red's' wonderland of melancholia

18 years old

[beardedmrbean]

[theman]

I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF

[tattooedzombigirl]

This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.

[secondlina]

Reblogging because it’s a damn potato and I want to encourage people to assume potatoes are magical.

[plagued-roses]

MAGIC POTATO GO!🥔

[thaumbody]

here we go again

reblogging the golden potato

hoping it will work

that my life will get a perk

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Always reblog the potato.

[wreneddieilysm]

Rebloged.

[chiara-hotel]

lowkey need luck rn 🙏🥔🥔🥔

[lifequixotics]

Potato of luck make my Japanese test go well

[jurisnow]

potato of luck

[kashun]

━━━ WAIT . . . IT WASN’T RECIPROCAL?!

𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ you spend three years convinced your academic rival sukuna hates you back, only to find out he’s been hopelessly in love with you the entire time.

✿ ◞◟) ryomen sukuna 𝓍 gn!reader

𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 fluff, college!au, secretly soft!sukuna, academic rivals to lovers, forced proximity (paired final project), sukuna wears glasses, miscommunication is the villain, competition as flirting, first kiss, oblivious idiots in love.

the thing about hating ryomen sukuna was that it had never been a conscious decision.

you couldn't point to a specific day, a singular moment where you looked at him and thought, yes, this is it. this is the person i will dedicate a concerning amount of my emotional energy to despising. it just happened, the way moss creeps over stones or rust eats into metal — it happened slowly, quietly, and then all at once.

maybe it was because you were always neck-and-neck for the top of every class, your names sitting side by side on ranked assignment lists like they were married to each other against both of your wills. maybe it was because sukuna had this infuriating habit of leaning against your shared locker bank every morning, arms crossed, watching you approach with that half-lidded expression that managed to convey how utterly beneath him he found you without him having to say a single word. maybe it was because sukuna never let you win at anything — not group projects, not debate club, not even the stupid karaoke contest at utahime's birthday party last semester where he absolutely butchered a journey song and still somehow got a higher score than you.

whatever it was, the hatred was there. it lived in your chest like a second heartbeat, hot and familiar, something you could always count on when everything else felt uncertain.

you hated ryomen sukuna.

and you were pretty sure he hated you too.

this was simply the natural order of things, as stable and predictable as gravity — you walked into a room, sukuna was there, the air got thicker, you glared at each other, and the universe continued spinning.

it had been like this since freshman orientation when you accidentally took the last chocolate chip muffin from the dining hall cart and sukuna had been reaching for it at the exact same time; your fingers had brushed, and sukuna had looked at you like you'd personally insulted every single of his ancestors, and then he'd muttered something under his breath about how he 'should have known'.

from that day forward, you were locked in.

so when your professor announced the paired final project for advanced literary theory — a fifteen-page analysis of narrative unreliability that would make up forty percent of your grade — and then proceeded to assign partners alphabetically, you felt the universe's cosmic joke land squarely on your shoulders.

"aizawa is with burnham, carlson is with davis... nakamura is with park, and (l/n) is with sukuna."

the room didn't go silent, but you wouldn't have heard it if it had. all you could hear was the rushing of blood in your ears as you turned your head, slow and dreadful, like a defendant watching the jury file back in.

sukuna was already looking at you.

he sat two rows over, sprawled in his chair like he'd been poured into it, all sharp angles and lazy menace. his pink hair fell across his forehead in that careless way that made you want to push it out of his face just so you could see him scowl more clearly. his jaw was set, his mouth a flat line, and his eyes — those stupid, arresting eyes that shifted color depending on the light, red one moment and almost brown the next — were fixed on you with an expression you couldn't quite read.

you glared at him.

sukuna raised one eyebrow, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to be annoyed with you.

"great," you muttered, slumping in your seat. "just great."

the thing you didn't know — the thing you couldn't know, because nobody tells you these things, because love doesn't announce itself with trumpets and flashing signs — was that ryomen sukuna had been in love with you for three years, two months, and approximately eleven days.

it had started with the muffin.

not because of the muffin, exactly, but because of the way you'd looked at him when your fingers touched. everyone else in the dining hall flinched away from sukuna — he knew how he came across, all sharp edges and sharper tongue, the kind of person who looked like they'd bite if you got too close. but you hadn't flinched. you'd looked at him, and there had been something in your expression that wasn't fear or deference or any of the other things he was used to seeing.

you'd simply looked at him like… he was just some guy who wanted a muffin.

and then you'd taken it anyway, which was either deeply stupid or deeply brave, and sukuna hadn't been able to decide which, but he'd known, suddenly and completely, that he needed to figure it out.

so he'd started showing up at your locker, not because he wanted to intimidate you but because sukuna wanted to see if you'd look at him like that again. he'd started competing with you for grades not because he wanted to beat you but because sukuna wanted you to notice how hard he was willing to try, how he sharpened himself against you like a blade against a whetstone. he'd challenged you to the karaoke contest because you'd laughed at something utahime said — a real laugh, the kind that crinkled your nose — and sukuna had wanted to be the reason you made that sound, even if it was because he was singing badly on purpose.

none of it had worked the way he wanted.

somewhere along the way, the wires had gotten crossed so completely that sukuna didn't even know how the hell to untangle them anymore; his attention had curdled into something you perceived as hostility. his proximity had become a threat instead of a hope.

and ryomen sukuna, who had never been good at explaining himself, who had spent his whole life building walls instead of bridges, had no idea how to tell you that every time you glared at him, he felt like he was swallowing glass.

so he didn't tell you.

sukuna just kept showing up, he just kept competing, he just kept finding reasons to be near you, and let you believe whatever you wanted to believe.

it was easier that way. really, it was easier than admitting that he thought about you constantly, that he had a folder on his phone full of screenshots of your discussion board posts because he liked the way you structured arguments, that he'd memorized your coffee order from watching you get it so many times (oat milk latte, extra shot, cinnamon on top, which was objectively an incorrect way to drink coffee but he loved that about you anyway).

it was easier than saying; i don't hate you. i never have. i think i would burn the world down if you asked me to, and that terrifies me more than anything else ever has.

so when professor okamoto announced your pairing, sukuna's heart did something violent in his chest, and he had to physically stop himself from smiling. he raised one eyebrow instead, giving you his most unreadable look, and watched your face crumple with displeasure.

god, you were beautiful when you were annoyed.

yeah… sukuna was so, so fucked.

you agreed to meet in the library on tuesday afternoon, mostly because you wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. the sooner you started, the sooner you'd be done, and the sooner you could go back to pretending ryomen sukuna didn't exist at all.

he was already there when you arrived.

this was infuriating because you were fifteen minutes early, specifically to avoid this exact scenario — walking in to find him already settled, already comfortable, already looking like he belonged in a way that made you feel like an intruder in your own study space.

sukuna had claimed the corner table by the window, the good one with the natural light and the extra outlets, and he was bent over a laptop with his reading glasses on.

you stopped dead.

sukuna wore glasses.

you had never seen this before, you had no idea sukuna even needed them, and the sight of them — wire frames, simple and unexpectedly kind against the boy’s sharp face — made something in your chest do a strange little flip.

he looked way softer like this, less intimidating, and you hated that you noticed. you hated that you noticed that the sleeves of sukuna’s sweater were pushed up to his elbows, exposing the lean lines of his forearms. you hated that you noticed the way his hair fell when he was concentrating, how he kept pushing it back with an absent hand.

you hated that you noticed anything about him at all.

"you're staring," sukuna said without looking up.

you bristled.

"i'm not staring. i'm assessing the enemy's territory."

now sukuna looked up, and the glasses made him seem almost approachable for half a second before his expression settled into its usual mask of mild disdain.

"the library is not enemy territory. it's simply a library. with books. which we both really need for this project we're both required to complete."

"don't sound so excited about it."

"i'm not excited about anything involving you."

that stung more than you wanted it to.

you told yourself it was because you were proud, because you hated being dismissed, because sukuna's opinion shouldn't matter to you but it did, it always had, in the same way a splinter mattered — small and sharp and impossible to ignore.

you dropped your bag on the table with more force than necessary and sat down across from him, pulling out your laptop and notebook and pens with aggressive efficiency.

"let's just get this over with."

"eager to escape my company?"

"desperately."

something flickered across his face, there and gone so fast you couldn't name it. he looked back at his screen.

"okamoto wants us to focus on unreliable narration in gothic literature. i've pulled some secondary sources. there's a reading list in the shared document i started."

"you started a shared document already?"

"i'm not an idiot."

"i never said you were."

"you were thinking it."

you opened your mouth to argue, then closed it because he wasn't wrong, and also because there was something in his tone that didn't sound like his usual condescension. it sounded almost... tired. like he was exhausted by this dance you two did, even though he was the one who kept leading.

the silence stretched between you, strange and unfamiliar.

you'd never spent this much time alone with sukuna before; your interactions were always in crowded hallways or full classrooms, always brief and barbed, always with an audience. now it was just the two of you and the soft sounds of the library — pages turning, keyboards clicking, someone's phone buzzing somewhere in the stacks.

you could smell his cologne; something woodsy and warm, nothing like the sharp, cold scent you'd imagined he'd wear. it made him seem closer than he actually was.

"so," you said, because you had to say something, "gothic literature. fun."

sukuna looked at you over the top of his glasses.

"is that a genuine statement or are you being sarcastic?"

"do i ever not sound sarcastic?"

"no," sukuna said, and then, quieter, "i know."

you didn't know what that meant, and you didn't ask.

the first week of working together was exactly as miserable as you'd expected.

you disagreed about everything — thesis statements, source selection, whether or not to use first-person in the analysis, the correct way to cite a multi-volume work.

sukuna was methodical to the point of obsession, wanting to outline every paragraph before writing a single word, while you preferred to write freely and shape the chaos into something structured later. he thought your approach was inefficient. you thought his approach was suffocating.

"you can't just write without knowing where you're going," he said on thursday, staring at your laptop screen like it had personally offended him. "that's how you end up with a directionless argument."

"it's not directionless, it's exploratory. there's a difference."

"there isn't."

"there is if you have any imagination at all."

sukuna’s jaw tightened. "i have imagination."

"huh. could've fooled me."

the words came out sharper than you intended, and you saw something shutter behind sukuna’s eyes. he looked away first, which he never did, and when he spoke again his voice was carefully, deliberately flat.

"just write the outline. we can argue about methodology later."

you wanted to push. you wanted to know why he looked like you'd actually hurt his feelings, which was ridiculous because ryomen sukuna didn't have feelings, not ones that could be hurt by the likes of you. but something about the set of his shoulders stopped you, something about the way he'd gone very still, like he was bracing for impact.

so you wrote the outline.

and sukuna was right, which made it worse.

by the end of the second week, something had shifted.

you couldn't point to exactly when the hell it happened, but somewhere between arguing about the reliability of jane eyre's narration and debating whether rochester was a gothic hero or just a guy with too many secrets, the edges of your interactions had started to soften.

you still bickered constantly, but it felt less like warfare and more like... a game. a familiar rhythm you'd both fallen into without meaning to.

sukuna started bringing you coffee.

not every day, and not in an obvious way either; he'd just show up to your library sessions with two cups from the campus cafe, one black for himself and one that smelled like cinnamon and oat milk, and he'd set yours on your side of the table without a single comment.

the first time it happened, you stared at the cup like it might explode at any moment;

"what is this?"

"coffee. it's a beverage. people drink it to stay awake when they're doing academic work."

"i know what coffee is. i meant—why did you get me one?"

sukuna shrugged, not meeting your eyes. "you always look like you haven't slept. figured you needed it."

it was such a strangely considerate thing to say, so unlike the person you thought you knew, that you didn't know how to respond. you just wrapped your hands around the cup and let the warmth seep into your palms, watching sukuna over the rim as he settled into his chair and opened his laptop like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

the coffee was perfect, exactly how you liked it.

you didn't think about what that meant.

you definitely didn't think about how sukuna would have had to pay attention to know your order, how sukuna would have had to remember, how sukuna would have had to deliberately choose to get it for you even though you'd never asked and never thanked him properly.

you just drank the coffee and tried to ignore the way your heart was beating.

on the third week, you caught sukuna staring at you.

not the usual staring — the kind where he was waiting for you to finish a thought or watching your face for a reaction during an argument. this was different; this was soft, this was the way people looked at things they wanted to keep.

you'd been reading a passage from wuthering heights aloud, doing the voices for the different characters because you were a huge nerd and because it made sukuna's lip twitch in a way that was almost — almost — a smile. you were in the middle of heathcliff's "i cannot live without my soul" speech, and you'd gotten dramatic with it, leaning forward with your hand pressed to your chest, and when you looked up to gauge his reaction, sukuna was just... looking at you.

not at the book, not at the table, but at you.

sukuna’s expression was naked in a way you'd never seen before. all the usual armor was completely gone — the sneer, the boredom, the casual cruelty he wielded like a shield.

instead he looked almost... awed. like you'd done something miraculous just by existing in his general vicinity.

your voice caught in your throat.

"sukuna?"

he blinked, and the mask slammed back into place so fast you almost believed you'd imagined the moment before.

"what?"

"you were staring."

"no, i was just listening."

"you looked—"

you stopped, not sure what you'd been about to say. you looked like you loved me, maybe, but that couldn't be right because ryomen sukuna didn't love anything, certainly not you, certainly not like that.

"you looked weird."

"i always look weird."

"you don't," you said, before you could stop yourself. "you look, you know, normal? i mean, not weird. usually."

sukuna's eyebrows went up.

for a long moment, neither of you spoke. the library's heating system kicked on with a low rumble, and somewhere across the room, someone laughed quietly, and you were acutely aware of every single inch of space between you, of how easy it would be to reach across the table and touch sukuna’s hand, of how badly you wanted to.

you didn't. of course you didn't. but you wanted to, and that was new, and that was terrifying.

"finish the passage," sukuna said finally, his voice rougher than usual. "you were at 'i cannot live without my soul'."

you looked down at the book, at heathcliff's desperate words, and felt heat rise to your cheeks.

"right. yeah. okay."

you finished the passage, but you couldn't look at sukuna while you did it.

the confession happened on a thursday, and it happened because of a paper cut.

you were both hunched over a stack of printouts, cross-referencing quotes, and you were tired — the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that came from too many late nights and too much caffeine and the slow, creeping realization that you didn't actually hate the person sitting across from you, that maybe you'd never hated him at all, that maybe you'd been wrong about everything for three entire years.

you reached for a page at the same time sukuna did, your fingers brushing against his, and you both froze.

his hands were warm.

you'd expected them to be cold, because everything about sukuna seemed cold, but no, they weren't. his hands were warm and broad and surprisingly gentle when he pulled back like you'd burned him.

"sorry," you said, and meant it.

"don't be sorry for touching me," sukuna said, and his voice was strange, tight, like the words were being pulled from somewhere deep. "i don't—i don't mind."

you looked at him.

really looked, the way you hadn't let yourself look in years; his hair was messy from running his hands through it, his glasses were slightly crooked, and there was a tension in his jaw that you'd always read as anger but now seemed like something else entirely. something held back, something waiting.

"you always mind," you said quietly. "you always mind when i'm near you."

sukuna's breath caught, and you saw it, the way his chest stopped moving for just a second, the way his fingers curled into fists on the table.

"is that what you think?" he asked. "that i mind?"

"you act like you do. you've always acted like—"

"i know how i act." sukuna cut you off, and there was something raw in his voice now, something that made your stomach drop. "i know exactly how i act. do you think i don't know? do you think i haven't noticed that you flinch every time i walk into a room, that you tense up when i stand too close, that you look at me like i'm something you stepped in?"

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

"i know," he continued, and now he wasn't looking at you anymore, he was looking at the table, at his hands, at anything but your face. "i know you hate me. i've known for years. and i don't—i don't blame you. i'm not good at this. i'm not good at people. i don't know how to be anything other than what i am, and what i am is someone who makes you uncomfortable, apparently, which was never—"

his voice actually cracked, and you felt something splinter inside your chest.

"that was never what i wanted."

"sukuna—"

"just let me finish."

sukuna pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, and when he spoke again, his voice was muffled.

"i need to say this. i've been trying to say this for three whole years, and i just keep messing it up, and i don't care if you hate me after, i just really need you to know so i can stop—so i can stop pretending—"

he dropped his hands and looked at you, and his eyes were red-rimmed and bright, and all the air left your lungs.

"i don't hate you," sukuna said. "i have never hated you. not once. not even when you took the last muffin at orientation, which was a crime against humanity and i'm still not over it. not when you argued with me about romantic poetry in sophomore lit. not when you told professor tanaka that my interpretation of frankenstein was 'reductive and borderline misogynistic', which, for the record, it wasn't. i don't hate you. i've never hated you. i—"

sukuna stopped, swallowed, and looked at you like you were the scariest thing he'd ever seen.

"i love you," he said, and the words came out small, almost bewildered, like he was discovering the truth of them in real time. "i love you so much it's embarrassing. i love your laugh and the way you argue and how you do the voices when you read out loud even though you think nobody notices. i love that you're competitive and stubborn and terrible at asking for help and you always push your hair behind your ear when you're thinking. i love that you took that muffin even though you knew i wanted it because you don't back down from anything, including me, especially me, and i—"

his voice broke again, and he laughed, a short, helpless sound.

"i've been in love with you since freshman orientation. i've been in love with you for three years, and i've been so busy trying to get your attention that i didn't notice i was just making you hate me. and that's—that's on me. that's entirely on me. but i needed you to know. before we finish this project and you never have to talk to me again. i needed you to know that none of it was hate. not on my side. it was never hate."

the library was silent.

you could hear your own heartbeat, loud and unsteady, you could feel the blood rushing to your face, your hands, every part of you that had suddenly come alive.

sukuna was looking at you like a man awaiting execution, his chest rising and falling too fast, his hands shaking slightly where they rested on the table.

you thought about three years of mornings at your locker. three years of competitive grading. three years of him finding reasons to be in your orbit, even when you made it clear he wasn't welcome at all.

you thought about the coffee, the glasses, the way he knew your reading voice and your coffee order and the fact that you pushed your hair behind your ear when you were thinking.

you thought about how you'd actually never hated him either; at least, not the way real hatred felt cold and dead. your feelings for sukuna had always been hot, always been alive, always been demanding your attention when you wanted to focus on anything else.

you thought about the muffin.

"you're an idiot," you said.

sukuna blinked. "what?"

"you're an idiot," you repeated, and your voice was shaking, and you couldn't stop the smile that was spreading across your face, wide and disbelieving and probably ridiculous. "three years. three years of fighting over grades and arguing about literature and competing in karaoke contests, and the whole time you were just trying to get me to look at you?"

"to be fair, it worked. you looked at me constantly. just—not in the way i wanted."

"because i thought you hated me!"

"yeah, i know! i realize that! i'm aware that my communication skills are—"

"abysmal?"

"i was going to say 'deeply flawed', but yes, abysmal works."

you laughed.

you couldn't help it; it bubbled up from somewhere deep, somewhere that had been wound too tight for too long, and suddenly you were laughing so hard that tears were streaming down your face, and sukuna was staring at you like you'd lost your mind, which honestly you might have.

"i don't hate you either," you managed, between gasps. "i never hated you. i thought i did, but i don't think i know what hatred feels like anymore because every time i tried to hate you, i just—i just kept noticing things. like the way you tap your fingers when you're reading. and how you always hold the door for people even though you pretend not to. and you helped that freshman find their classroom last week even though you were late to your own class. and you look at me like—"

you stopped, swallowed, and looked at him.

"you look at me like i matter," you said softly. "and i didn't know what to do with that, so i called it hatred. because it was easier than admitting that maybe i wanted you to look at me forever."

sukuna made a sound, something wounded and hopeful all at once, and then he was moving — not dramatically, not the way they do in movies, but slowly, carefully, like the boy was approaching something that might spook.

he reached across the table and took your hand, his fingers sliding between yours, and you both looked down at where you were connected like it was the most incredible thing either of you had ever seen.

"so," sukuna said, and his voice was unsteady, "just to be clear. we both wasted three years being convinced the other person hated them, when actually—"

"when actually you have the emotional intelligence of a brick and i'm apparently blind."

"i was going to say we're both complete idiots, but yes, that's also very accurate."

you squeezed sukuna’s hand, and he squeezed back, and the smile he gave you was nothing like the ones you'd seen before; this one was real, this one reached his eyes, softened all his sharp edges, and made him look so sweet and so hopeful and so terrifyingly beautiful.

"what now?" you asked.

sukuna looked at your joined hands, then at your face, then back at your hands.

"well. i have a fifteen-page paper due in two weeks, and my partner is very distracting."

"your partner is sitting right here."

"i know." sukuna lifted your hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, feather-light, his eyes never leaving yours. "trust me. i know."

you spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, but you didn't get any work done.

you talked instead — really talked, for the first time in three years. you told him about the muffin, how you'd only taken it because you'd seen him reach for it and wanted an excuse to touch his hand, how you'd spent the rest of the day convinced you'd imagined the whole thing. he told you about the karaoke contest, how he'd picked journey specifically because he'd overheard you say it was your guilty pleasure, how he'd sung badly on purpose because he wanted to see you smile.

"i can't believe you can actually sing," you said, propping your chin on your hand. "and all this time i thought you were just terrible at music."

"i have many hidden talents."

"like secretly being in love with me for three years?"

sukuna’s ears went pink.

"that's not a talent. that's a crisis."

you reached across the table and touched his face, just because you could now, just because he was yours to touch. his stubble was rough against your fingertips, and he closed his eyes when you traced the line of his jaw, leaning into your palm like a cat seeking warmth.

"i'm sorry," you said quietly. "for all the times i was mean to you. for assuming the worst."

"don't be." sukuna turned his head and pressed a kiss to the center of your palm. "you gave as good as you got. it's one of the things i like about you."

"one of the things?"

sukuna slowly opened his eyes, and the look in them made your chest ache.

"i could give you a long list. it would take a while. we might need to order dinner."

"we're still in the library."

"the library has a cafe."

you laughed, and he smiled, and when he kissed you for the first time — soft and slow and a little awkward, both of you smiling too much to do it properly — you tasted coffee and cinnamon and something that felt like coming home.

the thing about loving ryomen sukuna was that it had never been a conscious decision either.

it just happened — it happened the way spring follows winter, the way flowers naturally turn toward the sun, the way your hand found his under the library table and held on like you'd been doing it your whole life.

you'd been wrong about so many things.

but this was absolutely, perfectly right.

masterlist.

[thepinkinkbottle]

this is so stinking sweet I got a cavity from it

also reader is so me im horrendous at noticing ppls crushes on me LMFAO

[rereadlibrary]

spiderverse directory!

disclaimer!!! I do NOT own any of these fics, all credit goes to the lovely original authors

hobie brown

convinced it's unreciprocated - miles intervenes light angst

without you - angst w/happy ending

never mind - patching him up fluff

rockstars & piercings - fluff, he gives you a piercing as a date

our future - see your happy future, fluff

telling spider punk abt ur crush on hobie brown - fluff, idiot in love

no need to be jealous - hobie's jealous fluff

reckless - fluff w/light angst

that funny feeling - fluff, best use of spidey senses

honour - defending him, he's so in love

where's hobie? down bad. - fluff

inconsistent - confusion, light angst, fluff

homecoming - fluff

miguel o’hara

walking on sunshine - grumpy x sunshine

el trato (the deal) - angst to smut

clean my wounds and i'll wipe your tears - angst w/comfort

ardiente - defending miles but he thinks ur hot

give me reasons we should be complete - angst w/happy ending

i can take you (in a fight) - he's dumb and dirty minded i love him

spur of the moment confession - angst to fluff

he calls you bc he misses you - fluff + lyla trolling miguel

spiderman kiss - fluff

clingy in the morning - fluff

what's in between - humour, spiders being nosy

annoying - angst, random spiders are assholes

mi cielo - fluff, confession, teeny drop o' angst

hobie and miguel fighting for you - humour

tea time - fluff

gwen stacy

start a fire - it's her first fire, fluff/humour

confess - fluff, gwen is awkward and nervous

miles morales

puppy love - childhood friends to lovers fluff

[punished-venom-solitair-e]

my favorite phenomenon on tiktok is when all the comments will line up and start doing the same bit

[thepinkinkbottle]

Item: The Tragedy Mask Rarity: ✷ Epic

What video game ending hit you hardest?

Feed your dashboard by answering my question, blogger.

I don’t play many video games—THAT SAID. Ive watched a lotta playthroughs, and that one about the girl in the basement and her dad….jesus

[aanaws]

°•Miraculous partners°•

Pairing: Nightwing x Vigilante!reader

Sum: Nightwing is in love with his partner. You. But you're head over heels for your coworker, Dick Grayson. OR miraculous ladybug plot between you and dick.

Content: Fem!reader, no use of y/n, dick is lowkey slow, mentions of violence, some cuss words, a whollleee bunch of fluff

Word count: 7.6K

A/n: hihiihihihi!!! YES! part 3!!! I'm so excited to share this and i hope you all enjoy it! please leave any comments (i'm a very big fan of constructive criticism!) All reblogs and likes are so very appreciated. Thank you for reading! ^^

Dividers by: @aanaws

Line dividers by: @hyuneskkami

Part 1 , Part 2

 “No, the whole point is Peter doesn’t tv tell her because he realizes she’s gonna be fine without him.” You pause the TV and Nightwing frowns deeply. 

“But.. like.. He loves her. He promised, y’know?” 

“Are you.. tearing up?” You lean forward to see but his mask is in the way. But you didn’t miss the way his nose reddened and the slight shake in his voice. “Oh my god, you got emotional.”

“I never found the time to watch the movie! You can’t blame me for not expecting that!” he threw his arms out in front of him, then pointed at you defensively. “There’s no way you didn’t cry.” 

You squint, rolling your tongue against your cheek. “...yeah. Yeah, it’s terrible.” You admit with a sigh and pick up your cup of hot chocolate and unpause the movie. 

“So, that’s it!? Everyone just.. forgets him!? Ned? Happy?”

You shut your eyes, nodding in harsh acceptance. “Painful. I know.” With that he slumps into his seat, deflating. The film ruined his optimistic self for the night. He lays against your shoulder and you wrap your arms around his large frame. “It’s okay. The next movie might be better. Maybe they all remember him.”

“You’re just saying that to make yourself feel better.”

“Work with me here.”

“..Right.”

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 !!!

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[njghtiee]

acdemic rivals V

plot! dick had been weird lately, and to your surprise, less annoying, or should say not annoying at all, because he wasn't talking to you at all. that didn't mean he stopped caring, he kept his watch on you protecting you from afar, something that would never change no matter how exhausted he was

a/n: kacjksjxjsz i love this series also i need to give credit to a very special anon that gave me so many ideas and she's just so precious jabicjsjxjsjjs

⋆˚꩜｡series masterlist.

It had been three days since Dick Grayson last showed up at Gotham Academy.

Three.

Which was unheard of for him.

Even on days when half the class dragged themselves in late, or when the weather was bad enough to make the city groan, Dick was always there, with that infuriating smirk, that ridiculous punctuality, that magnetic energy that filled up every corner of the room.

But now? His desk had been empty, and the rhythm of everything felt… off.

You didn’t realize how much space he took up until he wasn’t there to take it.

You caught yourself glancing at his seat too many times to count.

It wasn’t like you missed him, you told yourself, you just wanted to know what kind of ridiculous stunt he was pulling this time. Because this wasn’t like him. Grayson didn’t skip class. Grayson didn’t stay quiet.

When he finally came back, it wasn’t the same Dick.

He walked into the room late, hair a little messier than usual, dark circles shadowing his eyes. The grin he threw the teacher was thin, automatic, and it didn’t reach his eyes.

No joke.

No teasing comment.

Not even a half hearted smirk when you passed him the class worksheet.

He just mumbled “thanks” and dropped into his seat like gravity had doubled overnight.

You stared at him a moment longer than you should have. His shoulders were tense, his head resting on his hand as he stared out the window. Something about it didn’t sit right. You tried to focus on the board, but every few seconds your eyes darted back toward him.

When the bell rang, everyone filed out in noisy clusters. You waited until most of them were gone before stepping over to his desk.

“Grayson.”

He looked up, like you’d just pulled him out of a fog. “What?”

You crossed your arms, shifting your weight to one side. “What’s going on with you?”

His brows furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve missed, like, half the week. You barely said two words today. You didn’t even correct the teacher when she miscounted the test scores, and that’s literally your favorite hobby”

That earned the faintest flicker of a smirk, but it was gone just as fast. “Maybe I’m growing up”

You tilted your head, unimpressed. “You? Growing up? That’ll be the day”

He gave a dry exhale that was almost a laugh, but not quite. “Guess you’ll live to see it.”

You frowned. “Seriously. You look exhausted. What’s going on?”

He stiffened. “Nothing.”

“That’s not ‘nothing.’” You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “You’ve been out for days. You’re barely participating, you haven’t cracked a dumb joke, and you didn’t even try to annoy me once today. So yeah, I’m asking, what’s wrong?”

For a second, he didn’t say anything. Just stared at you, jaw tight, that unreadable look flickering behind his eyes.

And then something inside him seemed to break.

“Oh, I get it” he said suddenly, voice sharper than before. “You thought you’d get a break from me, huh? And now that I’m not around, what, you miss the attention?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Yeah,” he said, standing now, frustration creeping into his tone. “That’s it, isn’t it? You just miss having someone to argue with, someone to feed your little rivalry thing. I’m sorry my world doesn’t revolve around you"

Your stomach dropped. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding your eyes. “Do I?”

“Yes” you snapped back, your voice lower but trembling at the edges. “Don’t twist this on me. I was worried, okay? I didn’t— I wasn’t—” You stopped yourself before the words could slip further. “Forget it.”

Silence. Thick, tense.

For the first time, you didn’t have a comeback.

You just looked at him, really looked. The exhaustion in his face, the tightness around his mouth, the guilt flickering there even as he tried to mask it.

And something in your chest ached in a way you weren’t ready to admit.

“Whatever’s going on with you,” you said quietly, stepping back “you don’t have to take it out on me.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t look up.

You waited, but nothing came. So you turned, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and walked away before your voice could crack.

The classroom door shut behind you, and Dick stood there for a long moment, his hands pressed against the edge of his desk. The quiet rang in his ears.

He exhaled through his nose, muttering under his breath, “Smooth, Grayson. Real smooth.”

He hadn’t meant to snap. He didn’t even know why he did. Maybe it was because he hadn’t slept properly in four days. Maybe it was because the weight of double lives was starting to bleed into the one place he used to keep separate.

Or maybe it was because you, the one person who shouldn’t get under his skin, had looked at him like you actually cared.

And that terrified him.

He grabbed his bag and left the classroom, shoving his hands in his pockets as he made his way down the hall. When he passed the window, he caught sight of you leaving through the front gate, your head down, your steps brisk.

He almost called out.

Almost said something.

But then he stopped himself. Because he didn’t know what to say.

And because the truth, that he wanted to explain, to tell you the real reason he was tired, the real reason he couldn’t sleep, was something he couldn’t let you know.

Not yet.

By the next few days, the air between you and Dick had changed.

Not in a way most people would notice. He still sat two rows over, still wore that pressed Gotham Academy uniform like it was made for him, still had the same quiet confidence that made everyone turn when he walked in. But there was something off now, a fracture in the easy rhythm of things.

He didn’t tease you. Didn’t make any sly comments or throw paper notes during lectures. Didn’t even smirk when you rolled your eyes at him for answering every single question in physics like he’d written the textbook himself.

It was… quiet.

And that quiet was worse than all his infuriating, cocky charm combined.

You caught yourself glancing toward him a few times, once when he stifled a yawn halfway through class, another when he rubbed his temple during a quiz, like his head was pounding. Whatever edge you’d seen in his tone the other day hadn’t just been attitude. Something else was going on. Something heavy.

Artemis noticed it too.

She caught your glance lingering on him as the teacher droned on about the upcoming midterm and leaned over with a smirk. “What’d he do now?” she whispered.

You didn’t look at her. “Nothing.”

“That’s new”

You shot her a glare, but it lacked bite. “He’s just— weird lately.”

“Or you’re finally noticing he’s human?” she murmured, and you kicked her chair under the table, earning a soft laugh.

When class ended, Artemis headed out with a stretch, and you were left at your desk, rummaging through your bag. Then you froze.

Where was it?

You dug deeper. Notebook. Textbook. Backup pens. Another notebook. No, no, no, no. Not that pen.

“Where is it” you muttered under your breath, pushing books aside like they were personally taunting you.

A friend passing by tilted her head. “You good?”

“My pen” you said quickly, scanning your desk. “The one with the blue casing and the black ink. You know, the one with the little scratch on the clip.”

Her expression was blank. “…You mean the one that looks like every pen ever?”

You sighed, exasperated. “It’s my lucky pen, okay? I’ve had it since middle school. I always use it for tests, and I—”

You trailed off, realizing how that sounded out loud. You straightened, trying to mask the flush creeping up your neck. “Never mind. It’s fine.”

Your friend gave a sympathetic shrug. “Want me to check the hall?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll find it.”

Across the room, Dick was packing up his things, pretending not to listen. But he’d heard every word.

His eyes flicked over just once, catching the small crease between your brows, the frustration you were trying to hide. Then he sighed quietly, slinging his backpack over one shoulder and heading for the door.

You thought he’d left.

He hadn’t.

Fifteen minutes later, Dick stood at the back of the library, half hidden behind a tall shelf lined with reference books. Ethan was sitting there, scribbling something on a worksheet.

Dick crossed his arms. “Hey, Ethan.”

Ethan looked up, surprised. “Oh—hey, Grayson. What’s up?”

“Nothing much” Dick said easily, though there was a subtle edge in his voice. “You wouldn’t happen to have something that doesn’t belong to you, would you?”

Ethan blinked. “What?”

“A pen” Dick clarified. “Blue casing. Black ink. Scratch on the clip.”

Ethan frowned. “Uh… yeah? I borrowed it from my friend earlier. Forgot mine.”

“Borrowed” Dick repeated. “Did you ask her before you took it?”

Ethan scoffed lightly. “Dude, it’s just a pen. She’s got, like, ten of them in her bag. She won’t even notice.”

Dick tilted his head, that polite smile not quite reaching his eyes. “She noticed.”

Ethan blinked again, half-confused, half-annoyed. “What’s the big deal, man? I’ll give it back when I see her.”

“Or,” Dick said lightly “you can give it back now.”

“Seriously?” Ethan gave a dry laugh. “You’re acting like it’s gold-plated or something.”

Dick leaned on the edge of the table, his voice calm but firm. “Just give me the pen.”

Ethan looked at him for a beat, and for a moment it wasn’t Dick’s tone that made him hand it over, it was the look in his eyes. That quiet, unshakable focus that didn’t quite fit with the rest of his laid-back, honor-student act.

He handed over the pen. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Thanks” Dick said, his smile flashing back into place, easy and disarming again. “Appreciate it.”

Ethan shook his head. “You’re weird, man.”

“Yeah” Dick said under his breath as he walked away, rolling the pen between his fingers “I get that a lot.”

Back in the empty classroom, you were kneeling by your desk, checking under chairs and around the corners of your bag for the fifth time. A few students were still around, murmuring to each other about the test, but you tuned them out.

You’d almost given up when you heard the soft click of something hitting your desk.

Your head shot up.

There it was.

Your pen, lying neatly across your open notebook like it had been there all along.

You blinked, confused. “What the—”

You looked around, but no one was near your desk. No one looking your way.

A slow, bewildered smile tugged at your lips. Maybe someone had found it and just… dropped it off? You picked it up, flipping it in your hand, checking the scratch on the clip. It was definitely yours.

Relief flooded through you, ridiculous, disproportionate relief for something so small, but you didn’t care. You exhaled and sank back into your seat.

Across the hall, through the window slats, a pair of blue eyes watched from the shadowed corridor.

Dick leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly as he saw you find it. The faintest smile ghosted over his face when you grinned and pressed the pen to your notebook.

He turned before you could glance his way, the quiet satisfaction following him down the hall.

When Artemis caught him a few minutes later, heading toward the courtyard, she raised a brow. “You look awfully pleased with yourself.”

He shrugged. “Just… fixing something.”

“Fixing what?”

He flashed her that casual, guarded grin. “A problem. Long story.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re getting way too good at those vague hero answers, Boy Wonder.”

He didn’t answer, just walked off, that faint trace of warmth still flickering somewhere in his chest, right behind the exhaustion and guilt.

Because maybe he didn’t deserve how you looked at him when you smiled like that, even if you never knew he was the reason for it.

The late afternoon sun dipped low across the academy field, staining the edges of the sky with warm amber and bleeding gold against the sharp, white lines of the lacrosse field. The air felt crisp and alive, a little too alive, the kind that hums before something inevitable breaks. The bleachers were half-filled with students, the cheerleaders’ voices blurring into white noise, and yet all you could focus on was the tall, dark haired boy running down the field in navy and gold.

Richard Grayson, tired eyes, jaw tight, movements still precise but slower. It was strange, seeing him like this. Usually, he played with that infuriating ease, a grin flashing as he outran everyone else, but today there was something… dulled. A weight hanging off his shoulders that you couldn’t quite name. You'd seen the circles under his eyes, the slouch in his seat, the silence that had taken the place of his usual teasing smirk. And despite everything, the rivalry, the arguments, the pretending, you found yourself worrying.

Her friend elbowed you lightly from the stands. “You’re watching him too hard. He might combust.”

“Shut up” you muttered, but your gaze didn’t move.

Down on the field, Dick caught the ball mid-pass, spinning to avoid an oncoming player, Ethan. The boy you tutored. Your new “distraction.” And right now, Ethan looked far from distracted. His expression was twisted with something sharp, competitive, and… petty. He slammed into Dick’s shoulder with unnecessary force, sending him stumbling.

“Jesus” you hissed under your breath, standing halfway before sitting again. The referee’s whistle blew, but not before Dick caught himself and regained balance, jaw tightening as he straightened.

From where you were, you could see it, the flicker of something in his eyes. Not anger, not yet. Just the flick of patience thinning.

Ethan smirked, muttering something you couldn’t hear.

And Dick… didn’t rise to it. Not really. He just straightened, spat his mouthguard into his hand for a moment, and muttered something back. But the way his hand flexed around his lacrosse stick, you knew that gesture. That telltale twitch of someone holding everything in.

The whistle blew again, game resuming, and they were back in motion.

For the next twenty minutes, it was a blur of speed and sound, the crack of sticks, the thud of feet, the crowd’s noise swelling like a heartbeat. And every time Ethan crossed Dick’s path, he shoved a little harder. Played a little rougher. It was supposed to be a game, but this was turning into something else.

By the third quarter, Dick was hit hard from behind. You actually flinched. He hit the grass shoulder-first, breath knocked out of him, but he got up before the ref could stop the game, teeth gritted, brushing dirt from his cheek.

He looked furious. Not at Ethan, at himself.

And maybe that hurt more to see.

When the final whistle came, Dick’s team had barely won by one point. He didn’t stay for the cheers or high-fives, instead, he muttered something to the coach and disappeared toward the locker rooms, rubbing the back of his neck.

You exhaled slowly, your chest tight, though you weren't sure why. He was fine. He was always fine. Right?

Then Ethan passed by, laughing with a teammate, his stick slung over his shoulder like he’d done something heroic. The sound grated.

You stood. “Hey, Ethan.”

He turned, grin still plastered on. “What’s up, tutor?”

“What was that out there?” Your tone came out sharper than expected.

He blinked, then laughed, disbelieving. “You mean playing the game? It’s called contact sport, you know. He’ll live.”

“You weren’t playing.” you said flatly. “You were trying to get him hurt.”

“Oh come on, he can take it. Grayson’s all flash and show anyway, figured someone needed to remind him it’s not about the spotlight.”

You stepped closer, voice low. “You went too far. He’s—”

“What? Your boyfriend?”

Your jaw clenched. “No. He’s just—” You stopped. Why were you defending him like this?

Ethan tilted his head, smirk growing cruel. “You sure? You’ve been talking about him a lot for someone who ‘can’t stand him.’”

You exhaled sharply. “You know what? Forget it. Just— next time, play fair.”

He scoffed. “Fair? Don’t kid yourself. Guys like him always get away with everything. Someone’s gotta keep him humble.”

That hit something deep in your chest, because it wasn’t true. You'dseen behind the mask lately, the tiredness, the weight, the cracks no one else noticed.

If anything, Dick Grayson was too humble for his own good. Too determined to keep everyone’s expectations met, too scared to drop the grin.

“He doesn’t need you to humble him” you said quietly. “He needs a break”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You worry too much.”

You didn’t answer, not when he turned away, not when the field emptied, not even when you found yourself glancing toward the locker rooms one last time.

There was no sign of him.

Meanwhile, in the dim light of the locker room, Dick sat on the bench with his elbows on his knees, his hair damp from the shower, the towel hanging uselessly around his neck. He hadn’t even changed yet. His hands were still shaking, not from pain, but from restraint.

Every muscle in his body hurt, but it wasn’t the bruises that ached, it was everything inside. The exhaustion. The weight of double lives. Of pretending to be just Dick Grayson, the tired student with good grades, while spending every other night as Robin, punching criminals until dawn.

He pressed his palms to his eyes, exhaling a long, low breath.

Why had he snapped at you earlier that week? Why did he feel guilty every time he thought of your face when he did?

And why, even now, could he hear your voice outside, angry, sharp, defending him like you didn’t even realize you were doing it?

He smiled a little despite himself. “You’re impossible” he murmured under his breath.

When he finally stepped out later, the field was empty. The lights buzzed faintly. The crowd was gone, the noise settled into silence, just him, the scent of grass, and a breeze cool enough to make him shiver.

And though he didn’t see you still lingering by the bleachers, looking in his direction from afar, you saw him.

The way his shoulders slumped the moment he thought no one was watching. The way he rubbed at his temple, tired and quiet.

And for a heartbeat, you forgot every sarcastic argument, every snide comment, every time you pretended you hated each other.

Because right now, all you saw was him.

The boy who always smiled too bright.

Who never let anyone see when he fell.

And who, somehow, even when you didn’t want to admit it, you couldn’t stop worrying about.

The week after the game felt… muted. Like something had drained the color out of everything. The weather had turned gray, the hallways of Gotham Academy seemed colder, and you'd grown quieter, more than usual.

Word spread fast that Ethan had requested a change in his tutoring assignment. He’d walked straight into the office after the game, all smug confidence and wounded pride, and somehow twisted the story into something neat and official: 'personal differences', 'ineffective learning dynamic', 'preference for a different study partner'.

It shouldn’t have mattered. It shouldn’t. But it did.

The teacher had called yku in that morning, her tone clipped but polite.

“I’m afraid the switch is final, Miss"

“But… I need those hours for my credit requirement” you'd said, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

“I’m sorry. We’ll find someone else soon.” the teacher promised, though her voice carried the kind of hesitation that meant she wouldn’t.

And that was that.

So you'd gone to class, dropped into your usual seat, and stared blankly at your notes. No words stuck. The ink on the page looked like smudges instead of sentences. Around you, the room buzzed, pencils tapping, chairs scraping, the teacher’s voice floating in and out like radio static.

But you couldn’t focus. You could still hear Ethan’s mocking tone echoing from days ago, the way he’d laughed when you'd told him to play fair. The way he’d said “you worry too much.” And the worst part? You had. You'd worried about Dick, about the way he’d been pushing himself too hard, about the dark circles under his eyes and the silence replacing his usual jokes.

Now you just felt… stupid.

Your pen rolled across your desk, hit the edge, and clattered to the floor. You didn’t even move to pick it up.

The seat behind you shifted. Someone leaned forward, quiet, measured movement, the kind that never announced itself. You knew that pattern. That subtle rhythm of motion that somehow made your shoulders tense and relax at the same time.

Dick hadn’t said a word to yku all morning. Not since that day he’d snapped “I thought you wanted to get rid of me? Just miss the attention, don’t you?”, words that still burned like static in your chest.

But he’d been watching you. Every time you'd avoided looking his way, you'd felt it, that presence just behind you, the weight of his attention that somehow wasn’t heavy but still impossible to ignore.

Now, under the desk, you felt the faintest nudge against your foot.

It startled you. You blinked, looking down just slightly, not enough to be obvious.

Dick’s leg stretched lazily from behind, his sneaker lightly touching the side of your shoe. Just a small push. Barely anything. But it said everything he couldn’t right now, in this classroom full of students pretending to pay attention.

Your chest tightened.

He didn’t look up from his notebook. Didn’t speak. He just sat there, tapping his pencil as if nothing had happened, pretending to write, though you could see from the corner of your eye that his jaw had softened.

You stared at her desk for a long moment, the corner of your lip twitching before you exhaled slowly, then, without thinking too hard, you moved your foot just slightly back toward his. Not quite pressing. Just there. Close enough that the faintest pressure met in between, silent and steady.

The teacher droned on about literature analysis or something equally distant, but it didn’t matter. For the first time that week, your heartbeat slowed.

From behind you, you heard the faintest sigh, quiet, relieved. Almost… fond.

No words exchanged. No apologies. Just the quiet understanding of two people who weren’t ready to admit how much they noticed each other.

Minutes passed like that. Every time you shifted, he adjusted too, keeping the lightest touch of connection, a small, invisible promise that despite everything, he was there.

And maybe it was stupid, or maybe it meant nothing at all, but in that gray classroom with the flickering lights and the soft scratching of pens, it felt like the only thing keeping you grounded.

At one point, you dropped your pen again, deliberately this time. He noticed, because of course he did.

Before you could reach for it, his hand appeared from behind, quietly sliding it back onto your desk. He didn’t meet your eyes. You didn’t thank him.

But under the desk, your shoes were still touching.

When the bell rang, everyone stood, noise filling the air again, laughter, chatter, bags zipping up. You gathered your things slowly, waiting until the crowd started thinning out. You could feel Dick stand up behind you, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

He hesitated for half a second before brushing past you, and you swore you caught the faintest smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Not his usual cocky grin. Something smaller. Something real.

As he walked toward the door, you looked down, and found that your pen, your lucky one, had been replaced with a new one. The exact same kind, same color, same faint scratch mark near the clip.

He didn’t say a thing.

He didn’t have to.

Meanwhile, down the hall, Artemis was leaning against a locker when Dick passed by, looking slightly less tired than usual. She raised an eyebrow.

“You good?”

He just shrugged, but there was a faint ghost of warmth in his tone when he answered, “Yeah. Guess I am.”

“Right,” she said, smirking. “Totally nothing to do with a certain rival sitting ahead of you in class.”

He shot her a look, half a glare, half a smile, and didn’t bother denying it.

Because maybe for the first time in a long while, he’d stopped thinking about everything else, the patrols, the bruises, the masks, and just felt normal.

Even if it was just because of a quiet girl, a lost tutoring job, and two pairs of shoes resting against each other under a classroom desk.

The night had started too normal for Gotham, which, in hindsight, should’ve been the first warning sign.

You'd stayed late at the library again. The same one where all of this started: the hum of the heaters, the flicker of old fluorescent lights, and the city sirens bleeding faintly through the windows. You weren't tutoring anyone anymore, that ended with Ethan’s bruised ego, but you still had exams, and pretending to focus was easier than sitting at home replaying every word Dick had said to you.

Still, you couldn’t stop thinking about the last time you'd looked at each other in class, his shoe nudging yours under the desk, that unspoken apology neither of you dared to say aloud. It lingered like static.

The library emptied around nine. The librarian flicked the lights once, the universal “time to go.” You packed your books, zipped your bag, and started the walk home. It wasn’t far, just a few blocks down. Gotham Academy wasn’t exactly dangerous territory, but… this was Gotham. You never relaxed completely.

Your boots clicked against the cracked pavement. The air carried that heavy metallic chill, the smell of rain mixed with smoke, the sound of distant traffic. You were halfway across the second block when you heard it: the faint, deliberate shuffle of footsteps behind you.

You froze for a second, brushed it off, kept walking. But they followed.

A voice echoed from the alley. “Hey, sweetheart. Late night?”

You turned just enough to see them, two guys in dark jackets, one clutching a crowbar, the other grinning in a way that made your stomach twist.

“Not interested” you said sharply, turning back toward the streetlight.

But before you could reach it, one of them grabbed your wrist. Hard.

It happened fast, a twist of panic, a shout you didn’t have time to finish. You tried to swing your bag into his face, but he caught it mid-air. The other one moved in behind you.

And then, the sound. That familiar, sharp whoosh through the air, followed by a metallic clang. Something round and red bounced off the pavement.

You didn’t even have to look to know what it was.

Robin dropped from the fire escape like a shadow breaking loose from the dark. One swift motion, and both men were on the ground before they even realized who they were dealing with.

He didn’t speak, not right away. He just moved, fast, precise, graceful. A kick, a disarm, a flick of the wrist that sent another birdarang flying and clattering against the wall. The entire fight lasted under twenty seconds.

When it was done, he straightened, turning toward her. His chest rose and fell quickly beneath the armor, the edge of his cape brushing the asphalt. The yellow interior caught the streetlight.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low but steady.

You nodded, trying to hide how shaky your breathing had become. “Yeah. I’m— I’m fine."

But you weren't fine. Because now, up close, you could see him.

The exact cut of his jaw beneath the mask.

The faint bruise at the edge of his neck that matched one you'd seen on Dick during gym two days ago.

The way he moved his hands, the same lazy confidence he had when flipping a pencil during class.

And his smell.

Your stomach dropped.

He turned, scanning the area for more threats, but you couldn’t stop looking at him. Every thought blurred together until one sentence pushed through the fog.

“Do you think I’m doing this for attention too?”

The words came out of you before you could stop them, soft, sharp, heavy with meaning.

He froze.

The night air thickened, heavy between you. He didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe for a second. The only sound was the rain beginning to tap against the metal of a nearby dumpster.

When he finally turned his head toward you, you saw it. That split second where Robin’s entire composure, the cool, steady, trained control, cracked. His shoulders tensed. The jaw under the mask clenched. His throat bobbed like he’d just swallowed something that didn’t go down right.

He knew. He knew you knew.

And you weren't pretending anymore.

Your voice was quieter when you spoke again, but the words hit harder than any shout could. “You don’t have to say anything” you murmured. “Just… tell me if I’m right.”

Robin didn’t answer. Not with words. But the faintest flicker in his expression, that subtle shift you'd come to memorize from countless classroom debates, said everything.

You took a step closer, and your hand rose slightly, hesitating just shy of his face. “Can I…?” you whispered. Your voice barely carried past the rain. “Can I take it off?”

For a moment, he just stared at you, not as Robin, not as the boy who wore the mask, but as Dick.

And then, slowly, he nodded. Once.

Small. Careful. Almost resigned.

Your fingertips trembled, stopping just inches from the edge of his domino mask.

The rain got heavier. The world outside seemed to hold its breath.

And in that suspended second, neither of you said a word.

It wasn’t just a secret hanging between you anymore, it was you. Every half-hidden glance, every sarcastic jab, every word they hadn’t said since the day he snapped. All of it was right there, raw and unguarded.

Robin exhaled softly, eyes flickering down toward the ground. For the first time, he didn’t look like the perfect student or the flawless hero. He just looked like someone terrified of what came next.

And you … you weren't sure whether you wanted to take off the mask more to see his face, or to stop pretending you didn’t already know it by heart.

The moment hung, trembling and fragile.

Until—

A distant siren echoed through the alley, jolting you both back to reality.

But you didn’t lower your hand. And he didn’t step away.

The air was soaked with rain and tension, the kind that clung to your skin and made every sound sharper, heavier. Your fingers hovered over the edge of his mask, trembling just slightly, when the blur of something fast sliced through the alleyway air.

A gust of wind, a streak of orange and yellow.

“Yo, Rob! You good?”

Kid Flash skidded to a stop in a spray of rainwater, his boots squealing slightly on the wet concrete. He brushed water off his goggles, blinking as he took in the sight before him, Robin standing far too close to a Gotham Academy student, her hand midair like she’d just been caught reaching for the cookie jar of Bat-secrets.

For half a second, Wally just stared. The corners of his mouth twitched upward, and even through the rain, Robin could feel his smirk forming.

Robin’s gloved hand moved instantly, gently but firmly catching her wrist before you could touch the mask. His fingers were warm, steady, but there was something almost desperate in how he stopped you. The quiet plea of please don’t do this right now.

Your breath hitched, the reality of what was happening catching up to you.

Robin turned his head slightly, that controlled calm back in place, but you could see the faint flush of nerves under his mask, the kind that came from being seconds away from exposure. He lowered your hand, carefully, as if afraid you'd vanish if he wasn’t gentle.

Kid Flash broke the silence first, because of course he did.

“Whoa, whoa, what did I miss here? Gotham date night?” he teased, water dripping off his red hair as he looked between them. “You finally learning to socialize without a grapple line, Rob?”

Robin shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “Not the time, KF.”

But his voice, that voice you'd grown used to hearing in a very different tone during class, it cracked slightly at the end.

You stepped back, heart pounding, trying to hide the chaos on her face. “It’s fine” you said quickly, forcing your voice steady. “He was just… making sure I was okay.”

Wally grinned. “Sure. That’s what it looked like.” He looked down at the two unconscious thugs nearby, still tied up. “Looks like he did more than okay.”

Robin sighed through his nose, straightening his cape and doing his best to look composed. But his shoulders were tense, and the way his gloved hand twitched at his side told you his mind was already spinning at a thousand miles an hour.

Kid Flash turned toward you, still smiling. “He’s bad at introductions, by the way. You good, Miss…?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, still trying to process everything. “I’m fine.” Your gaze flicked to Robin again, his head tilted slightly, eyes unreadable behind the mask.

“Alright,” Wally said, stretching. “Bats is gonna want a report. Let’s get moving, Boy Wonder. GCPD’s almost here, and we both know Gordon doesn’t love surprise meet-and-greets.”

Robin nodded, but didn’t move yet.

You knew he was about to disappear. That familiar weight of a goodbye that couldn’t be said pressed heavy in the air.

And before you could stop yourself, before you could think about what you were saying or how much it gave away, you leaned in just a little, your voice barely audible under the rain.

“Stay safe, Dick”

He froze.

Completely.

Wally was halfway to running again, but Robin just… stopped.

The sound of his real name from your lips, quiet, careful, and real, hit harder than any villain’s punch. His throat worked once, like he wanted to answer, but no words came out. He only looked at you, that flicker of disbelief melting into something softer.

You didn’t wait for him to respond. You just stepped back, pulling your hood over your head, and started walking toward the streetlights, your silhouette fading in the rain.

Robin didn’t move until you turned the corner. Even then, he stayed for a moment longer, eyes tracking the way you disappeared into the misty glow of Gotham’s streets.

When he finally leapt up to the nearest rooftop, Wally was already waiting there, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

“What was that?” Kid Flash asked, as soon as Robin landed beside him.

“What was what?” Robin replied, too fast.

“The dramatic tension thing down there.” Wally mimed her whispering, “‘Stay safe, Dick’” pitching his voice high in mockery. “Bro, she called you by your name. Like, your name name.”

Robin didn’t respond. He was still watching the corner of the street where you'd walked away, rain sliding down his mask.

Wally sighed, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You snapped at her as Dick, she found out you’re Robin, she told you to stay safe, and you just— what? Stand here like a lost puppy?”

Robin didn’t answer right away. His voice, when it came, was quieter than usual. “I just didn’t think she’d… say it like that.”

Wally leaned on the rooftop edge. “So she’s that girl, huh? The one you talked about after the project thing?”

Robin froze again.

“I didn’t—”

Wally smirked. “You did. Said something like ‘she’s frustratingly brilliant.’ Which, by the way, is Boy Wonder code for I like her and it’s ruining my emotional stability.”

Robin groaned, tugging his cape up to hide part of his face. “Can we not do this right now?”

Wally just laughed. “You’re blushing, dude. Through the mask.”

“I am not.”

“You so are.”

Robin finally turned away, but the faint smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him. His mind replayed the sound of your voice over and over, until it sank beneath his ribs and made his chest ache in the best and worst way possible.

He exhaled slowly. “C’mon” he muttered, trying to sound casual. “Let’s finish the patrol.”

Wally followed, still grinning. “Whatever you say, lover boy.”

As they disappeared across the rooftops, the rain kept falling.

And down on the street, where your footsteps had faded minutes ago, a faint batarang gleamed under the lamplight, the one Robin had dropped during the fight. You picked it up the next morning, turning it between your fingers, that quiet, impossible truth still echoing in your head.

[barbieandkento]

₍^. .^₎⟆ synopsis: it's supposed to be a simple (enough) mission: a grade 1 curse, a quiet neighborhood in tokyo, midnight. instead, nanami finds something else. his ex-fiancee, bleeding, unconscious, five years having passed. word count: 13.1k+ (i'm so sorry!!!)

there's a certain quietness to midnights in tokyo that nanami can't get enough of.

the city's still buzzing with bright neon lights, flashing images painting the dark alleyways in blurs of red and orange, accompanied by the occasional flicker of the traffic lights. but the roads are quiet, the taxis few and far between, maybe a single drunk couple leaning against the walls of a closed cafe whispering to each other.

but with his mind on the mission, his surroundings are just that. background music fading to the sidelines, as he cranes his neck up at the night sky. it's a clear summer night, little clouds, a full moon with a harsh evening chill that makes his spine run cold.

the curses have been getting stronger recently. he thinks, fingers toying with the bottom of his necktie as he slowly loosens the fabric. after all, it's not every day that a grade 1 spirit appears in the middle of the night, curling itself in between half-finished houses and abandoned playgrounds.

the neighborhood he's been called to is just that on the surface: safe, normal, boring.

but the winds blow stronger, and there's an odd smell attacking his senses that makes his hairs stand up a little bit straighter. muted breaths accompany each careful step, his shadow illuminated by the half-empty vending machines lining the roads and the white streetlamps up ahead. muscles tensing, jaw clenched, mind already rushing with adrenaline for the fight ahead, nanami turns the corner and steps into the background with his arm outreached into a defensive position when-

it's empty.

well, almost.

the remains of the spirit can be seen even in the dark. whisps of black fog, curling away into the wind. burnt ash coating the sandbox that begins to slowly sink into the floor. the nearby grass slightly burnt and fraying at the edges.

and in the middle of it, standing in the wreckage.... a woman.

under the cover of the clouds, nanami can only roughly make out basic outline of her hair and face. the majority of her outfit is covered by a lengthy trenchcoat, billowing in the fierce winds, and her boots land heavy when she kicks the dust one more time - as if to make sure that the spirit was really gone.

and whilst nanami can't quite place his finger on it, there's something about her that seems... familiar.

he stands silently for a few more moments, monitoring the situation (and frankly, still at shock at the mysterious woman able to defeat a grade 1 curse by herself like it was nothing), until he notices that her steps seem... slower than usual.

heavy.

as if she's injured.

badly.

"are you alright?" he decides to speak up then, slowly approaching the stranger with concern.

then you turn around and he forgets how to breathe.

you look the same, and yet so different all at the same time. your face seems to have gotten sharper and more mature: eyes sunken in with determination, cheeks less babyish when you suck in to take a deep breath. your hair's slightly longer than the last time he's seen you (and maybe even in a different shade, though he's not too sure in the dark), and your sense of style seems to have done a 180. gone are the frilly lace tops and cut out jeans, replaced by sleek waistcoat top and dress pants.

even the way you're standing seems different: cold, tired, defensive.

"n...nanami?" you whisper out loud, in disbelief.

your name, a sacred prayer he's not dared to utter since he's last seen you five years ago, sits on the tip of his lips. but then your eyelids suddenly flutter shut and your body is heading straight to the ground.

with impossible speed, he manages to catch you before your head smashes against the pavement. his shaking hands cradling your body close to his chest to prevent any damage.

fuck.

he'd had no idea you would be here. he had no idea you were still fighting curses, let alone that you'd moved back to tokyo.

when the clouds in the sky part and the moonlight shines onto the playground again, he gets a better look at the long gash running up your left leg. the bleeding is quite significant, and the nasty swelling of your left calf tells him something was sprained.

mind swirling with a million unanswered questions and anxieties, he's determined to get you somewhere safe for now.

his apartment.

=====================

you were dreaming about something nice when your consciousness began to pull you back towards reality.

something pleasant. something sweet. someone's warm touch on your shoulder, pulling you onto their lap as you excitedly pointed to something in the sky. there was a bike ride surrounded by sakura trees, knees touching whilst sharing sandwiches overlooking the lake, a calloused hand coming up to cup your face. their face had come closer, your vision had blurred, and it was-

nanami.

you jolt awake immediately, your body already having gotten used to sleeply lightly on the edge. heartbeat racing in the dark, you can feel your back against something soft and cushy, and you're running the mental calculations of what the most likely worst case scenario you're in is.

sitting up straight, your eyes shut in reflex at the sharp pain running up your left leg. even without touching the tender skin, you can feel the brutal cut on your left leg, a pain excaberated when you try and roll your ankles and find one of them to be twisted.

gritting your teeth through the excruciating pain, you swing your legs over to the side of the sofa in an attempt to get up. hands feeling around in the dark, raw nails cicking against cement until you manage to feel something that feels like a light switch and flick it on-

shit.

far from being stuck in an unfamiliar place, when your eyes adjust to the light, you realize it's... your past home.

with everything somehow still in its place. the wallpaper still muted green and in perfect condition as if you've never left the place five years ago.

the stack of interior design books that neither of you ever read, but kept around because it looked good pressed up against the kitchen table. still there, not a single speck of dust on the cover.

the flower vase you'd refilled every friday when nanami would finish his weekly park run. now next to the tv, occupied by a single sunflower (your favorite).

the bookshelf he had spent an entire sunday building whilst you'd attempted (and failed) to help, reading out the instructions from the couch as he fumbled around with screws and wooden planks. emptier than usual, but still lining the wall facing the bedroom.

everywhere you look is a painful memory, a past joy that feels like a dagger to the heart and forces your legs forward towards the door.

you need to leave. now.

suppressing the urge to scream at the sharp pain shooting through your left leg with each brutal step, your arms shakily shoot out to grasp at the walls to support yourself. and you're almost at the front door when-

"what are you doing?" your ex-fiancee's voice rings out, stern and ticked off.

and there he is. the man who has haunted every dream you've had in the past five years, still tall, unwavering and handsome, staring you down with his arms crossed. you bite your lip to suppress a sigh, knowing it'd only piss him off more.

"thanks for catching me earlier." you grit out, pulling off your trenchcoat from the coat rack. fuck, you think. bastard still uses the same coat rack i bought for us when we first moved in here. "but i need to get going."

"with a twisted ankle and a heavy gash?"

he actually sounds worried, and your heart twinges at his tone, but you remind yourself that you've done fine by yourself the past five years.

you don't need anyone.

"yes, nanami. besides, it's not even that bad." you're lying through your teeth whilst staring up at him defiantly, hoping your legs aren't shaking as much as you think they are.

his eyes carefully survey you, lips thinning in an unreadable expression.

"listen, i'm... sure this must be really uncomfortable for you. and i won't force you to stay. but if you are going to leave, please at least let me drive you to the hospital so i know you're safe?"

you shake your head so fast you nearly strain your neck.

"no hospitals." you respond, already cringing at the image. you hate its sterile smells, its bright lights, the constant shuffling of people in hallways. it makes you feel trapped. watched. lonely.

nanami, stubborn as ever, doesn't seem keen on letting it go.

"but your injuries-"

"i said no hospitals!" you scream, and a rush of dizziness hits your head as your left leg suddenly gives out from under you. you can't even let out a gasp of surprise as quickly as nanami's strong arm encircling around your waist, him pulling you up into his embrace as you shakily grasp his sweater like it's a lifeline.

your breath coming out in short staccatos, his gaze as heavy as the oceans, you mumble into his chest. pleading, really.

"no hospitals. please."

you feel pathetic, begging him, but you're so tired and weak. and you honestly don't think you could manage to drag yourself out of the room if you wanted to.

nanami's heart breaks at how small you sound, exhaustion and pain evident in your voice, and though he'd really like to be able to take you to see a medical professional-

he accepts your answer.

"alright, alright. no hospitals. just... let me check on your bandages in the bathroom before you sleep?" he pauses, taking in a deep breath and flashing you a reassuring smile. "i'm not the best with treating injuries but.. i've been learning."

he smiles nervously at your careful nod, purposefully leaving out the part of saying how he's managed to learn first aid. of how he's learnt it all in the past five years - as he'd only ever bothered learning how to patch himself up after the breakup (once you were no longer there to kiss his injuries and heal his wounds).

too tired to argue, you let him carry you to the bathroom before he gingerly sits you down and flicks on the light. eyes shutting in exhaustion, you feel his light touches on your leg - respectful and soft - and hear the sounds of tape ripping and scissors cutting into a new roll of bandages. it's all happening in the dark to you, your sleep already rolling in in waves.

it's like your body knows, you're home. or at least, somewhere you used to call home. and the years and years of running has come to a temporary pause.

"all done." nanami whispers, gently tapping your cheek to wake you up. you flutter just your right eye open, staring down at his careful expression. "i've laid out your old clothes on the bed for you, okay? i'll be on the couch so if you need anything, just give me a shout."

you should've argued with him. you should've said that this was wildly inappropriate (for you to be sleeping over at your ex-fiancee's place for the first time in five years). that he shouldn't be sleeping on the couch of his own place, that you were fine with sleeping on the floor for all you care.

but your body is so heavy, the bedsheets too inviting in your exhausted state that all you can do is hum a quiet thank you and let him set you down on the bed before he gently shuts the door behind him.

the only thought you have before you drift off into a dreamless sleep is the realization that nanami kept some of your old clothes that you didn't collect.

funny, you thought he'd have thrown them away by now.

=====================

you wake, this time, not from a pleasant dream.

but to the sound of something hot sizzling in the pan and the clinking sound of dishware being shuffled around in the kitchen.

the air smells refreshing - fresh brewed coffee and citrus melting with the summer air - and there's a quiet jazz tune playing in the background (probably from the record player that nanami had always adored).

it's just like when you two were together.

pushing the silly memory away in your mind, cursing yourself under your breath for the flutter of warmth now occupying your stomach, you push yourself up into the bathroom to wash your face.

you'd hoped that a full night's rest might have miraculously healed some wounds (or at the very least given you some of your strength back), but you can barely make it to the door before you hear the stove being turned off and a door swinging open.

"good morning."

of course - nanami looks good, even at 8am on a saturday. his baby blue polo shirt slightly unbuttoned, rough hands lightly powdered in white sugar, muscular thighs hugged by a comfortable pair of green boxers.

diverting your gaze away from his body, you force yourself to mumble out a groan of acknowledgment. he holds your right arm up as you hobble over to the kitchen counter, your mind angry that you're letting him touch you, but your body grateful for the physical support to be able to move.

"i made your favorite." nanami softly admits, draping a kitchen towel over his shoulder. you blink at him surprised, staring down at the presentation of food in front of you. soft pancakes with strawberry jam, alongside a side of greek yoghurt and blueberries.

it's perfection.

"you don't need to take care of me, nanami." you grit your teeth, another headache starting to form at how domestic he's acting. all this tender affection and devoted attention is nauseating, especially when you recall how cold and uncaring your last moment with him was all those years ago.

the venom in your voice stings him, alongside your inability to unclench your jaw or look at him in the eyes. your entire body is tensed up like a bomb about to explode, it's as if nanami can hear the dynamite ticking in his brain as your fork carefully touches the food, knocking over the stack of pancakes in disdain.

had he really hurt you that much?

just as you had hurt him, all those years ago?

shaking those thoughts away, he reminds himself that his immediate focus has to be your health.

"i know you don't need anyone's help. but you're hurt, badly hurt at that. and nutrition, alongside rest, will aide in your recovery." he slowly explains, trying to keep his tone neutral.

you scowl, another bitter reply rising in your throat, only to be interrupted by the unmistakable growl of your empty stomach. truth be told, you hadn't had a proper meal before the mission. you weren't even supposed to be one to take care of the curse, but you'd been -

reckless.

it's amazing how reckless someone can get when they have no one to care for, no one to answer to.

"fine." you mutter out. "i'll eat."

you have to suppress an urge to cry upon taking the first bite, because the sweet syrup and soft batter brings about a wave of nostalgia. it tastes like lazy breakfasts in bed on kiss-filled weekend mornings, a taste you haven't had for years (as no matter how hard you tried, you could never recreate the taste of nanami's pancakes).

nanami retreats to the other side of the kitchen counter, eyes fixated on his own bowl of porridge and fruit, the sounds of chewing and clinking cutlery filling the otherwise silent room. it's painful for him, as it's not the safe, comfortable kind of silence you two used to have.

no, instead, this silence feels tense. rushed. thick enough to cut with a knife.

half an hour later, you two sit in complete silence, plates empty but neither of you wanting to be the first one to speak.

you're looking at anywhere but him, making a mental note of every small detail in the room. the crack in the innermost corner of the kitchen cabinet is still there. his choice of cologne hasn't changed, based on the nearly empty bottle sitting near the doorway. his shirt needs an iron, folded neatly over the armchair.

meanwhile, nanami is searching for the right words to say, mind still in disbelief that his ex-fiancee is sitting right in front of him. in their old apartment, one that he couldn't bear to let go even when you two had split up.

it's deja vu in all the worst ways.

surveying your face in the sunlight trickling through the curtains, he sees a small cut on your cheek. bruises on your upper thighs that look painful to the touch. a sharp scar that's barely noticeable now, mostly healed but permanent, kissing down your neck.

you're still beautiful, of course. but he can't deny-

you look rough.

you hadn't had any of these injuries on you five years ago.

what had happened in those years? he can't help but wonder.

"i can practically feel your thoughts screaming at me, you know." you snap, finally tired of the silence. "just say what's on your mind."

he stares at you for an extra moment, fabric rustling when he shifts in his seat.

"i think you should stay. at least, until you're better."

your body tenses up at the suggestion, eyes finally drifting away from your surroundings to stare directly into his eyes.

"are you insane?! nanami, i'm not gonna stay here one more night. this-" you gesture to the apartment. "was a last minute decision made by you. and i was too tired to decline last night, but now i'm fine."

nanami's jaw clenches at that, eyebrows furrowing in frustration.

"i understand, but i had no other choice. you were badly hurt, unresponsive, and i had to make sure you were safe." he lets out a deep sigh, trying to calm himself down. he knows how stubborn you can be, and how he's not going to get anywhere if he's too stern with his words.

"and thank you for that. but now, i'm going to leave."

"and go where?" he retorts, sharp as a knife.

it's an innocent and straightforward question. but it feels like a blow to your chest, because you know the truth: you have nowhere else to go. no one else to run to. you had no apartment in tokyo, having made peace with awful sleep in cheap motels, and your life was a never-ending string of missions of killing curses, bento meals for one, constantly bouncing from one city to another.

"i'll... i'll figure it out." you mumble out, ashamed.

it doesn't escape nanami's mind that you haven't said you'll go home. you haven't even said you have somewhere to stay in tokyo.

so maybe she hasn't come back, permanently at least, nanami thinks.

nanami is practically pleading at you with his intense, sorrowful gaze, and you wish he'd yell at you instead. you can't stand the weight of his worry, the heaviness of his disappointment.

"i'll be fine just by myself. i never stay too long in one place anyways." you grit out, trying to hide the sharp pain you feel when you twist your leg around to glare at him.

nanami holds your angry gaze for a few moments, sighs, his lips thinning into a straight line. his palms are now resting on his knees, massaging circles onto his skin, his habit for when he's nervous.

"i'm aware that we don't owe each other anything anymore." the confession hurts both of you, but nanami continues speaking. "but i wouldn't be able to sleep or get anything done if i knew that letting you leave this house would mean you dragging your injured, tired body to the next city, the next motel to brave by yourself. that's-"

he pauses, and in between the flash of hurt and worry, you swear his eyes become watery and his voice splits into a shaky whisper.

"that's how people get killed, (y/n)."

maybe it's how he said your first name suddenly and unceremoniously.

or maybe it's the way he's looking at you, begging, eyes glistening and head hanging low in defeat.

or maybe it's that damn heart of yours, aching to be closer with your ex-lover, resolve dissipating into thin air when your mind starts to think of... not running constantly, for once.

"all i would like, is to know you are safe and resting. the spare key is yours to use, and you know this area as well as i do. so when i am gone, you are free to use this space as you would please. the next door neighbor is a nurse, so she can drop by occasionally to keep an eye on your recovery. i spoke to her this morning and she said an injury of your scale might take a month or so to heal. a month, and then-"

he takes in a sharp breath.

"then you can leave. i won't complain, i will not put up a fight, i will consider the agreement finished. from one sorcerer to another. one person, looking out for another."

nanami genuinely can't read your expression when he finishes his speech. his blood is rushing so loud he can hear it in between his ears, heart thrumming at a million miles a minute. you seem to have an internal debate with yourself, teeth poking out to bite your bottom lip, before you huff and meet his eyes.

he knows he's won before you even speak.

"fine." you groan, and a smile automatically spreads across his lips. "but just a month, nanami. once i'm better, i'm out. deal?" you ask, cocking your head sideways.

"deal."

========================

as expected, the first week is rough.

you find yourself not being able to do much because of your leg injury. nanami's left you with a mountain of ice packs and strict orders to rest your feet by propping them up on pillows wherever you can.

mostly, that's meant being sofa-bound. flicking through a few TV channels whilst laying on your side. reading through a few books on the bookshelf - a book on historical trade routes, a political analysis of asia, a collection of essays on grief. on a good day, you even find yourself sitting on the kitchen counter, counting and re-organizing all the kitchenware in the drawers so you'd have something physical to do.

but mostly, you spend your days staring up at the ceiling, reflecting.

the rain had been brutal. a downpour, vicious thunderstorm, winds so strong that you could barely hear yourself speak over the chaos.

but it felt like nothing compared to how nanami was looking at you, quiet and unmoving despite the storm.

"i don't understand what you want from me anymore, kento." you'd said, exhaustion weighing your shoulders down. "it's always 'we'll go next week.' or 'i'll make it up to you soon-"

"you know how important our mission is." he'd gravely said, his voice strangled. you clenched your jaw so hard it hurt, your eyes unblinking despite the torrent of raindrops blurrying your vision.

"and i'm not doubting that. i'm there with you, for fuck's sake, but god, sometimes it feels like these damn curses see you more than i do!" your anger is rolling off of your tongue in waves, the months of resentment and swallowed apologies spilling out in angry tides.

"i'm sorry, honey-" nanami had reached out his left arm to cup your face, but you stepped back, hating his touch and his sweet words at the moment.

"and when i needed you today." the tears come out now, messy and uncontrolled. "w-when i genuinely thought maybe, this was it, i had finally met a spirit i couldn't exorcise by myself-" you choked, the brief flashes of terror replaying in your mind. "where were you?"

he pauses, face falling in sadness.

"... the higher ups had informed me that you had it under control."

you let out a broken laugh at that. a harsh, humorless sound that made nanami flinch.

"the higher ups said. so that's it. what they say goes above me."

"again, i truly apologize, but you must understand this is bigger than both of us-"

it was your time to flinch at the way he said it.

"you're right." you cut him off, standing up straight. he'd tensed at your sudden change of tone, no longer resentful and emotional, but cut and dry. "this is bigger than both of us. so big, apparently, that you're incapable of choosing me over it. and i'm-"

you paused. you couldn't hear your thoughts with the constant rumbling of thunder up ahead, combined with the cacophony of clashing sounds of rushing water and hissing winds. but your heart felt heavy and your mind, foggy as it was, was determined to take a stance.

"i'm done."

you removed your engagement ring, the small piece of jewelry suddenly feeling like several tons in your shaking hands, and threw it on the floor.

"d-darling-" he was choking up too, and you had to physically turn away to shield yourself from that sound, the god awful sound of him crying.

"goodbye, nanami."

heartbroken, confused, and fearful, nanami felt himself sinking to his knees in the rain as you walked away.

gaze blurry from the salty mix of tears and raindrops, you swore to yourself you were going to forget him, forget tokyo, forget the life you two had built and wanted to continue building.

you'd disappear.

you have to admit, in the present, that there is a great sense of irony in creating multiple identities, severing all your friendships in tokyo, and overloading yourself with missions to avoid staying in the same city for more than a few days for five years...

only to eventually end up back at your ex's place.

rolling over to your side again, you stare up at the ceiling, head lost in the clouds. you're not sure how much time has passed until the sudden jingling of keys forces you to sit up, and nanami walks through the door with a reserved smile.

surprised, you glance at the clock on the wall. 5pm.

"you're off work early." you note passively, remembering that it was a tuesday.

"i am." he shrugs off his jacket, hanging it neatly by the front door. "i was able to shift some sick days around." to come see you, he wants to say, but he isn't quite ready to admit that the thought of you alone in his apartment (bored and tortured with nothing to do) was eating him alive.

you hum to conceal your surprise - nanami kento, using his sick days to get out of work early? that was highly unlike him.

though, you supposed, five years could do a lot to a person.

"would you like to have dinner outside today?" he questions from the bathroom, fingers working to undo his tie. "being pent up in the apartment probably won't do you any good."

dinner with your ex-fiancee is probably a terrible idea, but you also can't ignore the glittering opportunity to actually leave the apartment and wonder outside for a few hours.

"...sure." you end up mumbling, as if it pains you to admit it. "but did you forget my swollen ankle?" you sass, when nanami exits the bathroom and gives you his signature smirk.

"ah, i have a solution to that."

"...you're fucking kidding me."

you can't conceal your surprise when nanami carefully walks you over to the parking lot of his apartment, where his two seater bike is left chained up.

"what are we, 10? nanami, i can't ride this." you're flustered and angry, but you're also cursing at yourself when you're bombarded with a flood of memories of riding this bike with nanami through various parks in tokyo on your precious days off.

he just looks at you, amused, before cocking his head to the side.

"well, given your leg, it was either this or... i give you a piggy back ride to the restaurant."

cursing under your breath, you shove his shoulder with yours in a weak manner.

"fine. but you're doing all the pedaling."

he just smiles at you, bright and boyish, and you both pretend you feel no sparks of electricity when his fingers brush over yours whilst handing off the helmet.

the restaurant he takes you to is nice. it's small, family owned, overlooking the bay area. nanami has to stop himself from instinctively reaching out to pull your seat out for you, and you stare at the menu for an ungodly amount of time to avoid looking at how perfectly nanami's sculptured face evens out when he is concentrating.

"i think you'd like the stir fried noodles. second from bottom." nanami suddenly speaks up from behind his menu.

you're grateful that the thin paper menu is concealing your look of surprise, as he's pointed out the dish you've been eyeing silently.

"how can you be so sure?" you posit quietly, looking at him from the corner of your eyes. he seems to pause at your question, lowering his menu to the table as a serious gaze takes over his eyes. there's a mix of emotions evident on his face, perhaps a mix of regret and longing, when he responds so tenderly.

"because i know you."

you swallow the heavy feeling threatening to rise from your chest.

"knew me, nanami." again, you use the menu to shield your face from his piercing gaze. "it's been five years. a lot can happen in five years, you know."

"i know."

a beat of silence passes before the waiter is asking for the orders to be placed, the menus are cleared and the table is re-set for the dishes to come. you can't stop yourself from fidgeting in your seat and nanami isn't subtle with how he's staring at you, a million questions sitting on the top of his tongue.

he's sorry.

he's hurt.

he's missed you.

he wants to know how you'd disappeared off the face of the earth, wiping any trace of yourself from tokyo. not even your friends and family had known where you'd went, only an occasional postcard with your simple signature signalling your safety. a friend of a friend said you'd moved abroad and settled in germany. another claimed to have seen you in a shopping mall in osaka, selling perfume. he'd thought maybe you'd finally quit sorcery and moved to a quite seaside town to open a bakery.

but no, here you were.

alive, breathing, so different and confusing.

"i... i'm taking a month off of work." he decides to say, slowly testing the waters. your eyes snap to his, your lips immediately parting in shock at his confession. "i wanted to ensure i could be there for you in your recovery."

warmth blossoms across your chest at that, at the soft way in which his eyes are enveloping your figure, how his fingers are nervously thrumming against the table when admitting this to you.

"you didn't need to do that." you mutter, embarrassed.

"i wanted to." he admits, even softer.

you can't help but let out a small chuckle at that, taking a sip of your water whilst shaking your head.

"the nanami kento, taking a full month off of work for me? who are you?"

it's his turn to chuckle.

"well... like you said-" he pauses, pursed lips parting for a brief second. "a lot can happen in five years."

dinner happens in relative silence as that comment hangs in the air, neither suffocating nor light.

but it does leave a warm feeling in your stomach that is hard to ignore.

================

the second week, you've learned, is when the routines start being established.

every day at 8, you wake to the sound of jazz music and nanami rustling around in the kitchen. you know to not put too much pressure on your left ankle as you hobble over to the bathroom and check on your bandages, ensuring nothing has bled through or come undone over the night.

breakfasts are no longer completely silent, instead being filled with short exchanges of information. whether it's nanami recounting of your schedule for the day (gentle yoga, your pills in the upper cabinet after lunch, the evening walk in the park) or you reminding him that he was running low on kitchen towels.

neither of you bring up the past, and neither of you push.

nanami steals more glances at you out of the corner of his eyes then he'd like to admit, but he forces himself to maintain that distance from you to ensure you're comfortable. he plans things to do during the day whilst you're busy, pre-cooks meals in the fridge in case you don't want to eat out in the open, and continues to sleep away from you (alternating between the sofa and the guest room).

it's a small sacrifice, he considers, in exchange to see you getting better.

whilst you find yourself starting to regain your strength, your wounds starting to fade back into your skin and your ankle no longer screaming out in pain every time you took a step.

you hate to admit it, but nanami's meticulous planning - signing you up for local yoga classes to build by mobility, his careful distribution of medication, and recommendation of daily gentle walks - has really helped.

looking at the clock on the wall, you see that it's 6:30pm - 30 minutes after your usual scheduled evening walk, as you'd been pre-occupied with a random fiction book you'd picked up from underneath nanami's pile of clothes in the bedroom. placing the book back down on the bed, you walk over towards the entry way and see nanami bent over tying his shoes with a few grocery bags in his hand.

"are you heading out?" he asks, straightening up.

"yeah. evening walk." you respond, carefully sliding past him to reach for your own shoes. you're dressed simply in baggy pants and a tank top, perfect for a breezy summer evening, whilst he irons out the creases of leather jacket and cotton slacks with his right hand.

"mind i join you?" he asks casually, the question escaping his lips faster than he can regret it. "the supermarket is on the way to the park, so i shall not bother you for too long." he corrects himself, trying not to seem too desparate.

you shrug, ignoring how warm his body is against yours when you slide past him to sit on the floor to tie your laces.

"sure. whatever's easiest, i guess."

"great."

the walk to the park is usually 20 minutes, but it feels much longer. particularly when you two are walking side by side: close enough to feel each other's presence, but too far away to touch.

it's far too unbearable for both of you, in different ways.

"how was your yoga class?" nanami decides to ask. ask her a safe question. an easy, non-intrusive question. he thinks, carefully surveying your reaction (and nearly breathing a sigh of relief when you shrug).

"uh, it was good. you picked a nice studio, i really like my instructor." a beat. "thank you for signing me up."

"it's my pleasure."

then it's back to silence, the city buzzing with life around you. rowdy school children pushing past each other on a bridge, taxi drivers speeding through flashing lights, exhausted businessmen exiting train platforms in droves... it's overwhelming and you almost don't realize you are walking into traffic until nanami's hand grabs your wrist and gently pulls you backwards.

"t-thanks." you manage to stutter out, his touch leaving a burning sensation on your skin. his hand disappears from your wrist as soon as the bus passes, but your mind can't help but linger on it, and with how he'd flashed a small smile your way.

the same smile you fell in love with all those years ago.

you nearly want to cry with relief when you see the familiar glittering outline of the supermarket, signaling the end to the semi-awkward walk.

"i guess i'll see you back home?" you posit, shifting your weight nervously under his quiet gaze. and, of course, the moment you say that so you can begin to walk towards the park-

it starts raining.

hard.

the kind of downpour that pelts the ground and sends crowds of people running into the nearest store, including you, dragging nanami into the supermarket to avoid the sudden downpour.

"i cannot believe this." you grumble, staring up at the now splotchy grey sky. "there was no rain forecast, i literally checked right before we left the apartment!"

nanami chuckles at your anger - he's reminded of how cute he thought you looked whenever you got angry, cheeks squished as you suck in your tongue, glittery eyes narrowing in annoyance.

"perhaps it'll stop in a bit?" he suggests, picking up a basket. "you're more than welcome to stick around as i shop."

giving in (as the only other option is to stay out in the rain), you trail behind nanami like a lost puppy. the blonde man moves with the speed and fluidity of a local, knowing where every produce is and what brand to buy (making his decisions within five seconds), whilst you helplessly follow behind him looking completely lost.

eventually, you get distracted by the desserts aisle and drift away for him for a bit, your eyes fixated on the assortment of mochi packs on the top shelf.

"(y/n)?" nanami questions aloud, surprised at your sudden disappearance. he spins around once in a full circle, before poking his head at the next aisle, then the second next, going through every corner of the store before he finds you squatted down low. eyebrows fixed in concentration, eyes seemingly zeroed in on comparing two mochi brands.

nostalgia hits him like a truck, pinning him to his spot.

it was autumn. you were wearing a hoodie with sleeves far too long with your hands, red checkered pajama pants you hadn't bothered to change out of. grinning face bare and glowing with mischief when you'd turned from your spot in the grocery store to stare up at nanami.

"kenny, matcha or vanilla?"

he'd laughed quietly under his breath.

"darling, don't you think we have enough mochi back home?"

your face had scrunched up in faux disgust, and you grabbed your chest dramatically as if you'd been shot.

"are you trying to insinuate that we have an excess amount of mochi? my heart! how could my husband say that."

his heart had skipped a beat at that, his engagement ring clinking against yours when he held your hand lovingly.

"not your husband yet, my sweet. still two months."

"mmm... i do tend to be impatient, don't i, my dear husband?"

he'd narrowed his eyes at you.

"... you're just using that to get me to agree to us buying more mochi, aren't you?"

he'd meant to scold you, but with the way you were smiling at him, digging your face closer into his chest... suddenly all his words were mush.

"is it working?" you'd asked, seemingly already knowing the answer.

"yes."

"I used to love this brand." you say fondly in the present, snapping nanami out of his recollections. he isn't hard to find with his striking blonde hair and tall stature, as well as the fact that your body seems to have a sixth sense for where he is at all times.

nanami swallows nervously when you shift the box in your hands to show him. he recognizes that logo, all right. it was the same brand of mochi you'd beg nanami to buy every thursday when the supermarket would re-stock.

sakura for the spring, strawberries for the summer, matcha for the fall, and sesame for the winter.

you'd stack them neatly on the upper left corner of the kitchen counter, a hazardous but neat stack of half-empty boxes always occupying the kitchen.

his heart aches at the soft memory, a stark contrast to the sad smile on your face as you place the box back down.

"let's get one." he suddenly says, voice slightly strangled with emotion.

you look up at him, surprised.

"i thought we were only here to stock up on missing ingredients for the rest of the week."

he shrugs, trying to come off as nonchalant.

"perhaps old traditions aren't so bad."

old traditions - the phrase leaves a bittersweet taste in your mouth, a flash of memories entering your mind of shared bites in the park on hot summer days, him carefully arranging your favorite flavors on a plate and sliding it under the door when you were bedridden from the flu, a friday night when nanami had braved a snowstorm to get you the newest flavor of mochi from a supermarket 30 minutes away.

"maybe so." is all you can offer in response, fingers lightly brushing against his when you pass him the box.

the rest of the groceries are gathered within ten minutes and the check-out takes another ten, the skies still an angry grey and spewing down hell. staring up at the sky from the safety of the cover of the supermarket, you look back at nanami with the grocery bags in his hands, cocking your head.

"what now?"

"would you like to finish your walk?" he suggests weakly, already knowing your answer.

"think that's a bit pointless with the rain." you muse, rolling your eyes. "i don't know, uh... did you bring any cash for a taxi maybe?"

he shakes his head sideways.

"not enough for what'd be required in the rain and this distance." he responds, craning his neck to the side to catch glimpses of young couples down the street screaming and giggling furiously whilst ducking into the nearest shop to avoid the rain. it leaves a slight pain in his chest, seeing couples in love frolicking in the rain, while his ex-fiancee stares him down from the side with an unreadable look on her face.

"a bus then? if we run for it, we could make the next one that stops in front of the library?"

nanami's eyes nearly bulge out of his head at your suggestion.

"the library is at least a 15 minute walk from here."

you roll your eyes playfully, and there's a glint in your eyes that makes his heart race with nerves and excitement.

"which will be 5 if we run."

and before he can even begin to go through the list of (many) reasons why running in your condition would be a bad idea, the potential to catch a cold in the rain, the worries of you worsening your injury by tripping over your feet - you're off. sprinting down the sidewalk, leaving nanami to silently curse under his breath before running after you in equal pace.

you eventually have to give up a few minutes away from the library, your left leg protesting at the sudden burst of exercise, forcing you to slow down enough to let nanami catch up to you.

rain has soaked your entire body from head to toe, tank top clinging tight to your waist and raindrops clouding your eyes, but you can't help but grin when nanami begins to scold you in his angry tone.

"do you understand how reckless that was, running into the rain when it is slippery and you are injured-"

"it's going to help us catch the bus on time though, is it not?" you tease, poking him on the side.

he narrows his eyes at you, sighing, before taking off his jacket to wrap it gently around your head.

"don't run off anymore, please. and stay close." nanami mumbles quietly as your fingers find their way towards clutching the lapels of his jacket, bringing it slightly over your head to shield yourself from the rain. and when he notices you walking a little more slowly than usual, awkwardly walking in a way to avoid putting too much pressure on your left foot, he wordlessly puts his arm around your shoulder to prop you upwards.

the bus eventually does come, and nanami helps you board the bus before giving up the only spare seat on there for you, his warm hands lingering on your back. it's an uninterrupted, but comfortable, silence as the bus slows down into your neighborhood and he grabs the grocery bags in one hand.

and grabs your hand with the other, ensuring that you step off the bus safely.

when the apartment door finally closes behind you, both of you dripping water onto the floor and completely drenched from the storm outside, you glance at him for a moment. his neat blonde hair now a wet mess sticking out in odd directions and your pink shirt now an angry red color - you both burst out laughing.

it might've been the twitch of nanami's eyebrows. or the way you bit your bottom lip at him, the first sign of a dangerous laughing fit incoming. or the way you both stared at each other, unmoving but breathing, taking in the sudden silence of the apartment in complete contrast to the chaos outside (harsh rains, screeching tires, and the hurried footsteps of civilians).

but now you both can't stop laughing, your stomach hurting so much that you have to bend yourself over and nanami is grasping at the empty wall, leaning against the cement to support himself.

it feels warm. it feels right. but most importantly, it feels like all the slight tension and worries of the previous weeks have melted away.

"you're- you're unbelievable." he says, trying to calm himself by running a hand through his hair, but there's no bite to his words. if anything, he's staring at you with a blend of amusement and awe, a way that still makes your stomach flutter five years later.

"and you're just as insane for following after me."

he pauses, taking off his shoes on the drying rack and spinning around to smile at you so brightly your mind blanks for a second.

"perhaps i am."

you take in a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself down.

"wash clothes, warm bath, lazy dinner in?" you suggest, already shrugging off your socks and tossing it into the washing machine. it's as if you read his mind, and he nods, mind already spinning with options of what to make for dinner.

"sounds perfect."

dinner that night ends up being the most lively yet. a candle lit mid-way, the sounds of rain enveloping the apartment, mixed with soft jazz and inside jokes revitalized from memories past.

========================

the third week is when things feel normal.

he stops asking if he can touch you when he extends his arm forward as a support, letting your fingers wrap around his bicep as you navigate in the dark or step off of a high ladder.

you start leaving the bedroom door open, not caring if he needs to come in to grab a spare tie or to check his face in the bathroom mirror one last time before he heads out.

old routines start to come alive - how you'd neatly pressed and ironed his favorite polo shirts and placed them in the top left corner, nanami's precisely cut mochi squares left untouched and perfectly preserved in the fridge, you being careful to place his good shoes on the top of the shoe rack so he could reach for them easier.

one night, you ask him to keep you company after a bad dream. he stays lying next to you, convincing himself to try and fall asleep, pretending like his skin isn't on fire. when you two wake up the next day, his left arm is thrown above your waist and your face right up against his chest.

you never ask him to move back to the sofa. so he doesn't.

it's easy, this life. you rarely have to ask for everything, with nanami seemingly having the gift of understanding everything you could need and when, and nanami feels his body melting into the domesticity of it all.

hell, he's even humming to himself in the mornings now. the barista at the local coffee place where he's a regular asks if he's gotten good news lately, when nanami sports an ear-splitting grin every morning when entering the store.

it's so good, that you've almost forgotten what you ran away from. so shielded by the warm and familiarty of nanami and this apartment, that when your phone buzzes, you don't for a second think it's about hunting curses.

unknown number. typical.

but based on the message, you know who it's from.

"special grade curse floating around south of the harbor. the usual?"

your jaw clenches at the end of the sentence, those two crude words 'the usual' referring to the vast amounts of money they'd offer to taking out the most dangerous of curses. the catch being, you'd have to be the first sorcerer to do it and it had to be done alone.

it was a betting pool of sorts, a competitive ego race connected by loose messages and a vast underground network of sorcerers egging each other to take on more dangerous missions in return for money, recognition, and power.

you hadn't meant to fall into it.

it was a seedy secret you'd stumbled into when you'd first beaten a curse on a windy night in kyoto, only to be sworn at by a clearly more seasoned sorcerer strapped for cash.

"killing curses first for money? that's absurd." you'd dismissed it, your tongue darting out to lick your dry lips. it was freezing, a windy winter night on the top of a mountain, and the aged sorcerer smiled at you so wide like a predator who had found its prey.

"think about it, child. everyone gets an equal chance. the money is quiet, but huge. collected within the first hour of the announcement, no questions asked." the man had paused, scanning you up and down with a serious look on his face. "nothing to lose, everything to gain."

you'd clenched your jaw so tight it hurt.

"how do you know i have nothing to lose?" you'd questioned.

he didn't even flinch at your sharp questioning.

"simple. from your eyes."

craning your neck discreetly to the side, you find nanami sleeping quietly on his side of the bed. he'd insisted on putting a movie on that you'd like, a lazy sunday morning being enjoyed with slow cooked pancakes and warm coffee, and you already feel bad about how much he's had to dote over you for the past few weeks. you can see the fatigue on his face - his proportionate and sculpted face drawn into thin lines, his head sinking into the comforting pillows of the bed.

even now, you must admit, he's devastatingly handsome. and without really thinking about it, you find yourself unfolding a blanket from beneath you and draping it over him to shield him from the cold.

your entire body is begging you to stay. to finish the movie with him on the bed, the distance small but still existent, to sink back into the domesticity of it all.

but your mind can't help but race, re-playing the words of the text in your mind, thoughts racing with anxieties about the future.

before you can even process what you're doing, you call the number back.

"i told you to stop texting me." you curse into the receiver, slipping into the balcony so that nanami wouldn't hear you. the masculine voice on the other side chuckles, clearly amused.

"thought you died or something. haven't seen you claim a curse in weeks."

"well, i've..." your eyes drift back to the bedroom. "i've been busy."

"hm." is all the guy says on the other end, intrigued and unconvinced. "whatever the case, clearly you're still interested as you've not blocked this number."

"i can't keep doing this you know." you grit your teeth, frustrated by his smug voice. the man only laughs at the other end of the line.

"hey, you're free to leave any time. just don't come crawling back to the club when you're eventually broke and lonely."

your eyes narrowing back in on nanami's sleeping figure, a sinking realization spread across your chest.

because you should know better. know, that this can't last.

that once you leave, you'll be back to zero. some money wouldn't hurt, let alone if it's a special grade curse. the betting pool would be significant, enough money that could get you going for at least a few weeks. a city or three, with motels and food included.

you can't get too attached to this life, (y/n). you scold yourself, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. your weak heart causes you to look back at nanami, at the sleeping face of your ex-fiancee, as you're reminded that this isn't permanent.

it's temporary.

and just like last time, it'd end with someone walking away.

you hang up without speaking and quietly dim the lights, before slipping away.

twenty minutes later, nanami wakes to eerie silence.

and it's not the comforting, alluring type of silence he's gotten accustomed to in the past few weeks with you around.

instead, it's the type of silence that sends a chill down his spine, a silence that hints at something - someone - missing.

he sits up in a panic, his hands reaching out for you in the dark. nothing. your phone is still sitting on the table, cold to the touch - you weren't on it recently. but your favorite jacket is still folded over the desk chair and he knows you'd never go anywhere without it.

there's a pit in his stomach signaling that something is wrong, a bitter taste in his mouth which follows.

he scans his mind for the most reasonable explanation for your disappearance. a random walk perhaps. the fridge was empty and you needed more  groceries. a neighbor wanted to invite you for coffee.

your phone screen lights up as if on cue.

leaning closer, he sees it's a random number not added to your contacts. curiously, however, the message seems to indicate the sender knows you.

"you taking it or not?" is all the text says, but something feels off.

biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, he snatches up your phone and guesses your pass code. your birthday.

wrong.

his birthday.

wrong.

come on. he scolds himself.

he knows there's only a few more incorrect guesses he can make before the phone locks him out, so he thinks of what date could have the most significance to you.

hands trembling, he types in the date you left.

0818.

your phone unlocks.

reading the second to last message about a special curse floating around the harbor sends a shiver down his spine. he'd heard rumors about this amongst the sorcerer circles. some underground gambling.  sorcerers getting off on seeing each other get hurt, some even die, from taking on special curses by themselves. he hadn't thought much of it.

let alone, consider, that you'd somehow be a part of it.

his mind works overtime, movements fluid and natural, as he changes his clothes and dashes out the door to find you.

a crash - something blasts into the right side of where you're standing, hot flames missing you by a few inches. there's a dark figure with glowing red eyes advancing in on you, your fingers wrapping so hard around your blade you swear it leaves a dent on your skin.

"i'm going to enjoy killing you, little girl."

"go fuck yourself." you curse, swinging the metal to cut into its side. you only get a few cuts in, in between the dodging of its claws and ducking under shipping containers, but the curse is incredibly fast. dissipating into the dark, dark tendrils spreading out over the cement before it reappears, even bigger, to your right.

before you can even blink, it throws you against the wall a few feet away, your body taking the full hit at the sudden force. your head is throbbing, and you feel a trickle of blood run down your head, but thankfully, you know nothing is broken by the way you're able to stand back up (gritting your teeth through the pain).

curse my still healing ankle, you think, as you tunnel your way into the maze of ships laying around the yard. you can hear the curse's voice taunting you, skipping from one container to another, the sound of metal hitting metal echoing through the yard.

"you know, i always thought you sorcerers were a lot stronger than this." you hear its ugly voice from a few meters away, your boots digging into the sand. "but i'm getting quite tired of this game of cat and mouse, aren't you?"

limping on your left leg, you wonder if you're starting to run out of options. your headache's getting worse, there's a dead end up ahead, and your hands are shaking so hard you can barely conjure a spark.

"there you are."

there's shattering glass and then the heavy drop of a slimy body, your determined eyes unwavering from its beady red ones. if you're going to go down, you think, you might as well die in a fight. right hand raised with the blade, your left hand wiping the blood dripping from your head, you take the first step when-

the curse goes up in a blue flame.

it screeches, screaming in pain as it jumps back, and a familiar blonde figure steps in front of you.

you expect him to sternly tell you to stay put. maybe yell. maybe scold you.

hell, if he's really angry, even curse. but he doesn't.

he doesn't say anything, doesn't even look at you.

just wraps his tie around his right hand one more time, entire body ablaze in a blue flame, the curse having no fighting chance with the sheer amount of power radiating off of nanami. his eyes - usually filled with so much warmth and honey - cold. focused.

you're forced to watch as the curse becomes ash, nothingness swept away by the sea breeze, before he turns around and roughly pulls you up with his wrist.

"nanami, before you say anything-" you start, already anticipating his protests.

he simply glares at you. the sharp, disappointed, brimming with intensity type of glare that makes the rest of the words die in your mouth.

"we're going home." is all he says, before he takes off his jacket and orders you to wrap it around your head and apply pressure.

the entire journey home, you keep on glancing at him out of the corner of your eyes, nervous and frustrated by his silence. but your ex-fiancee refuses to look at you. simply standing upright with his jaw clenched, his knuckles bruised, eyes staring dead straight ahead with the diligence of a soldier at war.

it's only when he opens the door to his apartment, and you clamber in behind him, head hanging low... that he explodes.

"how could you." he starts, low, clicking the door behind him with a firm shove.

you have to scream at every bone in your body to not flinch, because this level of anger is rare with nanami. he's usually so poised. so rational. so level-headed, that even major annoyances become inconvenient for him to express in a few minutes.

you don't even have to raise your eyes to meet his to know that he's furious - furious beyond words.

"i-"

"do you know you could've died if i didn't intervene?" he adds, stepping closer to you as you sit down on the couch, your legs giving out from under you. "that curse was feeding off your fear, a special curse at that, hunting it down on an injury-"

"i could've handled i-"

he laughs. a cold, dark laugh that makes your shoulders shiver.

"really? you could've handled it yourself? even when its claws were a few centimeters away from puncturing your skin?"

his words dig in like knives into your heart. calloused, sharp, but true. it makes it all the more uncomfortable as you shift into the cushions, wishing you could be anywhere but this room.

"and i..." his hands grip at his hair, furious and confused. "i can't believe you'd put your life at risk for what, some, some money?!" he scolds you, voice starting to raise slightly higher. "god, i thought i knew you better-"

"WELL YOU DON'T KNOW ME AT ALL, NANAMI." you burst out, no longer able to stand his anger.

your sudden outburst seems to stop him in his tracks, his fury dissipating into shock.

"whatever person you think i am, that person is dead. a lot has happened in five years, nanami. i've changed. i've-" you swallow a sob, hating yourself for getting emotional. steely determination settles over your beating heart. "i've had to."

he just nervously licks his lips, sensing the shift in atmosphere in the room.

"(y/n)-"

"do you know what leaving you meant?" you accuse, veins alight with anger. it's coming out of you, all at once, this waterfall of hurt and trauma, fuelling you to stand back up and glare into his now concerned eyes. "it meant leaving behind tokyo. our apartment was in your name, kento."

you spit out his first name like it's an insult, and he flinches.

"our bank account, your name. fuck's sake, my phone bill, in your name." you let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head sideways. "i cut off absolutely everyone i knew in tokyo and moved to the other side of the country with nothing but a few pairs of clothes and an old id card in a backpack."

you breathe slowly, bitterness now fuelling you more than sadness, before taking a step closer to nanami as you jab a finger onto his chest.

"i was alone, tired, with no money and no friends to rely on. so i had to get creative." you spit, shoulders tensing. "so sue me, kento. i know you despise what i've become. but i've had to do it to survive. it was survive, o-or-"

fuck. you feel tears welling up in your eyes, forcing you to look away and blink fast to force it away. you refuse to lose your upper ground to him right now in this argument, especially with the way his face is overcome with an unreadable expression.

"or perish. and i refused to perish."

your body feels like it's been tightly wound up, chest compressed and ablaze with anger, your shoulder rising and falling with your heavy breaths as you stare up at nanami in defiance. he blinks at you wordlessly, once or twice, as you brace yourself for another fury storm of anger and moral righteousness-

but instead, he hugs you.

with so much force your back hits the back of the sofa, his muscular arms wrapping around your waist, his chest heaving with sobs that his whole body shakes.

"i'm so sorry, love."

it's the first time he's called you anything other than your name the whole time, your anger quickly melting into the summer air.

"i'm so sorry you've had to deal with all that since we broke up. i'm sorry you felt that you had to survive, and survival meant giving up everything and living on the run. i'm sorry t-that-" he puts his head into the crevice of your neck, murmuring a million apologies into your skin, your eyes now also stinging with tears. "that i hurt you so bad you felt like you couldn't come back to tokyo."

he sinks into the floor, and you go down with him. you bite your lower lip, unsure of what to do with this revelation.

"i... i wanted to come back. i did, and so badly. but the whole city reminds me of you, and i was never brave enough."

he shakes his head at that, pulling you in closer and onto his lap.

"it wasn't about bravery, darling. it was about me being a coward. i've spent every day since you left regretting not putting you first. of not listening to you when you needed me, of always thinking other people had the right answers instead."

his hands clasps your shaking ones, cold hands gripped by warm ones.

"and i'm sorry i yelled at you. it's just, god, when i saw that fucking curse about to strike with blood pouring out of your head all i could think was-" his voice wavers and he swallows the sob, your fingers rubbing smoothing circles onto his skin as he blinks away his tears. "that i was going to lose you again."

swallowing down your own tears, you stare him square in the eyes, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible. to show him that you were still here. and that you cared, deeply, about him.

"but you haven't. i'm still here."

and just when you say that, the clouds part, the moonlight hits the crown of your head and he's reminded of the first time he's ever seen you laugh. head thrown back at something gojo said, the summer sun glittering on your face, an ethereal glow around you.

"i love you." he blurts out, breath heavy and uncontrolled, his demeanor unwavering in response to your widening eyes.

"that's not fair." is all you can say, your heart splitting in two. all you can think to yourself is you can't go through another heartbreak. another letdown. you can't be at the receiving end of his cruel goodbye even one more time, the thought sending shivers down your spine.

"i know." he says, before nervously swallowing. "but i still do."

the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. you force yourself to look away from his burning gaze, afraid of making any rash decisions.

"let's get you to bed." you say quietly, standing up whilst avoiding his gaze.

you don't, however, let go of his hand.

======================

the fourth week drags.

it feels as if time is mocking you, each day feeling excruciatingly long and suffocating.

nanami's sensed your shift in attitude. he moves his pillow from the bed where you lie back to the guest room, making sure to knock on the door before entering each time. he's careful with you, wording every sentence in advance and being sure to time his return to the apartment around the times you'd be up and moving. on the odd day he finds you on the couch, reading a book in a sweater and comfy pants - he sits on the far end of the couch, opening up a computer and typing away.

it's as if two strangers are living in the same space together.

and it's killing him.

surely, nanami thinks, this is the worst of it all.

not having you - when you physically were gone, disappeared without a trace, was one kind of hell.

but to have you next to him, to be able to hear your breathing on the other side of the room, to have your warm presence and vanilla scented shampoo invade all of his senses whilst you refuse to acknowledge his presence...

is a different kind of heartbreak.

he slaps himself at night for it. why, why did he have to say he still loved you? when he can't sleep, he forces himself into a cold shower and stays unmoving in front of the mirror, watching the water droplets slowly fall from his face until his skin is completely dry. all he can hear is the winds from that night, how shallow your breathing had gotten, how crimson the blood falling from your head was-

his knuckles around the sink tighten.

if keeping you safe meant you hating him, he'd have to live with it.

little does nanami know, however, you're far from hating him.

you had returned home that night and refused to let him touch you up, his love confession tearing a new hole in your fragile heart. having his warm eyes stare into yours under the glow of the night light, his deft fingers carefully patching your wounds, would've made it worse.

so you 'kicked him out' of the shared bedroom, insisting that you could address your own wounds.

you'd made sure to cry into a pillow that night, so that he couldn't hear you.

your head still hurts, softly, enough to take painkillers every day alongside the breakfast nanami still sets out for you (but that you leave half of. if it is out of spite or out of sadness, you're not sure).

you want to forgive him.

god, a part of you wants to say hell to the high ground. and to immediately invite him in back to the bed, to forego the past you've been running from, and recommit to the man who was once your fiancee.

but a bigger part of you, the wounded heart, the woman who had tore herself from everyone she knew in tokyo and lived a life of a traveler without a purpose for years - grounded only by exorcisms and the next flush of cash - is not ready to forgive.

because when you picture nanami's face, you can't see the sweet, doting, and gentle man who has put his job on pause for you.

instead, you still see the remnants of the unmoving man that rainy night five years ago. the one who chose his work above you and changed the course of your life forever.

the ache claws at your stomach and heart, a persistent state of nausea plaguing your every waking moment. you can't help but keep on glancing at the calendar on the wall, counting down the final days of the month.

'just a few more days.' is your mantra.

as you avoid his gaze.

and limit your answers to a few words.

and pretend not to notice his shaking hands when he sits down next to you, his not-so-obvious glances at you from the corner of his eyes.

it's 10pm. on a friday. the tv isn't muted but the volume is so low it might as well be, a cool breeze flowing in through the gap in the open window which makes your eyelids flutter closed and open inconsistently. from where you're laying down on the couch, you see that the bedroom light in the guest room isn't on.

that's odd, you think to yourself, before redirecting your attention to the tv. perhaps he was out for a mission tonight. maybe he was meeting friends. a night walk to clear his head.

but then it becomes 11pm. 11:30pm. midnight.

your texts are delivered, but not read.

your calls go through, but lead to a voicemail.

when the clock strikes 1am, you're wide awake and panicking, heart torn at whether to call emergency services or to throw on a jacket and shoes to go looking for the man yourself.

it's not like nanami to go somewhere without telling you, or at least, he'd leave a note behind.

as if on cue, it's then that the front door swings open and nanami comes in stumbling in.

flushed cheeks, his hair wildly swept to the side, tie slightly undone. his long legs shaking as he waddles into the room, his drunken eyes lighting up in recognition when he spots your frozen figure in the middle of the room.

"oh! my darling!"

before you can even say anything else his lips are on yours, fire and electricity rolled into one, the intensity of his force causing you to bump up against the wall. his right arm comes down to immediately catch your waist, left smoothing down your hair whilst he smiles at you lovingly.

"i missed you so much, m'wife."

"we're not married, nanami." you say, quietly, trying to ignore the rush of joy prickling at your skin.

"not yet." is all he says, spinning you around so that you're both sitting on the couch. when you try and remove your hands from his grasp he groans, like a small child being denied their candy, and he moves in obnoxiously closer.

"w-what are you doing?" you find yourself asking, breath hitching at the sudden proximity.

he's now so close that you can smell the alcohol on his breath, his face somehow finding its way in between the crevice of your neck and shoulder. you can't move, body tensing at the warm contact, mind fuzzying at how domestic this all is.

"i've been... a bad husband." is all he says.

his tone is light, whiny even, but the sincerity of his tone catches you off guard.

you stay silent, unsure of what he means, and he doesn't move an inch from where he's sitting. holding you tight, his voice reverberating against your skin.

"i let you down five years ago and thought i could win you back with just some apologies and an i love you. but i know that's not enough. it could never be enough. you, my darling-"

he places his hands on your cheeks, his cold hands a stark contrast from your warm face.

"deserve the whole world. not some workaholic coward who needs to drink six bottles of soju to tell you the truth."

"why didn't you look for me?" you ask, voice breaking under his warm gaze. he looks so sweet, so genuine, his sleepy eyes drinking you in as his arms curl around your waist, his head against your chest. you're not even sure where you can put your hands, tears threatening to fall from your eyes, when he speaks.

"i did. but clearly, i didn't try hard enough." he lets out a bitter laugh at that, but with his drunken state, it comes out as more of a wheeze. "but i deserved that. the five years of loneliness and regret. i don't regret that."

you blink, surprised.

"you don't regret it?"

he suddenly stands up, and you swear he's no longer drunk, eyes as clear as the day you first met him.

"what i regret is how it left you, alone and scared for five years."

you stutter, taken back.

"all i've been doing is hurting you when you least deserve it. so i get it."

he looks like a kicked puppy, his head hanging low, voice so sad and pitiful. your doubts about whether he's drunk flies out the window when he suddenly stands up and rushes to the bathroom, the sound of his violent throwing up causing you to cringe.

quickly filling up a glass of water and grabbing a packet of tylenol for the next morning, you slowly approach him in the shared bathroom, your fingers first touching his suit jacket to remove it from his trembling frame.

"s-sorry you had to see this." he groans, face now pink and sickly. "it's not... very... becoming."

"no it is not." you admit, now undoing his tie and taking off his socks for him. "can you stand up by yourself in the shower?" you worry out loud, standing up.

"mm... i don't know." he groans, grasping his head dramatically. "my head hurts."

sighing, you roll up your sleeves and decide to run a bath. his dirtied clothes in the washing machine, your anxious fingers thrumming along the side of the bath tub as the water fills up past his knees. he gives you a cheeky grin, the daze of drunkenness and love still fogging his senses, which causes you to lightly poke his head.

"get your mind out the gutter, nanami. i'm just washing you."

"i know." he admits, tilting his head back. "but i missed your touch."

you pretend that the comment doesn't cause your heart to skip a beat, your shaky fingers starting to rub shampoo into his scalp. your eyes laser focused on the bubbles on his head, you force yourself to focus on the task at hand and not the loving way with which he keeps peeking at you.

"i'd quit my job for you, you know."

you almost drop the bar of soap in your hands.

"that's not funny, nanami." you quip, washing your hands in the sink. but he just hums, content, as if what he said was as casual as describing today's weather.

a silent beat passes, and you wonder if he'll continue the serious conversation.

"i'm hungry." he laments when you finish rinsing his entire body, his sleepy eyelids batting at you pathetically.

"i'll see what's in the fridge, okay?" you sigh, tossing him a towel. he looks like an overgrown child as he stumbles into his pajamas and brushes his teeth in the mirror, grumpily. you disappear into the kitchen for a few moments to quickly assemble a sandwich, only to re-open the bedroom door and see him passed out on your side of the bed.

the bastard.

sighing, you carefully wrap the sandwich in wrapping and return to the bedroom to turn off the lights.

you jump when his left hand shoots out and grabs your wrist.

"don't go."

"nanam-"

"please." he doesn't open his eyes, but his grip is strong. "just for tonight."

"okay." you admit, curling into him carefully.

and for the next few hours, his drunken words replay in your mind, the haunting green glow of the alarm clock next to you reminding you that tomorrow was the final day of the month.

===================

nanami wakes up and feels two things.

one, a splitting headache. judging by the burning in his throat and the nausea bubbling in his stomach, he'd gone overboard with the alcohol last night.

two, the warm body sleeping next to him is now gone, the sheets cold with the imprint of a person who previously laid there.

his heart sinks, realization weighing on him like a heavy stone.

you'd left.

he should've known. he had gone out drinking precisely because he knew the deal was almost up. it'd be a month since your arrival and you'd leave just as quickly as you came, and he'd had the foolish hope that you'd stay.

worst of all, he showed himself as a drunken, bumbling idiot on your final night together.

slapping himself on the forehead, he curses his choices. why the hell would he think that's a good idea? what was he thinking? god, what had he even said last nig-

"morning."

surely, nanami thinks, he must be hallucinating.

because there you are. standing in one of his spare dress shirts, eyes half-awake from sleep, a steaming cup of coffee in your hands as you lean against the door frame.

"you... you didn't leave." is all that comes out of his mouth.

he's shocked. in disbelief. thanking whatever gods are up there.

you chuckle, shaking your head.

"i didn't."

"w...why?"

"i... think i'm ready to try again. if you are." you slowly admit, sitting down on the mattress next to him as you carefully place down your mug on the side table. "they say drunk words are sober thoughts and i guess i... i was too afraid of repeating the past that i missed out on what could happening now, in the present."

"oh, honey..." he grabs your hands in his, bringing his chapped lips to shakily kiss your skin. "you have no idea how happy that makes me. i will do you right. i will spend every day of the next month, year, five years, decades, making it right with you."

"you better."

he tastes like peppermint and salty tears when you kiss him this time. soft and hesitant, but strong.

he tastes like home.

the kind you don't run away from.

but the one you run towards.

and when ten years later your daugher tugs at your shirt, asking why every anniversary with you and nanami starts at a random playground in tokyo, he shoots you a low, loving smile.

============================

a/n: ahhhh i am so sorry for the long wait on this slow burn fic my lovelies!!!! not only did it take so long because it ended up being over 10k, but i was working full time + sorting out a move to a new place + getting ready to study a new program from september + it was my birthday this week so i had literally no time off!!! but i missed you all so much and i am very happy to be able to post something for you all today. i am totally unsure of how this turned out but i am happy that i challenged myself and hope you enjoyed it too :) slow burn exes to lovers for the win!!!

ᯓ★ likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ᯓ★

[seoulmatez]

farmhand boothill — a miniseries

• little miss city girl

you've come from the city to get away from the bustling environment and visit your grandpa on his farm. looks like he hired some help since the last time you were here and his farmhand is nothing but trouble...

• fruits of labor

a trip into town offers you a new perspective when it comes to the insufferable farmhand and those feelings you've been pushing down are beginning to bubble up.

• under the summer sun

a walk around the property proves that even the ever responsible, always moving farmhand needs the occasional break, too.

• at your beck and call

after a horse riding accident, you see yet another new side of boothill. it's starting to feel like maybe, just maybe, you were wrong when you labeled him "nothing but trouble."

• night owl

with some tough love encouragement from a friend back home, you begin to consider the possibility of telling boothill about the feelings he stirs up in you.

• as the truth comes to light

• in the moonlight — finale!

[tsukimirecs]

BLUE LOCK // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works. creds for divider

itoshi rin

because you're my muse

wallet

make you mine

nodus tollens

nothing more than lovesick

supernatural

mutual support

jealousy

itoshi sae

seabird

devotion

us, again

it would have been sweet

find love

freefall

valentines

michael kaiser

five dates and a proposal

sweet nothings

stench

red

what does it mean if i can't write a love letter?

it's like i'm painting pictures the way i picture paint

pulling pigtails

yoichi isagi

say you love me

fake it 'til we make it

football for dummies

lost

wednesdays with you

skirt physics

seishiro nagi

your attention on me, please!

flight of the navigator

hell or glory, i don't want anything in between

lullaby

his favorite character

good luck charm

reo mikage

sharing secrets in the dark

your tequila lips is my idea of luxury

[tsukimirecs]

BLUE LOCK // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works. creds for divider

itoshi rin

because you're my muse

wallet

make you mine

nodus tollens

nothing more than lovesick

supernatural

mutual support

jealousy

itoshi sae

seabird

devotion

us, again

it would have been sweet

find love

freefall

valentines

michael kaiser

five dates and a proposal

sweet nothings

stench

red

what does it mean if i can't write a love letter?

it's like i'm painting pictures the way i picture paint

pulling pigtails

yoichi isagi

say you love me

fake it 'til we make it

football for dummies

lost

wednesdays with you

skirt physics

seishiro nagi

your attention on me, please!

flight of the navigator

hell or glory, i don't want anything in between

lullaby

his favorite character

good luck charm

reo mikage

sharing secrets in the dark

your tequila lips is my idea of luxury

[salmonella-destroyer-of-worlds]

[animepopheart]

★ 【IDASU】 「 レイラ 」 ☆ ⊳ layla // genshin impact ✔ republished w/permission ⊳ ⊳ follow me on twitter

[bluexiao]

#second lead syndrome… or is it really?

–when they couldn’t confess their love for you, thinking you love someone else / seeing you with someone, looking in love, how would they react?

CHARACTERS. Albedo, Al-Haitham, Ayato, Cyno, Heizou, Kazuha, Tighnari, Venti, Wanderer / Scaramouche, Xiao, Zhongli; gn! Reader

THEMES. Some angst, some crack, and some fluff, (pick your fighter); non-established relationship (yall are not together, just friends)

NOTES. first ever multi hc for this year! yayy happy new year everyone~

ZHONGLI knew he was a god, and you weren’t. And even still, a part of him dreaded—desired you in a way that he never thought he would in a human. You were supposed to be one of his people.

But now he loves you more than that. And there only lies the question if you love him too.

Yet despite the dread to hold you in his arms and to proclaim of such mortal feelings he had attained for you, he holds back and forces himself to watch from afar. For a god like him has no reason to meddle with the fate of humans like you—no matter how he claims to be a mortal himself with the name he bears now.

And so, all he could do was watch you from afar, eyes fixed as if he was watching a theatre play unfoldon a stage that he chose to be an audience to, whereas the main lovers fall for each other, and all he could do was watch.

But then your eyes suddenly met, your smile like the sun that scorched his being, a gentle wave with your haand as you cal his name; “Zhongli! Can you come over here, will you?” It wasn’t even his real name, merely an identity he had chosen to keep as a result of wanting to live a mortal life.

A mortal life.

Maybe he should try living more with that—with you, he hopes.

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

XIAO has no use for love. Such a measly thing it is—to devote oneself to another with just mere feelings and empty words of promises.

And so Xiao stands on the top of the inn, looking down, his spear nowhere to be found, arms folded over his chest, and gaze directly focused–your way.

You were talking and laughing at a certain human, looking ever so comfortable as you usually do with him–or maybe you were always like this to others, and that includes him.

Then, as if you had sensed his presence, you looked up to where he was, but he was far gone, disappearing as if he was never there. If he had only stayed and seen the frown on your face, he wouldn’t have had to waste his time hiding away from you.

Xiao, he soon realizes, does have a use for love, as this ache inside his chest is something he cannot quell just by merely equipping his spear and defeating monsters.

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

WANDERER was never such a patient man. And besides, he isn’t even human.

It took a while to accept his… circumstances, and once he does, he will be very obvious with his so-called “feelings”, usually sticking to your side most of the time and glaring at practically anyone who would so much as dare to glance your way.

And as much as he is always near you, he will eventually notice whoever you will pay attention to–especially ones that would be constantly haggling over your sight. But he doesn’t do anything about it–doesn’t confess, doesn’t try to talk and ask to confirm his suspicions. Does he need to? No. He does not need affirmations because he is perfect enough to not need one–a perfect being who did not need such things as “love”, or “partner”s.

The words will die down in his mind when he sees you with someone else, however, form already right beside you as he finds himself glaring at whoever it was, “Oh realy? I can do that ten times better than you can,” he’d bark, already mocking at everything that the person does or claims themselves to be. Don’t misunderstand the Wanderer, he just thinks that this stranger is just too useless, you don’t need to waste your time over them.

‘But they’re human, unlike you,’ a voice inside his mind would say, but bites his lips, not letting that slip through his mouth.

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

VENTI sings praises and is full of love. He is the god of freedom and the wind. He is a bard for goodness’ sake.

“I am but a simple bard, how in Teyvat would they even see a person such as I am worthy of them?” he cried theatrically as he took a chug of his wine–or whatever it was in the bottle in his hand. But no matter how much he looks, the weight in his heart was very much real nonetheless, the memory of you with someone else plaguing his mind.

A god such as him losing to a mortal over your love. What could anyone possibly say if they hear of such a tale? Perhaps he may just end up writing a song of his broken heart to somehow ease the pain. At least thatw ay, he could Mora…

But one must never underestimate a god’s love… as eh might find himself crawling back to your arms tomorrow morning.

He has a lifetime to win your heart, after all.

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

TIGHNARI felt his feelings of care for you were normal. Of course, maybe he only favors you among the rest, even against his fellow rangers.

And something so normal is not supposed to bother him even in times when he’s supposed to be focusing. The forest is an unpredictable and dangerous place.

“What seems to be bothering you, Master?”

He halts from his tracks and turns to the other, “It’s nothing, Collei.”

But it’s not really “nothing” if he ends up walking away after reprimanding you and one of the other rangers for “lazing around”. And yes, that same one who had been lurking around near you lately, especialy when he’s not around.

Clearly, there must be something going on between that person and you. Of course, he could not possibly let anyone be so lax with this work, even if it’s you.

“You’re probably jealous, aren't you, Master? Aren’t you and Y/n dating?”

Colei can see and atone to how the other freezes—his tail and ears as well, and all he could do was watch as Collei giggles at him while nudging him with her elbows.

“Master and Y/n look very good together, and don’t worry, I’ll keep it a secret if that’s what you want!”

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

For once, KAZUHA was out of words.

Peace can be associated with silence, but silence is not always at peace–and now, the wind was completely silent.

“Not going to Y/n, kid?” Beidou stands next to him with crossed arms as they both have eyes focused your way. She sighs while she shakes her head, “Are you letting them go that easily?”

He feels his stomach drop, but the ghost of a smile on his lips masks the feelings he has inside. “They don’t belong to anyone but themselves, and that includes me,” he looks away and turns around, the breeze slapping his face just as much as reality does, “they are free to love, even if it will not be me.”

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

HEIZOU knows everything.

But this one he just found out is probably one of the things he just wished he didn’t find out.

Well, technically, it was a good thing!, he says to himself. After all… he always teased you and now, he probably did the right thing instead of… telling the truth.

Ah, by all means, he is no hypocrite. But, he does wonder when you had liked another person, and why? Surely, he had made himself known to you, with your daily meetups and banters, and you were even his “partner” in a case once. Perhaps he relied in his ability far too much that he forgot purpose for all of his efforts.

The least he could do was to support you in the sidelines… right? Surely he doesn’t like you that much to remain helpless in this situation.

When he saw you with that person the next day, he knew his resolve was far gone.

He must definitely find out what made you fall in love with this person…

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

CYNO does not know what he was going to do. And so, what does he do?

He hides in the corner and observes.

Of course, he can just walk right past both you and the person who you’ve been eating lunch with for the past hour, but for some reason, he can’t. Something about the scene right in front of him makes him want to interrogate the person; what their job was, who their family are, what other things they do—they cannot possibly hang with you if they have a bad record. All the more, what if they have bad intentions towards you?

And so, with his mind made up, that was what he does. At least, intends to do until you saw him and he met your eyes.

“Cyno! There you are, I’ve been waiting for you!” Once you had caled him oevr, the person scrambles up an excuse and runs away as soon as they can, even stumbling over a few times.

All Cyno could do was watch as the perosn runs away and sighs, sitting right beside you and crosses his arms.

“Who was that? What do they do? Are they from the Akademiya? I haven’t seen them before.”

“Oh, I don’t know, they just came here and sat in front of me.”

He is definitely hunting down that person until his questions are diminished.

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

What AYATO wants, Ayato gets.

Of course, that does not mean that he treats everything or everyone lightly, on the contrary, he does what he can to attain anything or anyone that he sees as valuable. With someone of his caliber, it would not be too difficult to get people to turn his way.

You, however, was someone who piqued his interest. Yet despite this, he lets you be, not doing anything… until he had seen you with someone else—a retainer of another Commissioner.

He reasons with himself that he only stepped beside you and piped in to the conversation out of being wary towards the other retainer—eh coudl not possibly have you, his friend, to be too exposed with the works of the Tri-Commision now, right?—and with his position and words, the retainer soon walks away.

“Now that they are gone, what do you say about having tea with me this afternoon, Y/n? Unless you have a scheduled date with that… retainer.” He tries to mask his disbelief, and thankfuly, you didn’t notice.

He ignores how you looked away, seemingly flustered for a moment as you mumble a small “Sure… and we’re not dating, master Ayato… it’s not like that.”

He looks away with a smile. Certainly, this is far better.

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

ALHAITHAM is rational. Most of the time.

“O-Of course, The Scribe must be very knowledgeable, compared to a lowly person like me,” says the other person that Al-Haitham did not really catch the name of right after he just questioned the person’s intelligence (very subtly at that).

“Oh come on, you’re not lowly-“

“This is why it is important to raise our knowledge, even to the little things, as we do not know what we might encounter. If you want, I can even refer you to the Akademiya, you don’t need to thank me.”

“I-I’ll think about it… thank… I mean, see you later, Y/n… and Scribe Al-Haitham,” the person sooner leaves without any more fight.

“Hey…. What is it with you? Something ruined your morning or something?” You npeered at him and he merely looks away whilst clearing his throat.

‘We were losing our time. I wanted to eat our lunch as soon as possible. Why? Are you suposed to be on a date with that… person?”

“What? What on Teyvat are you saying?” Your reply makes him crack a smirk. Of course, he was right. How could he even think that you were dating that person… at least, he won’t let that happen.

┌───────── ·  ·  ·  · ꒰⚘݄꒱₊

ALBEDO respects you a lot. A whole lot.

Yet that respect comes with admiration, and sooner, he realizes that this admiration might have been stronger than he had thought the moment he saw you with someone else.

He does not engage, however, merely waiting until you had finished your conversation with that certain someone, looking quite joyful than any time else, more than the times you had spent with him, actually.

“Albedo! There you are,” you grinned at him after walking away, even looking back at the figure of the person you had talked to.

His eyes peers at you like a hawk, taking note of everything; with the brightness of your smile, to the shine in your eyes, and to the giggle that erupts from your lips.

Had he ever seen such qualities in your face before? He couldn’t help but question himself as you send him one as well.

“Sorry, just got immersed in the topic… shall we go?”

He forces out a smile—which seemed real nonetheless, “Of course.”

“Hm?” You tilt your head to the side, “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he immediately answers, thinking that you probably had noticed his staring. He raises his hand and smiles, “shall we?”

He squeezes your hand when you willingly took his. Ah, maybe he could be greedy… just this time, he thinks.

comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated! ♡

taglist on reblogs!

[koyuxim]

✨the coat is off ✨

[bluexiao]

@anantaru sheesh

[thepinkinkbottle]

Let it stay off please

[gemmacorrell]

[thepinkinkbottle]

@everyone who sees this 

[favoniuscodex]

mythos [ pantheon notes - character guide ]

INTRO :: in the land of teyvat, old archaic structures have long since crumbled to give way to sprawling cities and tales of modernity. and yet, the land below still pulses with the leyline lifeblood of nations that time has forgotten. it is up to you, the newly blessed oracle of celestia, to reunite the gods who have long since severed their ties with each other.

AUTHOR'S NOTES :: hi everyone! welcome to mythos, my reverse harem mythology fic that i'll be working on over the next few months. you will star as the main character that has been blessed (or cursed, if you desire to view it as such) with the knowledge that the world is to end. to fix it, you have to find those powerful enough to stop it. and, in the typical fashion of self-indulgent fics, you also have to not fall in love with every powerful god you meet. here's the list of the pantheon, otherwise known as our main candidates for love interest in this story. this is the beginning of my one year anniversary story, mythos!

TAGLIST :: send in an ask to be added to the series taglist. i'll also tag you in upcoming info posts about the series :)

PANTHEON :: this consists of those who one ruled the land, but ultimately now hide in the shadows, for better or for worse. times have changed and humanity no longer needs the gods they once prayed to regularly -- until now. perhaps these are not all of the gods that must be documented. perhaps more may be met along your travels.

DILUC, GOD OF WAR :: with an undeniable fire in his eyes, diluc is far calmer for a god of war than what one would expect. alas, the aloof nature he holds towards those who approach him shrouds him in secrecy. with a voice that once cried for the fall of nations who betrayed him, diluc now lives within the twisting vines of one of mond's most lucrative wineries. careful, though. one wrong step and you'll find yourself pricked by the thorns of war.

KAEYA, GOD OF ROMANCE :: what good is romance if one forgets how to love? it's a question that remains unanswered for kaeya, who busies himself with indulging in all of humanities' vices. a life of gluttony is one of pleasure, yet there's a hollowness in the laugh of a man who seemingly has it all. when you first approach him, he kisses your knuckles with the swooning chivalry of a perfect bachelor, and yet, he shows you something within his iris that has not been there for millennia prior: hope.

ZHONGLI, GOD OF THE EARTH :: oldest of the gods and perhaps the most unyielding, zhongli is as firm as bedrock in his belief and his demeanor. he may appear to be an ally, yet despite his rigid faith in the idea of contracts, promises never fall from his lips when it comes to you. he evades teaching you about himself by filling your mind with tales of the other gods, spreading information in the form of longwinded tales. he is a faithful companion, yet you can't help but wonder: what is it that he knows that he cannot speak of?

THOMA, GOD OF THE HOME :: sit down, take a seat, and unwind. apologies for the appearance of the place around you. it's perfectly clean, yet the wooden flooring is worn with time and the walls have seen sturdier days. perhaps this is what it means to be at home, in a place well-lived in. no matter where you are, thoma provides a sense of comfort in his attitude, cooking, and care. he treats the other gods with a reserved kindness, yet you wonder just what makes the god of the home special enough to need to recruit for this mission.

LISA, GODDESS OF WISDOM :: arrive at this goddess' domain and an unending library will be at your fingertips. knowing all while knowing none, lisa is firm in her reminders that she is the goddess of wisdom, not knowledge. she is the intuition to make the correct decision, rather than the ideas needed to come to a proper conclusion. understanding her true meaning is difficult, but perhaps it is intentional. perhaps there are secrets that only a woman like her can handle.

ROSARIA, GODDESS OF ICE :: she resides where life cannot properly flourish, yet flourishes nonetheless. a frigid personality and fierce fighter, rosaria finds comfort in the reliability of cold. with a lack of heat, movement is more sluggish, the environment more predictable. everything is easier for her to analyze, for her to control. and yet, heat rises to her cheeks in response to the simple affections of others. could it be that her heart is thawing? or perhaps, maybe she is simply realizing that warmth is what she needs to reinforce the icy walls within her domain?

XIAO, GOD OF EQUILIBRIUM :: the world is cruel, yet it is kind enough to curse consciousness with life. the balances of existence must be governed so that they do not tip too far into the favor of good and bad, yet it is a thankless job performed only by one god: xiao. xiao, who shoulders the cruelty of spirits who have been corrupted by non-existence, escaped from the domain of zhongli long ago, springing from the cracks of earth to protect humanity as well. like a pendulum, xiao swings. be careful to not be caught in his path, lest you fall where the balance-keeper cannot reach.

TARTAGLIA, GOD OF THE OCEAN :: unpredictable, powerful, and what some may describe as deranged, tartaglia, god of the waters that surround teyvat, rules his own domain with a secrecy rival to none. his days of bloodshed are simply on hiatus and his thirst for power has not been subdued by the rise of humanity. instead, he swims where the light does not shine, wreaking havoc where prying eyes cannot see. will you follow the song of the siren or will you turn your ship around before it is too late?

ALBEDO, GOD OF LIFE :: humanity fears what they do not understand. so do gods. albedo is an enigma, formed from a force that even the earliest-born gods do not have an answer for. he is elusive and reserved, preferring the supernovae of creation rather than the residual stars. with no answer as to how life itself sprung from nothingness, fellow gods are wary of albedo, the entity that may very well be in control of fate as well. the only question is: are you?

[favoniuscodex]

what if i picked this up again,,, but replaced lisa's role as one of the main love interests with alhaitham as the god of knowledge rather than wisdom????

[thepinkinkbottle]

YES??? PLS????? (WAIT BUT RAIDEN AS GOD OF ETERNITY BRAIN ROT OH NO)