“There’s no way!” someone else pipes in, voice shrill with indignation.
“And someone from the poisons department?”
“My, my, let’s not be rude,” Nagumo interjects, and perhaps it’s the lack of oxygen getting to your head from the way his arm is practically suffocating you, but you swear you hear an edge to that saccharine voice. “But yes, the object of my affection is reserved for the poisons-making student who made the best chocolates this year, by far, might I add!”
You’re not sure why that is the statement that snaps you out of your stupor, but you find it imperative to whisper, “I didn’t give you chocolates this year.”
“I meant last year!”
“But I didn’t–”
“Now, let’s not rub salt in the wound! Not again!” he chides, not unkindly. You feel his arm tighten at the same time his heart seems to skip a beat.
Your brows furrow. Surely, the man who received over 150 chocolates from the assassin’s department alone–and the same man who will likely have double that amount by the end of today–isn’t still bothered by the fact that you once refused to give him chocolates. Chocolates that his stupid, arbitrary principles would prevent him from accepting.
Not to mention, it was a year ago!
Before you can say anything, the persistent girl whose name you’ll probably never know throws her last hat in the ring.
“I-I don’t mind if you’re dating, truly!” she insists, strands of her ponytail coming loose from her vigorous nodding. “I would make you happy! Even as a second partner!”
“No need!” Nagumo says swiftly and confidently, “Because I already have a second girlfriend!”
Akao barely lets him snake his arm around her before she whacks him in the head. He decides to let her go after the third bump forms on his head–and he has the gall to laugh despite the injuries–but his grip on you remains steadfast.
“But I thought you only had one object of affection!”
“You heard wrong,” he lies smoothly. “I have many objects of affection! I’m a loving and kind person, after all!”
When the girl finally retreats and gives up, another girl pops up in her place, and you feel your dizzy head grow lighter. “Then that means I would be honored and happy to be your third–”
“Well, funny you mention that”–Nagumo chuckles with an amicable grin as he glances at his spectacled friend across from him–“because actually–"
“No,” Sakamoto cuts in, quiet but resolute. “Don’t even think about it.”
“There you are!”
Your shoulders tense, only to sag in relief upon seeing your roommate Asami.
She sits next to you, letting her toes dig into the sand while she waits for you to speak. When you prefer to quietly observe the waves retreating into the ocean, she decides to break the silence with, “You always have the worst Valentine’s Day, huh?”
“All I’ll say is that I’ve never been more grateful for Sakamoto Taro,” you grumble with an eye roll. Nagumo would never shy away from poking a bear, but there was no mistaking the slight flash of dread and regret in those usually mirthful eyes when the decision to continue his infinite partners prank was met by a fierce tackle from JCC’s strongest assassin-in-training.
Akao joined in at the last minute, too. ("Finally, something fun is happening today!" she had exclaimed, her golden eyes glowing with excitement as she jumped the two bickering men.)
Their silly fight gave you a few precious seconds to run away from the girls chasing you to learn more about your relationship with Nagumo. As if you knew the answer yourself.
While they did chase you out of your own bedroom, at least they gave up once you headed to the poisons-making wing. Poisoning them would’ve been your last resort, but maybe it was good to feed into (relatively) baseless rumors once in a while.
“Grateful for Sakamoto-kun, hmm? Would you say he’s the object of your affection?”
Afraid that the resolute shake of your head isn’t a sufficient answer, you feel the urgent need to elaborate. “We’re not doing this again. I don’t, wait, hold on. Sakamoto-kun?“
Your body shifts, eyes narrowing at a smiling Nagumo. “Ever heard of the saying, ‘Once a creep, always a creep’?”
He wags a disapproving finger. “So that’s certainly not how you pronounce ‘master of disguise,’ but I strongly believe even the dullest knives in the kitchen can learn quickly.”
“Spoken like a true creep.”
“Ah, don’t be mean!” He tilts his head, daring to act innocent with a wink accompanied by a small grin. “Not when you secretly love my costumes.”
“The same way you secretly love all those terribly made chocolates?”
The laugh he barks out as he doubles over is loud, uncharacteristically harsh when it comes from such a graceful person like him. The realization that you might be one of the few to have heard him laugh like this makes your chest constrict so tightly that you exhale quickly to expel any lingering thoughts.
“Well, I wouldn’t have to pretend if you just gave me enough chocolates to munch on instead. You know, a single piece might hold me over to the next year.”
“Next year?!” Such nerve! “After that trick you pulled today, you’re lucky if you live to see next week.”
“You’re such a terrible liar,” he breathes out with a chuckle, “that I would struggle to lie about you being a good one.”
“And what makes you say that?”
His reply comes in the form of his arm, once again, finding its home around your waist. When you turn to look at him, faces so close you can still smell the chocolate on his breath, he breaks the closing gap with a small, white tin box.
Eyes widening, your hand instinctively goes to the now empty canvas bag that lay beside you. “How did you know?”
“To be honest, which I always am, I actually wasn’t sure. But I’m glad you confirmed it for me now!” He shakes the box lightly, his lazy smile widening as he hears the sound of multiple pieces of chocolate hitting the metal like a pinball machine. “I may have also seen you give these same boxes to Akao, Sakamoto-kun, and Asami…so, simply by process of elimination, I guess that leaves me.”
If it’s one thing Nagumo will never be in short supply of, it’s his audacity.
But more often than you’d like to admit, you forget how observant Nagumo is. How observant he is of you. Strange enough, you’re unsure if the shiver wracking your spine is from fear or a pleasant jolt of surprise and intrigue.
Perhaps both.
“And if I told you they were actually for me?”
His smile is softer, yet not a trace of amusement leaves his gaze. “Then maybe you’re not that bad of a liar.”
The roll of your eyes is half-hearted as you gently prod at his fingers to take the box from him. Removing the lid, you finally offer him a piece of chocolate.
Similar to the ones you’ve given the others, it’s simple in design. The truffle doesn’t assume the shape of dice but of a sphere, and the ganache center of cream and raspberry makes Nagumo’s eyes briefly widen in wonderment before they close contentedly.
“It’s the best chocolate I’ve had today, maybe ever! And to think you were gonna kill me before I could taste this!”
Against your best judgment (and self-control), your chest puffs from pride. “Well, it should kill you in the next ten minutes if I guessed your body weight correctly.”
Nagumo shaves that time a lot more quickly when he practically chokes on his second truffle.
“I was kidding!” you clarify with a firm pat to his back, poorly masking your laughter with a sigh of exasperation. “Do you think so little of me?”
“This is why I don’t take chocolates from you conniving poisons assassins!”
“Fine, sorry that I gave you a taste of your own medicine. Happy now?”
He recovers from his choking incident at a faster rate than you anticipate, suddenly lifting his head so you can see how the mischievous gleam in his eyes hints he is far from satisfied.
“Only if we go see Inception together.”
“Seriously?” you scoff, hoping your face isn’t as hot as it feels. “That’s not coming out for another few months, at the earliest!”
“Then I guess I’ll be mad at you for that long.”
“Fine, fine, you insolent child.” Giving in, you both stand up and begin to make your way back to school grounds. “We’ll watch it together…”
Nagumo happily eats another chocolate, and you wonder if you’re hallucinating the slight skip to his steps. “I can’t wait–“
“–And I’m sure my second and third girlfriends Akao and Sakamoto will also be excited to join us!”
It’s a miracle your words made him freeze for the next few seconds before he lets out a surprised ‘Hey!’, giving you some much-needed time to run to Sakamoto for protection.
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