sirxaibs

[sirxaibs]

Nathan Prescott X Fem!Reader

The Rich Asshole . ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

So i have a few conflicting emotions when it comes to this character. from when i found the game I hated this guy. Though like most people there is an ounce of remorse that we feel for this character. However, my love for him is so conflicting because as much as he is a victim, he is the reason for what happened to rachel. Anyways here is my little story with my conflicting feelings. ALSO YOU CAN SAY HE ISN’T AT FAULT BUT HE IS. just because he was lead to these decisions does not mean he still didn’t do them.

“Fuck off, Prescott!” Your voice snapped down the hall, sharp enough to make a freshman nearly drop his textbooks.

Nathan, slouched against the lockers like he owned the goddamn place, gave a slow, mocking clap. “Wow. Real mature, (Y/L/N). You kiss your mommy with that mouth?” His tone was lazy, but his eyes pinned you like a bug to a wall.

You marched toward him, shoving your bag higher onto your shoulder. “I’d rather kiss a loaded shotgun than deal with your shit for the next two weeks.��

Nathan pushed off the locker with a sneer, standing tall. Taller than you, not that you’d ever admit it.

“Newsflash, bitch you think I wanna work with you?” he snapped, crumpling the project assignment sheet in his fist. “I’d rather fucking drown in a Porta Potty.”

You jabbed a finger into his chest a stupid move, because under all that overpriced denim and leather, he was solid muscle but you were way past giving a shit. “Then drop out, Prescott. No one would miss you.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes. You couldn’t tell because just as fast, he leaned in closer, face twisted in a sneer. “You’d miss me, sweetheart. You need someone to take your boring ass life up a notch.” His voice was low, practically a growl. “You’re so desperate for excitement you’ll probably fucking love having me around.”

“You’re delusional,” you spat, shoving past him.

But Nathan wasn’t done. He followed, keeping pace easily, his voice dropping into that dangerous, mocking tone he used when he wanted to pick someone apart. “Face it. You’re just pissed because you have to finally realized you’re not better than me.”

You whirled around, nearly slamming into his chest. “I am better than you,” you hissed, close enough to see the fine scars nicking the side of his jaw, the ones most people didn’t notice under the arrogant smirk. “I don’t have to buy my friends, or bribe my teachers ”

Nathan laughed, sharp and ugly. “Yeah? Keep telling yourself that, bitch. Maybe one day you’ll actually believe it.”

The tension between you vibrated like a taut wire, ready to snap. Across the hall, Mr. Jefferson poked his head out of his classroom door. “Everything okay over there?”

You both spoke at the same time:

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Peachy,” Nathan drawled with a fake grin.

Mr. Jefferson raised an eyebrow but disappeared back into the classroom without another word. Nathan turned back to you, the smile dropping immediately. “We’re meeting at the library. Tomorrow. Four o’clock,” he said, his voice all business now, like he could barely stand to look at you.

“Don’t be fucking late, (Y/L/N). I don’t wanna waste more time than I have to babysitting your dumbass.”

You gave a mocking bow. “Oh, your majesty. Should I bring you a goddamn throne too?”

Nathan just rolled his eyes, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets as he stalked off down the hall without another glance at you. You stood there, fists clenched, heart pounding. God, you hated Nathan Prescott.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

The library clock ticked past 4:00 PM. You drummed your fingers on the table, glaring at the empty seat across from you. Your notebook lay open, pen uncapped. Still no Nathan.

At 4:17, he finally strolled in with all the grace of someone who gave absolutely zero fucks sunglasses on indoors, slouched walk, earphones dangling. You didn’t disappoint. “You’re fucking late,” you snapped the second he dropped into the chair across from you with a loud, obnoxious scrape. Nathan didn’t even look at you. Just threw his bag on the table, knocking your pen to the floor.

“Cry harder.”

You scoffed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah? So’s your face, but here we are.”

You clenched your jaw, grabbing your pen. “You gonna actually contribute or just sit there throwing middle school insults?”

Nathan pulled out a crumpled folder and dropped it onto the table like it weighed ten pounds. “I already did my part. You can finish it. You’re the one who actually gives a shit.”

“You call this your part?” You flipped through the papers of barely legible answers. “This looks like it was written by a brain damaged raccoon.”

He smirked. “Well you and the raccoon have something in common. Both can’t shut the fuck up.”

You leaned in, voice low and furious. “I’m not doing this whole thing alone, Prescott. If I fail because of your lazy, coke snorting ass, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Nathan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, gaze dark and slow. “Blow me, princess.”

You didn’t flinch. You just smiled. Sweet. Cold. “I don’t do charity work.”

A few heads turned. You didn’t care. Neither did he. Nathan barked out a laugh bitter, humorless and sat forward again, voice tighter. “You think you’re tough?”

“No,” you said, deadly calm. “I know I’m better than you. You just hate that I don’t suck up to your daddy’s money like everyone else in this school.”

His smile dropped like a stone. “You’re right,” he said, quiet and sharp. “You’re not like everyone else. You’re just louder, bitchier, and a hell of a lot more annoying.”

“At least I don’t need pills and daddy’s lawyers to make it through the day.”

“Fuck you,” he muttered, but he opened the book anyway. Slouched so low in his chair you wondered how he could even see the words.

You tried to focus on your own work, but the sound of Nathan tapping his pen against the table made your skin itch. Every two minutes he let out a sigh, a groan, or muttered some sarcastic shit under his breath.

Finally, you snapped.

“If you hate this so much, maybe you should’ve told Jefferson to pair you with someone who gives a shit about your trust fund problems.” Nathan slammed the book closed so hard it made a few nearby students jump.

“Yeah, because you’re so fucking perfect, huh? Probably got your whole boring little life planned out already. Graduate, go to some shitty state school, get a lame job, marry some douchebag with a Prius ”

“At least I’m not gonna OD in my daddy’s beach house!” you hissed back, the words out before you could stop them.

The library went deadly quiet. Even the air seemed to freeze. Nathan’s eyes darkened. His whole face twisted, raw and ugly, and for a terrifying second, you thought he might actually throw something at you. Instead, he stood up so fast his chair tipped over behind him.

“Fuck this,” he snarled.

The librarian barked from the desk, ���Hey! shut up or get out!”

Nathan didn’t even flinch. He grabbed his bag and stormed out, shoving the door open so hard it banged against the wall. You stayed frozen in your seat, chest heaving, throat tight. Some students stared. Others pretended not to notice. Slowly, you packed up your things, the shame burning hotter than your anger now.

You left the library with your jaw tight and your fists clenched so hard your nails bit into your palms. Screw him. Screw his smug face, his broken homework, and that goddamn mouth that never shut up unless he was about to say something even worse.

The cold air outside was a slap, but it helped. You headed toward the dorms, steps quick and angry. Until you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced over your shoulder and sure enough, Nathan Prescott was trailing you, jacket half zipped, jaw set like he’d been chewing on broken glass. You stopped. “Are you seriously following me now? What, storming out wasn’t enough for you?”

Nathan didn’t stop until he was right in front of you. Too close. “Why the fuck are you always such a bitch to me?” he snapped.

You blinked. That… wasn’t what you expected. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he bit, eyes narrowed. “We’ve barely spoken before this week, and you act like you’ve got me all figured out. You’re always ready to throw shit at me like you know me.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came. For once, he wasn’t just being snide he was pissed, yeah, but there was something else under it. Something sharper. Real.

“What the hell did I do to you, huh?” he went on, voice rising. “We’ve never had a conversation before Jefferson paired us up, and you already decided I’m the devil or some shit.”

“You’ve got a reputation, Prescott. Don’t act surprised.”

He laughed. One dry, humorless breath. “Yeah? So that’s it? Some gossip, and suddenly you know who I am?”

You crossed your arms. “I don’t need to know you. I’ve seen enough.”

“No, you’ve seen what you want to see.” He leaned in slightly, voice low. “You think I’m some rich junkie asshole with a fucked up temper and a silver spoon so far up my ass I choke on it, right?” You didn’t answer. The silence said enough. Nathan’s tongue pressed against his cheek. He nodded slowly, like he was trying to swallow something bitter. “Right. Thought so.”

You shifted your weight. “Look, you act like a dick, Nathan. You treat people like they’re beneath you.”

“And you treat me like I’m already guilty of something I didn’t even fucking do.” His tone turned colder. “So what does that make you? If you’re throwing labels at someone without even trying to know them?”

You tried to shove past him, but he stepped in front of you again not touching you, but close enough to make your blood burn. “What? Can’t handle hearing it? You’re so sure you’re better than me?”

“I am better than you.”

“No,” he said, voice like ice, “what kind of self righteous bullshit is that”

You stared at him. His eyes weren’t glazed or cocky like usual, they were clear. You hated how it made your stomach twist. “Just stay the hell away from me,” you muttered.

He didn’t move. “Then stop talking about me like you know me. Because you don’t. And judging by today?” He tilted his head slightly, mouth curled in something bitter. “You’re not half as perfect as you like to pretend.” Then he finally stepped aside, letting you pass. But his words followed you all the way down the sidewalk.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

You moved through the halls walking beside Max while she rambled about her latest photo concept. Her words blurred something about natural light, shadows, an abandoned greenhouse. You nodded here and there, but your attention wasn’t really on her. Nathan Prescott stood across the hall, leaned casually against the lockers in that crimson red sweater he always wore like armor. His hands were shoved into his pockets, posture slouched, head tilted toward Victoria, who was perched beside him. She was talking fast probably gossiping and he was barely listening. His expression was eyes distant.

“Hey, you good?” Max asked, her voice soft as she glanced sideways at you.

You blinked, pulled from your thoughts. “Yeah. Just out of it.”

She smiled lightly. “Blackwell’ll do that to you.”

Across the hall, Nathan looked up. His eyes met yours. You expected him to smirk. Or scoff. Or whisper something to Victoria that would piss you off all over again. He didn’t. He just held your gaze. There was no fire in it this time.

Then Max nudged your shoulder. “C’mon, we’ll be late.”

You turned, walking with her toward class, but the moment stuck with you like a thorn beneath skin. He wasn’t just some cautionary tale wearing expensive clothes. you weren’t as far above the mess as you liked to pretend.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

You weren’t sure what possessed you to do it. You’d barely knocked twice before the door to Nathan’s dorm creaked open, not wide, just enough for a glimpse of his sharp glare and the darkened room behind him. His eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to work on the project,” you replied, shifting your weight.“You bailed on the library. I didn’t have your number.”

Nathan blinked once. Then, without warning, he reached out, grabbed your wrist, and yanked you inside. “Jesus!” The door slammed shut behind you. Before you could blink again, you were standing in the middle of his room dim, cluttered, with a faint smell of smoke and expensive cologne in the air. The only light came from a lamp on his desk, casting long shadows across the mess of camera equipment, crumpled notes, and an open bottle of water. He stood between you and the door, arms crossed, expression sharp.

“You shouldn’t be in the guys’ dorm.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not that deep, Prescott.”

“No,” he said, stepping a little closer, “it’s pathetic. You that desperate to see me? You stalking me now? Perv.”

You stared at him. “Are you always this fucking dramatic?” you snapped. “I came to work. On the project. The thing that’s due next week?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t just ask for my number?”

“like your ass would indulge me in any conversation”

Nathan scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “And barging into my dorm was the better option?”

“You ditched me. Again.” You crossed your arms, mirroring him. “I’m not playing chase the rich kid so you can pretend this group project doesn’t exist. I showed up so we can finish the damn thing.”

He stared at you for a long beat.

Then, quietly, “You’re a fucking pain in my ass.”

“I’m passing this class.”

He turned away, flopping onto the edge of his unmade bed, elbows on his knees. “Fine,” he muttered. “If you’re gonna stand there taking over my space, grab a chair. Let’s get it over with.” You hesitated. Just for a second. Then sat down across from him silently waiting for Nathan to open the shared project file. But your eyes kept drifting. His desk was cluttered High end camera bodies rested in velvet lined foam. Lenses of varying sizes were stacked in an open case like polished glass trophies. Film rolls peeked out of a drawer he hadn’t shut properly. And on the wall above his bed, pinned with silver tacks, were photos.

Black and white. Grainy. Sharp.

Some were of strangers street shots, harsh shadows and sharp angles. Others were more abstract: empty chairs, cracked pavement, tree limbs twisting through fog. You didn’t mean to stare so long. But the compositions were striking. Not what you’d expected from someone who talked like he didn’t care about anything. Nathan sat on the edge of his bed, laptop open in front of him, fingers frozen over the keyboard. he wasn’t looking at the screen. He was watching you. Eyes low beneath his lashes, The tension from earlier had settled into something quieter not calm, exactly, but less volatile. He noticed the way your head tilted slightly as you studied a particular photo on the wall, your brow furrowed in faint curiosity. You looked different when you weren’t trying to bite back. He blinked, shook the thought away like an itch under his skin, and finally tapped the space bar.

“You gonna drool or you wanna help?” he muttered, loud enough to snap your attention back.

You blinked, jerking your head toward him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re staring at my shit”

You scoffed. “I was just surprised you’re actually good at something other than being an asshole.”

A grin flickered across his lips. “Wow. Touching praise from someone who broke into my dorm.”

“I didn’t break in.”

“guys dorm remember? That’s trespassing.”

You opened your mouth to fire back then caught the way his voice softened just slightly on that last word. Not enough to call it kind. You leaned forward, finally dragging the chair toward his desk. “Just show me what you’ve done so far. We’re not gonna finish anything if you keep acting like I poisoned your coffee.” He exhaled slowly, shifting the laptop so you could both see the screen. But his gaze lingered on you a second longer before turning to the document. You didn’t notice. He didn’t say anything.

You didn’t know how it happened but somewhere between reviewing the first slides and editing the captions, the two of you had stopped biting at each other. Nathan wasn’t exactly friendly, but he was… tolerable. He made a sarcastic comment about your font choice, and you rolled your eyes but didn’t snap. You pointed out a typo in his work, and he didn’t bark back, just muttered “Yeah, alright,” under his breath and fixed it.

life is strange isnt it?

The lamp on his desk cast a warm glow across the screen as the two of you leaned closer, arguing mildly about the placement of one of the images. You caught a soft twitch at the corner of his mouth not a smile, not quite but something quieter, like he wasn’t entirely annoyed you were here anymore. You glanced at the photo on the slide. One of his shots: a boy sitting on a curb, face obscured by shadow, light cutting sharp across his shoulder. “This one’s your best,” you said before you could stop yourself. Nathan’s eyes flicked to yours, He didn’t say anything. Just stared. Then, his phone buzzed.

Once.

Twice.

He glanced down, pulled it from his pocket lazily, still half focused on the screen. But the moment his eyes locked onto the message, something in him changed. Like a switch flipped. His shoulders tensed. Jaw tightened. Whatever softness had started to settle between you evaporated. He shoved the phone back into his pocket hard. You straightened, uncertain. “Everything okay?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then voice low, clipped “You should go.”

The air dropped ten degrees.

You blinked. “What?”

“I said, you should leave.” He stood abruptly, already walking past you, pacing like the room had become too small to breathe in.

You stood, confused, watching him retreat toward the window without explanation.

“Nathan ”

“Don’t,” he snapped, not turning around. “It’s fine. Project’s fine. everything is fine. the world is fucking fine. I’ll send you the edits later.”

His voice was cold again. The weight was back in the room, that same heaviness you’d felt the first time he looked at you like you were just another person here to take something from him. You didn’t know who had texted him. Or why he looked like the ground had just shifted beneath him. But you didn’t ask. You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder slowly. “Thanks for not being a total dick today,” you said quietly.

No response. You walked to the door, hesitating just a moment before opening it. Nathan still hadn’t turned around. So you left quietly, without another word. The hallway light stung your eyes as the door clicked shut behind you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

Nathan laid on his back, eyes wide open, blinking into the ceiling. He hadn’t moved in hours not really. He’d thrown on a hoodie sometime after you left, curled in on himself, and stared at nothing as the hours bled past midnight. His phone buzzed again. Another message. From the same number. He didn’t read it. His chest felt tight. He could hear his own breathing too fast, too shallow. His hands twitched where they gripped the edge of his mattress, fingers white knuckled and cold. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. But it felt worse tonight. Now shame thick in his throat, desperation louder than pride, he opened the school directory, found your name, and typed your number in. He stared at the digits for a long time. Then, he hit Call.

You woke up to the buzz of your phone on your nightstand, groggy and confused.

1:47 AM. Unknown Number.

You almost ignored it. Almost. Though you firmly believed doing stuff for the plot leads to funnier futures.

“Hello?”

For a few seconds, there was only silence. Then a quiet breath. A small, almost inaudible noise. Then, “Don’t hang up.”

Your heart stilled. “Nathan?”

“Um… hi?” you said slowly. “Why are you ”

“I just…” He sounded off. His voice was low, but shaky. Like he was trying to keep it together. “I can’t sleep.”

You were quiet for a second. Not sure what to say. It was weird. You barely knew him. The guy who made it very clear he didn’t want to work with you suddenly calling you in the middle of the night? The hell? “How did you get my number?”

“School directory. Look, I know it’s fucking weird, okay? Just fuck just don’t hang up yet.”

You leaned back in your bed, running a hand down your face. The annoyance faded just a little. There was something raw under his words, something fraying at the edges.

You exhaled. “Alright. I’m not hanging up. What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer right away. You heard him breathing though sharp inhales, shallow. Like he was pacing, or panicking.

“I just needed noise or something. I dunno. It’s like my chest’s full of needles.”

Okay. That was more than you expected. You pushed your blanket off and sat up fully, rubbing your eyes awake.

“Okay,” you said softly. “Sounds like a panic attack.”

He let out a laugh. It was bitter. Dry. “No shit.”

You stayed quiet a second, then started talking. Not about anything important just things to fill the space. You told him about the way your floorboards creaked weirdly when it got cold. The dumb poster your roommate hung crooked. The vending machine that kept eating your dollar bills. You weren’t sure why he stayed on the line. You weren’t sure why you did, either. But the minutes passed, and you could hear his breathing start to even out.

At one point, he said, quieter this time, “I didn’t know who else to call.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t say anything. He stayed on the line until you heard nothing but slow, steady breathing. Then the call ended. You thought that was it. Just a one time weird moment. But the next night, your phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number. 12:18 AM.

You stared at it for a second. Then picked up. “Couldn’t sleep again?”

“Fuck off,” Nathan muttered, but his voice didn’t sound angry.

just like that, it became a thing. Not every night, but often enough. He’d call, and you’d talk him through it. Or he’d just listen while you rambled about whatever was in your head. Sometimes he didn’t even say much. You’d just hear his breathing. Then, one night, a text.

[1:03 AM] “Dorm’s a pressure cooker tonight. Need to get out. You up?”

You blinked down at it, thumb hovering over the screen. Then replied. “ok fuckboy, Where?”

[1:04 AM] “Back side of the art building. If you’re not scared of the dark or whatever.”

You pulled a hoodie over your head and slipped out the side door, keeping your steps light across the grass. You found him sitting on the low concrete wall, hoodie on, legs stretched out, a cigarette burning between his fingers. He didn’t look at you when you walked up.

“So… you make a habit of calling girls you don’t like at 1 a.m.?” you asked, standing over him.

He smirked, flicking ash. “You’re the only one dumb enough to answer.”

“Lucky me.”

He scooted over slightly. You sat down next to him, knees brushing briefly. He smelled faintly like smoke and laundry detergent. For a minute, neither of you said anything. Then he muttered, “Thanks. For not being a dick about the calls.”

You glanced at him. That was probably the closest thing to a thank you he was capable of. “Yeah, well,” you said, nudging him with your shoulder, “I’m not completely heartless.”

He gave a dry little laugh and took another drag. And for the first time since you’d met him, Nathan didn’t seem like he was pretending to be someone else.You hopped up beside him, the wall cold through your jeans. He handed you the cig wordlessly, and you took a drag, passing it back before pulling your phone from your hoodie pocket.

Three missed texts.

[1:52 AM Warren G.]

Where are you right now?

[1:53 AM Warren G.]

I just saw you from my window. Was that Nathan Prescott? Seriously??

[1:54 AM Warren G.]

[Y/N], what are you doing with him?

You stared at the screen for a long second, then locked it and shoved it deep into your pocket. You weren’t answering that.Warren was probably the reason you hated him so much. Right now Instead, you pulled a small joint from the hem of your hoodie tucked right where your sleeve met the wristband.

Nathan’s eyes tracked the motion, brow raising. “Since when do you carry?”

“Since tonight, apparently.” You lit it with a flick of a borrowed lighter, watching the paper curl into orange.

Nathan smirked faintly, but there was a flash of something in his face, curiosity. Not judgment. Just… surprise. “Rough night?”

You took a long pull, exhaled upward. “You could say that.”

You didn’t mention Warren. Didn’t mention the way your phone buzzed in your pocket like it was desperate to ruin the quiet. Nathan didn’t push. He just leaned back on his elbows, watching the smoke twist into the dark sky. What has been different from when you started interacting with Nathan more was not telling your friends everything. Warren might be the only reason you didnt like the guy that was sitting beside you. Though even hes such a stick in the mid sometimes.

“Not bad form,” he muttered.

“Thanks.”

He gave a soft snort, and for a minute, the tension dropped. You passed the joint over, and he took it without a word. The smoke danced lazily in the air between you, catching in the wind and disappearing into nothing. You leaned back beside him, body loose from the hit, brain a little fogged like your thoughts were wearing fuzzy socks on a hardwood floor. Nathan took another drag, eyes half lidded, and passed it back to you. You didn’t take it this time. Just stared forward, hands braced behind you, legs kicked out.

“You know,” you started, voice a little slower than usual, like you had to fish the words from somewhere murky, “I think I like you more than I realized.” Silence. You looked over, then quickly back at the dark stretch of campus in front of you. “I mean maybe it’s the high talking. Or maybe I’m just sleep deprived and having a brain glitch. Whatever.” You waved it off like it wasn’t a big deal, even though it felt like one. “It’s not like I know you, know you, but…”

You trailed off. The buzz of the joint mixed with the weight of that little truth hanging out in the open air now. Nathan blinked at you and then scoffed. “Wow,” he muttered with a crooked smile. “You catch feelings off one joint and a sad boy routine?.”

You turned to glare at him. “Shut up.”

“No, really. Should I light candles next time? Bring you flowers? Write you some poetry?” His grin stretched You went to snap back but then his hand brushed against yours on the concrete. Not accidental. He didn’t look at you when he did it. He just let his fingers slide over yours, catching them loosely. His palm was warm. Steady. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at him. Just stared at the building lights across the quad and let your hand stay in his.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

You hadn’t slept. Not really. Instead, you’d just laid there, reliving every second behind the art building Nathan’s hand in yours. he was warm. so warm. his eyes were glossy. the night ended later than any of you two could gather. Blackwell always felt a little gray in the morning, but today it there might have been a little pep in your step. Cold in the air, a small little nathan shaped warmth in your chest. You stepped into the hallway and spotted him before you were even fully through the door.

Nathan. Leaning against a locker laughing at something Victoria said, though it didn’t look real. Nothing about him did anymore. You slowed for just a second. “Shit,” he muttered, loud enough to carry. “Should’ve known the freak parade would show up early.”

Victoria snorted. “God, can she not?” Her eyes flicked over your clothes like she was personally offended by the fabric. “Every day’s a fashion crime with her.”

You froze mid step. Max and Warren were behind you, chatting, not realizing what you were walking into. Your heart stung before your brain could even process what was happening. Nathan pushed off the locker, brushing past you with a smug little smile. “Hope the janitors are getting paid extra,” he sneered, “cleaning up after your desperation.”

“What the hell, Prescott?” Warren stepped in fast, hand fisting at his side.

Nathan turned back, cocky, dangerous. “Relax, boy scout. Didn’t realize you two were still sharing notes. Or maybe it’s more than that, huh?” His eyes swept to you again, slower this time, and colder. “Figures. Nobody else would.”

ok pause. because what the fuck happened. Like yes he was an ass. the whole school knew that. Though considering the amount of time he was crawling into your messages, where the hell did this come from?

“Keep walking,” Max said lowly, stepping up beside you.

Max didn’t press. She never did. That was the nice thing about her. Since starting the school year, you both bonded on being new. well for you, relatively new and her coming back to her hometown.

Warren, though? At lunch, he was full of energy, waving you over like always. You sat down beside him and Max at your usual table under the half broken patio umbrella. He was in the middle of some rant about science fiction film logic when it happened.

“I’m just saying if a robot gains sentience, it doesn’t automatically mean it wants to kill us. That’s lazy writing ”

From across the quad, a loud snort cut him off.

“Wow,” Victoria said, not even bothering to keep her voice down. “Look who’s still wearing last season’s clearance rack.”

You blinked, confused, until you realized she was looking directly at you. Taylor giggled beside her, but it was Nathan who made your stomach drop. He pointed toward once at your table and leaned over to whisper something to Victoria. Then, loud enough for everyone near to hear “She should’ve stayed invisible. Worked better for her.”

Max stiffened beside you. “Jesus. What is their problem today?”

Warren stood up, indignant. “Hey. Why don’t you back off, Prescott?”

Nathan didn’t even look at him. His eyes were on you and they weren’t blank. They were cold. Icy. “Relax,” he said, tone bored. “Just making an observation.”

“You want me to make one too?” Warren snapped. “Like how you’re always hiding behind Victoria’s designer knockoffs?”

Victoria gasped like she’d been slapped. “Excuse me?”

Max grabbed Warren’s arm. “Not worth it,” she said quietly. You sat disguted. Nathan’s stare found you again. And just before he turned away, he said it not loud, but loud enough. “Better keep your pets on a leash.”

Then he walked off. Victoria followed, heels snapping against the pavement. The rest of the Vortex Club trailed behind them like spoiled royalty. You didn’t finish your lunch. You barely tasted anything after that. Max rubbed your shoulder gently, concern in her eyes. “You okay?”

You nodded. You lied. Because all you could hear was his voice, cold and clean and cutting a thousand miles from the one you’d heard whispering into the phone at 1 A.M. Like none of it had happened. Like you hadn’t happened.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

His eyes met yours, and for the first time all day, he was actually looking at you in the eyes. “Hey,” he said, voice soft.

You didn’t say it back.Instead, you stepped past him and into the room like it was a business meeting. Camera bag down. Laptop open. The wall between you and him went up brick by brick with every breath. “Let’s just get this done,” you said.

He didn’t argue. Just shut the door behind you quietly. You sat at his desk, the screen glow lighting your face. He hovered nearby, watching you scroll through edits like he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. Or maybe like he didn’t know how to say anything at all. “I fixed the lighting on the last three shots,” you said flatly. “Yours were a little overexposed.”

He nodded. “Yeah. You’re better at that stuff anyway.”

You didn’t respond. Just kept clicking. He moved to sit on the edge of his bed, quiet for a while before asking, “Did you still wanna use that photo by the fountain?”

“I already did.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, glanced at you, then away. “You, uh… didn’t answer my text this morning.”

You didn’t look at him. “Didn’t think it needed a reply.”

Nathan nodded, jaw tight. “Right.”

Back to silence. He didn’t bring up what happened. Didn’t ask how you were. And you didn’t bring it up either not how he’d ignored you all day, not how the only time he seemed to be kind was when it was dark out and nobody else could see. Not how you were starting to wonder if this was all he had to give. Just this. Only at night. Only when no one else was looking. You highlighted a paragraph of text and rewrote it. He leaned closer, trying to peek at the screen.

“You’re really good at this,” he said quietly.

You flinched. Not visibly but inside, your bones rattled. It felt like a visceral reaction. You kept your voice neutral. “We’re almost done.”

He didn’t say anything else. You sat there together for another half hour, finishing edits. His bed creaked once when he shifted. You didn’t look. Eventually, you saved the file and stood up.

“That’s everything,” you said. “I’ll print it in the morning.”

Nathan watched you gather your things. “You don’t have to go yet,” he said, almost hesitant.

But you did. if he had just said something, you might understand. Though there isnt enough time in the world to be chasing after rich boy problems he doesnt want to address.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

She left.

Didn’t even look back. Just walked out of the dorm like she couldn’t get out fast enough. Yeah. That felt about right. Nathan stood there like an idiot, hands in his pockets, jaw tight, listening to the door click shut. it was some kind of final answer he didn’t ask for. You don’t have to go yet. He’d said it like a damn loser. Like he didn’t spend the entire day pretending she didn’t exist. she looked at him like he was a goddamn stranger. He sat down on his bed, rubbed at his face, dragged his hands through his hair like it would help. It didn’t. It never did. Everything just kept buzzing. Loud. In his ears, in his chest, like a swarm of flies under his skin. He should’ve said something. Anything. Should’ve told her why he was being weird. Why he was quiet. Why he didn’t even look at her earlier. But how the hell do you say,

Hey, I’m scared you’ll end up in the basement of an abandoned barn if I like you too much?

He laughed. Or choked. One of the two. God, his hands were shaking again. He stood up fast, paced once, twice, kicked his desk chair just to feel something and regretted it immediately. His toe throbbed. Whatever.

He was sweating. Why was he sweating?

He pulled off the red zip up and threw it at the wall. Didn’t stick. Just slumped down like everything else. Jefferson’s voice. Crawling back in like it always did.

“She’s interesting, isn’t she?”

“Got a real… natural quality. Honest.”

“The kind of face that looks good in contrast. You see it, right?”

“She’s got potential.”

Nathan squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

It didn’t help. Jefferson’s voice was calm. Already chosen.He didn’t want that. He didn’t want her anywhere near that world.But what the hell was he supposed to do? Jefferson noticed things. once he noticed, it was over. Nathan dropped back onto the floor, breathing fast now. he’d been running. someone was pressing down on his lungs and wouldn’t stop. He clutched his shirt, pulled at the collar, trying to get air. Trying to slow his thoughts. His heart. Anything. But it wouldn’t fucking slow down.

His vision blurred a little. Pressure in his head, behind his eyes. He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek just to stop himself from crying or screaming or both.

He felt like he was going to throw up. Or pass out. Or explode. or all of the above. it all might actually happen. He didn’t know what was worse, the fact that he couldn’t be normal with her… or the fact that when he was, it made him want to protect her more than anything. That protection came with a cost. A choice. A name on a folder.

She didn’t know any of it. And she couldn’t.

until there was a knock at the door.

Nathan didn’t hear it the first time. Not really. Not over the ringing in his ears, or the ragged, frantic way he was trying to breathe. His back hit the wall. He didn’t remember moving. His hands were white knuckled fists against his chest like maybe that would keep it from splitting open.

Another knock.

He blinked. Everything was too bright and too dark at the same time. His name was a whisper behind the door “Nathan?”

Her voice. It hit him like ice water. He squeezed his eyes shut harder, digging his nails into his palms. Not now. Not like this. He couldn’t let her see him like

The door creaked open.

She stepped in fast, muttering under her breath, “God, of course I forgot my charger, that’s just whatever, not like it even ”

She stopped. Frozen. Nathan was on the floor. Slumped against the side of his bed, drenched in sweat, fists clenched so tight they shook. His chest heaved, erratic. Panicked. His face was pale, eyes red rimmed, wide and glassy. All that anger she’d brought with her white hot and ready to crack across the room halted like someone slammed the brakes. Her words died in her throat.

“…Nathan?”

He still didn’t look at her. Just gasped, breath catching hard in his throat, jaw clenched like he was trying not to cry. Or scream. Or both.

Her fingers curled around the charger in her hand. For a second, she stayed rooted to the floor, her heart pounding in her ears. Part of her screamed to turn around and walk away. He deserved that. After everything. Nathan barely registered when she moved closer. He couldn’t even look at her. Just pressed his fists against his temples like that would keep everything from collapsing.

She hovered there for a second, jaw tight, arms crossed. “You’re an asshole,” she muttered. Quiet. Bitter.

He looked like he couldn’t breathe. Cursing under her breath, she dropped the charger on his desk and stepped closer. Her knees hit the carpet slowly, hesitantly, right in front of him. She crouched down between his legs, biting her lip, watching him like he was whipped animal. She didn’t say anything right away. Just reached out, unsure, and carefully took his shaking hand.

Nathan flinched. Then his eyes finally lifted, just a little. Glassy. Bloodshot. Like he didn’t recognize her at first. But he didn’t pull away.

“Jesus…” she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. “Nathan, you’re what the hell is going on with you?”

Still no answer. His fingers twitched in hers, breath still coming fast and shallow, but her hand grounded him. Little by little. Beat by beat. She wanted to yell. She really did. Wanted to scream at him for ignoring her. For looking through her like she didn’t matter. For pushing her away with no reason, no explanation, no damn warning.

Nathan’s breath hitched. His fingers twitched under hers, unsure, but desperate for the anchor. He gripped her hand like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the floor.

“Breathe,” she said, voice flat but steady. “In. Out.”

He tried. God, he tried.

“Again.”

His lungs caught on the exhale, but he followed her voice. One breath. Then another. Her thumb moved gently across his knuckles. She didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at her. They just sat there. Angry. Shaking. Breathing.

“I’m still mad at you,” she said quietly. Just the truth.

All she could do was sit there. Mad. Hurt. Holding onto his hand like it was the only way to keep him from falling apart.

“I’m still pissed at you,” she murmured, after a long, long silence. “But I’m not gonna leave you like this.”

Nathan blinked hard. A tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it. He looked away.

And still, she didn’t let go.

[sirxaibs]

⋆˚✿˖° ❝𝗜𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗱𝗲𝗱❞ ⋆˚✿˖°

YOU ARE A COUGAR

────୨ৎ────

Geto Suguru X Reader

Gojo Satoru X Reader

────୨ৎ────

₍^. .^₎⟆ Synopsis: In a world of curses and power struggles take center stage, you’ve always kept to the simple aspects of life. Focussing on your studies, your friendships and life in the dorms. Though everything changes when Geto challenges Gojo that he can’t win your heart and what happens when Geto realizes that Gojo needs to lose.

MASTERLIST

has it been a while since I updated this series? since getting back to canada from the philippines, being a responsible adult and working all the time means i only had time to post my little one shots. BUT I HAVE A FEW CHAPTERS ALREADY WRITTEN IM TRYING

₍^. .^₎⟆ The four of you stood in front of Principal Yaga’s desk, waiting for what was clearly going to be a Very Important Mission. Shoko looked like she was three seconds from falling asleep. Geto had his arms crossed, already preparing himself for whatever was about to come. You just stood there, waiting patiently. Gojo, on the other hand, was leaning back, hands in his pockets, already looking bored. “When was the last time we had a mission with all 4 of us? He knows if im here it doesn’t really matter ”

Yaga exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple like he was already losing braincells with having you all here. Then, with a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and spoke. “Your next assignment is training with the second and first years.”

“…That’s it?” you asked.

“That’s it,” Yaga confirmed.

Gojo blinked, then recoiled like he had just been physically assaulted by the information. “Training with the kids?!”

“Yes,” Yaga said, voice flat.

Gojo turned to Geto, grabbing his shoulders. “We’ve been set up.”

Geto sighed. “It does feel that way.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Gojo turned back to Yaga, waving his hands. “Why do we have to do this? We’re third years! Why are we suddenly getting stuck with mentor duty?”

Yaga crossed his arms. “Because you four have more experience, and they could benefit from learning from you.”

Shoko yawned. “Sounds fake, but okay.”

You tilted your head. “Wait… who exactly are we training with?”

“Nanami Kento and Haibara Yu.” Gojo groaned so loudly it echoed. “NOOOO?!”

“You wouldn’t know them,” Geto said looking towards you. “You’re always running off to other countries.”

Gojo threw his hands up. “Exactly! So why are we getting stuck with this?”

“Wouldnt that be a better reason? For Y/n to know more of the sorcerers?” Yaga deadpanned.

You crossed your arms. “I mean, how bad could it be?”

Gojo turned to you so fast it was a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash. “How bad could it be?!” He grabbed your shoulders, shaking you lightly. “You don’t understand! You weren’t here when we had to deal with Mei Mei treating us like free labor! You weren’t here when Utahime existed in front of us for five hours straight! We’ve been through too much!”

You blinked. “…It’s literally just training and we are the one that are in charge.”

“That’s what they want you to think!” Gojo hissed.

Yaga sighed, rubbing his temple. “Go now. Before I make you babysit panda.”

Geto grimaced. “Ugh. Let’s just get this over with.”

Gojo whined all the way out the door. “This is so unfair.”

Shoko started leaning on gojo and muttered, “We’re already suffering.”

You just shrugged. “Still don’t get what the big deal is.”

Gojo pointed at you, eyes wide. “You will.”

As the four of you walked away from Yaga’s office, Gojo was still pouting, muttering to himself. “This is so unfair,” he repeated, dramatically flicking his hair out of his eyes as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Honestly, how much can we possibly do with those second and first years?” Geto mumbled, clearly irritated but not as loud about it as Gojo.

You shrugged. “I still don’t see the big deal. We’ve all trained as underclassmen before.”

“It’s different when it’s you four!” Gojo whined, flailing his arms. “Do you know how many people would kill for a mission this week? And what do we get? Babysitting wit our other option ALSO being babysitting!”

Shoko, still unfazed,. “We’re not actually babysitting. You’re just dramatic.”

Gojo threw up his hands. “I’ll show you dramatic when I’m stuck with them! You know how I work, I need to be doing something, not sitting around listening to people talk about how to punch a curse!”

You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t help but smile. You were used to Gojo’s over the top complaints. Then, suddenly, Gojo stopped in his tracks and looked at you with wide eyes. “Wait.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He grinned mischievously, like a lightbulb had gone off in his head. “You!”

“…Me?” you asked, confused.

“Yes, you!” Gojo pointed at you, nearly poking your nose in the process. “You’ve got that magical power of yours, your insane ability to always be on missions! Maybe you can finally get us something good while we’re stuck playing teacher’s pet with the underclassmen!”

You blinked. “You do know I don’t have magical powers, right? Also gojo… do you have something wrong in the head? we’re literally walking there”

“Sure you do! It’s like the luck of the draw or something! You’re always out of the loop when it comes to stuff like this because you’re always on a mission or off somewhere else! That’s your power! You’re the best at missing things!” completely ignoring what you said.

“I don’t miss things on purpose…”

He ignored you completely, grabbing your arm. “You have to get a mission! I’m begging you. Please. Do whatever you have to do. I can’t be stuck with Nanami and Haibara for an entire week!”

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at how frantic he was. “You’re really asking me to use my ‘powers’ to help you skip out of training with our underclassmen?”

“Yes!” Gojo practically fell to his knees in front of you, hands clasped together like he was praying. “Please, put me in your bag! Take me with you! I’ll do anything! I’ll even”

“No,” you interrupted, laughing harder. “I’m not dragging you around in a bag just to escape training. It’s not going to happen.”

Gojo groaned and flopped on the ground dramatically. “This is the worst.”

Geto rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you two.”

Shoko just shook her head, exhaling smoke. “At least we can relax while they’re busy with the first years. You’ll be fine.”

Gojo lay on the floor with his arms splayed out. “I’ll never be fine again.”

₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆

The girls’ locker room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the overhead lights. You had just finished changing into your towel when it hit you you forgot your gym clothes.

“Seriously?!” you groaned, facepalming in frustration.

You quickly scanned the locker room, hoping to find something, anything, that could help. No luck. All your clothes were neatly folded in your bag, but… no workout gear. Shaking your head, you cursed under your breath. “Great. Just great. I’m going to look like a total mess today.”

But then, you remembered: Gojo. You knew the men’s locker room was just down the hall, and Gojo always kept a spare set of clothes for emergencies like this. Sure, you weren’t supposed to be in the men’s locker room, but he was your best friend. You’d shared stuff since you were kids, this was nothing new. Without hesitation, you marched over to the door to the men’s locker room. You knocked loudly, pounding your fist on the wood like your life depended on it. “Gojo!” you yelled, voice echoing through the hallway. “Gojo! You in there? I need your spare workout clothes!”

You waited a beat. Nothing. You knocked harder, this time adding a few choice words for emphasis. “Gojo! Are you seriously going to leave me stranded here? Come on, I’m not asking for much! Just some spare clothes!”

Still no response. You leaned your forehead against the door, muttering to yourself. “He better not be napping in there or I swear”

BANG! You gave the door one last solid knock, pushing all your frustration into it. “GOJO!!!”

Finally, the door creaked open just enough to reveal a disheveled Gojo, still half dressed in his gym gear, “What?!” he groaned, clearly not thrilled with the interruption.

“Don’t give me that look!” you shot back. “I need your spare clothes. You’re the only one who comes prepared for this kind of stuff.”

Gojo sighed dramatically and ran a hand through his hair. “you crazy lady why am I the prepared one,” he grumbled, pulling a pair of athletic shorts and a plain shirt from his bag. “If it were anyone else, I’d say no. You’ve got some nerve showing up at my door like this.”

You smiled at him sweetly. “You do this for me.”

“Don’t get cocky.” Gojo handed over the clothes with an exaggerated flourish. “Here. Don’t mess them up, okay?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m not the one who would be messing up your stuff.”

Gojo leaned against the doorframe, looking far too pleased with himself. “Just remember, I’m a generous guy. And you owe me one now.”

“Oh, please,” you muttered, taking the clothes from him. “Like I’d ever forget you gave me your old stuff.”

Gojo grinned smugly, hands on his hips. “Exactly. You’ll remember this every time you put them on. Now go change and don’t take forever. We’ve got training to do.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned and made your way back to the girls’ locker room, a sense of relief washing over you as you got ready to train. You didn’t even mind that Gojo always seemed to find a way to be both annoying and helpful at the same time. It was just so him.

Though on the Inside the men’s locker room during your knocking crusade, the usual pre training bustle was happening. Gojo and Geto were leaning against lockers, talking about a really annoying bug called utahime. Haibara was rummaging through his bag, searching for his gym shoes, while Nanami stood at the mirror looking at himself.

Gojo, as always, was the first to notice anything out of the ordinary. He smirked and leaned back, eyes hidden behind his blindfold. “You hear that?” he asked, half smiling.

“Knocking?” Geto murmured, looking up from his phone with a raised eyebrow. He wasn’t nearly as fazed by the interruption as Gojo, but he was intrigued nonetheless.

Haibara, hearing the louder than usual knocking, looked over his shoulder. “Is someone outside? Should we check?”

Gojo tilted his head, pretending to consider it before giving a dismissive wave. “Nah, it’s probably nothing. Maybe some cursed spirit knocked on the wrong door. If it were a real emergency, they’d just barge in, right?” Geto rolled his eyes but didn’t look away from his phone. “If someone’s knocking on that door this loudly, it’s definitely not just a mistake.”

The knocking grew more persistent, and then a familiar voice echoed through the room, sending a shiver of realization through everyone. “Gojo! Are you in there? I need your spare workout clothes!”

There was a moment of stunned silence. “Wait a second ” Gojo’s smile widened, a mischievous glint flashing behind his blindfold. “That voice…”

“She’s seriously knocking on the men’s locker room?” Haibara asked, blinking in confusion. He knew you well enough from your shared missions but never thought he’d be hearing you demand clothes from Gojo in such an… unusual way.

“It’s just her,” Gojo said, still grinning. “give me a moment”

Nanami, who had been silently adjusting his uniform, frowned. “hmmm.” He glanced between Haibara and Geto. “Should we do something about it?”

Geto just shrugged, clearly more used to Gojo’s antics by now. “Nah. She’s been doing this kind of thing for years. She and Gojo have no boundaries.”

Haibara snickered under his breath. “I didn’t realize that was a thing…”

Gojo let out a loud sigh as the knocking continued, growing more desperate now. “Gojo!!! I need your spare clothes!”

Haibara couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst out laughing. “Does this happen often?”

Geto raised an eyebrow, his face a picture of nonchalance. “More times than you’d think.”

Nanami sighed, crossing his arms. “She really knows how to make an entrance.”

Gojo, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying himself. “This is gonna be great,” he said, turning to Geto. “You know she’s going to make a scene when she comes in.”

“Yeah, I’m sure we’ll hear all about it during training,” Geto replied dryly, finally setting his phone aside and preparing to grab his gear. “We’ll just pretend we didn’t hear her until she comes storming in here to yell at you, huh?”

Haibara, still laughing, looked between the others. “I feel like I’m missing something here. Why does she keep coming to you?”

“Because,” Gojo said, crossing his arms and grinning widely, “we’ve been best friends forever, and she knows I’ve always got her back. And extra clothes, apparently.”

“Of course, you do,” Geto muttered, knowing full well how often Gojo would come to the rescue with something random, like extra gym clothes.

As the knock echoed one last time, Gojo walked over to the door, his grin widening. “I’ll be right back, boys. Gotta go save the day again.”

With that, Gojo opened the door just enough to pass the clothes through. On the other side, you stood there, looking far too confident, hands on your hips.

“Finally,” you said, clearly relieved.

The guys inside the locker room shared a look. Haibara raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the casual intimacy you and Gojo shared, while Nanami just rolled his eyes, still more focused on his gear.

Gojo handed you the clothes with a flourish, his grin teasing. “There you go. All set, bestie.”

Haibara couldn’t help but laugh, glancing at Nanami. “I think I get it now. It’s like a lifelong partnership or something.”

“Ugh, don’t even start with me,” Nanami muttered, clearly unimpressed by the antics. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand them.”

Gojo, still grinning, turned back to face them. “You’ll get used to it. We’re just that special.”

You strolled in, looking like you were swimming in Gojo’s oversized clothes. The bright white shirt, two sizes too large, hung loosely around your frame, and the athletic shorts were practically falling off, held up only by the drawstring. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up, but still, they almost reached your elbows, and the whole ensemble looked like it could swallow you whole. You had clearly taken Gojo’s extra clothes without a second thought.

The silence lingered for a moment before Geto was the first to break it, raising an eyebrow. “Did you really have to wear that?” he asked, unable to suppress a smirk.

You grinned at him, completely unfazed by the attention. “What? It’s not like I had any other option. Gojo said it’s his ‘emergency backup’ set. his stuff is basically my stuff so it doesnt matter now” You tugged at the fabric, making it bunch up around your waist in a way that could only be described as absurd.

Haibara blinked, completely taken aback by the sight. “Whoa. I didn’t know Gojo’s clothes were that… big.” He stifled a laugh, clearly impressed with your choice of fashions.

Shoko snorted from her spot on the sideline, rolling her eyes as she leaned back. “You look ridiculous.” Her voice was lazy, but you could tell she was trying not to laugh. “But Gojo’s clothes being your option is so stupid, you could’ve just come get me”

“Shut up,” you said, still grinning. “It’s too late now… I’m rolling with it. Besides, Gojo’s just mad because I look better in his clothes than he does.”

“Hey, I’m right here!” Gojo called out from the corner, where he had been stretching. He had a huge grin plastered on his face, though, clearly entertained by the sight of you swaying around in his oversized gear. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not a part of this!”

You turned to face him, hands on your hips, still unapologetically drowning in his clothes. “Well, if you didn’t have such giant clothes lying around, I wouldn’t have to make do with your fancy leftovers.”

Shoko chuckled, her gaze sliding from you to Gojo. “The best part is that he doesn’t mind you wearing his stuff at all. Can you imagine if anyone else tried it? Gojo would probably lose it.”

Gojo just shrugged, a playful smirk on his face as he approached you. “I’m a generous guy. Plus, I have to make sure my best friend is always prepared, right?” He placed a hand on your shoulder, the sleeve of his shirt hanging off his arm in a dramatic way, almost like he was trying to own the moment.

Geto, clearly amused, raised his hands. “Alright, alright, no need to show off. We get it, Gojo. You’re a walking charity case for your best friend.”

“Exactly!” Gojo said, his grin turning teasing. “I’m just too kind for my own good.”

You shot him a playful look. “And I’m way too cute for my own good.”

Haibara laughed, his energy returning as he clapped his hands together.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile never left your face. “Okay, okay. I’m done here.” You threw a quick wink at Gojo before turning toward the training mats. “Let’s get to it before Gojo finds any more of his ‘emergency backups’ for me to wear.”

As you walked toward the center of the training ground, you could hear Gojo calling out to you. “I’m serious! You do look better in them!”

Geto, shaking his head with an amused smile, looked at Shoko. “I think we’re going to be hearing about this for a while.”

“Yeah,” Shoko replied with a lazy grin. “I’ll bet five yen that Gojo’s gonna ask for his clothes back before the day ends.”

“only 5?”

You could hear Gojo’s dramatic sigh from across the field. “I can’t believe you don’t think I look amazing in those clothes,” he shouted, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

It was definitely going to be a long day. Your gaze shifted to the two unfamiliar faces standing across from you Nanami and Haibara. It was clear they were second and first years, respectively, though they carried themselves with maturity and confidence.

Gojo, as always, was casually leaning against a nearby post, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He’d somehow convinced you to show up in his clothes, and now he was basking in the aftermath of his “success.”

“You’re all probably wondering who the new guys are,” Gojo said, interrupting the silence as he gestured lazily toward Nanami and Haibara. “Well, let me introduce you. This is Nanami Kento, secondyear extraordinaire. And this is Haibara, my fun loving first year protege.”

You turned to face them fully, giving them both a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you both! I’m Y/n” You started,

Nanami gave a polite, composed nod. “I’ve heard of you. It’s an honor to work with someone as experienced as you.” His tone was calm and respectful, and you appreciated the sincerity in his voice.

Haibara, on the other hand, gave a bright grin and waved a bit awkwardly, clearly the more approachable of the two. “I’m Haibara! It’s awesome to meet you! I’ve heard all kinds of stories about your missions!” He seemed excited to be working with someone more seasoned.

You chuckled, brushing your hair back with one hand. “Stories, huh? Well, I wouldn’t say I’m that special more like I’m just always on the move for missions.”

You took a step closer to Nanami and Haibara, giving them both an appraising look. “But I’ve got to say, you two are way nicer than Gojo made you sound,” you added with a smirk, casting a sideeye at your best friend who was still standing off to the side, acting like he owned the whole training field.

Gojo made an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest. “Ouch, that hurts! I’m so nice, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He grinned wide, clearly trying to downplay the jab.

Haibara laughed softly at the exchange, clearly amused by the dynamic between you and Gojo. “Yeah, he makes everything sound way more dramatic than it needs to be,” he said, giving Gojo a playful look. “I mean, come on nice is an understatement when it comes to you.”

You nodded in agreement, crossing your arms with a smirk. “Exactly. Look at this guy,” you said, gesturing to Gojo. “He acts like he’s the only one who can be ‘fun,’ but honestly, I think you two are way easier to talk to.” You directed the compliment toward Nanami and Haibara.

Nanami gave a small, almost imperceptible smile, his usual stoic demeanor softening just a little. “I suppose we have our own way of approaching things. We prefer to focus on the task at hand.”

“Yeah,” Haibara chimed in enthusiastically, “but we’re still here to have fun! I think I’ll like working with you.”

You raised an eyebrow, impressed by their reactions. “I think I might too,” you said. “You’re both way less dramatic than Gojo it’s refreshing.”

Gojo, ever the dramatic one, threw his arms in the air. “Why does everyone gang up on me? I’m such a good person!” His voice was full of mock offense, though it was clear he was enjoying the attention.

“Maybe we’ll see how good you are once we start training,” you teased, turning back to Nanami and Haibara. “But seriously, it’s nice to meet you two. I’ve been out of the loop with missions, so I don’t get to interact with many of the underclassmen.”

“We’ll make sure you don’t regret it,” Haibara said with a wink. “And hey, maybe you’ll teach me a few things?”

You chuckled. “I’m sure I’ll learn a lot from you two as well. Though, I warn you, Gojo’s the one with all the dramatic stories, not me.”

Gojo crossed his arms, feigning a pout. “Hey, I’m allowed to be dramatic! It’s part of my charm!”

You rolled your eyes at his antics, earning a small laugh from Haibara and even a slight smile from Nanami.

“Well,” you continued, turning back to Nanami and Haibara, “looks like we’ve got a good team. No drama just pure talent.”

Geto, who had been quiet for most of the exchange, looked between you and Gojo before smirking. “You know,” he said, “if you keep defending Gojo like that, you’re going to make him insufferable.”

Gojo immediately grinned and winked at you. “See? They get me.”

You just shook your head. “I’ll stick with you guys, as long as Gojo doesn’t start talking too much.”

Gojo gasped. “I’ll take that as a compliment, but I’m not sure if you’re actually joking!”

Laughing, you turned to Nanami and Haibara. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. But, seriously, it’s great to finally meet you both in person.”

It was clear that Gojo and Geto were in their usual mood mischievous, but with a hint of cruelty. You had seen this before, especially when they started ganging up on someone, and you could tell that Nanami was in for it. He was a bit too serious for their liking, and you both knew how much they enjoyed poking fun at anyone who didn’t quite fit their mold.

Gojo was the first to break the silence, his grin wide and devilish. He took a slow step toward Nanami, sizing him up with an exaggerated scrutinizing gaze. “So, Nanami, you really think you can handle this, huh? I hope you’ve been training hard, ’cause I don’t go easy on anyone.” He clicked his tongue and raised an eyebrow, feigning disappointment. “I mean, I guess you’re okay for a secondyear, but we both know you can barely keep up with me.”

Nanami, who had been standing calmly with his arms crossed, gave Gojo a cool stare. “I’m not worried,” he replied, his tone neutral but firm. He wasn’t one to back down easily, and that only seemed to fuel Gojo’s amusement further.

Geto leaned in from the side with a knowing smirk, folding his arms across his chest. “You know, Gojo, Nanami might be too uptight for this field. His whole ‘serious’ vibe isn’t exactly the best for fighting. I mean, I can already see you wiping the floor with him, but maybe we should make this fun.” His eyes flickered with mischief, and he made no effort to hide the fact that he was provoking Nanami.

You could already tell they were about to turn this into something personal. Gojo and Geto had a way of driving people insane with their teasing, pushing buttons until it was almost unbearable.

Gojo snickered, tilting his head to the side. “I gotta admit, though, Nanami, it’s pretty cute that you think you can hang with us.” He looked over to you, his grin widening. “Don’t you think so, Y/n? You’ve seen this before. Nanami’s so stiff. I mean, if I wanted someone to train in perfect posture, he’s the guy, but in a fight? Not so much.” He made an exaggerated motion with his arms to show how rigid Nanami seemed.

Geto let out a low laugh, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe we should give him a proper warmup before he gets embarrassed in front of everyone.” His eyes glinted with something darker, something that said he wasn’t going to stop unless someone intervened.

You stepped forward, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, knock it off. You two are really pushing it today. You know Nanami can hold his own.” You threw a protective arm around Nanami’s shoulders, trying to shield him from the escalating teasing.

But Gojo wasn’t having it. “Come on, Y/n. You really think he can handle me?” His voice was loud and dramatic, clearly trying to get a rise out of both you and Nanami. “You know, you are a secondyear, Nanami, but you’ve got a lot to learn. A lot.”

He moved closer, standing right in front of Nanami now. “Maybe you should take notes. I mean, look at me. I’m basically the perfect fighter. And you” Gojo poked Nanami’s chest in mock sympathy, “you’re just… well, Nanami. Not quite as impressive, huh?”

Geto chimed in, his tone more biting now. “Yeah, Nanami, maybe you should just stand to the side and watch. It’ll be safer for you, trust me.” He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “We wouldn’t want you to get too bruised up by the time this is over.”

Nanami’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly. You could tell the teasing was getting under his skin, even if he was trying to hold it together.

You stepped in front of Nanami, this time making sure to get in Gojo and Geto’s faces. “Enough,” you said, your voice firm. “You’re crossing a line.” You were trying to keep things light, but it was becoming obvious that they were being needlessly cruel now.

Gojo clicked his tongue, clearly not used to anyone standing up to him like this. “What’s the matter, Y/n? He’s a secondyear; this is just how we help people grow. You know that, right?” His eyes sparkled with his usual playful glint, but there was an edge to it now.

Geto smirked, pushing his hair back with one hand. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want Nanami to get soft, would we? It’s for his own good, really.”

You felt your irritation building. “You’re not ‘helping’ him. You’re just being assholes.” You turned to Nanami, giving him a small nod of support. “Don’t let them get to you. They like to joke around, but they’ll cross the line if no one stops them.”

Nanami let out a deep breath, seemingly unfazed. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.” But his clenched jaw told you it wasn’t that fine. You could see he was about to snap, and that was exactly what Gojo and Geto wanted to see just how much they could get under his skin.

Before anything else could escalate, you moved in closer, putting a hand on Gojo’s shoulder and giving him a playful but firm shove. “Cut it out, Gojo. You’re not funny anymore. And Geto” You shot a glare at him, “You’re no better.”

Gojo sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine, we’ll be nice. I guess we can’t have any fun around here, huh?” He shot Nanami a wink, his teasing not quite done but pulled back just enough.

“You know, Y/n,” Geto drawled as he leaned back, “You really are soft when it comes to your friends. I didn’t realize you were such a defender.”

You glared at both of them, turning back to Nanami with a more gentle smile. “Ignore them, Nanami. You’re way better than they give you credit for.”

Nanami gave you a halfsmile, clearly grateful for the support. “Thanks. And I can handle them. I’ve seen worse than these two.”

You nodded, but you knew that Gojo and Geto had left their mark, and that meant you’d have to step in even more if they kept going down this path. But for now, it was over at least until they decided to start again.

“Alright, enough talk,” Gojo finally said with a teasing grin. “Let’s get to training. Nanami, I’ll go easy on you maybe.”

“Maybe?” You said, a hint of sarcasm in your tone. “Go easy on him? That’s rich, coming from you.” You looked at Nanami. “He’s full of it, you know.”

Shoko, still lounging around lazily on the sidelines, yelled out, “You’re all too dramatic. Just spar already!”

With the pressure momentarily off Nanami, everyone shuffled into place to start the sparring. The air had a lighter tone, though you knew Gojo and Geto wouldn’t let up entirely. But at least for now, Nanami had you backing him up, and that was enough to keep them in check. you decided it was safer (and more productive) to spar with Shoko.

Lazy as she was, she was no slouch when it came to combat. The moment you threw a strike, she blocked it effortlessly, twisting her body with a smoothness that made it clear she wasn’t just relying on her reversed cursed technique to stay relevant. You had to admit, for someone who complained about effort, she sure knew how to handle herself.

“Damn, Shoko,” you whistled as she sidestepped another attack. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you actually like training.”

She rolled her eyes, exhaling through her nose. “I don’t. But I also don’t like getting my ribs shattered on missions, so here we are.”

You laughed, stepping back before lunging at her again. “That’s a good point. But, you know” You grinned, pivoting midswing to test her reflexes. She blocked it easily, her movements as fluid as ever. “We don’t have to be those doomed yuri tropes.”

Shoko blinked at you, unimpressed, before immediately twisting your arm behind your back and shoving you forward.

“Ah Shoko, please, my pride”

“You’re the one who started flirting midspar,” she deadpanned, finally releasing you with a lazy shove.

Rubbing your wrist dramatically, you turned to her with a smirk. “Can you blame me? You’re cool, capable”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Don’t start. You already have too many love interests.”

You paused, tilting your head. “What?”

Shoko waved a hand vaguely, as if dismissing the entire concept. “In another universe, maybe you’d actually focus on me and the female gender instead of collecting admirers like a shonen protagonist.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “…What?”

“Nothing.” She yawned, stretching her arms above her head before shooting you a side glance. “Just saying, if you ever wake up one day and decide men are too exhausting, I’m available.”

Your grin widened. “Noted.”

Before the conversation could go any further, a loud thud interrupted you Gojo had just sent Nanami sprawling across the ground, laughing like a maniac. You both sighed in unison.

“…Do we help him?” you asked.

Shoko rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Let’s give him a minute. Maybe he’ll start fighting back and finally shut Gojo up.”

Unlikely, but it was a nice thought.

₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆After parting ways with Nanami and Haibara, the four of you walked back toward the school. It was unusually quiet too quiet. Normally, Gojo would be running his mouth, filling the air with nonsense, but instead, he just sulked beside you, arms crossed, sunglasses slightly crooked like he was deep in thought over something profoundly lifealtering. Whatever. You stretched, feeling the soreness from sparring with Shoko settling into your muscles. “Man…” you sighed. “Nanami has a really attractive face.”

Dead silence.

“COUGAR!” Gojo practically shrieked, spinning toward you with such force that his sunglasses nearly flew off his face. Geto stopped walking altogether, staring at you like you had just committed the ultimate betrayal. Shoko, who had been lazily walking beside you, hummed in amusement but said nothing, clearly just waiting to see where this went.

You blinked. “What?”

“A COUGAR!” Gojo repeated, pointing at you like you were some sort of criminal. “You’re a whole thirdyear and you’re out here checking out a secondyear?! This is a scandal! A DISGRACE! I’m gonna have to tell Yaga that you’re out here preying on underclassmen”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you groaned, shoving his face away. “He’s, like, one year younger than us. I just said he has a nice face. That’s an objective fact.”

“No, no, no,” Gojo shook his head wildly, grabbing Geto’s shoulders for support like he was about to collapse from shock. “Suguru, are you hearing this? Is this real? Is this real life?”

Geto, who had been staring at you like he was still trying to process what you had said, exhaled heavily. “Yeah, I gotta admit, I didn’t think you were capable of acknowledging anyone was attractive.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Gojo pointed aggressively. “All these years, and Y/n’s never once said anything about me… uh, us! And suddenly, Nanami’s stupid, serious face is worth talking about?”

“His emo blonde hair is kinda nice,” you added, just to get under their skin.

Gojo let out a fullbody gasp, stumbling backward like you had physically struck him. “THE AUDACITY!”

Geto crossed his arms, now fully invested in slandering you. “You’re really out here thirsting over underclassmen, huh? That’s crazy.”

“I didn’t say I was thirsting, I said he has a nice face,” you defended.

“Oh, no, no, no” Gojo wagged a finger at you, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You can’t take it back now. You said it. Out loud. With your mouth. In front of witnesses.”

“Witnesses?” you repeated, deadpan.

“Yes. Three witnesses, in fact,” Geto added, smirking.

“And Y/n, be honest with us,” Gojo said, stepping uncomfortably close. “Was it just his face? Or was it also that cold, brooding, businessmaninthemaking energy? You like ‘em serious, don’t you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please, I’ve known you my whole life, and you’re the exact opposite of serious.”

“Exactly!” Gojo threw his arms up. “Yet somehow, Nanami is getting all the love?! I’m beautiful!”

“Yeah, and I’m charming,” Geto added, flicking his hair back. “Yet somehow, you’ve never once looked at us and said anything like that. And then along comes little Nanami Kento with his serious face and his ‘I hate working overtime’ attitude, and suddenly, you’re interested?”

“You two are being so dramatic right now,” you groaned.

“We’re heartbroken, Y/n,” Geto sighed. “Absolutely devastated.”

“Tragic, even,” Gojo agreed.

“Completely betrayed.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “For the last time, I just said he was attractive. That’s literally it. Do you two want me to start commenting on how nice your faces are? Would that make you feel better?”

Gojo and Geto immediately stopped talking. They exchanged glances. Looked at you. Then at each other again. And in unison

“…Maybe.”

You groaned. “Unbelievable.”

Shoko, who had been silently observing the mess unfold, finally leaned over, her voice barely above a whisper. “Y/n, you’re getting so many love interests.”

You shot her a look. “Don’t start.”

She smirked, lighting a cigarette. “I’m just saying. Another universe, maybe you go for me instead. it’ll make tour life easier”

Gojo made another strangled noise, and Geto clutched his chest dramatically like he was about to faint. You, fully regretting everything, walked ahead. This was never going to end.

₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆

Gojo’s room was honestly not too horrible today. Clothes were thrown over his desk chair, an empty cup of instant ramen sat on the floor, and at least three pairs of sunglasses were scattered in random places. The sheer mess of it was something you had long since stopped questioning. You sat crosslegged on his bed, phone in hand, lazily scrolling as you replied to a text. Gojo, on the other hand, was lying upside down on the floor, feet propped up against the wall, a lollipop in his mouth as he tossed a ball up and down.

It was peaceful.

“Who are you texting?”

You barely glanced up. “Nanami.” The sound of the ball hitting the floor was immediate.

“WHAT.” Before you could react, Gojo launched himself onto the bed, nearly knocking the phone out of your hands.

“HEY!” you yelped, holding your phone out of reach.

“You’re texting Nanami?!” Gojo shrieked, eyes wide with betrayal.

“Yes?” You raised a brow. “Why are you acting like I committed a war crime?”

Gojo dramatically flopped onto the bed beside you. “Oh my god, Y/n. When did this happen? When did you two become texting buddies?!”

“Literally today.”

“AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO CONSULT ME?” He rolled onto his stomach, staring at you like you’d personally destroyed his worldview. “What could you possibly have to text Nanami about?”

“Books,” you replied simply.

Gojo stared at you for a long moment. “Books,” he repeated.

“Yes.” “That’s it?” “Yeah.”

He groaned, flopping facedown into the mattress. “You’re so boring.”

“You asked.”

Gojo turned his head dramatically. “Wait. Wait. Hold on.” His sunglasses had slipped down his nose, blue eyes squinting at you. “Are you… flirting?”

You blinked. “I just said we’re talking about books.” “But are you flirttexting about books?”

You stared at him. “What does that even mean?”

“You know, like ‘Oh Nanami, I simply adore the way you analyze classic literature~’” Gojo put on a terrible impression of you, complete with dramatic hand gestures.

You smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

“Oh my god.” Gojo sat up, eyes wide. “You like him. You think he’s hot.”

“I literally already said he has an attractive face,” you deadpanned.

“But that was in the moment!” Gojo gestured wildly. “Now you’re thinking about him. Texting him. This is a whole new level!”

You rolled your eyes, shoving your phone in your pocket. “You’re so dramatic.”

Gojo grabbed his chest like you’d just stabbed him. “I just never thought I’d see the day,” he gasped. “My best friend, my precious best friend, betraying me like this.”

“Oh my god, get a grip.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He collapsed backward onto the bed. “Go on, text your boyfriend. I’ll just sit here. Alone. Forgotten.”

You stared down at him before shoving a pillow over his face. Gojo immediately started flailing. “HELP! I’M BEING ATTACKED BY A TRAITOR!”

You groaned, shoving him off the bed. “If I knew texting Nanami would get this reaction, I would’ve done it sooner.”

Gojo, lying facedown on the floor, groaned. “I hate you.”

You pulled your phone out again “Nanami’s way more pleasant than you, anyway.”

Gojo screeched. This was never going to end. Gojo groaned dramatically from the floor, limbs sprawled like he’d just been hit by a truck. “I cannot believe this. My best friend, my one and only, has been stolen from me by a second year emo.”

You rolled your eyes, scrolling through your phone. “calm down big guy.”

Gojo peeked up at you, then, with zero warning, launched himself back onto the bed, flopping down beside you. The mattress bounced under his weight, and he made no effort to respect personal space, lying close enough that his shoulder pressed into yours. “I’m being serious,” he whined, dramatically resting his head on your shoulder. “What does Nanami have that I don’t?”

“Selfrestraint,” you said without missing a beat. Gojo gasped. “Excuse me?” He lifted his head to squint at you, affronted. “I have so much selfrestraint.”

“You just threw yourself onto me because I texted someone.”

“Okay, but that’s different,” he huffed, rolling onto his side to face you. “You never text people first.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “Name one person.”

“…Shoko.”

“Shoko doesn’t count. She texts you first.”

“…Geto?”

Gojo scoffed. “You text him, like, twice a week.”

“That’s still texting someone.”

He groaned, rolling onto his back and dramatically covering his face. “Ugh, whatever. I just think it’s suspicious that the first person you suddenly feel like texting is Nanami.”

“You’re just mad I called him attractive.”

“Because you never call people attractive!” He flailed a hand in the air. “You refuse to acknowledge anyone’s hotness! Then suddenly, you meet Nanami, and it’s all ‘Oh, what a nice face he has~’”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“That’s exactly how you sound.”

You let out a sigh, tilting your head toward him. “Okay, would it make you feel better if I said you were attractive?” Gojo immediately sat up, looking down at you with an unreadable expression.

You blinked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just processing,” he said flatly.

“…Processing what?”

“That was the first time you’ve ever complimented my looks.”

You frowned. “That’s not true.”

“It is true,” he deadpanned. “I compliment you all the time. I tell you you’re pretty, I hype you up”

“And you sound insufferable every time,” you cut in.

“and I get nothing in return,” he continued as if you hadn’t spoken.

“Meanwhile, Nanami shows up for one training session, and suddenly you’re swooning.”

You groaned, rubbing your temple. “I am not swooning.”

Gojo flopped back down beside you, still pouting. “If you start dating Nanami, I’m gonna die.”

You snorted. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Just drop dead on the spot.” He sighed dramatically. “My fragile heart won’t be able to take it.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned your attention back to your phone. “You’re ridiculous.”

Gojo tilted his head toward you, watching as you lazily scrolled through your messages. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but then, in a much quieter voice, he said

“…You really think I’m attractive?”

You sideeyed him, unimpressed. “Don’t push it.” He grinned, his usual dramatic energy returning in an instant. “Oh, I’m pushing it. Say it again. Tell me how handsome I am.”

“No.” “Say it.” “Gojo ” “Saaay iiiit.”

You grabbed a pillow and smacked him in the face. Gojo laughed, grabbing his own pillow and swinging back. And just like that, the teasing shifted into fullon mess, the two of you whacking each other like children, the earlier conversation long forgotten.

Gojo had you in a headlock. Not a real one more like a loose, ridiculous mess of tangled limbs and pillows as the aftermath of your impromptu pillow fight. His sunglasses were long gone, lost somewhere in the depths of his disaster of a room, and his snowwhite hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles.

You huffed, lying sprawled out beside him, out of breath from all the laughter. Your head rested against his shoulder, and neither of you had the energy to move. The room was quiet now, save for the occasional sound of Gojo shifting beside you. Then, after a long pause, he murmured, “You know… you never answered me.”

You cracked one eye open. “Answered what?”

“If you think I’m attractive,” he said, voice teasing, but there was something else beneath it. Something more serious.

You closed your eyes again. This was a trap. If you said no, he’d call you a liar. If you said yes, you’d never hear the end of it.…But also. You weren’t a liar. So, with an exhale, you muttered, “Yeah.”

Gojo stiffened. You felt it immediately the slight tensing of his arm beneath you, the way his breathing hitched just a little. Then, because you weren’t about to deal with the consequences of that admission, you immediately went limp against him.

“…Y/n.” You didn’t move. Gojo poked your cheek. “You’re not asleep.” No response. Another poke. “You literally just talked.” Nothing. Gojo groaned, shifting so he could look down at you. “You’re the worst.”

Still, you remained perfectly still, face neutral, pretending to be deep in sleep. For a moment, he said nothing. Just stared at you, his arm still around your shoulder, your body still leaning against him. You weren’t sure what he was thinking, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze, the rare stillness in his presence.

Then, in a voice much softer than before, he said “Go out with me.”

Silence. Your heart did not just skip a beat. That was just… a bodily malfunction.

Gojo nudged your side. “I know you’re faking.” Nothing. “You’re such a coward,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to it. Just amusement. Maybe a little fondness.

He sighed, letting his head fall back against the pillow. Then, instead of pushing you away, he tightened his arm around you, pulling you closer.

“You’re gonna have to answer me eventually,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t move. Didn’t react. Didn’t let your face betray anything. But you felt everything. Gojo didn’t let go.

The soft sound of Gojo’s steady breathing filled the room as you slowly woke up, the weight of his arm still draped across your shoulders, pulling you in close. The sunlight had shifted, casting a warm glow through the blinds. You blinked a few times, your mind foggy as you tried to get your bearings. You were lying against Gojo’s chest, his body relaxed, his head resting on the pillow. The way he had wrapped himself around you in his sleep made it feel like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon. His presence usually so present and overwhelming was now replaced by the calm of someone who’d finally let himself rest. You let out a quiet sigh, shifting slightly but careful not to disturb him. His breathing didn’t change, and you realized he was sound asleep. Your thoughts wandered, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“…I’m not stupid.” You spoke softly, not intending to wake him up. It was more of a mumble to yourself. But as you muttered those words, something inside you shifted, like a weight that had been hanging in the back of your mind finally settling into place.

“I see it now,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Both of you.”

You let your eyes wander over to Gojo’s peaceful face, watching the way his features softened in sleep. Then, your thoughts turned to Geto. They were always together. The way they acted so close, so constantly wrapped up in each other’s orbit. Too close. It was almost like a competition for your attention, only you hadn’t realized it until now. It wasn’t until they both started acting so ridiculously possessive that the pieces finally clicked together.

You chuckled bitterly, shifting again and trying to untangle yourself from Gojo’s arm without waking him.

“Honestly… how did I not see it sooner?” You muttered to yourself, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “They’re both so obvious about it.”

Gojo shifted a bit in his sleep, his arm tightening slightly around you as if in response to your movements. You stilled, eyes wide for a moment, but then you relaxed, biting your lip.

“You know, it’s honestly kind of embarrassing,” you continued, still not fully processing how much you were revealing to yourself out loud. “Both of them… acting like they’re fighting for my attention. Like I’m some sort of prize.”

You laughed under your breath. “But I’m not stupid. I can see what they’re doing.”

The realization was so simple and yet so unexpected. Gojo’s flirty teasing, his relentless need for validation, and Geto’s cool demeanor that had a little too much weight behind it when it came to you it all clicked. They weren’t just being weird. They were being deliberate. You looked at Gojo again, his face serene in sleep, the playful, arrogant grin from earlier now replaced by a quiet, almost vulnerable expression. He was the same as always, but in a way, he wasn’t. You realized you couldn’t quite figure out what was going on with him, and it made your heart race just a little faster than you wanted to admit. With a sigh, you mumbled to yourself again, though the words felt heavier this time.

“I should be annoyed. I should be, right?”

You let the silence hang for a moment. But you weren’t. Instead, a quiet warmth spread through you, making you feel both frustrated and comforted at the same time. Gojo had always been the one to keep things a mess. But with the way he held you now his fingers loosely tangled in your hair, his breathing soft against your skin it almost felt… intimate.

You knew you couldn’t let yourself fall into the trap of his teasing, not this time. You had to be rational. But then again, you couldn’t ignore it either. You found yourself slowly letting your eyes slip closed again, not yet ready to face the mess of thoughts swirling inside your head. You barely realized you were drifting back into sleep until you felt Gojo’s hand gently rub circles on your back, as if he’d woken up without you noticing.

“…You’re not stupid,” he murmured sleepily, his voice rough with sleep. “I’m just really bad at hiding it.”

You froze, eyes snapping open as you realized he was awake. He shifted again, his arm sliding around you in a way that wasn’t exactly innocent. His face was still soft, though there was an unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes. “You heard all that?” You asked, your voice a mix of shock and mild embarrassment.

He just smirked, the same playful smirk you’d known for years. “I always hear you, Y/n.”

You sat there in Gojo’s room, the weight of everything you’d said hanging between you. Gojo sat next to you, his usual carefree attitude nowhere to be found, though he tried to keep it together. He had his hand resting on the bed beside you, but the tension in his posture was clear. He’d listened quietly as you tried to untangle the mess of your feelings, but there was an undeniable frustration brewing inside him. He couldn’t deny it. A small part of him the selfish part was frustrated. He hated the way you were caught between him and Geto, like some kind of tugofwar. He had always been the one to be there for you. He had always been the one who made you laugh, who kept you grounded. And now, he was sharing you with someone else, someone who didn’t get to be your best friend in the same way he did. He wanted to tell you how much he loved you. How he always had. But instead, he was holding back, trying to be supportive, trying to be the best friend you needed, even though it was tearing him up inside. You weren’t making it easy on him, though. And maybe it was selfish, maybe it was wrong, but the thought of losing you to Geto or anyone else made him feel like his insides were twisting in knots. But Gojo wasn’t going to let that show. Not yet.

“You’re my best friend, Gojo,” you said, your voice quiet. Your words were like a balm, but they didn’t ease the frustration that was bubbling inside of him. Not yet. “You’ve been my best friend for so long, and I I love you. I do. But…” You trailed off, and Gojo held his breath, desperate to hear you continue, desperate for something anything that would tell him you felt the same.

“But then there’s Geto, too,” you finished, and Gojo had to fight the urge to grit his teeth.

His heart was pounding, and for a moment, he had to resist the urge to blurt out everything he had ever wanted to say. But no, he couldn’t. Not yet. He stayed silent, giving you space to work through it. He could hear the quiet pain in your voice, the way you were trying to figure everything out, but it was frustrating. So frustrating.

“Gojo,” you continued, meeting his gaze, and for a brief moment, his mask almost cracked. You looked so vulnerable, so unsure, and he couldn’t help but feel protective of you. But that little selfish part of him still wanted to yell, to make you choose him. “I don’t even know if romance is something I should be thinking about right now. Everything’s so messed up lately. Both you and Geto started, like… vouching for my affection out of nowhere, and it just…” You stopped, looking down, and Gojo swallowed hard, trying to push the frustration aside for now. “It’s made my head spin.”

He wanted to say something. To tell you that it wasn’t like that, that he had always been here for you, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he exhaled deeply, forcing himself to be calm, to just be there for you. He had to, even if it was tearing him up inside. “You’re not alone in this, Y/n,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, even though the jealousy was gnawing at him. “You don’t have to figure it out right now. You never rush into anything. You always take your time. So don’t let all this pressure you.”

You shook your head, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “I know. I just ” You exhaled deeply, turning toward him. “It’s just hard. When I’m with you, I feel… safe and seen. And when I’m with Geto, I also have that feeling. And both of you are important to me.” And there it was. The words Gojo had been dreading to hear. Not that he didn’t understand. He did. He knew what it was like to have different people give you different things, but for him, it was hard to hear that you felt seen by someone else.

“Y/n,” he said softly, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. But his mind couldn’t help but flash to the thought of Geto touching you, of being with you in a way that Gojo couldn’t. He wanted to push those thoughts away. He had to. He was being the best friend you needed. “You’re not going to lose us, okay? Ever. Whatever happens, we’re still your friends. No matter what.”

But his mind was still reeling, and a small, selfish part of him wanted to say, Screw that. I don’t want to be your friend anymore. I want you to choose me. He couldn’t, though. He wouldn’t say it. Not yet. You met his gaze, your expression softening, but there was still that uncertainty there, lingering. Gojo could tell you were still processing everything. And that was fine. He would give you the time you needed, even if it was killing him inside.

But when you spoke again, your voice quieter, more tentative, Gojo felt his heart race, but this time, it wasn’t out of frustration. It was out of something else. “Thanks, Gojo. You’re always there for me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His chest tightened at your words, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief. It wasn’t everything he wanted to hear, but it was something. He reached out, his hand resting on yours, his fingers curling around your hand gently. “Don’t mention it. I’ll always be here for you. I’m your best friend. That’s what best friends do.”

But deep down, there was still that selfish part of him that wanted more. That wanted to be the one you chose. And maybe, just maybe, he would get that chance. But for now, he could only wait.

Gojo: [leaning casually against your desk] So… when are you gonna realize I’m in love with you?

You: Oh, you’re in love? With who? Tell me! I’ll help you!

Gojo:

Gojo: [wheezing] No one, actually. I’m dead inside.

taglist: @pandabiene5115 @inthedarkshadows000

[sirxaibs]

BLACK BUTLER IDEA!!!

I still will probably write this but I want to know if there is a demand at all for black butler content. Please like and reply if you’re up for a new fic!!!! here is a sample of what I was thinking

݁ᛪ༙The clock ticked steadily in the dim sitting room. Moonlight spilled through the large windows, catching the sharp gleam of Y/n’s eyes as she stood by the fireplace, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Sebastian entered soundlessly, like a shadow come to life. He bowed with his usual mockery of politeness.

“You wished to speak with me, Lady Y/n?”

Y/n said nothing at first, letting the silence stretch and coil between them.

She studied him the impeccable suit, the flawless manners, the thin smile that never reached his eyes. Everything about him felt wrong.

Finally, she spoke, voice low and edged with steel.

“I know what you are,” she said. “Maybe not the name for it, but I know you are not human.”

Sebastian’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew.

“How very observant,” he mused, clasping his hands neatly behind his back. “And what, may I ask, do you intend to do with this knowledge?”

Y/n stepped closer, her boots whispering against the rug. She tilted her head slightly, the fire casting half her face in shadow.

“Nothing,” she said. “Because Ciel trusts you. For now.”

Her eyes hardened.

“But know this, Sebastian Michaelis: if you harm him if you let him slip further into whatever darkness is trying to swallow him I will tear you apart myself. Piece by piece.”

Sebastian chuckled, the sound low and amused, like a cat toying with a mouse.

“You are quite ferocious for someone so…fragile.”

Y/n didn’t flinch. She stepped even closer, close enough to smell the unnatural, cold clean scent of him.

“You think I’m fragile?” she whispered. “Try me. You’ll find out exactly how far a sister will go for her brother.”

For the first time, something flickered in Sebastian’s gaze interest, perhaps. Amusement tinged with a thread of caution.

“Noted,” he said smoothly, bowing his head slightly. “I shall continue to serve the Young Master with the utmost…care.”

Y/n stared him down a moment longer before turning away, her heart pounding.

“See that you do,” she said coldly. “Because if you don’t hell won’t be the only place you’ll answer to.”

As she left the room, Sebastian stood still, a gloved hand resting lightly on his chest where, for a brief, strange moment, he thought he might have felt something almost human: respect.

݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙ The hem of your dress swirled around your ankles as you hurried through the entrance hall, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and new paint.

The rebuilt Phantomhive Manor loomed above you, so pristine it almost mocked the memory of ashes and ruin still seared into your heart.

You clutched the sides of your gown an elegant deep navy silk dress with delicate lace sleeves, a gift from Aunt Angelina. But you hardly noticed its weight now.

All you could hear was the hammering of your heart.

Ciel.

Your little brother your baby was alive.

You had been staying with Aunt Angelina ever since the fire, trapped in a haze of grief and guilt, believing there was nothing left. When the letter arrived, hastily penned with shaking hands by your aunt herself, you thought it a cruel dream. But now standing here the heavy doors of the manor open, the world spinning in your ears he was truly here.

A butler you didn’t recognize bowed you inside. His voice was smooth.

“Welcome home, Lady Y/n. The Young Master is awaiting you in the drawing room.”

You barely heard him. Your body moved of its own accord, feet flying across the marble, ignoring decorum, ignoring appearances. You needed to see him.The door to the drawing room creaked as you pushed it open.

And there he was. Ciel stood by the window, framed in silver light. He was wearing a black velvet suit, a rich blue eye staring outward only one eye. The other hidden behind a black eyepatch.

His posture was perfect, his chin tilted up in practiced nobility.

But he was still so small.

Still just a boy.

Your throat closed. A sob broke free before you could contain it. He turned at the sound and his eye widened, just barely.

“Y/n,” he said, voice smooth and measured, as if tasting the word for the first time in years.

Your vision blurred with tears.

Before you knew it, your knees buckled beneath you. You fell. Not out of weakness out of relief. You crashed to the carpeted floor, arms flinging around him, dragging his tiny, stiff body against yours. You pressed your forehead to his stomach, clutching him as if he might vanish again if you let go.

“My Ciel,” you gasped out, voice cracking. “My sweet boy, my precious ”

For a long, breathless moment, he said nothing. You felt the way he tensed, the way he hesitated awkward, uncertain, like a child who no longer knew how to receive love. Then slowly one small, gloved hand touched your head. Not like he used to not with the easy affection of the boy you remembered.

It was a stiff, careful gesture.

“…You’re wrinkling your dress,” he muttered, trying for irritation but failing miserably. His voice shook ever so slightly.

You let out a watery laugh, pulling back just enough to look up at him. He was trying so hard to be composed. To be grown. But you could see it the glimmer of your little brother beneath the armor. The scared, exhausted boy who had come home. You reached up, cupping his cheek gently with your gloved hand.

“You’re home,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You’re home, and I will never, ever leave you again.”

His eye softened so quick, you might have missed it if you hadn’t known him so well.

“You’re being dramatic,” he said, brushing a hand down his jacket, pretending indifference.

You smiled through your tears, standing finally and straightening your dress. You took a deep, trembling breath, smoothing his hair back with motherly care.

“You’ll have to get used to it,” you said, voice steadying. “Because I plan to be dramatic for the rest of your life, Ciel Phantomhive.”

The corners of his mouth twitched just slightly. A ghost of a smile. And you felt it you knew that somewhere deep inside, he was still your brother. you would love him with every fiber of your soul, no matter how cold he tried to be.

You linked your arm through his before he could protest, guiding him further into the room like you used to when he was a shy toddler hiding behind your skirts.

“Now,” you said brightly, “you’re going to sit with me and tell me everything.”

He sighed, a sound of long suffering patience far too old for his little body.

“…I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” he said.

You smiled, squeezing his arm gently.

“Not when it comes to me, dear heart. Never.”

You hadn’t felt this complete in so long.

But then a presence. You felt it like a prickle at the back of your neck, a gentle tug in the air, a ripple where everything should have been still. Your eyes drifted, pulled by instinct toward the doorway.

There he stood. The butler. Tall, impossibly composed, crimson eyes gleaming like molten garnets in the low light. His hands were folded neatly behind his back, posture perfect, expression unreadable.

The sight of him sent a strange chill along your spine not fear exactly, but something close to wrongness.

And something else, too something painfully familiar. For just a moment, your heart squeezed. He looks like Father.

Not exactly your father’s features had been warmer, his smiles real. there was something in the way this man carried himself, the precise way he tilted his head, the quiet strength wrapped in civility.

You tore your gaze away and turned to Ciel, lowering your voice.

“Who is that?” you asked, smoothing your skirts with trembling hands to hide your nerves.

Ciel followed your gaze casually, as if he hadn’t noticed the butler lingering nearby until now.

“Sebastian Michaelis,” Ciel said. His tone was clipped but neutral. “My butler. He’s been serving me since… I returned.”

You nodded slowly, lips pressing together.

You wanted to ask more but Ciel’s body language warned you off.

The stiff shoulders, the slight narrowing of his eye. He trusted this man. you had just gotten your brother back. You would not push. Not yet. You turned back toward the butler, offering a polite, practiced smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“Thank you,” you said softly, inclining your head just slightly, as a lady should. “For taking care of my brother.”

Sebastian’s crimson gaze flickered briefly curiosity, perhaps but his bow was perfect.

“It is my duty and my pleasure, Lady Y/n,” he said smoothly.

[sirxaibs]

Bruh one of my fav authors is a pedo

Why did you gotta talk to kids that way man...

[sirxaibs]

Can I ask for Sale Fisher x fem!reader that's popular? And could you PLS PLS PLS don't make her mean? Like, I want her to be popular becouse she's one of those poeple that just sthraight up go talk to anyone.

And maybe Sal's friend group thought that shes propably a bitch, but like.

'She sat at our table?.....and didn't make fun of us?.....in fact she gives compliments that don't feel backhandead?......wtf?'

⬆️just an example, you can do whatever with this.

Sorry for possibile grammer errors or speeling mistakes, english isn't my first lenguage. Thank you and I hope you'll have a nice day ♥️

Hey! I THOUGHT THIS COULD BE SO CUTE!! so Ive seen many fics on this and i wanted to take a different approach. I hope you enjoy it. I love Sal and I hope this isn’t too crazy. I wrote a version yesterday and made everyone a little too mean and I don’t believe any of them would be assholes. So! Hopefully this satiates y’all.

masterlist

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Your legs ache from practice, the soles of your sneakers sticking a little to the hallway tile with each step. You smell faintly of sweat and cherry body spray, the cheer uniform still clinging to your skin like it’s part of you now tight pleats, school colors, and all. You could’ve changed, sure, but exhaustion said no. So here you are, hair in a high ponytail, shoes untied, carrying a stack of junk mail and a single envelope that doesn’t belong to you.

You look at it again under the flickering hallway light, flipping it over in your fingers like it’ll magically reroute to the correct mailbox on its own.

SAL FISHER

UNIT 402

You know the name. Everyone at school does. The kid with the face cover. You’ve never spoken to him he doesn’t really hang around the same kind of people you do but he’s always there. At lunch, in the halls, sometimes sitting out near the tree line when no one else is around. You didn’t peg him as the chatty type.

You stare at the letter like it might bite you. Then sigh. “Why not be a good neighbor,” you mutter, dragging your legs toward the elevator.

The ride to the fourth floor feels longer than it should. It shudders a little on the way up. You keep your eyes on the numbers. Three… four. The doors open with a ding that sounds half hearted.

You’ve never actually been up here.

The fourth floor feels… worse. Everything smells faintly of dust and something like mothballs and metal. You don’t know why, but the lights here feel dimmer. You walk slower, steps echoing.

You find the unit: 402. You raise your hand to knock. There was a pause for a few seconds.

A man stands in front of you, tall, a little disheveled, and definitely not Sal. His presence is immediate, like he fills the space just by being in it. You blink.

“Oh hi! Sorry,” you start, holding the envelope out, “I was just dropping this off”

“He’s in his room,” the man says before you finish.

You freeze. “Oh, no, I wasn’t trying to bother him, I just thought I’d–”

“Just go on in. Down the hall, last door on the left.”

You blink again. You’re not even sure he’s looking at you. Just staring somewhere past your head, like he’s already decided this conversation is over.

“I mean, I could just leave it here”

“Last door on the left.”

He steps aside, just enough for you to enter. You do, but not on purpose. Your legs just move. You step into the apartment, and it’s… weird. Not gonna lie, being in any strangers apartment never really felt cool. You walk toward the hallway, clutching the letter, mind screaming at you to stop being so polite.

“Damn old people,” you think, jaw tightening. “I just wanted to drop something off, not go all this way”

The hallway feels longer than it is. The floor creaks behind you, or maybe above you. You don’t look back. You keep walking. Last door on the left.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You knock lightly once, twice then pull your hand back like the door might burn you. A pause. Then the knob turns. The door creaks open slowly, revealing a familiar figure just behind it. Blue pigtails. The mask.

Sal Fisher.

He stares at you. You stare back. Neither of you says a word. And because silence is somehow gnawing at your neck, you blurt, “Hi! Um, I think our mail got mixed up I swear I didn’t just barge in.”

You thrust the letter forward like it’s a peace offering. “This was in my mailbox. For you. I thought I’d, y’know, be neighborly and return it. I didn’t open it or toss it or anything. Your dad sent me over this way”

He takes the envelope slowly, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. His gaze flicks down to it.

“Thanks,” he says. His voice is quieter than you expected. Almost gentle.

You nod. Then freeze. Then nod again. You’re still standing there, very much in his doorway, very much uninvited. His room is in full view behind him. Posters of metal bands you’ve only heard mentioned in passing. Skulls, red and black ink themes. A guitar in the corner. Tiny, vaguely creepy figurines lined up on a shelf.

“Your room’s so cool,” you say before your brain can stop you. You lean forward just a little, peering past him. “Seriously. This is like… Sid and Nancy level. How do you even find posters like that anymore? Oh my god is that an actual cassette player? That’s so sick.”

You wince as the words leave your mouth. “God, sorry, I’m not trying to be weird. I mean that in a good way. Promise.”

Your voice is speeding up. You’re spiraling. And you know it.

Sal just keeps watching you like he’s trying to figure out if this is real or a very strange dream. A cheerleader. In his doorway. Talking about cassette players. You finally cringe so hard your whole body folds in on itself.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, backing toward the hallway. “Sorry for the whole… I don’t know what that was. I was just trying to be a good neighbor and it turned into, like, a monologue of whatever the fuck.”

You turn halfway around to leave when you hear

“You wanna take a look around?”

You glance over your shoulder.

Sal is still standing there, holding the envelope like it might vanish. His posture is stiff, like he’s surprised the words came out of his mouth, too.

You blink. “I mean… sure?”

He nods. “If you’re into the posters, Do you dig that kind of music?.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Well I wouldn’t say it’s exactly my style but I’m a all things can be redeemable if you give it a try”

He jerks his head toward the room. “why not give it a try then”

You’re already stepping inside before he finishes, smiling wide. “You had me at ‘cool’ and sealed the deal with ‘band.’ Show me.”

The second you cross the threshold, it’s like entering another world. The bland apartment hallway behind you disappears into a mess of amps, guitars, wires, dark posters, and the faint scent of incense and old vinyl.

Sal gestures toward a small desk setup with beat up speakers and a laptop. He grabs a pair of headphones well worn, slightly cracked along the band and offers them to you.

“You don’t have to pretend it’s good,” he mutters. “Honest opinion’s fine.”

You shoot him a thumbs up and take the headphones like they might unlock the secrets of the universe.

He clicks play.

The drums hit first loud, fast. Then comes the guitar: raw, rich, angry. A distorted voice cuts through the noise melodic under the layers of whatever was happening, but clawing to be heard. Your eyes go wide. You start bobbing your head slowly. Then more. A grin creeps up your face, shoulders bouncing slightly as the music crashes through your ears. You grip the headphones tighter, fully in it like you’ve been dropped into a private punk rock concert in a dream.

When the song fades, you pull the headphones off with a breathless laugh. “That was… so good,” you say, eyes lit up. “Like, very loud but in the best way. I felt like I could punch God in the face. I loved it.”

Sal’s ears what little you can see of them turn just slightly pink. He shifts, crossing his arms. “Yeah?”

You grin. “What, because I’m in a cheer uniform, you think cheerleaders don’t have rage?”

He laughs softly. It’s warm. Unexpected.

You glance at the clock and groan. “Ugh. I should probably head back and pretend I’m responsible or whatever. Homework calls.”

You hand the headphones back, your fingers lingering a second before letting go.

“Thanks for showing me that,” you say. “Seriously. its super sick.”

Sal shrugs, casual, but he still won’t quite meet your eyes. In his head, he’s screaming. Because what the hell. A cheerleader just walked into his room, complimented his taste in music, vibed to Sanity Falls, and then thanked him like he did her a favor.

Respectfully and he does mean that. you’re hot. this whole thing feels like a glitch in the matrix. Like someone else’s life. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Uh. Anytime.”

You flash one last smile before turning to leave. Sal Fisher stands frozen in his room, A pretty girl was in his room.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ the clatter of trays, bursts of laughter, the shriek of a chair scraping too hard against the linoleum. Sal sat across from Larry, Ash, and Todd, picking at the edges of his sandwich more than actually eating it. His thoughts weren’t really on food. Not when they kept drifting back to the night before.

Cheerleader. In his room. Pretty girl. She liked his music.

“Hey,” he said finally, pushing his tray forward and folding his arms on the table. “Do you guys know that new girl who lives on the third floor now?”

Larry paused mid bite, sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Third floor?”

Ash glanced between them, already suspicious. “Wait. Are we talking about that new girl? Y/N something?”

“Yeah,” Sal said, tone casual like he wasn’t rehearsing the question all morning. “she dropped something off last night. Just wondering if you knew her.”

Larry barked a laugh. “The cheerleader? Yeah, she’s definitely one of those girls.”

Sal blinked. “Those?”

“You know,” Ash chimed in, leaning her chin on her hand. “Perfect hair. Always smells like a mall. Probably part of one of those fake bestie cliques that post about how much they loveee each other but secretly hate one another’s guts.”

Larry nodded, already back into his food. “Plastic. The kind that calls everyone ‘babe’ but doesn’t know your actual name.”

Todd, sipping from a thermos, finally looked up. “You guys don’t even know her.”

Ash raised an eyebrow. “And you do?”

“I’ve had class with her. She’s… quiet,” Todd said thoughtfully. “Pays attention. Says thank you when someone passes her a worksheet. She helped a freshman with their locker on the second day.”

“That’s your bar for decency?” Larry said, skeptical.

“I’m just saying, you’re judging her and like Sal was new too once,” Todd said. “You don’t know anything real about her.”

Ash groaned. “You don’t need to know someone to know someone, Todd. Some people just radiate mean girl energy. Trust me.”

Todd narrowed his eyes. “That’s a shallow assumption and you know it.”

Ash muttered something about “cheerleaders being a plague” under her breath, and Larry snorted.

Sal, who had gone unusually quiet, finally spoke again. “She’s not like that.”

All three of them turned to look at him.

Larry’s mouth slowly curved into a smirk. “Wait. Hold up. Why are you asking about her, dude?”

Sal looked down, then up, tone clipped. “I told you. She dropped off mail. That’s it.”

Ash crossed her arms. “why did she just come all the way up to your place to give you a letter?”

Sal shrugged. “Her mailbox got mine by accident. then stayed for a bit”

Larry leaned forward, grinning. “What, did she get lost on the way out?”

Sal blinked. “She liked my music.”

Ash scoffed. “What, like out loud?”

Sal nodded. “Yeah. She tried my headphones. Even headbanged a little.”

Todd smiled slightly. “That’s kind of cool.”

Larry shook his head like he was witnessing a miracle. “Okay, wait a minute. A cheerleader, listened to screamo music, and didn’t run screaming for the suburbs?”

Sal shrugged again. “She said it made her want to punch God.”

Ash froze, lips parting in a mix of confusion and, for the first time, mild interest. “Okay… that’s actually kind of hardcore.”

“She said my room was cool,” Sal mumbled, mostly to his tray.

Larry threw his hands up. “Okay, what the hell, Sal. Are you telling me you Sal ‘I sit by myself and listen to death metal’ Fisher just casually had a cheerleader in your bedroom?”

Sal didn’t reply, but his fingers drummed on the table a little too fast to be casual. Larry leaned in. “Dude. You got a cheerleader in your room. Are you sure this wasn’t a dream? Like a fever dream after one too many gas station burritos?”

Todd tilted his head. “Or maybe… maybe she’s just a person. Like the rest of us. Who happens to like punk and be good at flips.”

Ash scowled. “God, Todd, you sound like a teacher.”

He shrugged. “Just saying.”

Larry still wasn’t over it. “Next thing you know she’s gonna show up in all black with eyeliner and join a band.”

Sal didn’t say it out loud, but a flicker of a smile played under the edge of his mask at the idea. He kinda liked that you were so different. the juxtaposition of your looks and what you seemed interested was very cool to look at.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You strolled through the crowd with your cheer squad flanking both sides laughing, gossiping, spinning their hair around fingers like it was a competitive sport. You listened absently as one of them launched into a dramatic retelling of how her ex “accidentally” liked her finsta post at 2 a.m.

You weren’t really paying attention. Not because you didn’t care, though the first time she talked about it had you engaged. but because your eyes had already locked onto something else across the cafeteria. A short blue haired guy sitting at a table near the back with a group of kids you’d only ever heard about through whispered rumors and cruel nicknames.

There he was. Sal Fisher. without really thinking without asking yourself anything at all you broke away from your group mid laugh. Just veered straight toward him like your legs had made the decision before your brain did.

“Wait, where are you going?” one of your friends asked behind you.

“BRB,” you called over your shoulder. “I want to bother someone.”

Across the cafeteria, at a table meant for the misfits, Sal was in the middle of pushing peas around his tray when a sudden blur of cheer uniform and bounce came into view. He looked up.

You stopped right beside him and sat down immediately grabbing his arm, breathless and grinning. “Okay, so, I’ve been thinking about that song you showed me all night. Like, literally, I couldn’t sleep. I need more. You got a playlist? A mixtape? A USB drive from hell? Gimme.”

For one perfect, cinematic second, the entire table was silent. Larry dropped his fork. Ash’s eyes nearly bugged out of her skull. Todd blinked like you had just walked through a wall.

Sal just stared. “You… what?”

You nodded eagerly, lowering your voice like it was sacred. “You ruined all my playlists. I need more of that noise in my life.”

He blinked again. “You sure?”

“You say that like you thought I wouldn’t.”

“I–” Sal started, then stopped, looking absolutely stunned.

You turned to the rest of the table, realizing they were still staring at you like you’d just sprouted devil horns and declared yourself prom queen of hell. You raised a hand sheepishly. “Hi. Sorry for interrupting. I’m Y/N. just moved this year.”

Ash looked like she was physically holding herself back from combusting. Larry was still open mouthed, and Todd was watching with the kind of intrigue usually reserved for alien encounters.

“If you’re anything like Sal,” you added, offering them a genuine smile, “then I’m sure you’re all cool as hell.”

Larry looked to Sal, eyes wide. “Yeah, he’s crazy cool. Though he did learn from the best” Larry awkwardly replied while pointing himself

Ash leaned toward Todd. “I think i’m on drugs, what’s happening” Todd just smiled quietly.

You turned back to Sal, who was very much glitching out in real time. “I’ll give you my number later,” you said with a wink. “Text me a playlist. Or this time I’m breaking into your room.”

Sal opened his mouth. Closed it. Nodded once like he was in shock. “Okay.” And then you were gone, skipping back to your friends, who were whispering furiously and shooting glances like you’d just fraternized with the enemy.

“what was that?” one of them hissed.

You smiled, tugging your ponytail higher.“you’re the one who told me to make friends here, thats all i’m doing.”

Back at the table, Sal stared down at his tray like it might give him answers.

Larry leaned in, whispering, “Bro. Are you a witch? Did you hex a cheerleader?”

Sal just shook his head.

“I think,” he said slowly, still stunned, “i think its jover for me.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You weren’t quite sure how it happened. One second you were joking in the hallway with Sal about your shared hatred for lukewarm cafeteria pizza, and the next you were in his room, cross legged, spinning slowly on his desk chair while he nervously adjusted the volume on his old stereo system.

The room was quiet, save for the soft murmur of some obscure post punk band playing from the corner. You didn’t recognize the lyrics, but it felt like something you wanted to memorize.

“You know,” you said, glancing around, “I kinda expected more skulls. Or like… weird taxidermy?”

Sal laughed soft and surprised. “Yeah, you’re not the first to say that. I think Larry was disappointed when he first came over and didn’t find a Ouija board or something.”

You gave him a playful squint. “Wait, you don’t have one?”

Sal grinned slightly behind the mask. “Okay, I do. But it’s under my bed and mostly for decoration. Larry gets carried away.”

You hopped off the chair and crouched, peeking under the bed like you were on a mission. “You’re telling me there’s a haunted board game down here and you’re not showing me?”

“It’s not haunted,” he replied, clearly amused. “It’s just from a yard sale. Probably cursed with suburban angst at most.”

You laughed, brushing your fingers over a dusty shoebox. “Still cool. You’ve got good taste. I mean, look at this stuff.”

Posters of bands you’d never heard of were plastered across the walls, scribbled notebook pages taped in between like patchwork wallpaper. An old lava lamp flickered halfheartedly in the corner. There were stacks of CDs, cassette tapes, and one particularly weird clay sculpture that looked like it might’ve been made in a sleep deprived art class.

You plopped onto his bed and tilted your head. “This one’s my favorite,” you said, pointing at a crooked drawing of a girl with hollow eyes and messy hair. “She beautiful.”

Sal stepped closer, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. “That was… something I did when I was like, thirteen. Supposed to be a ghost from this dream I had. I kept seeing her for weeks after.”

You looked at him, expression soft. “You see ghosts a lot?”

He hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Sometimes. Not all the time. But yeah.”

“Damn. That’s metal.”

Sal let out another laugh, more comfortable now. “That’s what I told my therapist.”

You leaned back on your elbows, smiling at him from his own bed like you’d done it a hundred times. “So, what else are you hiding in here? Secret dungeon? Portal to hell?”

“Uh,” Sal said, eyes glinting with something playful. “Larry stole all the portals to hell. I’m more of a secret music archive guy.”

You shot up. “Prove it.”

He smirked and crossed the room to a cabinet by his desk, pulling open a drawer to reveal a mess of burned CDs, USBs, old MP3 players, and one tiny cassette player with a sticker that said “Play if you hate the world.”

You gasped like he’d opened the Holy Grail. “Sal. This is the coolest shit I’ve ever seen. You better send me everything.”

He knelt beside you, pulling out a CD with careful fingers. “This one’s the first mix I ever made. It’s super rough.”

You took it from him reverently. “I love rough.”

Sal’s ears went pink. “I, uh, that came out weird.”

“Yeah,” you teased. “but cant a girl say how she feels.”

You glanced at him, and he was already watching you, like he couldn’t believe you actually said that. Like you’d disappear if he blinked too long.

“Hey,” you said, quieter now. “You’re kinda talkative tonight.”

He shrugged, brushing some hair from his face. “You’re easy to talk to.”

That made something flicker warm in your chest.

“Same,” you murmured. Then you nudged him with your shoulder. “Do you like me here?”

Sal tilted his head, mock serious. “People probably that I’ve summoned a demon cheerleader to possess me.”

You grinned. “Yeah? Hope they’re right.”

And he laughed again. You liked that sound. You wanted to hear it more.

You and Sal stayed like that for a while, just talking. The kind of conversation that meandered and curved around strange facts and half finished thoughts. He told you about a ghost that used to knock on his closet door when he was little. You told him about the time you accidentally summoned a raccoon with a ritual you found on Tumblr. Somewhere between laughter and another CD recommendation, you spotted a small, beat up notebook tucked between the mattress and wall. It looked old, like something with secrets.

“Ooooh, what’s that?” you asked, already reclining across the bed to reach it.

Sal looked up, immediately alert. “Wait no, that’s!”

Too late. You stretched out, reaching over him as he sat back against the headboard. Your fingers brushed the edge of the notebook only for your balance to shift, the mattress dipping under your weight.

Thump.

You landed right on top of him. For a moment, neither of you moved. You were nose to nose, your chest pressed against his, hands awkwardly splayed on either side of his shoulders. His mask had tilted slightly, and you could see just a glimpse of the scar beneath it before he quickly adjusted it. His breath hitched so did yours.

Your eyes met.

Sal’s eyes were wide, pupils flicking between yours like he was scanning for some kind of signal. You suddenly became very aware of the warmth radiating off him. Of the way your knee was pressing slightly between his legs. The room, the music, the whole world had gone still.

“Uh,” he said softly, like he was trying not to spook you.

You blinked. “Sorry. Um. .”

“it’s okay,” he said, voice an octave higher than usual. “Totally. You’re all good trust. Yeah.”

You were about to say something maybe a joke, maybe not when the door slammed open with the force of someone who had never knocked in his entire life.

“Yo, Sal HOLY SHIT”

You scrambled off like you’d been hit with a taser, rolling off to the side and nearly falling off the bed. Sal sat bolt upright, stiff as a corpse.

Larry stood in the doorway, a soda can in one hand and a box of cookies in the other, blinking like he was trying to make sure what he was seeing wasn’t a hallucination.

“Dude,” he said, utterly stunned. “Did I interrupt something?”

Sal buried his face in both hands with a groan. “Larry.”

“No, because this is like… well im not going to say. You’re on the bed, she’s on top of you, the music’s playing do you guys want me to turn the lights down? Light a candle or something?”

You threw a pillow at him.

Larry dodged it “I can come back later. Like, waaay later.”

“You weren’t even supposed to come now,” Sal hissed, his voice muffled behind his hands.

Larry grinned. “I felt a disturbance in the force.”

You sat up and crossed your legs, trying to fix your hair and your dignity. “Hey Larry, how’s it going?.”

Larry raised his brows and backed toward the hallway with exaggerated steps. “I meet you once and you’re already over my man right here”

And then he was gone, disappearing down the hall with the sound of crinkling cookie packaging trailing behind him. Sal finally peeked up at you, his face still a little flushed. “…Im sorry about that.”

You smiled, brushing your hair back. “Im not too worried, He seems like a nice guy.”

Sal blinked, then laughed “I think I like having you around,” he murmured, almost too quiet to catch.

You grinned, nudging his knee with yours. “Then send me that damn playlist before I tackle you again.”

“…Not the worst threat I’ve heard,” he replied.

And the music played on.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆You sat criss cross on the grass with your cheerleader friends, your lunch mostly forgotten as you braided strands of your best friend’s hair while another girl animatedly recounted some drama from first period.

“…and then he said, ‘It’s not cheating if we were on a break!’” she shrieked, clutching her phone like it was sacred.

Everyone groaned, gasped, or fake fainted in synchronized horror.

You laughed, tossing a piece of grass in her direction. “He used the Friends defense? God, we need to start handing out red flags on flashcards.”

You were comfortable here. It was loud, messy, dramatic but it was yours. And they loved you because you weren’t just part of the cheer squad, or the new girl, but because you talked to the theater kids, the band nerds, the weird guy in the dinosaur hoodie. You didn’t care about cliques. You liked people. People were weird and interesting.

Eventually the bell rang and everyone stood, gathering their things in a flurry of hair and perfume.

“I’ll see you after school!” someone called. You waved, backing away toward the building with your backpack swinging behind you.

And that’s when you heard it. “Pick it up, you little freak. Or do you need your mommy to do it for you?”

You rounded the corner and froze. A smaller kid, maybe a freshman, was scrambling to pick up their books, hands shaking as a taller guy stood over him. Shaggy hair,, fists clenched like he wanted someone to look. A few papers blew past your feet. You didn’t step in. You knew better. You weren’t built like that couldn’t throw a punch or bark louder than a threat. And you knew the look of someone who’d use that.

But still… once the kid grabbed his stuff and scurried off like a spooked rabbit, you found your voice.

“Hey.”

The guy turned to you, annoyance etched into every line of his face. “What?”

You took a slow breath and tilted your head. “What’s your problem?”

He blinked, like you’d just asked him the square root of an existential crisis. “You wanna go?” he said, stepping toward you with all the bravado of someone who’d been fighting shadows his whole life.

You didn’t flinch. Just crossed your arms and stared. “You seriously pick fights with kids who can’t fight back? What, did your cereal bully you this morning?”

That got him. Just a flicker but it was there. A crack in the tough guy mask. He scoffed. “Don’t act like you know me.”

“I don’t,” you said honestly. “But I know whatever that was back there? Thats fucked, stop being a dick and maybe your mommy would do something about it.” His jaw flexed like he was holding back a hundred things he didn’t know how to say. “I’m not scared of you,” you added softly. “But you being a dick is pointless.”

He stared at you for a long time. Long enough that it should’ve felt uncomfortable. But instead, it felt… tense. Not dangerous. Just tight. Like something holding its breath.

Then, just before turning, he muttered, “Tch. Whatever.”

You watched him go, the anger in his steps still there but dulled, somehow. Like your words had wedged into the gears of whatever rage machine he operated on. You found out later from someone in gym class that his name was Travis. Just Travis. No one knew his last name, just that he was trouble, had a rep, and probably didn’t have many people who called him anything else.

Ash had seen it.

She’d been leaning against the side of the vending machines, chewing on the straw of her empty smoothie cup, eyes darting around the quad like they always did. She wasn’t looking for drama, not really, but if it stumbled into her path, she sure as hell wasn’t going to ignore it.

She watched the whole thing Travis towering, spitting venom, and you standing there, not brave enough to throw hands, but bold enough to ask why. Not backing down. Not even flinching.

When he walked off, still pissed but quieter somehow, she tossed her smoothie into the bin and strolled over like she wasn’t deliberately inserting herself.

“What was that?” she asked, casually, like she’d just seen you pet a lion.

You turned, slinging your backpack higher on your shoulder. “What was what?”

Ash raised a brow. “With Travis. You said something. He didn’t hit you. That’s basically a miracle.”

You shrugged, still feeling the adrenaline buzz in your ribs. “I don’t know. Just… couldn’t walk past it.”

Ash snorted. “People walk past him all the time. He’s an ass. A racist, sexist, homophobic caveman with fists for brains. Trust me, most people are glad to stay out of his way.”

You chewed your lip. “Yeah. I guess. I just. I don’t know. People who are assholes need someone to speak up.”

She tilted her head, considering that for a beat. “You ever get into fights?”

“God, no,” you said quickly. “I’d die.”

Ash smirked. “That checks out. Still, you didn’t run. Didn’t go fake sweet or start crying to a teacher. You just… confronted him. That was kind of bold of you new girl.”

“Thanks?” you offered, unsure.

She walked with you now, matching your steps as you made your way down the hall. It was quiet, the rush between lunch and next period tapering off.

Ash glanced sideways at you. “Y’know, I pegged you as another one of them.”

You didn’t need to ask who them was. You’d seen the way she looked at your cheer friends. Glitter and high ponies didn’t mix with combat boots and smudged eyeliner.

You smiled softly, still looking ahead. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

She didn’t say anything for a second. Then: “Turns out you’ve got more bite than you let on.”

You turned to her, surprised. “You saying that like it’s a good thing.”

Ash shrugged. “Might be.”

That was it. No over explanation. No emotional dive into friendship territory. Just the Ashley Campbell version of a peace offering. She didn’t invite you to hang out or trade numbers. She didn’t ask personal questions or gush. But the next time she saw you in the hall, she nodded at you instead of looking through you.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ The bell had just rung, and the hallways were alive people yelling across rows of lockers, someone dropping a textbook with a dramatic slam, and the smell of cafeteria pizza already creeping in. You scanned the crowd like a bloodhound on a mission.

Sal Fisher. Quietly standing near the usual corner with Larry, Todd, and Ash. He had his hands in his pockets, head tilted as Todd went off about some new theory, probably ghosts or government tech. Ash was chewing on a straw and nodding vaguely, while Larry interrupted every other word with “Nah, but listen what if?”

You didn’t even think twice.

“Hey!” you called, bounding over like a cartoon character with too much energy and absolutely no sense of personal space. “There you are, Blue.”

Sal looked up right as you reached him. “Blue?”

“You’re wearing blue,” you said, pointing at him. “And your hair’s blue. You’re very committed to the aesthetic.”

He tilted his head. “I wear black more than anything.”

“Technicalities,” you said, grabbing his sleeve. “Come on. We’re doing something.”

Larry raised a brow. “Is this a kidnapping?”

“Definitely,” Ash answered flatly.

“Wait, what are we doing?” Sal asked, laughing under his breath as you pulled him gently away from the group. “Do I get a say in this?”

“You get to walk or be dragged, your call.”

“That doesn’t feel like much of a choice,” he muttered, but he let you lead him anyway.

“Where are you taking him this time?” Todd called out with actual concern.

“To the moon,” you replied without turning around. “Or maybe just the vending machines. We’ll see.”

Ash cupped her hands around her mouth. “Bring him back in one piece!”

Larry shouted after, “AND IF HE COMES BACK MARRIED IM ATTACKING YOU FOR NOT LETTING ME BE BEST MAN!”

You groaned and shot them a look over your shoulder. “Y’all are so dramatic.”

“We’re dramatic?” Ash asked, gesturing wildly. “You swooped in like a caffeinated falcon and stole our boy mid convo!”

Sal laughed beside you, his eyes squinting just slightly with amusement behind the mask. “You kinda did.”

“Okay, but be honest,” you said, bumping your shoulder into his. “You weren’t even really paying attention to Larry’s alien rant.”

“…It was about space cats this time.”

“See? I’m rescuing you.”

He chuckled again, a little softer this time. “Then thanks, I guess. You know, I’ve started looking forward to these.”

You slowed your pace, peeking at him from the side. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, a bit bashful now. “You’re crazy and I am definitely living for it.”

Your smile tugged wider, warmth blooming in your chest. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“You need better friends,” he teased.

“I have you,” you shot back.

And that quiet moment hung between you both for just a second comfortable, kind of sweet, a little electric.

Back at the hallway corner, the trio watched you both disappear down the hall. Ash crossed her arms, a curious look on her face. “Im glad to have found out she’s not just some glitter clone.”

“Nope,” Larry agreed. “She’s cool. Like, actually so cool.”

Todd smiled faintly. “And Sal likes her. That much is obvious.”

Ash gave a small nod, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “Yeah. He really does.” for once, none of them said anything snarky.

[sirxaibs]

Veritas Ratio HSR X Reader

“Stubborn, Stubborn, Stubborn.”

masterlist

You’re apart of the crew and an aspiring scientist. Though focusing in the forensics field to help out on missions.

📜🪶𓍢ִ໋🀦✎ᝰ. You hunched over a cluttered desk inside Herta’s Space Station, scribbling notes that looked more like deciphered codes than legible science. The quiet hum of machinery served as a backdrop to your forced concentration, punctuated every so often by the sharp scratch of a pen.

Dr. Veritas Ratio sat a few feet away, posture rigid, eyes sharp beneath a veil of bangs, hand flying across the pages of his own leather bound book like a man possessed.

This wasn’t what you imagined when you signed up to “shadow the renowned Dr. Ratio for advanced forensic learning.” You wanted to expand your skills, help the crew better on field missions because for some god forsaken reason, every time you stepped foot on a new planet, you were the one knee deep in clues, bodies, and mysteries no one asked for. It only made sense to sharpen your mind where it counted. days in and Dr. Ratio had barely acknowledged you unless he was critiquing your logic like a middle school science project.

Still, you tried again.

“So,” you started, voice casual, “when you said the neural pathways respond to stimulation, were you implying synaptic frequency increases even without cognitive awareness, or?”

“I was referring,” he interrupted at lightning speed, “to the involuntary oscillation of signal transmissions under external influence, something any second year biologist could tell you. Your phrasing was inaccurate, misleading, and honestly bordering on theoretical idiocy.”

You blinked, stunned into silence not because you were offended, but because his words were fired off like bullets from a gatling gun. You couldn’t even keep up enough to be offended. Still, you smiled, brows raised. “Right… of course. That’s what I meant. Totally.”

He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge the sarcasm. Just kept writing. You sighed, staring at your notes and trying to find the motivation to continue copying something down about tissue decomposition in altered gravity conditions. But your thoughts were elsewhere specifically: “The brain is a muscle, my ass,” you thought bitterly. “This man is a stick in the mud.”

You tried once more, adjusting your chair just enough to glance at him. “Hey, uh… Ratio?” He didn’t stop writing. “I just wanted to let you know it’s my last day here. The Express is taking off tonight.”

He paused. Pen hovered in midair. For the first time in hours, he turned to look at you. “Then I suppose this is farewell,” he said evenly. “Any mind still desperate to learn more is worth a modicum of effort.” You blinked. That actually sounded… almost like a compliment? “But you remain, unfortunately, idiotic.”

There it was.

You couldn’t help the dry laugh that escaped. “Thanks, I’ll take that as the most affectionate thing you’ve said all week.”

“There is no affection in scientific discourse,” he replied, already back to his book.

You exhaled hard through your nose. There’s no pleasing this man. Still, you gathered your things, slung your bag over your shoulder, and gave him a nod. “Appreciate the time. Really. Maybe next time, I’ll come back knowing enough to offend you less.”

Ratio didn’t look up. “Unlikely, but your optimism is statistically entertaining.”

You paused at the door and gave one last look over your shoulder. No goodbye. Just the steady scratch of pen on paper. Annoying. Insufferable. Condescending. You had plenty of normal conversations with Ruan Mei, Screwllum, even Herta who could be a little unhinged but at least talked like a human being. you couldn’t say you didn’t learn something. Even if you wanted to shove him into a simulation chamber and press “random.”

Sighing, you stepped out of the lab, muttering to yourself, “The man needs a personality transplant. Or at least a nap.” Time to go back to the Astral Express. Hopefully, without being called an idiot in five different academic dialects.

📜🪶𓍢ִ໋🀦✎ᝰ. Dr. Veritas Ratio stood alone in the silence of Herta’s Space Station lab, the ambient hum of machinery now a mere background to his thoughts. The room still carried the faint trace of your presence a slightly skewed chair, a half empty data pad left untouched, a worn notebook you used with mismatched doodles and scientific scribbles alike. He stared at the door for longer than he intended after you had left.

“Hmph.” His voice echoed softly in the quiet room, as if irritated by his own lingering stillness.

With a sharp breath, he returned to his seat, flipping open the leather bound journal he had been writing in not his own research logs, but something far more… unwieldy.

A chronicle. An account. An observation. You. You, the girl who barged into his space several days ago claiming she was eager to “learn more about forensics” so she could stop playing amateur detective across the galaxy like some kind of self declared interstellar sleuth. The girl who stood there in front of him bright eyed, annoyingly persistent, armed with nothing but a notepad and a smile that dared him to reject her.

He should have said no. Really. He meant to.

Entry One:

She is insufferably stubborn.

From the moment she entered, she challenged my authority not with words, but with that relentless, aggravating optimism. It’s like trying to teach science to a golden retriever that insists on wagging its tail every time it gets a basic equation right.

She surrounds herself with the imbecile crew of the Astral Express each of them so charmingly flawed that one would need earplugs just to survive a conversation. She listens. She stares at equations like a brain dead dog. if puzzles are worth solving, and when she gets them wrong…

Ratio’s pen slowed for a second.

Entry Three:

I threw a book at her.

She botched a rudimentary breakdown of spatial decay honestly, I still don’t understand how someone confuses atomic diffusion rates with heat based deconstruction and I threw a book at her.

He tapped the end of the pen to the page.

She didn’t cry. Didn’t storm out. She laughed. Actually laughed. Rubbed the back of her head and said, “Should’ve known you’d have better aim than that,” before flipping back to her notes and reworking the entire equation.

Stubborn. Stubborn. Stubborn.

He underlined the word twice.

Entry Five:

She got something right today.

Not just right. Brilliant, actually. She identified a miscalculation in a gravitational bleed pattern I hadn’t even caught yet. I told her it was “adequate.” She beamed like I’d handed her a Nobel Prize.

Ratio exhaled slowly at the memory. There had been more moments like that. More times than he cared to admit where he’d look at her work and see genuine understanding growing like a slow, tenacious weed through cracked pavement.

She was undisciplined. A jumbled mess of deduction and instinct. But she was learning.

He flipped to the last few pages in the book, where neat bullet points were written in his precise hand. Not for himself. For her.

• You need to stop jumping to conclusions without sufficient data.

• Emotion clouds deduction. Maintain detachment until evidence is confirmed.

• Your spatial awareness is strong. Consider pursuing work in trajectory and motion based forensics.

• Your memory recall, while clumsy, is oddly adaptive. You seem to remember patterns more than facts use that.

• Stop doodling in the margins.

And then, written softer, smaller, like it embarrassed him:

• You are better than you think. Just… be better still.

He hadn’t meant to go into so much detail. It was just supposed to be notes. Brief, simple. A few guiding remarks she could use once she returned to playing Sherlock on alien planets. But the longer he spent around her, the more the book filled. He would’ve given it to her. That was the plan. Hand it off as a cold farewell and return to his own work, alone, uninterrupted.

But when she said she was leaving, a strange ache settled in his chest. He had closed the book instead. He told her she was idiotic. That was easier than saying anything else. He wasn’t built for sentiment.

But now, in the sterile quiet of the lab, he opened the book again and stared at the last empty page. His pen hovered for a moment before he wrote:

You were the most tolerable nuisance I’ve encountered.

He closed the book. Folded his arms. And sat there, in silence. Holding the only piece of you he could.

📜🪶𓍢ִ໋🀦✎ᝰ. The Astral Express had settled into its familiar rhythm a quiet lull between the catastrophe that just occurred. You sat in your room, sprawled on your back atop your bed, legs dangling off the side as a small packet of data chips and half doodled notes littered the floor beneath you. The lighting was dim, and soft music played in the background something March had been trying to get everyone into. Bubblegum pop something or other. You didn’t mind it.

Then, your terminal lit up with an incoming call.

Caller ID: Dr. Veritas Ratio

You blinked. Seriously? The last time you’d heard from Ratio was months ago, back when you’d finished your “training” with him at Herta’s Space Station. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t sent a single follow up. Hell, you figured he forgot you existed. Which was fine. He’d called you idiotic more times than you could count. You got the message.

So why the sudden contact? You leaned over, smacked the “Answer” button with your palm, and sat back again, letting the hologram flicker to life. The familiar sight of Ratio appeared sharply dressed, arms crossed, and already mid glare.

“Have all of you completely lost your minds?” he barked.

“Wow, no hello? You’ve really softened over the months,” you drawled, stretching your arms above your head and letting out a long yawn.

Ratio ignored the comment. “You brought it on board. A Stellaron. A living, breathing, ticking time bomb and you you let them install it into the crew roster like it’s a decorative lamp!”

“Not me,” you replied casually. “That was Himeko and Welt’s call. I was too busy teaching March how to tell the difference between a footprint and a crater.”

He leaned closer into the hologram, voice sharp as shattered glass. “And you didn’t stop them?”

You tilted your head, gaze flat. “Ratio, I’ve learned many things in my life. One of which is: you do not argue with Himeko unless you want to be questioning your own sexuality.”

“This is reckless. Irresponsible. Foolhardy. Welt Yang used to be logical.”

“He still is,” you said, picking at a thread in your blanket. “Realistically, this was the safest option.”

“Oh?” Ratio lifted a brow, sarcasm soaking every syllable. “Yes, why not keep the volatile Stellaron host onboard the most advanced dimensional train known to man? Surely the best place for a cosmic disaster seed is inside the space equivalent of a floating museum.”

“See? You do have a heart,” you said, smiling slightly. “You’re worried about us.”

“I’m worried about the structural integrity of your ship, and the illogical stupidity of a crew that includes people like well, like you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Ratio scowled. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

You rolled onto your side, cheek pressed to your pillow, gaze on the projection of his furious form pacing like a scientist on the edge of an aneurysm. “No, I am. I just also live on a train that is fully capable of going against the Antimatter Legion, hunted by robots, and now has an amnesiac walking stellar bomb with a winning smile and a personality March immediately adopted like a stray puppy. You’ll excuse me if I conserve my panic energy.”

Ratio paused, folding his arms. “You’ve grown bolder.”

“You called me idiotic for a week straight. I had to evolve or die.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, softly so softly you barely caught it he muttered

You blinked, eyebrows lifting. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Still. You would be wise to proceed with caution. The Stellaron may not act today or tomorrow, but entropy is inevitable. One misstep, and it could unravel every layer of existence you so casually nap on.”

You smiled lazily. “I missed your bedtime stories.”

“You are insufferable.”

“You called me.”

Ratio paused. For a flicker of a second, his expression shifted barely visible, like a crack in marble. Thoughtful. Frustrated. Maybe even… hesitant. “you have a brain. And I don’t like seeing it wasted.” He gestured vaguely in your direction. “You’re tolerable when you’re being cautious.”

“And you’re tolerable when you’re not actively trying to kill me with a migraine.”

The hologram began to glitch slightly signal fading as the Express entered another sector.

Ratio’s voice cut through one last time before the line ended: “Just don’t get comfortable. You may not always have time to brace for the explosion.”

Then the screen blinked to black. You sat there, the weight of his words hanging in the room like smoke.

“…Still didn’t say goodbye,” you murmured, grabbing your tea and taking a slow sip. You weren’t worried.

📜🪶𓍢ִ໋🀦✎ᝰ. Herta’s Space Station was bustling with its usual polite chaos researchers skittering around with datapads too big for their hands, drones zipping above heads, experiments sparking in sealed chambers. The scent of metal and burnt circuitry lingered faintly in the air. A strangely nostalgic aroma, really.

You had come here for one reason and one reason only: to visit Screwllum. The robotic genius had promised to show you a new forensic simulation model, one that could track theoretical blood spatter in zero gravity. You were deeply interested, and by “deeply interested,” you meant giddy like a child with a crime scene coloring book.

You weren’t expecting to see him. Not as you rounded the corner of the central archive, passing Herta’s projection arguing with itself, and almost bumped headfirst into a tall figure already ranting at a researcher over some miscalculation involving quantum probability flow.

“Dr. Ratio,” you breathed, blinking once.

He turned toward you slowly. You immediately put your hands over your mouth, gasped dramatically, and staggered back a step. If he gets to ghost you, why cant you have fun yourself?

“Veritas? Is it really you?” you cried, voice shaking like a widow in a play. “The universe said you were lost to the abyss of academia, never to be seen again! I we I waited so long!”

Ratio stared at you, expression unreadable but very much unimpressed. “You’re being absurd.”

“Absurdly in love,” you swooned, grabbing his arm with faux desperation. “I swore I’d wait, no matter how long the stars turned. You you arrogant bastard you came back.”

“Stop being ridiculous,” he replied flatly. “Ill have you know that if you even tried i would’ve answered. You were simply too busy pretending to be a detective on every rock you stumbled across.”

“not one letter. Not one call. Do you have any idea how I’ve suffered? Ive missed my stuck up asshole of a husband”

He raised an eyebrow. “You were messaging Screwllum memes less than twelve hours ago.”

You blinked. “Screwllum loves my memes. Don’t derail me trying to make you look like a bad husband.”

“I should’ve let you fail the entropy unit,” he muttered, brushing your hands off like you were a particularly annoying layer of dust.

You laughed, arms crossing over your chest. “Still as insufferable as ever, Ratio. You really know how to make a girl feel welcome.”

Ratio returned to his datapad. “If by ‘welcome’ you mean ‘tolerated,’ then yes. I remain consistent.”

There was a beat of silence. The usual static hum of the station pulsed around you. You tilted your head slightly, observing him not just as a former mentor or your favorite verbal sparring partner, but as someone you honestly missed.

You stepped a little closer, voice dropping. “Hey… could we catch up a bit?”

He paused. His fingers hovered over the datapad. Just for a second. Then, slowly, he looked at you out of the corner of his eye.

“why”

You smiled. “Ok big guy is asking the questions, I suppose I just want to see how you’re doing.”

Ratio’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smirk. “I suppose… some minds are worth the occasional recalibration.”

“Is that your way of saying ‘yes’?”

“It’s my way of saying you’re still stubborn and prone to foolishness but slightly less irritating than most of the imbeciles I suffer daily.”

You beamed. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Ratio glanced away, resuming his work. “Don’t get sentimental.”

But you saw the way his posture shifted less tense, a fraction more open.

📜🪶𓍢ִ໋🀦✎ᝰ. Ratio’s quarters were exactly what you expected and somehow even more Ratio than you thought possible.

Minimalist, sterile, everything arranged with sharp symmetry almost clinical, like the man had tried to recreate a science lab in the shape of a bedroom. The lighting was dim, a soft overhead hue that neither strained the eyes nor dared to be comforting. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls, but not a single one looked even slightly out of place. His desk had no dust, no loose wires, no snacks just data pads, models, papers arranged in brutal harmony. despite all the perfect order, there was something kind of… homey about it. Or maybe you were just losing your mind. Probably the latter.

“I’ll return shortly,” he said earlier, stepping out with a brief mention of fetching something from Screwllum or threatening Herta’s projection into silence you weren’t sure which. His voice was already vanishing down the hall as you nodded absently, too curious about seeing this inner sanctum of his to stop him.

Which is how you ended up alone in the room and your eyes landed on the book. You hadn’t seen it since your time as his reluctant partner slash student slash mental punching bag. Leather bound, its corners slightly worn, it sat there on the desk like it had been placed just for you to find it. An artifact of a past so recent it still itched under your skin. You told yourself to leave it alone. You didn’t. Fingers brushed the cover. You opened it.

The first few pages were filled with sharp, scathing commentary written in Ratio’s precise, aggressively legible handwriting. Your early days of working together where you barely kept up and made mistakes that, according to him, “required divine intervention to unsee.” You scoffed, flipping forward.

There were notes, not just about your blunders, but about what you’d done right. Diagrams you’d drawn that he’d annotated, not with insults, but improvement suggestions. Questions you’d asked that he’d praised though usually in the most begrudging tone imaginable.

You flipped further. Dates from after your training had ended appeared.

She let that walking disaster <Stelle> on board. Of course she did. Her loyalty to the crew is stronger than her self preservation. Idiotic.

…Though, if she’s the one monitoring it, perhaps there’s hope it won’t implode immediately.

Your brows lifted. Another entry, this time sloppier, less rigid:

Saw her solve a multi layer deduction test from Ruan Mei’s simulation. Beat the projection time by five minutes. Either she’s improving rapidly… or cheating. I doubt the latter. Annoying. Impressive.

And then:

You were the most tolerable nuisance I’ve encountered.

You stared at that line for a long time, blinking. Your heart gave the smallest traitorous flutter. Ratio? Writing that down? In his own personal notes? Voluntarily?

“Veritas Veritas Veritas,” you whispered, amused, letting the book rest gently on the desk again, “you’re so down bad and you don’t even know it.”

You glanced around the room with new eyes now. Not just a workspace. There were signs of you scattered in the margins things you’d said that he’d scribbled down verbatim, questions you’d asked, observations you’d made. There, in this sterile haven of knowledge, you existed. When the door slid open again with that same low mechanical hiss, you didn’t turn immediately. You kept your hands at your sides, innocent, as Ratio entered holding a datapad and a cup of something that definitely wasn’t coffee.

He raised an eyebrow.

“You moved things,” he said bluntly.

You turned, grinning. “I breathed in here. Hope that’s not too much.”

Ratio’s eyes zeroed in on the open book like a hawk spotting a wounded animal. The datapad in his hand made a dull thud as he dropped it to the desk beside you.

“You read it,” he said, voice low, clipped. It wasn’t a question. It was a fact delivered like an accusation.

You opened your mouth, but he was already moving, closing the book in one motion that was more violent than necessary. His eyes flicked to you, sharp with something between irritation and disbelief. “That book was for me. My documentation. My evaluations. Not for you to comb through like some sentimental schoolgirl with a crush.”

You just raised your hands a little in mock surrender. “Okay, first of all ow. Second, maybe don’t leave emotionally repressed love letters in plain sight if you don’t want them read.”

His scowl deepened. “You are not the center of my notes. You were a case study in irritating persistence.”

You smiled. “A tolerable nuisance, if I remember correctly.”

“I regret ever writing that.”

“You do not.”

Ratio looked like he was about to snap again, but your tone shifted before he could. A little more sincere this time. Less teasing.

“Look, before you combust into quantum dust or something, I’ve been doing the same thing. Kind of.”

That made him blink. His arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched.

You shrugged. “Whenever there was news. Whenever Screwllum or Herta mentioned something cool you did. Whenever you published something with Ruan Mei. I’d log it in a little virtual journal. Notes, quotes, observations. Even drew a diagram of your frustrated face once. It was very detailed.”

“You tracked my activity?” His voice was dry with disbelief.

“Kept tabs,” you corrected. “I mean, you did teach me how to observe patterns and record data. I thought it’d be fun to apply it to you.”

Ratio stared at you. Hard.

You grinned again, stepping closer now, just into his space, enough to make him instinctively stiffen. “So, if you like me so much, Veritas…” you tilted your head, voice dipping into a teasing lilt, “it doesn’t have to stay theoretical.”

The room went dead silent. Ratio’s eye twitched.

“I do not like you.”

You leaned back with a smug hum, hands slipping behind your back. “Sure. That’s why you wrote, ‘perhaps there’s hope it won’t implode immediately.’ About me and the crew.”

“That was in reference to the logistical risk of hosting a walking bomb, not an emotional attac—”

“You said impressive, Ratio.”

“I said annoying right before.”

You shrugged. “And still impressive.”

Ratio turned away from you, muttering curses under his breath in a tone too quiet to catch. But he didn’t tell you to leave. Didn’t shove you out or erase his notes or block access to his quarters. Instead, he sat, flipped open a new file on his datapad, and typed exactly three words

Emotional interference: persistent.

You laughed as you settled in across from him.

“Glad I’m still in your data set.”

[sirxaibs]

Sunday HSR X Reader

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ SNOW DAY! ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

masterlist

part 1

its a little bit of a different format!! be warned because i know the first part was well loved

this is technically a part 2 though its a little more angsty but I tried to still hold the same dynamic. Sunday having some self doubt is a warning. You don’t need to read this part but you’d need to read the first part to make this make sense.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Something cold brushed your cheek. You stirred, barely, burying your face deeper into the couch cushion. The blanket someone had kindly placed over you was warm and smelled faintly of lavender. The lights in the Parlor Car had dimmed. The stars outside twinkled lazily, unmoving.

“HEY! HEY! WAKE UP!!”

“AAAHHH” Your body spasmed upright as your eyes flew open in a panic. You blinked wildly, sleep still clawing at the corners of your vision. Something someone was screaming directly into your ear, high pitched and furious and

“We’re about to make a jump! All passengers must be prepped and present! Did you think this was a nap train?! Come on, come on!”

“PomPom?” you croaked, eyes wide and dazed, hair in complete disarray. the tiny conductor screeched, arms flailing, foot tapping with enough force you swore you could feel it through the couch. “We jump in fifteen minutes! FIFTY FIVE SECONDS of that are already gone! Do you want to arrive half dreaming and in pajamas?!”

You blinked again, your heart now racing for a whole new reason. The blanket slid off your shoulders. Across the room, seated calmly with tea in hand, Welt Yang gave you an apologetic nod as if this sort of thing wasnt normal. Beside him, Himeko, already dressed in her usual beautiful self with not a single red strand out of place, smiled gently. “Good morning, sleepyhead. You should hurry. These jumps can be disorienting if you’re not prepared.”

“Right. Yes. Okay. Jump. We’re jumping.” You stood too fast. The blanket tripped you. Your leg knocked into the table, rattling Himeko’s teacup. “Sorry! Sorry. I!”

“Just go get dressed!” PomPom wailed. “You’re embarrassing me”

You scrambled out of the Parlor Car, heart pounding, brain trying to catch up to your body.The halls of the Astral Express were softly lit, calm in contrast to your internal panic. You stumbled into your room, kicked the door shut behind you, and launched into the most frantic wardrobe selection of your life. Pajamas off. Shirt on backwards. Fixed. Pants? Where were your pants? Oh god, you’d slept in one sock and now you were wearing mismatched ones but there wasn’t time to change. You brushed your hair with your fingers, tied it up…. was that a feather from last night still in there? You stopped. Looked in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed. There were faint sleep lines on one side of your face. But your eyes were awake now alive with motion, with chaos. And as you adjusted your jacket and took one last breath, you had a glimpse of something else.

The navy blue blanket where you’d tossed it before rushing out.

Sunday.

You paused, just for a moment. The memory of his soft voice in your sleep though you hadn’t really heard the words lingered faintly, like a dream half remembered. Had he really just sat there and let you rest? You smiled without meaning to, but only for a moment. Pom Pom’s voice echoed from the hallway again.

“FIVE MINUTES! And not a second more!”

“Coming!” you yelled, grabbing your boots and stumbling out of the room like a storm with arms. You arrived at the boarding deck just as the others began gathering. Caelus was still tugging on his coat, March was fixing her scarf as if her entire existence depended on the perfect loop, and Dan Heng had been ready fifteen minutes ago and clearly didn’t understand why the rest of you looked like you’d been hit by a comet. Sunday was there too. Fully dressed. Elegant even in simplicity. His hair was slicked back, a calm expression on his face as he glanced your way and then, just for a second, something softened in his gaze when he saw you.

“Sleep well?” he asked quietly as you joined the group.

You nodded, tugging your jacket into place. “Yeah. Thanks for the blanket.”

He tilted his head. “Seemed like you had an adventurous night?”

You blinked at him. But his eyes sparkled, just a little. The floor beneath your feet gave a small rumble. Lights along the ceiling began to pulse with color. Pom Pom stood atop the central platform, now fully in Conductor Mode, voice echoing with more authority than their small frame should’ve ever allowed.

“Next stop,” Pom-Pom announced, “an old and well met planet, we are visiting Jarilo-VI again”

The ship jumped. You barely had time to brace, but this time, it didn’t feel so disorienting. Maybe because you were surrounded by them. Your crew. Your friends. Or the fact that next to you in the parlour car, Sunday is always taking in the works around him like he was just born. So much wonder made you feel so fortunate. You weren’t entirely sure when that started to feel comforting. But it did.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Jarilo-VI welcomed the Astral Express crew with its usual frosty greeting icy winds sweeping the platform, snow clinging to every rooftop and ledge, and that quiet stillness in the air that only came with winter.

You stepped off the train behind the others, watching your breath fog in front of your face. The city beyond still stood proud despite its scars. Belobog had changed since you were last here less tension, more movement. There was life in the people’s steps now. A subtle, growing hope.

March was already snapping pictures of Caelus helping a local child shovel snow off the street, her voice excited and dramatic. “Sometkme i look at him and wish I had that drive but he does stuff like he has daily tasks or commissions”

Caelus was half buried in a snowbank but gave a thumbs up. Dan Heng, coat already pristine and zipped, muttered something under his breath and walked ahead toward the Administrative District. He’d been assigned to assist with a few lingering logistics, as had Himeko and Welt. The grown ups, as March dubbed them. You? You had been told absolutely nothing.

No tasks. No missions. Not even a clipboard. Which was exactly why, once everyone else had scattered, you stayed behind. Your eyes trailed over the rooftops dusted with white, the distant roads sloping down into familiar territory. Serval’s workshop, maybe. Or even a chance run in with Bronya or Gepard. Heck, you’d even take a weird monologue from Sampo as long as you weren’t standing still in the cold. You adjusted your coat and turned to sneak off “You’re not going alone, are you?”

You flinched and turned around quickly. Sunday stood just behind you on the platform, arms folded loosely across his chest, eyes squinting slightly at the sun reflecting off the snow. Still in his usual attire, not a shred of weather appropriate attire in sight. He blinked slowly, then added, “I thought I might accompany you. If you don’t mind.”

You hesitated. He didn’t ask why you were going. Just wanted to tag along.

“Sure,” you said, smiling, “but not like that. You’ll die in five minutes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve survived much worse.”

“Yeah, sure. luxury suits. Come on.”

You motioned for him to follow and dragged him back into the Express, heading straight for the storage closet where everyone’s winter gear was kept. You shoved open the door and started rummaging. He watched you with amused patience as you returned with armfuls of thick clothes. You tossed a jacket at him navy, heavy, with silver trim. He barely caught it before you were already looping a scarf around his neck, standing on tiptoe to reach properly. “Arms up,” you ordered, like he was a kindergartener and not a six foot tall enigma.

“You’re very particular about this,” he murmured as you tugged the sleeves over his arms and zipped the coat halfway up his chest.

“You probably haven’t even seen snow before,” you muttered, voice muffled as you fixed the scarf, “Pretty boy like you? I bet Penacony was all dream beaches and sun.” You tugged a beanie over his perfectly styled hair. “This would eat you alive.”

“I think I’m capable of”

“There.” You stepped back, satisfied, and grinned. “Now you look like a fashionable marshmallow.” Behind you, a suppressed snort cracked the silence. You didn’t even turn. “March, if you even think about saying anything, I’m throwing snow down your coat.” More giggling. Retreating footsteps. Sunday glanced in the direction of the sound and then looked back at you, blinking under the knit hat you’d shoved onto his head. “Am I… presentable?”

You pretended to examine him, chin in your hand like an artist judging a sculpture. “You’ll survive. If only just.”

His smile was subtle, but it reached his eyes. Together, you stepped off the train and began your slow descent into the city. Jarilo-VI was still beautiful in the way icy sunlight catching on rooftops, the clink of tools and laughter echoing from a few shops that had reopened. As you both walked, you explained what each building had been during the whole event when the astral crew were all there, and how things had changed. Sunday didn’t speak much, but he listened. Genuinely. His hands stayed in his pockets, but his eyes followed every movement children pulling sleds, old workers salting roads, steam curling from chimneys.

“It’s different here,” he said softly after a while.

You hummed. “Cold?”

“it feels like fresh air.” His breath fogged in the air. “I used to think eternity would be the only path to peace”

You turned to look at him. He shook his head. “Its so nice to see people out.” His gaze dropped to the footprints the two of you left behind in the snow. You smiled.

“Also,” he added lightly, “I haven’t felt my fingers in the past twenty minutes. So perhaps you were right.”

“Well no duh” you grinned, and bumped his shoulder gently. “Welcome to winter, dream boy.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Eventually, you ended up outside Serval’s workshop, laughter and music spilling from the inside. She was strumming her guitar for a cluster of teens, everyone bundled up with hot drinks and wool scarves. The moment Serval spotted you, her eyes sparkled with mischief and she called out, “Hey! You brought a date?”

You flushed immediately. “He’s not”

“I’m here by choice,” Sunday cut in smoothly, tugging his scarf down just enough to speak clearly. His voice was calm, a slight smirk on his lips. “Don’t let her flustered denial fool you.”

You shot him a look, but he only raised a brow in amusement.

One of the teens whispered, “Is that guy famous or something?” Another murmured, “He looks like he owns a whole company.”

You buried your face in your scarf.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ Later, as the sun dipped and shadows grew long, the two of you sat at the edge of the city, the rooftops of Belobog glowing gold beneath a dusky sky. You handed Sunday the last bit of your hot drink without looking at him. He accepted it, hands brushing yours, and took a sip.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice more serious now. “For letting me come along.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” you muttered, gaze fixed ahead. “I just needed a tall coat rack.”

There was a pause, then a soft chuckle. “Then I hope I’m fulfilling my purpose admirably.”

When you didn’t reply, he added, quieter, “I don’t take your time for granted. I’m glad to be here with you.”

That made your heart skip. You looked away, flustered, and he didn’t push. The stillness wrapped around you both like a blanket, snowflakes drifting lazily in the air. You leaned back on the bench, exhaling slowly.

“Hey! Hey, there you are!”

You both turned to find Lynx bounding up the road, scarf trailing and cheeks pink from the cold. “There’s a frozen lake just outside the city! We cleared it for skating come join us! Serval’s already out there bullying Gepard, and I need backup.”

You stood, grinning. “Say no more. I’m in.” You glanced at Sunday. “C’mon.”

He blinked, surprised. “I’m sorry what exactly are we doing?”

“Skating.”

“…That’s like walking but more dangerous?”

“You’ll be fine.” You patted his shoulder. “You’ve survived worse.”

“I’m not convinced this counts as survival.”

You were already walking, but he didn’t hesitate long. He stood with a quiet sigh, resigned but not unwilling. “I assume you’ll mock me if I fall.”

You smiled over your shoulder. “Respectfully.” You smirked. “Come on. We’ll get you moving.” He hesitated but only for a second. Lynx clapped her hands and turned back toward the main street, clearly expecting you both to follow. You tossed Sunday a look, and he reluctantly stood with that soft little sigh of surrender he always gave around you. In retrospect the lake wasn’t far just past a ridge near the edge of Belobog’s perimeter. It was tucked away like a secret winter garden. A large sheet of glassy ice shimmered in the moonlight, surrounded by snowy banks and pine trees dusted in white.

A few lanterns had been strung up between wooden poles, casting golden halos onto the lake’s surface. Music played faintly from a small speaker on the snowbank, something upbeat and old school that you suspected came from Serval’s collection. And there they were: Serval, skating backwards with way too much confidence, trying to start a conga line with a group of teens nearby. Gepard, already red in the face as he stumbled along the ice, attempting to catch up to her. You were pulling on your skates before Sunday even had a chance to decline. Lynx offered to help him get into his pair, but you shooed her off.

You stood on the lake first, gliding across the surface like it was second nature, your balance steady and posture relaxed. Lynx clapped excitedly as you looped around her, grabbing her hands and pulling her onto the ice.

“Wait wait wait!” she squealed, trying not to fall as you twirled her.

You laughed freely, cheeks flushed and heart light.

“You’re weirdly good at this!” she cried.

“I have secret skills,” you said with mock seriousness.

“I literally live here, how are you like this.” Lynx replied. you winked. Gepard was the next target.

“Hey, Captain,” you called, skating up beside him with a wide grin, “Race you to that snowbank.”

He narrowed his eyes, the same competitive spark you remembered lighting up in them. “You’re on.” Two seconds later, you were both flying across the ice, skates slicing through it with sharp precision. Three seconds after that, you crashed spectacularly into the snowbank, laughing as you rolled over onto your back and blinked up at the stars.

“You okay?” Gepard asked, snow clinging to his uniform.

“I’ve been better,” you wheezed, still laughing. Serval skated over next and dropped onto her knees beside you. “You die?”

“Spiritually.”

The next ten minutes were a blur of white flurries and screaming as Serval roped you into a full scale ambush on the Landaus. Lynx betrayed you instantly. Gepard tried to remain neutral. It didn’t work. You laughed until your stomach hurt, until your hair was full of snow and your gloves were soaked and all the while, Sunday watched from the sidelines, sitting alone on the bench near the treeline. His winter coat bundled around him, scarf you wrapped earlier still snug around his neck.

His eyes followed your every move. Your joy was loud. Free. Untamed. He watched as you threw snow with both hands, collapsed in a heap of laughter, and got back up just to do it again. Your smile wasn’t measured. It wasn’t perfect. It reminded him of what should have been. Of what he never had. His own sister had never laughed like that. Robin had smiled, yes, but it was always rehearsed duty bound. Everything in Penacony was orchestrated. Everything was planned. Conditional. watching you here, he felt it again, that strange ache. That pull toward something… unconditional. It made his chest tight.

“You’re not gonna sit there all night, are you?” Serval’s voice cut through his thoughts. He turned slowly to see her smirking down at him, hands on her hips. “Why don’t you get out there? She’ll catch you if you fall.”

“…I have no experience skating.”

“Exactly why you should.” She leaned in slightly. “You two act like you’re not into each other, but you’ve got the tension of Bronya and Seele after seeing each other for too long” His eyes flicked up to her.

She winked. “Go on, dream boy.”

You were in the middle of trying to help Lynx build a snow cat when a shadow fell over you. You turned. Sunday stood awkwardly in borrowed skates, hands in his pockets.

“…I believe I require assistance.”

Your brows lifted. “You’re actually going to try?”

“I was… encouraged.”

You snorted and skated over. “Okay, come here.” You held out your hands, and he took them without hesitation.

“Bend your knees slightly,” you instructed, “and keep your core tight.”

“I feel like I’m being trained for battle.”

“well trying anything new kinda feels like that.”

His feet slipped, and he lunged slightly but you caught him. You laughed, and he stared at you. “I will admit,” he said quietly, “the company makes it tolerable.”

You felt your smile soften. You pulled him gently along the ice, step by slow step. He clung to your hands like they were lifelines. Lynx waved at you two from across the lake. Serval gave a not so subtle thumbs up. You pretended not to see them.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ warmth immediately spilled into your bones, melting away the bite of the Belobog chill still clinging to your coat. You stepped inside with Sunday beside you, arms still linked, boots dripping faint traces of snow onto the polished floor.

His scarf was still a little uneven where you’d adjusted it earlier, and his cheeks held the last blush of cold. His steps were careful, as they had been all night, but steadier now. You were guiding him more than anything. Not that he’d admit it.

You glanced at him as the doors closed behind you.

“You know,” you started, “I think you’ve set a record for the most times someone’s fallen in one walk.”

“I would prefer it not be the legacy I leave behind,” Sunday replied, smooth and quiet, a faint wryness in his voice. “Though you seem particularly fond of recounting each incident.”

“I’m preserving history,” you said, stifling a laugh. “Someone has to tell the tale of the Great Trip of Ten Feet Past the Bench.”

His gaze shifted down toward you, expression unreadable but fond. “If I recall, you were laughing too hard to be of any assistance.”

“I got there eventually,” you said innocently. “Besides, you falling over is weirdly elegant. Like watching a tree try to curtsy.”

That pulled a quiet breath from him, something like a laugh but more reserved. “It was… a good night.”

You smiled at that, more to yourself than anything. “Yeah. It was.”

The two of you walked a little slower now, letting the soft lights of the Express guide your path past the Parlor Car. Himeko’s voice murmured faintly from the direction of the tea table. Someone probably Dan Heng had left a book open on one of the lounge chairs.

You and Sunday paused in the corridor just before it branched off into your rooms. The moment hung there, gentle and still. He looked at you, his tone quieter now. “Thank you… for inviting me.”

You tilted your head, a little amused. “Pretty sure you invited yourself.”

“I did,” he admitted, “but you didn’t send me away.”

Your smile lingered, warm. “Wouldn’t have, even if you asked.”

He gave a small nod, the weight of the day still visible in the curve of his shoulders, but there was ease there too like something heavy had been left behind in the snow.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

You didn’t let go of his arm right away, but when you did, your hands brushed one last time. He turned with quiet steps and disappeared down the hallway toward his room, the soft rustle of his coat fading behind him.

You stood there for a moment longer, just listening. The train hummed, steady beneath your feet. The stars drifted lazily outside the windows. Eventually, you turned and wandered toward the main lounge where March was curled up on the couch with a blanket, swiping through pictures on her camera.

She looked up as you walked in and grinned. “Okay. You have to see this one Bronya mid fall. her arms are doing this dramatic flailing thing. I swear, it’s like ballet.”

You laughed and plopped down beside her, glancing over at the tiny screen. “She did try to defend her honor.”

“Yeah, and then immediately ate ice again,” March said, beaming. “And you and Sunday? how was that today… nothing out of the ordinary…”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for a throw pillow. “You’re imagining things.”

March wiggled her eyebrows. “Sure I am.”

You stayed a few minutes longer, sharing stories, teasing each other in the soft glow of the lounge, until your body finally reminded you how tired you were. After promising to join her again tomorrow for more photo reviews, you stood with a stretch and padded quietly down the hallway. The lights dimmed slightly as you reached your door, and in the stillness, you caught yourself thinking back on the day. The snow. The skating. The way Sunday had looked at you when he said he didn’t mind being useful if it was to you.

The crew slept quietly around you. The hum of its systems was softer in the middle of the night, like even the machine itself had tucked in. You hadn’t meant to stay up this late but after tossing and turning in bed, your sweet tooth had convinced you to sneak down to the kitchen car. Just something small. A cookie or two. Maybe something warm to hold for a while.

You were on your way back now, satisfied and relaxed, your steps light as you padded barefoot through the dim halls. Most of the lights had dimmed to a faint glow, golden enough to keep the shadows at bay but soft enough not to wake anyone. A few stars shimmered lazily beyond the train windows, the galaxy at peace. Everyone else had already turned in. You were on your way to do the same when a quiet sound halted your steps near the guest car a space meant for travelers passing through, those not quite crew but not strangers either. Sunday stayed there.

Your hand hovered over the handle to your room, ready to turn in at last until you heard it. A sound. It came from the guest car just around the bend. Your brows furrowed. Everyone else had already turned in. You were on your way to do the same when a quiet sound halted your steps near the guest car a space meant for travelers passing through, those not quite crew but not strangers either. Sunday stayed there.

You stayed still, holding your breath. There it was again. A stifled breath. The kind someone might mistake for a cough if they weren’t paying attention.

But you were paying attention. It was the sound of someone trying not to cry. Your first instinct was to leave him be let him have his space, his privacy. But the image of him skating with shaking knees and guarded pride, of the way his eyes had softened during the snowball fights, lingered too vividly. The fondness you felt for him wasn’t something you could ignore. You stepped away from your door and moved toward his.

The door to his room was slightly ajar. You didn’t call out. Probably should’ve knocked. You just stepped inside quietly, drawn by something you didn’t have the words for. The room was dim, lit only by the faint starlight filtering in through the window. Sunday sat upright on the edge of the bed, his coat shrugged off and draped over the chair. He hadn’t changed for sleep. His eyes were red, his shoulders trembling just slightly. He was turned away, both hands clasped as if trying to hold himself together.

You simply knelt in front of him, your knees pressing into the floor, eyes searching his face until he finally looked down. His breath hitched at the sight of you. His lips parted like he might try to speak, but nothing came. So you offered your hand. No words. No expectations. Just your hand, palm up, waiting. He stared at it for a moment. Then, slowly hesitantly he reached out and took it. His fingers were cold. His grip was light at first, like he didn’t quite trust himself to hold on. But then he exhaled, the breath catching at the end, and he interlocked his fingers with yours. He didn’t cry again, not right away. He just breathed. Slow. Shaky. Like the pain had found a safe place to settle.

Minutes passed. And then, quietly, he spoke. “…You looked so beautiful today,” he whispered. “With the others. With that girl… her laugh reminded me of Robin’s.”

Your thumb gently brushed over the back of his hand. “She always tried to laugh like that,” he said. “But it was always… restrained. Like it had to be measured. Beautiful, but… not direct.” His voice broke. “Not like yours.”

You stayed still, grounded, letting the silence hold space for him. “I kept thinking… if she had a life like yours… if I had” He stopped, trembling again. “Every time I look at you, I learn something else I never knew I needed to value. Every gesture, every laugh, every time you reach out for someone like it’s nothing…” He shook his head, a small, helpless sound. “It teaches me what I missed. What she missed.”

You lifted your other hand to rest gently against his knee. His grip on your fingers tightened, like he needed something to hold on to.

“I’m afraid,” he admitted. “That the more I see, the more I’ll realize how empty everything I had really was. And yet, I can’t look away.”

He looked down at you again then, and in that moment, he didn’t look composed or mysterious or sharp. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you said softly. “Im sorry for barging in.”

He exhaled again, a little steadier now, and lowered his forehead to rest gently against yours. There was no need to say anything else just yet. You were here.

You stayed like that for a while his forehead resting lightly against yours, his hand warm and solid in your own. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore. Then, slowly, you shifted. Still kneeling, you leaned forward, resting your head gently on his legs. Your cheek pressed to the soft fabric of his trousers, and your fingers relaxed around his.

Sunday froze, just for a moment. His breath hitched again, but not from pain this time. Then his hand moved. Carefully. Tentatively. Fingers brushing through your hair. He stroked it once. Then again, slower.

The movement was gentle like he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch you this way, but needed to anyway. Like this moment was fragile, and he was terrified of breaking it. You let him comfort himself in the rhythm of it, in the quiet press of your presence. The train hummed softly beneath you both, as if it too understood the importance of silence right now.

His hand paused only once just to curl lightly at the ends of your hair, like he was memorizing the texture. Then, after a while, he shifted forward, leaning down just slightly.

His hand cupped your face, thumb grazing along your cheek with a reverence that felt almost sacred. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He didn’t say anything after. He just stayed there, his hand still against your cheek, his other resting in your hair.

Eventually, he sighed, a sound almost reluctant to disturb the stillness.

“…If you stay like that much longer,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse from emotion, “your neck is going to ache terribly.”

You hummed softly, not moving just yet. Still, the smallest smile ghosted across your lips.

[sirxaibs]

PUH LEASE write a sal x fem!reader where they all go to the lake, (larry, sal, ash, todd, etc) and sal is ogling the reader. then larry gives one of his motivational speeches where he talks him up to confess to her. and make it SUPES fluffy please 🤑🤑 i’ll give u my kidney

SAL FISHER X READER

🂾𓂉🂾 AHHHHHHHHHHH 🂾𓂉🂾I

I want to point out that I changed it up a bit. Larry is still supportive and learns about it all and encourages it like a guy best friend. (so a little immature but all in good health) and uh i couldn’t think of a title

masterlist

🂾𓂉🂾 The low hum of the Deftones spun through the battered speakers in Larry’s room, the gentle, distorted riffs of “Teenager” lacing the air with a strangely melodic chords. The posters on the wall seemed to flicker with the candlelight, smoke curling from the incense stick Larry had lazily propped in an old soda can. He lay across his bed, head resting on his folded arms, eyes half lidded. Sal sat on the floor with his back against the dresser, mask on, fingers toying with a frayed string from the hem of his hoodie. Larry let out a long sigh, kicking one foot lazily.

“So,” he said, dragging the word out with that signature Larry Young drawl, “you sure you don’t wanna tell them how you feel, dude?”

Sal let out a breath part exasperated, part defeated. “Yeah. I’m sure.” A pause. “It’s not like it matters. She’s just… her. Carefree. Like nothing in the world can ever shake her. And I’m… me.”

Larry raised an eyebrow, a shit eating grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Right, except she’s been into all your weird ghost shit since day one. That doesn’t strike you as a little suspicious?”

Sal rolled his eyes, though behind the mask, Larry only caught the tilt of his head and the sound of sarcasm lining his voice. “Oooookay, bud.” But even as he said it, his mind started drifting unwelcome but persistent, soft as the music playing in the background.

🂾𓂉🂾 It was one of those October evenings where the sky was bruised purple, the kind of night where the Addison Apartments looked especially like they were hiding something. “Let’s break into the basement,” you’d said with a grin, adjusting your flannel around your waist, boots crunching leaves beneath them. You tapped your chin, head tilting mischievously. “You and your little ghost gizmo thingy what’s it called again?”

“The Gear Boy,” Sal said, holding it up.

You snorted. “Right. Very cool very awesome demure or whatever .” Then you nudged him with your elbow. “C’mon, Sally Face. Let’s go find some demons.” You didn’t even flinch at the dark, or the cold, or the smell of mold in the stairwell. He remembered watching you run ahead, flashlight in hand, hair bouncing as you turned back and grinned at him like this was the best place in the world.

🂾𓂉🂾 Back in Larry’s room, Sal’s voice was quieter now. “She could’ve run screaming like most people. But she didn’t. Which I know she was your friend before anything but her crazy matches my crazy.”

Larry stretched, his joints popping. “Well she just likes creepy shit. Doesn’t mean she’s in love with you, dude.” Sal didn’t respond. But the next memory hit him anyway.

🂾𓂉🂾 They were sitting on the rooftop. You had a ripped black hoodie, sleeves cut into jagged edges, and a collection of safety pins holding one shoulder seam together. A cigarette dangled between your fingers, the smoke drifting in the cold air. You were talking about how your mom didn’t trust the apartments. “Says they give her the heebie jeebies,” you’d said, mocking the voice. “Can’t blame her though. The walls here feel like they’re listening.”

Sal chuckled under his breath. Then you turned toward him, all seriousness for a moment. “You ever think you might be too good for this place?”

He blinked. “What?”

You shrugged. “You’re, like, stupid kind. you might be into everyones business here, but you’re the gentlest person I know. Sometimes I wonder if you even see yourself clearly.” He looked down at the edge of the roof, heart thumping awkwardly. He thought maybe he misheard. But then you flicked your cigarette, stretched your arms behind your head, and looked back up at the stars like it hadn’t been a big deal at all.

🂾𓂉🂾 Back in the room, Larry sat up slightly, now curious. “You really think she meant something by that?”

Sal scoffed. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. She always say stuff like that. You know how she is.”

Larry gave him a skeptical look. “Yeah, and you always brush it off like it doesn’t eat you alive.”

Sal shook his head, reaching for one of Larry’s sketchpads absentmindedly, flipping it open but not really seeing the pages.

“Shes so weird? Like, nothing could tie her down. She’d walk into hell with a smile and offer the devil a light. I’m not sure I’d ever be enough to keep someone like that interested.”

🂾𓂉🂾 It was raining, and you were soaked to the bone, hair sticking to your face as you stood in the apartment hallway, laughing. “Okay,” you said between breaths, “next time you distract the teacher while I pick the lock. My ass is not cut out for this kind of stealth.” Sal had watched you giggle like a maniac, water dripping from your sleeves, eyeliner smudged like a grunge music video, and thought, I’m completely screwed. Then, you looked up at him, eyes bright, lips parted like you were about to say something else but then you stopped. Just smiled. A quiet, knowing kind of smile.

“You’re really fun to get in trouble with, Sally Face.”

🂾𓂉🂾 Larry whistled low. “That’s… okay, yeah, that one’s suspicious.”

Sal grumbled. “You think?”

Larry shrugged, lying back down again. “Sounds like she’s been flirting with you for, like, months.”

Sal leaned his head back against the dresser with a soft thump. “Or she’s just like that with everyone.” The Deftones track shifted, a more intense guitar swell starting as Digital Bath played. The room filled with its pulsing rhythm, washing over the silence between the boys. “I just…” Sal muttered, “I don’t wanna screw it up. If I say something, and I’m wrong, I lose her. And even if I’m right… someone like her, with someone like me?”

Larry stared at the ceiling. “Sal… sometimes you sound like the pieces of fart in romance movies”

Sal laughed under his breath, dry and unamused. “Thanks.”

But still, the memories pressed on him. The way your eyes lingered when you thought he wasn’t looking. The times you leaned against him when you didn’t have to. The way your laughter always came easier around him than anyone else. And the stupid, tiny, impossible hope that maybe just maybe you saw him the way he saw you. He didn’t know what to do with any of it. So instead, he stayed silent. Let the music play a little louder. Let the ghosts wait in the walls of Addison Apartments. Because maybe the scariest thing wasn’t the dead. it was the living. And how deeply they could get under your skin without even trying.

“You gotta do something, man,” Larry said, pointing a lazy finger at him. “Like, soon.”

Sal shot him a sideways glance. “Do what?”

“You know what. Confess. Or flirt. Or, I don’t know, do something with your weird little ghost boy charm. They’re basically throwing hints like they’re in a punk rock rom com, and you’re just sitting here like it’s algebra class.” Sal leaned his head back against the dresser again, letting out a groan. “I can’t, man. That’d be like… opening Pandora’s box with a note that says ‘Hey, I hope this doesn’t ruin everything!’” His voice was muffled but undeniably dry. “Also? What even is ghost boy charm?”

Larry laughed, grabbing a guitar pick from his nightstand and flicking it across the room. “You’ve got that quiet, mysterious thing going on. she eats that shit up.”

“I highly doubt that,” Sal mumbled, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie.

Larry smirked. “Your loss, man. I’ll be sure to let you wallow in your tragic love story all by yourself while everyone else is making out by the lake.”

Just as Sal opened his mouth to counter with the fact that basically no one in the group is attracted to each other for a multitude of reasons, a loud slam echoed through the room, the door flinging open as you barreled in with a chaotic whirlwind of energy. “WENDIGO LAKE, BABYYYY!” you shouted, practically bouncing on your heels. You wore a pair of scuffed up combat boots and ripped fishnets under a patched up pair of shorts. Your backpack was a canvas battlefield blazing with sewn on patches, painted slogans, and safety pins holding together loose fabric. The Sex Pistols, Black Flag, a big bold patch reading “Only Anarchists Are Pretty”, and another featuring Vivienne Westwood’s face all clashed together like a punk rock museum on your back.

Larry blinked. “You sew all that yourself?”

You gave a proud little hum. “Hell yeah. Don’t trust machines for the good stuff.”

Sal swore his heart skipped a beat. Without hesitation, you plopped down behind Sal, your legs bracketing either side of him. You didn’t say anything at first, just casually reached around to start playing with the collar of his shirt like it was the most natural thing in the world. Twisting it between your fingers, tugging slightly, smoothing it out, then ruffling it again.

“Piercing’s new, right?” Larry asked, tilting his head and nodding toward your septum ring. “Should you even be going into the lake?” You gave him a wicked grin and then dragged your palm slowly across his face in a dramatic shhhh, your fingers smudging his cheek with the soft scent of tobacco and clove. “Shhhh,” you whispered, voice dipped low in mock seriousness. “Let me be irresponsible, Lawrence.”

Larry wiped his face off with the back of his hand, laughing. You leaned forward a bit, resting your chin on Sal’s shoulder. “I’m just stoked to have everyone out. Senior year’s been, like, a slow death. No bars around here worth anything, no good gigs nearby. It’s like the universe forgot how to throw a party.”

You pulled back slightly, hand resting on Sal’s shoulder now. “Oh by the way, I brought you some extra snacks. And a book.” You said it casually, but the words hung in the air. “Figured you weren’t going in the water.”

Sal blinked under his mask, throat tight. “You didn’t have to”

“I wanted to.” You smiled, then hopped up again, grabbing your bag. “Alright. Cigarette break. Don’t get all broody without me.” You shot a finger gun toward Sal and winked before disappearing out the back door.

The second the door closed, Larry launched himself from the bed. Sal yelped as Larry practically straddled him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him wildly. “DUDE.”

Sal struggled, awkward and panicked. “What the Larry!”

“I SEE IT. I FREAKING SEE IT!” Larry’s grin was wide enough to split his face. “That was not lowkey! That was highkey! High effort! Extra snacks and a book? Who does that? For you?”

“Why are you sitting on me!?”

“Because this is an emergency! We’re in Defcon 1, Sal! You’ve got a hardcore punk goddess out there who’s literally playing with your clothes and giving you personalized gifts like it’s Valentine’s Day for the emotionally suppressed!”

Sal flushed so deeply even the tips of his ears went pink. “She’s just That’s just how she is!”

Larry leaned in closer, eyes wide. “You are so deep in denial. Ive know her since we were shit stains. If you go one more day without at least flirting back, I swear when I die, I’m going to ghost haunt your dreams until you cry.”

Sal grumbled, face buried in his hands. Then the door creaked open again. You stood there in the doorway, one hand on the frame, a smile tugging at your lips. “Well? You boys gonna keep cuddling, or are we heading to the lake?” Sal froze. Larry grinned. You tilted your head, amusement glittering in your eyes. “C’mon. I wanna see who gets wet the fastest when we get there. I say its between Ash or me”

Larry grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “You’re actually the gross ome,” he said, walking past you. You flipped him off with a grin. Sal stood slowly, heart still racing. You looked at him over your shoulder, a little smile playing at your lips again.

“Hey. You coming, Sally Face?”

He nodded, almost dumbly. “Yeah. I’m coming.” You waited as the Deftones shifted into “Change (In the House of Flies)”, the screen door creaked shut behind you all.

🂾𓂉🂾 The lake shimmered beneath a hazy midafternoon sun, the surface rippling gently under the occasional breeze. Trees surrounded Wendigo Lake like tall, crooked teeth perfect for the vibe of this weird little friend group. The air carried the scent of water, pine, and whatever patchouli heavy perfume you’d doused yourself in before leaving. Something about that smell made Sal’s stomach twist not in a bad way. Just in that weird, you’re kinda in love with someone but don’t wanna deal with it yet sort of way. You were crouched down near the shore, a slightly beat up picnic blanket in your arms as Todd helped you flatten it out over the grass. You had insisted on bringing it, even though only you, Larry, and Sal were sharing it. Ash and Todd, for some ungodly reason, had shown up with just towels like this was a beach day. The contrast was already hilarious.

“Really going full domestic over there,” Larry muttered under his breath with a snicker, elbowing Sal, who was standing stiffly to the side, arms crossed. “You seeing this?”

Sal glanced at you and couldn’t help it he smiled. You were teasing Todd about something, fingers poking at the hem of his hoodie. He couldn’t hear you from this distance, but knowing you, it was probably something like “Bro, you hang out with emos all day. Why are you dressed like an NPR intern?” Todd just looked mildly amused, adjusting his glasses, letting you mess with him like a human fashion victim. Sal felt his cheeks heat, even under the mask. He looked away quickly. Ash, sitting cross legged nearby with her towel stretched out like a lazy cat, clocked it immediately.

“Oh my god.” She slapped a hand on Sal’s shoulder, feigning an emotional gasp. “My little boy… my son… he’s growing up so fast. He’s starting to like girls now.”

Sal groaned. “Ash, shut the hell up.”

She cackled, draping herself over his back dramatically. “Just one girl. That girl made my boy a man”

He practically peeled her off him. “Do you want me to throw you into the lake?”

Ash grinned wickedly. “Do you want me to tell her you were staring at her like she was a sexy alien sent to save the world?”

Sal grabbed her towel and yeeted it into the grass. “That’s it. Exorcism time.”

Meanwhile, you and Todd finally made your way over, you bouncing slightly on your heels as you looked at the mess unfolding. “Damn,” you said, “did we miss the hug session or did it turn into a wrestling match?”

“Sal wouldn’t mind another session,” Larry said instantly, not missing a beat, throwing a sly grin in your direction.

Ash volleyed, eyes sparkling with evil glee. “Especially if it’s with you.”

Larry followed up like the demon duo they were. “You know, he’s really into long hugs. Like, full body contact. horizontally. moving back and forth. Really intimate.”

Sal practically lunged at Larry with a “You are so dead!” as the taller boy yelped and tried to scramble out of the way, laughing the whole time.

You laughed so hard your whole body curled forward, grabbing Ash’s hand to steady yourself. “fuck man, I think they were both already stoned when i picked them up” you wheezed. “The party has officially started!” Ash was laughing too, but she still gave Sal a knowing look behind your back, mouthing the words do something already. Sal pretended not to see it.

🂾𓂉🂾 You flopped down on the blanket between Sal and Larry, reaching into your bag and pulling out a crinkled pack of gum and a mini speaker. “Alright, mild sun poisoning anyone? you pasty mofos need it”

Larry grinned. “your ass better be talking about anyone else here because I know you’re not talking to me”

Sal, still flushed under his mask and recovering from that last comment, watched you out of the corner of his eye as you started queuing up music, chatting with Ash and Todd about whether The Damned were better than The Buzzcocks. He didn’t say it out loud, but he could’ve watched you do that forever. he didn’t mind the teasing if it meant being this close to you. Even if he was the only one too chicken to do anything about it.

🂾𓂉🂾 It was a little later in the afternoon now, the heat softening as shadows stretched longer across the ground. The smell of warm grass and lake water mixed with the faint burn of something herbal someone had definitely brought a little something to pass around, and judging by the lazy laughter and general haze of good vibes, it had been shared liberally. You were half leaning on Sal’s shoulder, one leg sprawled over the other, ankle gently nudging his shin as you talked nonsense in that way you always did.

“So, like,” you murmured, voice heavy with drowsy amusement, “if fish could scream, do you think people would still go swimming?”

Sal blinked. “…What?”

You nodded like this was deeply important. “Like, you’re just chilling in the lake and suddenlyAAHHHH ” You mimicked a fish shrieking, limbs flailing, nearly smacking him in the face with your elbow.

“I think that argument gave god the entire reason for fish to not scream,” Sal said, dry but fond.

“Okay, but would you still swim?”

“…Probably not,” he admitted, then turned to glance at you. You were close. Like always. Close enough that your cheek was brushing against the edge of his shoulder. Close enough that your hand was resting by his on the blanket, pinkies nearly touching. It wasn’t unusual. You’d always been like that with him. Ever since you started hanging around, you’d just been comfortable. Always invading his space without a second thought, always bumping shoulders or leaning into him when you laughed. He’d never had the nerve to ask what it meant. Maybe it was just you. But damn it if he didn’t want it to mean something. The world swayed with a low thrum of music from your little speaker something with a steady, almost hypnotic beat. The Deftones, again. They’d been the soundtrack to the day. Dreamy. Fuzzy. A little too perfect.

“I feel like I’m melting,” you mumbled, staring up at the sky. “Let’s go swimming. Let’s go be weird little lake freaks.”

Without waiting for an answer, you kicked up from your spot, stumbling slightly with a laugh, then turned to Ash, grabbing her wrist. “Come on. Water nymph time.”

Ash groaned playfully, letting herself be dragged. “Do I have to be a nymph? Can’t I just be a vaguely damp woman?”

“Nope. Nymph or nothing.” You stuck your tongue out and reached for the hem of your shirt, tugging it up with an easy flourish.

for Sal, the world just stopped. The chatter, the breeze, the soft laughter from Todd and Larry. Gone. Even the music faded into something distant and orchestral, as if a full string section had taken over his brain. You stood in the golden light of the sun, the curve of your shoulders catching the warmth like a halo, your skin kissed in amber and the softest shadows. Your shirt slipped off, and it was like time dilated just for him.

Your body. Your posture. The way your hair caught the wind. The shimmer of sweat on your collarbone. Everything about you in that moment was art. He stared. He couldn’t not and he wasn’t even being creepy about it he wasn’t ogling for ogling’s sake. He just… forgot how to breathe. He looked at you like you were some ancient deity pulled from a forgotten shrine, like you’d stepped out of some punk rock myth, wild and grinning and just a little dangerous. And maybe, somewhere deep down, he’d always thought you looked like this. Always felt it when you leaned on him or laughed into his ear or stood with your boots planted like you owned every inch of space you took up.

You were beautiful. Sal whispered it without thinking. A breathless, soft little exhale behind his mask. “…You’re beautiful.”

You turned. Caught it. And flashed a grin so wicked and knowing he wanted to melt into the damn earth. “Thanks,” you said, stretching dramatically. “I do it for the girls” you jerked a thumb toward Ash, “and the gays” now to Todd, who gave you a sarcastic bow in return.

Larry’s voice shot out like a gunshot. “What about Sal and me?!”

You gave him a slow once over, clearly unimpressed. “You’re a perv, dickwad,” you said sweetly. “Sal can look I’ll allow it. You, as a man, should start groveling.”

The entire group burst into laughter. Ash doubled over, Todd adjusted his glasses to hide his grin, and Larry threw hand to you. flipping you off with pride. like you’d mortally wounded him. Sal, for his part, sat there utterly flustered. Frozen. A little dazed. You had heard him. And instead of teasing him, instead of making it weird, you just let him look. it was maybe even… wanted?

You turned, already skipping toward the lake with Ash in tow, your punk patched shorts low on your hips when you all first got there, you ripped your tights so they were ling gone now. a new glint catching the light from your eyes.

“Don’t take too long, losers!” you called. “Water’s waiting!”

And just like that, you were gone sprinting into the shallows, laughing as you splashed Ash and dared her to dunk you. Sal was left sitting on the blanket, staring after you, heart pounding, mind full of sun and music and your laugh. “…Holy shit,” he muttered.

Sal was still watching the lake. The way the water shimmered around you as you threw yourself backward into it, the arc of your arms as you splashed Ash there was something dizzying about the whole thing. Something surreal. Maybe it was the buzz from earlier or just the heat of the day, but it felt like the world had shifted, just a little, like the axis tilted and gravity decided to be kinder.

You looked over your shoulder once mid laugh, you knew exactly where Sal would be, you were making sure he saw you. The grin on your face could’ve been carved from rebellion and starlight. He felt like he was dying. In the good way. Larry had been quiet beside him for a few seconds too long. That should’ve been Sal’s first warning.

Then he felt it. That slow, creeping grin. He turned his head and yep. Larry was looking at him like the cat who got the cream, the rat, the last donut, and possibly a Grammy.

Larry leaned in, eyebrows raised, his voice low and drawling. “Dude,” he said with a smile far too smug for one face. “She basically just asked you to fuck.”

Sal’s brain short circuited. “What?!”

“I mean,” Larry shrugged, tossing a pebble toward the lake, “she said you could look. That’s, like, stage one. Next thing she’ll be asking you to carry her to bed like a Victorian ghost bride.”

“You are so gross,” came Todd’s voice from behind them, utterly unimpressed. He adjusted his glasses with a sigh, setting down a bottle of sunscreen. “That kind of take is exactly why she called you a perv. She knew.”

Larry threw up his hands, grinning wider. “Hey, I am a perv! I embrace the perv. But I’m also right.”

Sal pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will his soul back into his body. “Yeah, nothing says romance like ‘she’ll haunt you if you don’t rail her.’ Totally the dream.” Todd let out a snort, and Larry cackled, falling back onto the blanket. “Y’all are dumb,” Sal muttered, but he was smiling behind the mask. He couldn’t help it. The warm buzz of your laugh in the distance, the afterglow of your flirtation (which was totally flirtation, right?), and his friends acting like idiots it all wrapped around him like a blanket fresh from the dryer.

🂾𓂉🂾 Golden hour washed the world in amber. Everything looked softer, warmer, even the worn edges of the ghost gang out in the water. Their laughter echoed across Wendigo Lake, distant and muffled like a memory being recalled in real time. Sal sat on the blanket you and Todd had set up, the spine of the book you’d brought him resting comfortably in his palms. He’d tried to focus. Really, he had. He even read the same paragraph four times.

But every few seconds, his eyes would wander first toward the water, then toward you. You were laughing as Ash tried to climb onto Todd’s shoulders for some impromptu chicken fight. Larry was egging both of you on from the sidelines, flinging water like an excited Labrador. It was stupid. Wild. Loud. But Sal could only sit there, book in hand, and watch. Not because he didn’t want to join. because he couldn’t. Even with all of you people who had seen the real him, scarred and broken and still trying he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t take off the mask. Couldn’t risk the way you’d all look at him one day if something in your brains shifted and the wrong thought took hold. He could still hear echoes of old kids, of freak and monster. He kept the mask on. Always. Even when he wanted to be a part of things. Even when you looked back at him with a smile that seemed to say, Come on, blue boy. The world’s warmer over here. He looked down at the page again. A line about borrowed time. About choices made in secret.

Then a splash, a laugh, water footsteps on grass. He looked up, the air left his lungs. You were walking toward him, golden hour catching every drop of water clinging to your skin, each one like a star strung along your body. You were soaked and radiant and barefoot in the dirt, and you were wearing a two piece that could’ve been forged by some divine hand to ruin his entire week. Sal felt like a little boy discovering women for the first time. Like, oh. Oh, that’s what this feeling is. Your hair stuck to your cheeks, your septum ring catching the light just so. A punk Venus. A grungy dream. You were all sunburnt mischief and unapologetic beauty. He didn’t even realize he was staring until you plopped down beside him with a hum, rubbing water from your eyes.

“Hey,” you said, grinning. “How’s it goin’?”

Sal shifted slightly, trying not to sound too affected. “Oh, y’know. Just enjoying my career as the local cryptid.”

You snorted and fished out a towel from nearby, shaking it before folding it and draping it over his lap. Then, without warning, you laid down right across the towel, your damp hair spilling slightly onto his hoodie sleeve. Sal looked down at you, eyes wide, book hovering midair.

“Do I even get a warning before you invade my lap?” he deadpanned.

You smirked up at him, cheek pressed to the towel. “Nope. Felt like it. Problem?”

He exhaled through his nose. “Just trying not to die of cardiac arrest. Thanks.”

You poked his side gently. “That’s what the mask is for, right? To keep all your panic internal?”

“Exactly. It’s the emotional equivalent of a paper bag.”

You smiled, head tilted up so you could meet his eyes. “You start the book yet?”

He glanced at the open pages in his lap. “I’ve been trying.”

“‘Trying,’ huh?” You gave him a knowing look. “What’s the verdict? Worth my very cool, carefully curated recommendation?”

Sal paused for a moment. Then nodded, honest. “It’s good. Actually. Weird good. You’ve got disturbingly good taste.” You lit up at the compliment

“Okay, okay,” you said, turning slightly more onto your back, your arm flopping lazily over his legs. “Read it out loud. I wanna hear you read it.”

Sal blinked. “Seriously?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “You’ve got a nice voice. It’s like… if sarcasm were smooth jazz.”

He stared down at you, heart hammering in his chest. “You’re lucky I can’t blush through this mask.”

“You’re lucky I don’t make you take it off and prove it.”

Sal scoffed lightly, looked down at the book again, then cleared his throat. You looked up at him like he hung the damn stars. so, under the waning gold light of the evening, with your head against his legs and your hand absentmindedly brushing his knee, Sal began to read. His voice steadying, even if the words on the page danced between lines of wonder and disbelief.

He couldn’t focus on the text. Not really. But it didn’t matter. Because in that moment with you next to him, comfortable and unafraid Sal felt a little more seen.

🂾𓂉🂾 On the other side of the lake, the water rippled gently around Ash, Todd, and Larry as they floated or waded just deep enough to stay cool. They were watching from a safe, absolutely not suspicious distance though their not so subtle gawking was giving the game away hard.

Ash narrowed her eyes like a sniper sighting her target. “She’s laying on his lap. She’s laying on his lap, you guys.”

“No, no,” Larry whispered like he was in church. “We all know she kinda flirty with everyone thats her personality but who flirts in such a casual way like her?.”

Todd adjusted his glasses, blinking once. “They’re always physically close. But this is different.”

Ash looked at him. “Right?! This is intentional closeness. This is I could’ve sat anywhere but I chose the throne.”

Larry, in the middle of floating on his back, suddenly stood straight up in the water like he’d been struck by lightning. “Wait. WAIT. Is she touching his leg right now?”

“Yes,” Todd and Ash said in perfect sync.

Larry, unable to cope, flung himself backward dramatically into the lake. Water splashed everywhere as he sank into the shallows like a fallen hero.

“I can’t they’re gonna fall in love and get married and we’re going to have to wear matching suits for the wedding,” he cried from below the surface before sitting back up with a sputter.

Ash was cackling, half drowning in laughter. “Do you think he’s sweating under that mask? Like. Frying.”

Todd, always a little more composed, was still clutching his towel like a war fan. “It’s the quiet ones that fall the hardest. You see that stare? That man’s reading a book and still found time to look at her like she’s the damn sun.”

All three of them turned into rubbernecking witnesses as Sal, still on the blanket, did the unthinkable. He moved his hand. Delicately. Softly. brushed a piece of hair out of your face.

“OH MY GOD!” Ash shrieked.

“IT’S HAPPENING!” Todd gasped, dropping his towel like it betrayed him.

Larry slapped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide. “I knew he liked her, but this this is outta a movie, bro.”

Ash practically threw herself at the water’s surface, splashing Larry in the process. “I mean, I know he’s got the mask on, but that boy’s soul just ascended.”

Todd was now pacing in knee deep water like a dad preparing a PowerPoint. “That gesture was too tender.”

“I’m gonna cry,” Ash said, wiping fake tears from her face. “Look at her. She’s probably asleep and doesn’t even know she’s got Sal acting like the love interest in a coming of age drama.”

Larry leaned into the dramatic energy immediately, tossing his arms out wide. “HE MOVED HER HAIR, GUYS. THE HAIR. The hair”

Todd nodded solemnly. “The ancient texts foretold this moment.”

Ash, not to be outdone, fell to her knees in the shallows and lifted her hands to the sky. “Sal Fisher is in LOVE and it’s SOFT and GENTLE and she’s probably gonna wake up and say something weird and philosophical and I just I love this stupid, freakish group of friends.”

Larry wiped an invisible tear from his cheek, then suddenly smirked. “You think if we all walk over there right now, he’d panic and fling the book across the lake?”

Ash chuckled, climbing to her feet. “Let them have their moment. Sal’s being brave in his own way.”

Todd added, “It’s kind of beautiful. He’s letting himself feel something.”

“God,” Larry muttered. “If she kisses him later, I might just explode.”

Ash nodded gravely. “Then we explode together.”

Todd sighed with a small smile. “They don’t even know we’re over here narrating their love story like omniscient gods.”

“And we will not tell them either,” Larry said. “This is sacred. This is ours.”

And so the trio stood (or waded), eyes fixed on the quiet scene playing out across the shoreline Sal carefully reading with you resting on his lap, the lake breeze brushing through your hair, a piece of peace they all felt lucky to witness. No one spoke for a minute. Then Ash whispered, “She better ask him out before graduation or I’m staging an intervention.”

🂾𓂉🂾 The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting golden hour across Wendigo Lake like it was something out of a dream everything warm and slow and humming. The world had turned syrup thick, still and heavy with late summer heat and the haze of the day. On the picnic blanket, Sal sat nearly frozen in place, a book long forgotten in his lap, cradled now beneath the soft rise and fall of your sleeping frame. The towel you’d laid down between your soaked body and his jeans was doing exactly jack shit to keep the water from seeping through. He’d given up on caring about the damp chill a while ago sometime after you’d curled up on top of his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your arms tucked beneath your chin, your breathing slow and even. His own hoodie now rested over your back, cocooning you with a softness he hoped might make up for how still he was forcing himself to be. He didn’t dare move. Not yet. God, you were beautiful.

Sal’s breath caught when he looked down at you. The way your septum ring caught the light. The wet strands of hair pressed against your cheek. The slope of your nose. Your eyelashes looked longer like this, somehow. Relaxed. Innocent. Peaceful.

And all he could think all he could think was I have to tell you. I have to. If I don’t do it now, I never will.

His heart pounded so hard he was sure Todd could probably feel it from the other side of the lake. Every nerve in his body buzzed with static. His stomach churned in knots, and the voice in his head that mean little bastard voice kept whispering, You’re gonna ruin everything.

But then he looked at you again. Still sleeping. Still peaceful. Still here. On his lap. He reached out, moving a lock of hair from your face again slow, careful, like if he went too fast, you’d vanish into mist. His pinky brushed against your cheekbone as he did, light as air.

You stirred gently, eyelids fluttering open. The slow, lazy blink of someone waking from a warm nap, like a cat. You didn’t move from your spot. Your face turned slightly up toward him, hair fanned out under his hoodie. Sal felt his throat go dry. But it was now or never.

“Pspspsps,” he whispered playfully, soft and dumb and completely him.

You blinked again, brows slightly furrowing as you woke more fully. “Hmm?”

He smiled nervously. “Hey… do you think you’d be willing to give me a chance?”

You stared at him for a second. The sleep still lingering in your expression gave way to a flicker of surprise. Eyes widening just slightly. Your lips parted in a little “oh,” before curling up into a lazy grin. Your tone was smooth, but playful light teasing laced with real meaning. “Alright, pretty boy…” you hummed, voice still sticky with sleep, “…I will.”

Sal’s heart skipped at least two full beats.

“But,” you added, one eye narrowing mischievously, “if you mess with me, I’ll make sure you never hear the end of it.” A beat of silence passed. then Sal laughed soft and low and real. It wasn’t sarcastic or bitter or guarded. It was warm. Nervous. Happy.

He nodded, breathless. “Fair enough.”

You yawned, stretching slightly but didn’t move off his lap. Your hand reached up and lazily tugged the edge of his hoodie closer around your shoulder. “Good. Now shut up and keep reading. Your voice is nice.”

Sal swallowed. “Right. Okay. Reading.”

But his hands shook a little as he picked up the book again, smile hidden behind his mask, heart screaming from inside his chest. even though the towel underneath was still soaked through, and his jeans were a wet mess, and the rest of the group was definitely watching from the lake with wide eyes and zero chill. Sal felt like he’d just won something huge. He had you. Or at least, now… he had a chance.

[sirxaibs]

Boothill HSR X Reader

“Im Just Baking Cookies”

Boothill LOVES how you are so quiet but still tries to sound mean.

MASTERLIST

ᡕᠵデ气亠. The scent of warm vanilla and butter hung in the air like a soft lullaby. The kitchen of the Astral Express was cozy, golden light pouring in from the windows that overlooked the glowing dreamscape of Penacony. The others were out exploring, no doubt causing a mess. You’d opted out this time. From Caelus running around all the time and Dan Heng being the most cynic you’ve ever met. you needed a you day

You stood at the counter, a smear of flour on your cheek and a whisk in your hand as you mixed the batter with care. A batch of cookies cooled beside you while the next round waited patiently for the oven. The rhythmic sound of metal scraping against the bowl was oddly soothing.

You didn’t even hear the door open. You didn’t hear the soft boots on metal. But you did hear the voice. “Now darlin’, I gotta say, I didn’t think the Express came with an angel in the kitchen.”

You jumped, the bowl nearly slipping from your hands. You spun on instinct, heart rocketing up your throat. Without thinking, you pointed your whisk like it was a weapon. Boothill stood in the doorway, hat tipped low, a roguish grin cutting across his face like it had been carved from charm itself. He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, lazy and at ease, like he hadn’t just snuck onto the Astral Express uninvited.

And yet, there was no panic in your chest. Just annoyed disbelief. “You lost?” you said, tone flat, though your grip on the whisk didn’t loosen.

His grin widened. “Nope. Think I found exactly what I was lookin’ for.”

He strolled further into the kitchen, bootsteps slow and deliberate. He moved like a man who knew his effect on people. With every step closer, you felt your expression harden. But your stance never wavered. “You’re trespassing,” you said. “Which means you’ve got about five seconds to explain yourself before I chase you out with a kitchen utensil.”

Boothill paused a few feet away, giving the whisk a curious once over. “Now hold on there, sugar,” he drawled, voice thick with that warm southern charm. “Didn’t mean no harm. Just couldn’t help followin’ the scent of somethin’ sweet. Turns out it wasn’t the cookies.”

You stared. Said nothing. He chuckled, low and velvety, hand reaching up to tilt his hat back. “You always this silent?”

Still, you didn’t respond. You raised your whisk a little higher, narrowing your eyes as if sizing him up for a duel.

Boothill blinked, then gave a small, amused whistle. “Well, I’ll be. You’re a real pistol, ain’t ya?”

He took another step forward. You jabbed the whisk at him not quite a threat, slowly taunting over. He stopped. “Easy now,” he said, palms raised. “Ain’t here for a shootout. Just figured… if the rest of y’all were out, you might enjoy some company.”

You glanced at the oven. Back at him. “I was enjoying the lack of company.”

Boothill didn’t flinch. “Sure you were. But look at it this way you keep bakin’, I’ll keep talkin’. Maybe I’ll even convince you I ain’t all that bad.”

You stared a moment longer, weighing your options. Finally, you turned back to your bowl with a soft sigh, lowering the whisk but only slightly. “Stay out of my way,” you muttered. “And don’t touch anything.”

Behind you, Boothill gave a triumphant hum, the grin still stitched to his face “No promises, sugar.” But he didn’t touch anything.

He just leaned against the wall, arms folded, hat tipped low, and talked and while you didn’t flirt back not once your silence didn’t push him away either. You kept your back to him, the sound of the whisk hitting the sides of the metal bowl grounding you as much as it filled the silence. Well not quite silence. Boothill kept talking, weaving lazy words in that smooth, southern drawl of his, like he was just killing time on a front porch somewhere.

You weren’t listening. Not really. But you also hadn’t kicked him out. “What is that smell?” he asked eventually, voice a little closer now. “Somethin’ sweet. Kinda like you.”

You rolled your eyes finally turning to grab the small bowl of buttercream frosting you had chilling on the side. You dipped a spoon in, then held it out toward him wordlessly. “Try it,” you said. “Since you’re so good at judging what’s sweet.”

He grinned like a devil given permission. “Well now, don’t mind if I do.” Boothill stepped forward, real slow. He didn’t take the spoon from you. No, that wouldn’t have been too easy. Instead, he leaned down and tasted it mouth brushing the edge of the spoon like it was something far more intimate than sugar and butter. His lips curled as the flavor melted on his tongue.

He took another step forward. Then another. Until the air between you thinned, stretched taut like a wire. He was close now too close. You hadn’t moved, hadn’t flinched, but your hand was still midair holding that spoon, and Boothill was standing in the halo of soft kitchen light like a man who knew exactly how to make it all feel too much.

His eyes locked with yours glinting with that same wild. “Now that,” he murmured, voice dipped in honey and danger, “is the best damn thing I’ve tasted in a while. And trust me, sweetheart, I’ve tasted a lot of things in my time.”

You breathed out quiet, shaky. The kind of breath you didn’t mean to let slip. The kind that betrayed something deeper.

He smiled wider, a knowing tilt of his mouth. “Didn’t mean to leave you speechless, sugar. But I gotta admit… it looks real good on you.” Your hand finally lowered, the spoon forgotten. Your other tightened slightly around the whisk at your side like it could anchor you. You weren’t flustered you weren’t. But the warmth in your cheeks? The way your heart tripped in your chest?

Still, your voice came back to you, steady despite the hitch a second ago “You’re standing too close.”

Boothill didn’t move. He just leaned in, just enough for his words to graze your ear. “Funny,” he said lowly. “Feels like I’m just where I oughta be.”

You didn’t push him away. But you did tilt your head just slightly, eyes narrowing.

“watch yourself,” you warned, “I’ll shove that spoon somewhere frosting doesn’t belong.”

Boothill laughed quiet and genuine, like you’d just made his whole day. He finally stepped back with both hands up again. “Got it, sugar. No touchin’. For now.”

You exhaled once more, this time through your nose. Then turned back to the bowl, ignoring how warm the kitchen suddenly felt. You heard him lean against the counter behind you.

When the last batch of cookies cooled and the frosting was tucked away in a small container, the adrenaline had finally worn off. The rush of being snuck up on, the intensity of his presence, all of it settled into a quiet buzz at the back of your mind. Boothill hadn’t left not that you’d asked him to anymore but the kitchen had grown calmer. Now you sat beside him on the small bench by the kitchen window, legs pulled up slightly as you bit into one of your cookies. The sweetness was warm, rich, buttery. Comforting.

Boothill, meanwhile, was still talking. Something about Penacony. Something about how the colors were too bright and too fake. Something about a guy he once knew with “a mustache that could lasso a comet.” You weren’t really following. You just nodded occasionally.

But as you chewed slowly and let your thoughts drift, something clicked in the back of your mind. Wait… if his whole body’s robotic everything but his head then… He can’t eat. Not really. Not like this. Which means… he can’t feel. No nerves, no receptors. No warmth, no pressure. No pain. No pleasure.

Your eyes narrowed faintly in thought. So… theoretically, he couldn’t You glanced sideways at him, a half laugh puffing through your nose at your own internal joke. He probably can’t even get horny. Not that you were planning on testing that theory. Ever.

Boothill kept yapping, completely oblivious to the odd train of thought you’d gone down. His arms were folded behind his head now, hat tilted back slightly as he rambled about something that might’ve involved a gunfight on top of a moving train. Or maybe a bar fight. With him, it was hard to tell.

As he went on, your eyes landed on the way his hair had slipped down into his face again. It was long too long, really, for someone so full of motion and swagger. It fell in front of his eyes, almost shielding them. A curtain of copper and gold. Without thinking, you reached out and brushed it aside just enough to tuck a few strands behind his ear.

And that’s when he stopped. Mid sentence. Mid word. Just… froze. His whole body stilled like someone hit a pause button. You blinked, suddenly realizing what you’d done. Boothill’s eyes slowly met yours.

You lowered your hand, unsure for a split second. But Boothill didn’t look away. Didn’t say a word

Maybe not in the way most people did. But there was something in that simple moment your fingertips brushing his temple, sliding the hair from his face that made the air feel a little sillier.

The expression on his face wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t charming. It was just… still. You took another bite of your cookie, suddenly feeling like you’d done something much more intimate than you intended. Boothill finally cleared his throat, a flicker of motion returning to his features. The grin came back but it was softer now “Well,” he said, voice a little more low pitched than before, “that was… somethin’.”

You just looked out the window, letting the taste of sugar and frosting linger on your tongue, and felt the weight of that quiet between you both. For the first time since he’d stepped foot on the Express, Boothill wasn’t talking.

You reached for another cookie, already bracing yourself for Boothill to launch into another absurd story something about a bounty, a jailhouse escape, maybe even a mechanical rattlesnake this time because he always did. You thibk by now he knows you’re not the biggest talker in the world. But just before your fingers brushed the plate, his hand caught yours.

Your breath caught in your throat. His touch was firm but not harsh. Metal fingers curled gently around yours, cool and seamless, humming faintly with life. You didn’t even have time to react before he brought both your hands up… and pressed them to his face.

The contact was immediate.

The warmth of his skin, the faint vibration of the robotic parts moving beneath it all sank into your palms as he leaned in, into your touch and he just kept talking.

“Well now, this reminds me of the time I went toe to toe with a fella named Colt McGraw big ol’ gunslinger, real sore loser. Got hisself stuck in a barrel of moonshine after I tricked him into thinkin’ I was a ghost long story.”

His accent was as thick and honey smooth as ever, drawling like he hadn’t just casually stolen the most flustering moment of your entire day. Your hands stayed there, pinned softly to the sides of his face. His hair tickled your knuckles. His skin, the only flesh left on his body, was warm beneath your fingertips. And those vivid eyes sharp, playful, aware were half lidded in a way that made it worse. So much worse.

You sat completely still, back straight, staring at him like someone had just pulled the floor out from under you. Your face burned. It crept up from your neck, flushed across your cheeks, and hit the tips of your ears in a matter of seconds. He knew. He had to know.

But he just kept rambling, voice slow and syrupy. “Y’know, I gotta say, ain’t every day someone can be so on guard and make me feel this way. Makes a cowboy feel like a person again.” He smiled. “Kinda nice.”

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. You tried again. Still nothing. Your brain was static, your thoughts replaced with a single screaming line of internal monologue: what is happening what is happening what is happening.

Boothill didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. If anything, he looked relaxed. Comfortable. Still holding your hands to his face like they belonged there.

And you flushed, frozen, helplessly red just sat there, cookie forgotten, wondering how the hell a man made mostly of metal could make you feel this warm.

ᡕᠵデ气亠

Boothill’s words kept rolling, painting images of outlaw duels and near death standoffs with the kind of ease that came only from experience or embellishment. Probably both. But he never let go. Your hands stayed cradled against his face the whole time, his metal fingers wrapped gently around your wrists like he wasn’t ready to let the moment end. He leaned into your touch time and time again.

Eventually, though, the story began to wind down. Something about escaping a collapsing bridge with nothing but a grappling hook and “a prayer to whoever was listenin’.” He chuckled at his own punchline, the corner of his mouth curling in that easy, boyish way that somehow made everything worse.

Then, slowly reluctantly he let your hands go. He lowered them from his face with a gentleness that didn’t match the brashness he wore like a badge. His fingers slid away last, like he was memorizing the shape of you with the tips of his metal hands. When he looked at you, his eyes were steady.

“Lil’ darlin’,” he said, voice low and warm like sunbaked earth, “you got hands that feel like home. I ain’t sure what kinda trouble you’re stirrin’ up in that head o’ yours, but I reckon I’ll be thinkin’ about this for a good long while.”

He tipped his hat just slightly and started to turn like he meant to leave. Your eyes dropped to your lap for half a second before you stopped him.

“…I really liked your stories,” you said softly, barely above a whisper.

He paused in the doorway. You hadn’t meant to sound so genuine. So raw. But it was too late to take it back. Boothill glanced over his shoulder, just enough for you to catch the smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah?” he murmured. “Well… guess I’ll have to come back ‘round and tell you another sometime, huh?”

And just like that, he was gone. Leaving behind the faint scent of old gunpowder and desert air and a heartbeat in your chest that didn’t quite know how to settle down.

Boothill: So… if I “accidentally” kissed you, youd fall in love right?

 

You: If you “accidentally” kissed me, I’d “accidentally” reload your gun with glitter and watch you die fabulous.

[sirxaibs]

a weee but revised. not by a ton because full time job means no time 😻

Bruce Wayne | Batman X Reader

ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Gotham Socialite ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ

masterlist

I want to make some batman themed oneshots where it explores a relationship between you and him.

EDITED- changed a bit of dialogue and description because I want the reader to be super cool and amazing

High society, meet the reporter reader. Reporter reader, meet Bruce Wayne

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Gotham’s elite are as gaudy as the chandeliers hanging above them. expensive, bright, and utterly useless. The grand ballroom of the Gotham City Opera House is filled with them, men and women draped in designer gowns and tailored suits, sipping champagne as if their wealth isn’t built on the backs of the people suffering outside these marble walls.

You move through the crowd like a ghost, unseen despite being one of the few people here actually worth listening to. They invited you because of your work because your name is attached to articles Gotham’s wealthy pretend not to read but secretly obsess over. You don’t write puff pieces about Gotham’s heroes; you write about its monsters. You dig into their minds, their motivations. Why does Edward Nygma need to prove he’s the smartest man in the room? Why does the Joker turn his suffering into a performance? What makes a villain tick? That’s what you care about.

Not this.

Not the empty smiles. Not the soulless small talk. Not the way these people clutch their designer purses like they contain anything of real value.

You exhale sharply through your nose, taking another sip of your drink just to give yourself something to do. It tastes expensive but meaningless, like everything else here.

As you turn to leave, you accidentally bump into someone a woman in a tight, sequined dress that probably costs more than you’ve made in the last six months.

“Oh, my God,” she snaps, stepping back as if you just assaulted her. “Are you serious?”

Your brows lift. “Oh, relax. You’ll live.”

Her expression twists in outrage, but before she can respond, a man approaches tall, broad shouldered, with a perfectly practiced smile. And just like that, she flips a switch.

“Oh my God, Bruce!” she gasps, laughing like she wasn’t just seconds away from throwing a fit. She rests a hand on his arm the same arm she previously flung up in disgust when you bumped into her. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up tonight! You never come to these things anymore.” You watch with mild disgust as she transforms in real time. It’s like watching an AI desperately try to mimic human emotion.

“Yeah,” you mutter, just loud enough to be heard. “hmmm I might see myself out”

Bruce Wayne glances at you then, his interest piqued. You don’t fawn over him. Don’t preen or attempt to charm your way into his good graces. No, you just look at him like you’re wholly unimpressed. Its not that he wasn’t appealing. Of course you found him attractive. Though finding him attractive felt a little like betraying the people you grew up around. Just because you escaped the extremely poor doesn’t mean you want to abide by it.

“You know,” you say, tilting your head, “for a guy whose while company is built on working with the community , you don’t seem to have much of a grip on reality.”

The woman beside him gasps in horror, clutching Bruce’s arm even tighter, but you’re not done.

“This whole act,” you gesture vaguely at him, “isn’t cute. I mean no disrespect though, go party and go crazy.” Your eyes lock onto his with something sharper than hatred indifference. “I don’t know how you stomach it. It’s honestly an insult to humans.” Silence settles over you like a fog. The woman looks scandalized, staring at you as if you just spit in her drink.

Bruce, on the other hand, just looks intrigued. His usual mask of carefree billionaire playboy falters just for a second. His blue eyes search yours, something thoughtful flickering behind them. Then, just as quickly as it had cracked, the mask slides back into place. He lets out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck in feigned sheepishness. “Well,” he says, flashing that same easygoing smile he always wears in public, “can’t please everyone, I guess.”

The woman beside him giggles like an idiot, but you just roll your eyes. Bruce Wayne is a good actor, you’ll give him that and judging by the look in his eye, he looks a little off put.

You don’t give Bruce another glance as you turn on your heel, moving toward the exit with the same single minded determination as a prisoner inching toward an open cell door. You’ve had enough of this place enough of the fake smiles, the rehearsed laughter, the suffocating air of money and ego pressing in on you from all sides.

Bruce watches you go.

He should just let you leave. He should turn his attention back to whatever mindless conversation he was meant to be entertaining tonight. But he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze follows you, his interest snaring on something he hadn’t expected.

You very evidently don’t belong here. Not in the way these people do, with their polished exteriors and empty souls. He mentally jokes that press training might be on a to do list for your manager.

No, you move like someone who doesn’t care to belong. Which from his relationship woth selina, Its definitely evident that women from the narrows dont care. You weave through the room with an awkwardness that’s both endearing and painfully obvious dodging trays of champagne like they’re landmines, sidestepping small talk with barely concealed irritation. Your distaste is written all over you, from the way your fingers tighten around your glass to the way your shoulders hunch slightly, as if trying to make yourself smaller, less noticeable.

But that’s the thing. You are noticeable. More than anyone here. Bruce takes in the way you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the way you mutter something under your breath when a socialite nearly clips you with a careless turn. He watches as you catch your footing after bumping into a server, your apology quick and sincere so different from the sneering entitlement of the rest of the room.

A quiet chuckle leaves his mouth as he watches you finally get to a corner. Bruce’s lips press together, something flickering in his chest that he doesn’t have time to name.

He should let you go. Instead, he steps forward, slipping through the crowd with the kind of practiced ease that only someone used to wearing masks can manage. You don’t notice him until he’s beside you, his voice cutting through the noise of the room like a knife.

“You’re not very good at this,” he says, amusement lacing his words.

You glance up at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “At what?”

Bruce gestures vaguely to the room. “Blending in.”

A scoff leaves your lips as you finally reach the exit, one hand already pushing against the heavy door. “Yeah, well,” you say, sparing him one last glance, “I’m used to this kind of thing.” And then you’re gone.

Bruce watches the door swing shut behind you, his reflection staring back at him in the glass. For the first time all night, he finds himself smiling.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Bruce barely makes it through the front doors of Wayne Manor before he’s pulling at his bow tie, loosening the suffocating knot that had been pressing against his throat all evening. The moment the silk slides free, he exhales, rolling his shoulders as if shedding the weight of the night along with it.

The grand doors swing shut behind him, the quiet of the manor swallowing the distant hum of Gotham’s high society. The transition is immediate, like stepping out of a suffocatingly bright stage and into the cool embrace of shadow. The mask the one made of careless grins and charmingly vague conversation falls away as effortlessly as the jacket he shrugs off, tossing it onto the nearest chair without care.

From the hall, Alfred watches the display with an arched brow, ever the picture of poised amusement. “Welcome home, Master Wayne. I see the evening was as eventful as anticipated.”

Bruce sighs, running a hand down his face. “That might be an understatement.”

Alfred steps forward, hands clasped neatly behind his back. “I assume you spent the night ok though master wayne?”

“Something like that.” Bruce rolls his neck, loosening the last remnants of his socialite persona. “A lot of people talking without actually saying anything. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”

“The inevitable I hear,” Alfred muses, “you always seem equally miserable every time you return.”

Bruce lets out a humorless chuckle, unbuttoning the top of his dress shirt. “That’s because it never gets any less exhausting.”

Alfred gives him a knowing look before stepping toward the chair where Bruce had carelessly discarded his jacket. He picks it up with practiced ease, shaking his head. “One of these days, you might consider hanging these properly.”

“I consider it every time,” Bruce remarks, already making his way toward the hidden entrance to the Batcave. “Just never quite get around to it.”

Alfred merely sighs, following him with a well worn patience. “Shall I prepare something for you to eat? Or will you be brooding on an empty stomach this evening?”

“Not brooding,” Bruce corrects as he reaches the hidden panel in the wall. The mechanism clicks, revealing the passage leading down into the cave. “Just… following a curiosity.”

Alfred hums, ever perceptive. “Would this curiosity have anything to do with the young woman who managed to offend half the room tonight?”

Bruce pauses mid step, glancing back at him. “You heard about that?”

Alfred gives him a pointed look. “Master Wayne, the moment someone dares to tell off a socialite at an event like that, it becomes the only thing worth discussing. I’d be surprised if her picture isn’t already pinned on some poor soul’s dartboard.”

Bruce huffs out a short laugh before shaking his head. “I’ll be in the cave.”

Alfred merely nods, already knowing there will be no convincing him otherwise.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ The Batcave hums softly with the sounds of running water and flickering monitors, a stark contrast to the suffocating luxury of the ballroom he had left behind. Here, Bruce is no longer Gotham’s golden boy. No longer the playboy billionaire.

Here, he is himself.

He settles into the chair before the Batcomputer, fingers swiftly typing as he pulls up a search. He hadn’t planned on looking you up. At least, that’s what he tells himself. But there was something about you something about the way you moved through that room, awkward yet unyielding. You didn’t belong there, and you didn’t care to. The way you had looked at him, unimpressed and disinterested, had been a rarity in a world where everyone was either too enamored by his wealth or too busy trying to figure out what game he was playing.

His fingers move with purpose, bringing up your name, your records. The first thing he finds is that, unlike many of the people who had surrounded you that night, your life had been anything but privileged.

You were born and raised in the Narrows Gotham’s forgotten underbelly. A place where opportunities were scarce, and survival was a skill honed from childhood. Your record is clean remarkably so, for someone who grew up in the part of Gotham where crime wasn’t a choice but a necessity. No arrests, no notable scandals. You had gone to school, worked through college, and carved out a place for yourself in a city that did everything it could to swallow people whole.

But what catches his attention the most are your writings. Articles. Interviews. Pieces dissecting the minds of Gotham’s most notorious criminals. Not in the sensationalized way tabloids did, but with an analytical depth that spoke of genuine understanding. You weren’t interested in painting them as mere villains or glorifying their crimes you wanted to understand them.

Your work focused not on the spectacle of their actions, but on the why. The motivations. The cracks in Gotham’s system that had allowed them to exist in the first place. You had interviewed ex gang members, street level criminals, and even those who had managed to escape Gotham’s cycle of violence. You wrote about the lives that high society ignored the people who lived in the shadows cast by the city’s towering skyscrapers.

You gave them voices.

Bruce leans back in his chair, studying the screen. You had lived a normal life at least, as normal as someone from the Narrows could. You had no connections to the criminal underworld beyond your work. No secret vendettas, no affiliations.

And yet, your writing showed a perspective that very few people in Gotham ever took the time to understand. You weren’t just observing Gotham’s worst. You were showing that they had stories worth telling.

Bruce’s eyes flicker over the last article on the screen, the words settling in his mind.

“Society has already decided who deserves redemption and who doesn’t. But if you never listen to someone’s story, how do you know they weren’t doomed from the start?”

His fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before he finally leans forward again, exiting the search.

Curiosity, he tells himself. That’s all this is and yet, as the screen fades back to black, he can’t shake the feeling that you might be someone worth paying attention to.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ If you wanted your stories to be heard, you had to be seen. That’s what your publicist told you. That’s what you repeated to yourself as you stepped through the towering entrance of yet another Gotham high society event, where old money mingled with new power, and influence dripped from every word spoken between sips of champagne.

You didn’t belong here. You never did. But belonging wasn’t the point.

This was the price of being heard. If you wanted your work to matter if you wanted people to actually read what you wrote, to listen to the stories Gotham’s forgotten had to tell you had to stand in rooms like this. Not because you cared about these people or their whispered scandals, but because they had the power to shape the city’s narrative, whether they deserved that power or not.

And so, despite the suffocating air of wealth and self importance, you showed up.

The ballroom was an exhibition of excess. A long, lavish table stretched the length of the room, set with gold rimmed plates, crystal glasses, and floral centerpieces so elaborate they could have easily funded an entire year’s worth of rent for a struggling Gotham family. Conversations bubbled up around you hollow laughter, polite murmurs, the occasional hushed gossip passed between sculpted lips.

You found your seat. And nearly laughed. Right beside Bruce Wayne. Of course.

You weren’t sure if this was some kind of twisted joke or if the hosts had simply thrown darts at a seating chart, but there it was your name card placed neatly next to Gotham’s most beloved. Maybe they thought you were more important than you actually were. Maybe they thought Bruce had the patience of a saint. Though you have a feeling after your last stunt, they were trying to see if another PR disaster would come from this. Maybe more publicity for them. Any publicity is good publicity you guess.

Either way, it was too late to change it now. Sighing, you pulled out your chair and sat down, reveling in the last few moments of solitude before the night officially began.

And then, the atmosphere shifted. Even before you turned your head, you knew. Gothams golden boy had arrived.

The energy in the room changed, as if the very air had been pulled toward him. Conversations faltered just slightly, eyes flickered in his direction, and there was a quiet ripple of interest that passed through the gathering like an unspoken current. It was always like this.

The city’s most eligible bachelor. The name that sent tabloids into a frenzy and made socialites tilt their heads just so, hoping to catch his attention. He was power wrapped in effortless charm, an untouchable figure who played the role of the careless heir so well that even the most cynical couldn’t help but watch him.

You risked a glance. Of course, he looked perfect. Dressed in a dark, tailored suit that cost more than your entire apartment’s worth of furniture, he moved through the crowd with the kind of casual grace that made it seem like he belonged everywhere. A relaxed smile curved his lips, and the people surrounding him whether they were whispering behind their glasses or outright gushing were captivated.

It was almost infuriating, how easy it was for him. Why can’t beautiful people feel more im reach?

When then he reached his seat and saw you. For the briefest moment, the mask slipped. Not much just a flicker of something sharp in his eyes before it smoothed over, replaced with something unreadable.

He barely acknowledged the lingering hands on his arm, the voices vying for just another second of his time. His attention had already shifted. To you. You on the other hand are practically clutching your pearls to remain calm. Your publicist told you to absolutely DO NOT fuck up again.

Bruce had been willing to chalk that first encounter up to chance. A passing curiosity. Now he was beginning to think fate had a sense of humor.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he murmured as he sank into his chair, his voice carrying the warmth of amusement.

You exhaled through your nose, already bracing yourself. “Yeah, well. maybe i won the lottery to be seated next to Gotham’s golden boy.”

His lips twitched. “I doubt im anything that special”

You gave him a dry look. “Didn’t take you for a masochist, Wayne.”

He chuckled, low and quiet. “Only selectively.”

You sighed, picking up your menu just to give yourself something to do. “I do want to apologize for last time, I swear im more civilized. I guess that I kinda got thrown off a bit?” Bruce leaned in slightly, his voice dipping just enough that only you could hear.

“Acting all fancy? Where’s the fun in that?”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ If you had to endure one more second of this sanctimonious drivel, you were going to jam your fork into the back of your hand just to feel something.

The dinner had been dragging on for what felt like an eternity, and the conversation at the table was as unbearable as expected. The hosts, a couple who clearly thought themselves Gotham’s greatest benefactors, were speaking at length about their so called “generosity” and the many ways they had given back to the community. It was all so painfully rehearsed.

“We simply couldn’t sit idly by while Gotham suffered,” the woman declared, holding her glass delicately between her fingers. “Which is why we’ve dedicated ourselves to philanthropy.”

Her husband gave a solemn nod. “Yes. Our foundation has put millions into rehabilitating Gotham’s most… unfortunate areas.”

Unfortunate areas. You took a slow sip of your wine, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from blurting something you’d regret. They were talking about the Narrows. Where you had grown up. Where people still fought to survive every single day, no thanks to the people in this very room.

They spoke as if their generosity was some grand solution to the city’s suffering. As if they had single handedly saved Gotham. You exhaled through your nose, already feeling your patience fraying. It was then that you felt someone shift beside you.

“Did you hear that?”

The words were spoken so casually, so smoothly, that at first, you weren’t sure you had heard them at all. You turned your head slightly, finding Bruce Wayne sitting beside you, his face the perfect picture of polite interest. His voice was quiet, just low enough that only you could hear him.

“Hear what?” you muttered, confused.

He took a sip of his drink, his expression unreadable. “The sound of Gotham being saved.”

You blinked. “what?”

Bruce gestured subtly toward the hosts. “Between the Restoration Project and last week’s fundraiser, I think we can safely say Gotham’s problems have been solved.”

For a moment, you just stared at him. Then, before you could stop yourself, you let out a sharp, amused breath. “Oh, absolutely,” you whispered back. “Crime? Poverty? Completely eradicated. I bet even the Joker is rethinking his entire life’s work.”

Bruce tilted his head, considering it. “Maybe he’ll go into finance. Become a hedge fund manager.”

You snorted. “I’d pay to see that.”

Bruce hummed, pretending to ponder it. “Or accounting. Something low risk. Maybe he’d be great at tax fraud.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself not to laugh.

“Honestly?” you whispered, leaning slightly closer. “A few more dinner parties and we might even get Two Face to start a nonprofit.”

Bruce’s mouth twitched. “And I hear Penguin’s investing in an animal conservation project.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, shaking your head. How had this happened?You had been so close to losing your mind just minutes ago, and now here you were, whispering snide remarks with Bruce Wayne of all people. The absurdity of it hit you all at once.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “This is ridiculous.”

Bruce arched a brow. “What is?”

You glanced at him, lips twitching. “Didn’t think you were so much of a hater.”

Bruce leaned slightly closer, his voice amused. “Isnt that your job? you haven’t stopped being one.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smirk. “I think it’s a little more nuanced than that. Guess I’m a glutton for punishment.”

He chuckled, his blue eyes sharp with something unreadable. “Funny. Me too.”

Bruce wasn’t sure when it happened. When the night had gone from something exhausting to something… bearable. Enjoyable, even.

He had sat down at this table expecting the usual the same empty conversations, the same mindless flattery, the same performance he had perfected over the years.

You, who had spent the first half of the evening looking like you wanted to crawl out of your skin. You, who had made no attempt to charm him, who had barely acknowledged his presence at all until he had decided to push you just a little. when you had responded, it had been effortless. Natural.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had felt that. Since he had been able to talk to someone like this without posturing, without pretending. It reminded him of something. Something old. Something familiar. A woman in a black catsuit, teasing him from the edge of a rooftop. Bruce’s fingers curled slightly against his knee.

Selina had been one of the first people to remind him what it felt like to be real. To be alive and now, somehow, you were doing the exact same thing and you didn’t even realize it.

Bruce glanced at you from the corner of his eye. You were still trying to suppress a smile, still glancing around the table like you couldn’t believe you were actually enjoying yourself. He found himself studying you really studying you. You didn’t belong here, that much was obvious. The way you sat stiffly in your chair, the way your fingers tapped lightly against your wine glass when you were irritated, the way you watched the room rather than participated in it.

You were observing. Just like him. Just like he had been doing since he was a boy, since he had first learned how to read a room, how to pick apart every detail, every lie. for all your sharp observations, you had completely missed the fact that you had captivated him.

Bruce Wayne was staring at you like you were a puzzle he needed to solve.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Your voice cut through the air softly, and Bruce blinked, pulled from his thoughts. You had caught him looking. For a brief moment, he considered deflecting, playing it off with a practiced joke. But he didn’t want to.

So instead, he simply shrugged. “I was just thinking,” he said, voice low, “that this might be the first time I’ve actually enjoyed one of these things.”

You frowned, clearly skeptical. “Bullshit. You go to these all the time.”

Bruce smirked. “Doesn’t mean I like them.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, still not quite believing him. “And I’m supposed to believe this dinner is different?”

His smirk deepened. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”

You blinked, and Bruce almost laughed at the way you processed his words, as if you weren’t quite sure what to do with them. But then, slowly, you shook your head, exhaling a quiet laugh.

“You’re so full of shit, Wayne.”

Bruce grinned. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

For the first time that night, he didn’t feel like the billionaire playboy. Didn’t feel like Batman. He just felt like Bruce. Which wouldn’t that feel weird? He always believed that Batman was the real him. Right now feeling like a teenage boy meeting a girl.

&&&&

The second the speeches ended, you were on your feet. Not rudely just quickly. The second round of self congratulation had begun, and if you had to listen to one more person pat themselves on the back for “saving” Gotham, you were going to lose your mind.

You made your way toward one of the grand patios, slipping past gilded columns and chandeliers that cost more than your entire apartment complex. The doors were open, the cool night air seeping in just enough to make you crave the quiet outside. The moment you stepped onto the patio, you exhaled.

It was massive of course it was. Probably bigger than some of the city blocks you had grown up on. A perfect marble terrace with pristine railings, overlooking the twinkling skyline of Gotham. You leaned against the stone railing, closing your eyes for a moment. Peace. Finally. But, of course, peace never lasted long in Gotham.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t like high society events, you sure end up at a lot of them.”

You opened your eyes, lips already twitching into a smirk before you even turned around. Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking at you with that same insufferably amused expression. A short, incredulous laugh escaped you. “stalking me now rich boy?”

Bruce stepped further onto the patio, shaking his head. “Just wanted the air, cant blame me”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the skyline. “Mhm. Right. Sure. Just a coincidence you keep popping up wherever I am.”

Bruce leaned against the railing beside you, his voice casual. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll be sure to keep a three foot distance from now on.”

You smirked. “Six, just to be safe.”

“Ten, and I might start getting offended.”

You shook your head, biting back a grin. There was something so easy about talking to him. Too easy. The thought was unsettling. “I have to admit,” Bruce mused, tilting his head slightly. “I didn’t expect you to show up tonight.”

You sighed, toying with the rim of your glass. “Believe me, if I could have avoided it, I would have.”

“you can say that again”

You exhaled through your nose, staring out over the city. “Yeah, well. If I want my stories to actually matter, I have to be seen.”

Bruce was silent for a moment, watching you. Then, his voice softened. “Is that why you do it?”

You turned to him, brow furrowing. “Do what?”

“Write the stories you do.” His blue eyes searched yours, something unreadable flickering behind them. “Why villains? Why not the heroes? You’d probably get a lot more recognition if you did.”

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Because the heroes don’t need me.”

Bruce’s gaze didn’t waver. “And the villains do?”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. “The people who get thrown into Arkham, who are labeled as ‘monsters’ and ‘freaks’ and just written off most of them have stories no one ever hears.” You exhaled. “I want people to understand them. Or at least see them. Even if they don’t deserve sympathy, they at least deserve to be known.”

Bruce didn’t say anything right away. He just stared at you. Not in an uncomfortable way, not in the way men at these events usually did. No, Bruce was really looking at you. And for some reason, it made you shift under his gaze.

“…What?” you muttered.

Bruce just smiled slightly, shaking his head. “Nothing. I just didn’t expect that answer.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, well. Sorry to disappoint. I know the usual arm candy around here doesn’t have thoughts.”

Bruce snorted. “You really think that’s all I see you as?”

You arched a brow. “What else would I be?”

His expression turned thoughtful. “I dont really know”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Well, if you’re looking for something interesting, you should probably set your sights somewhere else. I have no interest in being one of the people you “help” from the sidelines”

Bruce’s lips quirked. “help from the sidelines?”

You gestured vaguely. “I want to respect the people in there. the ones who have influence. Though when you’re on the other side of the spectrum its a little rough. The rich like to be seen and not heard.” You turned to him, meeting his gaze directly. “I have no intention of being a footnote in the pretend of gotham.”

Bruce watched you for a long moment, his smirk slowly fading into something softer. Then, finally, he spoke. “I have no intention of making you just a fling or to discard your work.”

The words were said so smoothly, so matter of factly, that they took a second to register. You blinked. Your mind blanked. Your entire brain shut down for a solid five seconds. Because what…what did he mean by that? You weren’t sure what part of the sentence flustered you more.

The fact that he wasn’t denying wanting you, or the fact that he had just so casually implied that you are going to be something more than a just a thought. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Bruce just smirked, watching you flounder. Then, slowly, he leaned in just a fraction.

“Speechless?” he murmured, voice low.

You snapped out of it, your pride kicking back in. “Please.” You scoffed, turning away. “You wish.”

Bruce chuckled, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

And as much as you hated to admit it… You kind of loved that he had caught you off guard.

The soft breeze ruffled your hair as you leaned back against the stone railing, trying to gather your thoughts. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had left you this disoriented. Bruce’s smirk only deepened as he studied your reaction, clearly enjoying the fact that he had thrown you off balance. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, and no amount of cool air could wipe the warmth from your face.

“So…” he began, his voice far too smooth for your liking. “I take it that wasn’t exactly the response you were expecting?”

You forced yourself to look at him, swallowing back the knot in your throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” His gaze darkened just a little, and for a moment, there was no teasing, just something more genuine. “I think you do.”

The way he said it made your stomach flutter uncomfortably. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to laugh or slap him so you did neither. Instead, you stepped back from the railing, trying to put some distance between you and the overwhelming presence that was Bruce Wayne.

“fucking rich people,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest as if to shield yourself from him.

Bruce didn’t move, his eyes still locked on yours, his lips slightly curled. “Is that a no?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You blinked at him, dumbfounded. “A no?” you echoed, unsure if you had heard him right.

Bruce gave you that damnable, knowing look again. “You know, you don’t have to act all tough. You’re not fooling anyone.”

“I’m not acting tough,” you shot back, despite your nerves. “I just I don’t even know what you’re asking me.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly. “I’m asking you if you’d like to go out with me.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait. What?”

He chuckled, clearly amused by your reaction. “Yes. That.”

You stared at him, utterly baffled, before glancing at the ground as if it might have the answers to everything you had just heard. You couldn’t tell if you were about to burst out laughing, slap him, or just walk away and pretend none of this happened.

“…You’re serious?” you managed to croak out after what felt like an eternity.

Bruce simply gave you a shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Dead serious.”

For a long, torturous moment, all you could do was blink at him, trying to make sense of the situation. Bruce Wayne Gotham’s richest, most infamous playboy was asking you, the rebellious daughter of the shadows, on a date and you couldn’t even think of a single coherent response.

Finally, you let out a frustrated breath and turned your head away. “You’re insane.”

Bruce’s smirk softened into a more genuine smile. “I try.”

You shook your head, not knowing whether to feel mortified or weirdly elated. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Well, you could say yes,” Bruce offered casually, his voice now a little more sincere.

You looked back at him, your heart still racing from the unexpected turn of events. “…I’m going to need a lot more time to process this.”

Bruce raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough. I’ll give you time. But just so you know… I’m not going anywhere.”

The tension between you two was still there, thick in the air. But for some reason, it didn’t feel uncomfortable anymore. More like the beginning of something unexpected. Something that might change everything. And just like that, you were thrown back into the whirlwind that was Bruce Wayne.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ It was a quiet night as you walked home, the cool breeze against your face, your mind lost in thought. It had been a long day at work reporting, editing, and finalizing a piece about Gotham’s growing underbelly, a story that seemed to sink deeper with every layer you uncovered. You were used to it. You thrived on it. The truth was your domain, and you’d learned how to swim in the darkness long ago. It was something that made you feel connected to your roots, to the people you came from.

The streets of Gotham felt familiar, in a way. No matter how much money flowed into this city or how many pretty buildings sprang up in the skyline, you couldn’t forget the parts of it you grew up in. The darker corners, the alleys, the people who had nothing but each other to survive. They were your people, the ones you understood more than you ever could the high society types you’d been forced to mingle with.

You rounded the corner onto a familiar street, just a few more blocks before you were home. Then, without warning, the atmosphere shifted. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you slowed your pace. Gotham had a way of making you hyper aware, and tonight was no exception.

You felt it before you saw them. The footfalls behind you, too quiet, too steady. Your pulse quickened.

Before you could even react, two men emerged from the shadows, blocking your path. The dark shapes loomed over you, the threat in their eyes clear. One was holding a sharp looking knife, the other a crowbar. The older, taller man grinned, a twisted, unsettling look that made your stomach churn.

“Give us your bag, sweetheart,” he sneered, a rough, gravelly voice edging the threat. “We don’t want any trouble, but we will make it happen if you don’t cooperate.”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t back down.

“Sorry, I don’t have time for this,” you muttered, trying to side step the bigger man, but he was quick, grabbing your arm with a vice like grip.

“Not so fast,” he growled. “You’re not going anywhere until we get what we want.”

You spun around quickly, your elbow connecting with his ribs in a sharp strike. He grunted, but it didn’t stop him from tightening his grip. The other man stepped forward, the crowbar raised as if to swing.

That was when you knew you were in trouble. But only for a second. You kicked back, slamming your foot into the first man’s knee, hearing the sickening crack as he stumbled backward. He swore, holding his leg in pain. You used the opening to break free, turning to face both men. The one with the crowbar swung at you wildly, but you ducked under his reach and used his momentum against him, redirecting his strike into the side of the nearby wall. Your movements were quick, practiced clean, precise. You didn’t need to fight dirty. You didn’t need to be anything other than efficient. All you needed was enough of an excuse to escape. Within seconds, the two men were on the ground, groaning in pain, incapacitated by your calculated strikes.

Breathing hard, you exhaled slowly, dusting yourself off. That was easy. But when you looked up to check for any more threats, the air around you grew heavy.

Batman was standing at the edge of the alley, his towering form almost blending with the shadows. His cape fluttered slightly in the wind, the symbol of the bat glaring on his chest, and those piercing eyes those damn eyes locked onto yours.

You froze. For a moment, it felt like time slowed down. It was him. Batman. The dark vigilante, the city’s protector, who had always hovered over Gotham’s criminal world like a myth, now staring at you with an unreadable expression.

His eyes narrowed. Recognition flashed across his face, though his expression remained carefully controlled.

You stared at him, blinking rapidly, confusion clouding your mind. You knew him. But how? But you hadn’t had you really? You were too caught up in your own world to truly pay attention to the rumors and gossip. He was, after all, just the Batman to you. That was all you cared about. But in that moment, you realized with an unsettling clarity: He knew who you were.

You laughed awkwardly, feeling a rush of heat to your face. “Oh great, just what I needed tonight,” you muttered under your breath. You quickly brushed a hand through your hair, trying to act like this wasn’t the most bizarre encounter you’d had in a while. “Listen, don’t worry about me. I appreciate what you do for the community though.”

Batman didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His posture remained rigid, intimidating, but his eyes… his eyes seemed to soften for a split second. There was something in them something that spoke volumes. You couldn’t place it, but it felt like something more than just the bat.

“No,” he said, his voice low, gravelly. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.” His words were firm, but there was a thread of concern beneath it. “Gotham isn’t safe.”

“Yeah, well, Gotham doesn’t care about safe,” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s just me out here. If I want to get home, I’ll get home.” You didn’t want to admit it, but there was something about the way he said that it made you feel smaller. But you didn’t let it show. You lifted your chin, defiant. “I can take care of myself. Just like I did with them.”

You gestured to the two men still groaning on the ground, the earlier tension dissipating into the night air. But Batman didn’t reply. His eyes swept over you in a way that sent a chill down your spine. His body language shifted just slightly, enough for you to notice, but before you could say anything more, he was moving.

“Get inside,” he said abruptly, his voice unwavering. “I’m not letting you walk home like this.”

There it was again. The command in his voice. You narrowed your eyes, a little defiant but feeling a strange pull toward the urgency in his tone. “It’s very courteous of you but please. I told you, I’ve got it. I’m fine.”

Batman didn’t even blink, his tone now sharpened. “Get inside, now.”

His words left no room for argument. You were tempted to push back tempted to keep up your independence. But there was something about the way he said it, the way his gaze hardened, that made you swallow your pride. With a small, frustrated sigh, you turned and started walking towards the street, heading home. You could feel his presence lingering behind you, watching, making sure you weren’t followed.

For a split second, you almost wanted to ask him more. But you stopped yourself. You didn’t need him. Not really. He was just Batman, after all. You shook your head. No need to think about it. Sometimes you want to find and interview him for why he punches first and asks later. Though the bias for your work might be interfering with those thoughts.

But somehow, you couldn’t ignore the tight knot in your chest. The tension in the air between you and him felt like more than just a confrontation. It felt like something else. And that something else… well, it lingered.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Bruce Wayne stood in the Batcave, his back pressed against the cool stone wall, his fingers lightly grazing the edge of the Batcomputer. His cape hung loosely behind him, still damp from the rain soaked night. The adrenaline of his patrol had long since faded, but an odd unease lingered in the pit of his stomach, something he couldn’t quite shake.

He’d spent countless hours in this cave, fighting Gotham’s worst and dealing with the city’s many challenges. His mission had always been clear: protect the innocent, bring justice, and make Gotham a better place. But tonight, something was different. Something about the encounter with you had stayed with him in a way he hadn’t expected. He couldn’t stop thinking about how you had handled yourself, standing tall despite the danger.

He had seen countless people fight back, but there was something unique about the way you did it. You weren’t just trying to survive you were alive in the moment, every move deliberate, confident, and unapologetic. You weren’t waiting for someone to come save you; you were saving yourself. It was rare in Gotham, a city where people often needed help just to make it through the day.

And yet, there was a sadness to it all.

Bruce knew that the city had a way of wearing people down, turning them into something else something bitter or broken. People like you, who had grown up in the shadows, had learned to fend for themselves because Gotham didn’t make it easy. He couldn’t help but wish that you hadn’t had to be so strong. You shouldn’t have had to fight alone.

His thoughts wandered back to the moment he’d seen you in the slums. Despite your strength, despite the control you’d taken of the situation, Bruce felt a pang of sympathy. The city had failed you, just as it had failed so many others. Gotham had a way of demanding too much from its people, and it had never been kind to those who were already struggling.

It was clear you weren’t someone who needed saving. You had made your own way, fought for your own space in a world that hadn’t always welcomed you. Bruce couldn’t help but admire that. It was something he understood well carving out a place for yourself in a city that tried to break you. But it still frustrated him that Gotham had forced you into a corner like that.

He pushed away from the computer, rubbing his eyes as he tried to clear his thoughts. He had a duty to the city, a duty that didn’t leave room for distractions or feelings. Yet, something about the way you carried yourself, how you didn’t let Gotham’s grime get the best of you, lingered in his mind. You were a reminder of the resilience he’d always admired in this city, but also a stark reminder of how much still needed to be done.

Bruce had always seen Gotham as a city to fix, a place in desperate need of change. He’d dedicated himself to that cause, but seeing you, standing strong in the face of everything this city threw at you, made him think what if there were more people like you?

But you shouldn’t have to be like that. You shouldn’t have to fight for your survival in a city that was supposed to be your home. And yet, you had.

Bruce exhaled deeply, leaning back against the stone wall again. It was moments like these that reminded him of how complex Gotham truly was. People like you weren’t just victims or criminals. They were the heart of the city, the ones who kept going even when the world seemed determined to make them quit.

He didn’t have the answers, but seeing you hold your own, standing up to those men like it was just another day, reminded him why he kept doing this. Gotham wasn’t just about fighting crime it was about protecting the people who refused to be broken. People like you.

Bruce let out a slow breath, turning back toward the Batcomputer, but his thoughts were still on you. He wasn’t sure where this would lead, or if it would lead anywhere at all. But for the first time in a long while, he found himself hoping that, somehow, Gotham would be a little less lonely for you.

For all of them.

Alfred: So, how did the gala go, Master Wayne?

Bruce: I think it went well. There was a very pretty woman. She didn’t say no when I asked her out

Alfred: Fascinating. Like watching a car crash in slow motion and calling it a graceful landing.

Bruce: …I’m sensing sarcasm.

Alfred: No, no. I’m very impressed. You managed to express interest without brooding in a corner or vanishing mid conversation. Progress.

Bruce: I hate it when you bully me.

Alfred: And yet, I persist.

[sirxaibs]

Sunday HSR X Reader

꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ Get used to it ꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱

masterlist

part 2

a small drabble with him as a passenger of the astral express…… and march being a fangirl

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ The Astral Express gym wasn’t exactly high tech, but it had everything you needed: open space, training mats, and just enough echo to make your footsteps sound cooler than they actually were. Sunday stood on the mat already, stretching his arms slowly. He was always composed. polished words, a little distant but never unfriendly. A recent addition to the Express, still settling in. You figured sparring would be a good way to break the ice. Or, at the very least, make him sweat a little.

“You ever sparred before?” you asked, rolling your shoulders as you stepped onto the mat across from him.

“Once or twice,” Sunday replied, giving you a look that was polite. “I assume you’ve done this more than that.”

You shrugged. “Yeah, a bit. We do it sometimes, just to stay sharp. Helps keep my mind quiet too.”

That made him pause for a moment. “I can understand that.” There was a brief stretch of silence as you both settled into your stances. You smiled.

“Alright. Light spar. First to three taps?”

“Fair enough.”

Then you moved. Sunday was careful. Precise. He didn’t rush or overstep, but you could tell he was reading you watching how you shifted your weight, how fast you reacted. You responded in kind, your movements smooth and quick, not showy like usual. This wasn’t about flair. It was about rhythm, connection, learning someone without needing words. The first tap came when you managed to slip behind him and brush his shoulder. He looked surprised. The second came quickly after his palm barely grazing your side as he dodged your next strike.

It was fun. Quietly fun.

Somewhere in the middle of the third round, things shifted. You both moved at the same time your foot angled to pivot, his shifting forward for a counter. It wasn’t anything dramatic, no wild kick or spin, just a split second misstep.

You felt your foot catch his. His arm moved quickly, instinctively reaching to steady you. Too late. Your balance tipped forward, his backward, and gravity did the rest.

The two of you landed with a dull thud on the mat. For a second, neither of you said anything. You opened your eyes to find yourself sprawled over him, chest pressing lightly against his, palms braced on either side of his shoulders. His arm was still around your waist where he’d tried to catch you.

Your faces were close. Close enough to count the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes. Close enough that his breath, warm and even, brushed against your cheek.

“Oh.” The sound escaped before you could help it. Not exactly graceful.

Sunday’s eyes didn’t move away from yours. His expression wasn’t annoyed, or embarrassed. If anything, he looked… thoughtful. Still. Like he wasn’t sure what to make of the moment either. You felt the weight of the silence more than the fall.

“I, uh” You shifted slightly, meaning to push yourself up, but your hand slipped against the mat, and you instinctively leaned closer to steady yourself. Now your nose almost touched his.

His hand, still on your back, tensed faintly just a twitch. But he didn’t move it. You laughed under your breath, a little breathless. “This probably looks worse than it is.”

“Maybe,” Sunday said, voice low, not quite smiling but not pulling away either. “But I’m not complaining.”

That made your heart skip a beat. You looked at him again, There was something softer in his face now. you realized you weren’t in a rush to get up. Not yet.

“…You okay?” you asked, quieter this time.

He nodded once. “You?”

You nodded too, eyes not leaving his. “Yeah.”

Another beat passed. You could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing under your hands. Not hurried. Just… calm. You slowly pushed yourself up and off of him, offering your hand once you were upright. He took it without hesitation. His fingers were warm.

Back on his feet, Sunday brushed some dust off his sleeve, but his eyes lingered on you longer than before. There was nothing more to say right then. So he just smiled and walked away.

“God I need a cold shower after that”

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Turns out it wasn’t a cold shower but nevertheless, a shower. The steam from your shower still clung to your skin as you stepped into the parlor car, toweling your damp hair with one hand, dressed in your usual cozy nightwear. You’d taken your time lingering under the hot water, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled in your chest after the spar with Sunday.

It was the way he looked at you. Still. Quiet. And how you hadn’t wanted to move. You exhaled, trying to shove the memory aside. Maybe it was just adrenaline. Heat of the moment stuff. Totally normal when you faceplant into someone’s lap. Right?

As you rounded the corner into the parlor car, voices floated up from the seating area. You paused half curious, half wary.

“…I’m telling you,” came March’s unmistakable whisper. “They were on top of each other. Like, full on dramatic slow motion fall. And neither of them moved for a good ten seconds. It was so weirdly quiet. I thought they were gonna kiss.”

Your stomach dropped. Your face lit up like a reactor core.

“March.” That was Dan Heng. His tone had that deadpan flatness that meant you’re being ridiculous again.

“No, I’m serious!” March hissed. “It was intense. They were looking at each other like… like in one of those cheesy holo dramas. And she totally forgot I was there. I had to back out slowly like I was interrupting something.”

“Maybe you were,” Caelus muttered under his breath.

“EXACTLY,” March said. “I mean, I always thought something might happen, but not this soon. And with Sunday? He’s like… all elegant and mysterious”

“I heard that.”

Three heads whipped around at once. You stood in the doorway, arms crossed, still towel drying your hair, blinking at them like you’d just caught them stealing cookies.

March squeaked and jumped three inches off the couch. “You! When did you get there?!”

“Long enough,” you said flatly, stepping fully into the car. “Long enough to hear my public execution.”

March scrambled to explain herself, hands flailing. “No no no! It wasn’t an execution, it was it was a friendly dramatic retelling! Like bedtime gossip!”

You stared at her. Dan Heng looked like he was rethinking every decision that led him to this moment. Caelus was trying very hard not to laugh.

You pointed at March. “Next time, announce the playbill if you’re gonna perform my personal life in three acts.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way!” March said, now clutching a cushion to her face. “Honestly, I thought it was kind of cute!”

“March.”

“Okay! Okay! I’ll stop talking!”

You plopped down into the seat beside her, stealing the cushion from her arms to bury your face in it.

“I hate everything,” came your muffled voice.

Dan Heng finally looked up from his book. “So… did anything actually happen?”

You didn’t answer. When you pulled the pillow away, your face was still pink. You shrugged. You slumped into the seat and closed your eyes.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You walked along the glowing path of the new planet’s market district, your boots clicking softly against the polished stone. Lanterns floated above the crowd, casting a warm shimmer over everything, and strange alien wind chimes tinkled softly in the breeze. It was one of the calmer stops for the Astral Express no explosions, no urgent missions. Just exploration, some research, and a little breathing room.

You sipped your drink a fizzy, spiced thing with a color that probably wasn’t natural and hummed to yourself as you trailed behind March and Caelus. They were arguing about the best souvenir to bring back for Pom–Pom.

You lingered by a street vendor selling constellation shaped pastries when a man tall, smug, and clearly very into himself sidled up beside you.

“You look like you could use some company,” he said, his tone low and confident, like he thought he was the main character in a romance drama.

You blinked, startled. “I’m uh, I’m good, thanks.”

But he didn’t get the hint. He smiled wider, stepping just a little closer. “You sure? Someone like you shouldn’t spend a night like this alone. I know a place nearby quiet, private. Just you and me, maybe some music”

“Wow,” you interrupted, trying to laugh it off. “That’s… forward.”

“Life’s short,” he replied smoothly. “Why waste time pretending?”

You took a step back, now officially uncomfortable. “Really, I’m not interested”

“She’s not.”

The voice came from behind you, calm and steady. Sunday. You turned your head just as he stepped into view, his hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable but voice just sharp enough to cut tension.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he added casually. “She’s not into that sort of thing.”

Your eyes widened. Girlfriend? Oh.

The guy blinked, his confidence faltering. “Oh I didn’t realize…”

“Now you do,” Sunday said, still polite, still calm. “You can move along.”

The man muttered something under his breath and walked off, melting into the crowd like smoke.

You exhaled slowly. “Okay. That was…”

“Uncomfortable,” Sunday finished for you, tilting his head slightly. “He wasn’t taking the hint.”

“No kidding,” you muttered. Then, with a faint smile, “Thanks for the save.”

He looked at you, eyes softening just a little. “You looked like you needed one.”

You nodded. “I did. But also ‘girlfriend?’ Really?”

“Seemed effective,” he replied without missing a beat. “Was I wrong to assume you wouldn’t want to go home with a stranger tonight?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, definitely not wrong. Just… caught me off guard.”

He gave a small shrug. “You can correct the record if you want.”

You looked at him, thoughtful now. The lantern light played against the sharp lines of his face, but his gaze was gentle, open.

“Nah,” you said, voice light. “Let them think I’ve got someone.”

Sunday gave the smallest smile. And then, almost too quiet to hear. “Maybe someday they’ll be right.”

You turned to him but he was already walking ahead, hands still in his pockets, calm as ever. You blinked. Then grinned.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

March wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. Not really. She had just been browsing one of the cute trinket stalls on the edge of the plaza admiring some heart shaped glass charms when she heard your voice from the next row over. You sounded… awkward. Uncomfortable.

Curious, March peeked around the corner, just in time to see some local guy lean in too close to you. His tone was oily, confident in that blech kind of way that made her want to throw a glowing pebble at his head. You were clearly trying to shake him off.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

March’s soul left her body.

Sunday’s voice was smooth and even, not threatening, but with that finality that made the creepy guy instantly freeze. He stepped up beside you with this casual calm, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable but there was no doubt in his tone.

“She’s not into that sort of thing,” he added coolly. “You can move along.”

The guy mumbled something and slinked away. March’s brain started loding the spinny ball of death.

Girlfriend? GIRLFRIEND?!

She didn’t even mean to gasp aloud, but it happened. Thankfully, no one heard. She ducked back behind the trinket stall, crouching like she was dodging a security drone. Her heart thumped against her ribs. When she peeked again, you were talking to Sunday, flustered and blushing. He stood there like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just set the local rumor mill on fire with one casual sentence.

March didn’t wait another second. She took off sprinting.

“I’M SORRY BUT THIS IS AN EMERGENCY.”

Caelus and Dan Heng both jumped in their seats as March burst into the tea shop, nearly knocking over a decorative lantern in her haste.

Dan Heng put down his cup with a sigh. “Let me guess.”

“No no guessing. Just listen.” March bent over the table, panting dramatically. “Sunday just called her his girlfriend. To a random guy. Who was hitting on her.”

Caelus blinked. “Wait. What?”

“You heard me! He said it without hesitation., ‘She’s my girlfriend.’ Boom. IT WAS SO KNIGHT IN SHINNING ARMOUR.”

Dan Heng raised an eyebrow. “And she didn’t correct him?”

“Not at all! She blushed! She just stood there blushing!”

Caelus slowly grinned. “Huh. I thought we were still in the pining phase.”

“That’s what I thought too!” March wailed, dropping into a seat across from them. “I thought I had time to mentally prepare for the will they won’t they!”

Dan Heng leaned back. “Maybe they skipped to the good part.”

March glared. “This is a story, Dan Heng. There’s a structure.”

Caelus sipped his tea again, amused. “BUT LIKE he did that just to protect her. Im sure we would do the same thing”

“Shhhhh are either of you wanting to marry her and want to look longingly at her.”

Dan Heng muttered, “I don’t think that that matters when you’re watching out for someone”

March just pointed toward the plaza. “Mark my words. Those losers are happening .”

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

March 7 lay curled beneath her mountain of pastel blankets, one leg sticking out, mouth slightly open, a bubble of drool forming with every breath. She looked… innocent. Unaware. Vulnerable.

Perfect. You stood at the edge of her bed, Caelus beside you, both cloaked in shadows and silence. “She sleeps like someone who hasn’t committed crimes,” you whispered.

“She sleeping like she didn’t fully diss Dan Heng and I for just existing,” Caelus murmured, smirking. “She called me a coward yesterday for not pushing you two together faster.”

You narrowed your eyes at the blissfully unaware March, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “Your time of reckoning is over.”

And then, like a flash of divine vengeance, the pillow came down. WHUMP. March jolted awake with a squeak, arms flailing, hair a tangled mess. “WHAT WHO”

“JUSTICE,” you declared, striking again, this time dual wielding pillows like a vengeful sleep deprived warlord. “FOR PEACEFUL EXISTENCE.”

“TRAITOR!” March screamed as another pillow hit her in the face, this one clearly Caelus’s, who was now leaning against her dresser and howling with laughter. “You were supposed to be neutral!”

“I was never neutral,” Caelus grinned, tossing another pillow into your hands like a loyal arms dealer. “I just picked the winning side.”

“You picked VIOLENCE!”

“You picked CRAZY

Pillows flew. March kicked off her covers and dove behind the mountain of backup pillows she had an arsenal you knew too well. She emerged like a pink haired general, dual wielding plushies shaped like various alien mascots.

“I DID NOTHING TO YOU CAELUS!” she shouted, flinging one at Caelus’s head. “I THOUGHT YOU SHIPPED THIS LIKE ME! AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?!”

“I WAS trying to make it happen, March!” you cackled, blocking her throw with your arm. “but you’re crazy lady.”

“Because SOMEBODY has to!”

The room became a flurry of feathers and yells, the floor littered with fabric casualties. March screamed something about “romantic sabotage” while Caelus used a star shaped cushion as a shield and tried not to collapse from laughter. Eventually, panting and half buried beneath a pile of glittery pillows, March flopped onto her back.

“This isn’t over,” she wheezed. “You might’ve won the battle…”

You sat on the floor, leaning against her bedframe, heart light and cheeks aching from laughing too hard. March peeked at you with a sleepy, dramatic glare.

“Just admit you like him,” she muttered.

You grinned. “No comment.”

Caelus snorted. “So that’s a yes.”

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The corridor was quiet, save for the distant, muffled thumps echoing from March’s room. Sunday padded down the hall in soft slippers, wrapped in a navy blue pajama set that still looked oddly regal despite the sleepy looseness of it. The collar was slightly askew, and his curls had lost their typical styling, falling gently across his forehead. He wasn’t sure what had drawn him toward the commotion curiosity, perhaps. Or maybe instinct.

The door to March’s room was open just enough. And there you were. Mid laugh, caught in the middle of a pillow war that had clearly escalated. Caelus was ducked behind a wardrobe like it was a bunker, March stood on her bed like a self declared queen of feathers, and you glorious in your pyjamas were twirling a pillow like a blade of justice.

Feathers floated through the air like snowflakes. Sunday didn’t move. He leaned against the doorframe, half in shadow, just out of your view. And he watched. And he smiled. He’d grown up in rooms where laughter felt rehearsed. Where joy was reserved for ceremonies, and everything had meaning, even the silence. He had known peace, yes but the kind that was still, stagnant. Like a pond reflecting stars instead of the sky itself.

Robin had always tried to shield him. Kept him wrapped in the comfort of his ideals, gave him a dream so beautiful he forgot what real light looked like. Messy, loud, brilliant life. The way your hair stuck to your cheek with sweat, the way your eyes gleamed as you dodged March’s wild throw, the unfiltered, unashamed joy in your voice as you shouted something absurd about “pillow fueled vengeance.”

He’d never seen experienced this feeling. Sunday’s heart thudded quietly in his chest, a rhythm that didn’t belong to the Family or any script he’d ever memorized. He liked that you weren’t afraid to be ridiculous. That you laughed freely. That you made others laugh.

He liked that you didn’t seem to carry your burdens in front of him not because they didn’t exist, but because you chose, for a moment, not to let them define you. he liked that when you were with your friends like this, you looked entirely untouchable. Unreachable. He wanted to reach anyway. But he stayed still. Let the moment stay yours. A feather floated past his cheek. Sunday blinked once, then quietly turned, retreating back down the hall before anyone noticed. He didn’t need to be in that moment to be part of it.

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Feathers still drifted in your hair. Your arms ached from swinging pillows like weapons of mass destruction. March had declared herself “the rightful queen of shipwide shipping” before collapsing in a pile of her own making, and Caelus was last seen crawling down the hallway muttering something about betrayal and glitter.

You didn’t make it to your room. Your legs had carried you halfway down the train, and then… gave up. The Parlor Car welcomed you with soft lights and the hush of starlight outside the window. It was quiet here. Peaceful. And most importantly there was a couch.

You barely noticed the figure already sitting there. You just dropped into the opposite end of the long velvet seat with a graceless thump, curling onto your side and sighing like the soul had been knocked out of you. Your hair stuck to your forehead. Your shirt was rumpled. You didn’t even bother taking off your socks.

Sleep claimed you within seconds. Sunday, seated near the center of the couch with a book resting gently across his lap, blinked slowly. He hadn’t even heard you come in. His eyes drifted from the page, tracing over your sleeping form. The way your chest rose and fell. The faint smudge of pillow war aftermath still clinging to your cheek. One of your shoes had fallen off somewhere on the way in your foot dangled off the edge of the couch, sock half hanging.

You looked peaceful. He closed the book without a sound. He stood, quietly padded over to the small linen cabinet near the entrance of the car, and pulled out a soft, navy blue blanket. One of Himeko’s spares, likely. He unfolded it carefully, draped it over you from shoulders to toes, and adjusted it so it wouldn’t slip off during the night.

Then he knelt beside the couch, brushing a stray feather from your hair with a light, careful touch. in a voice only the walls heard, he murmured,

“Sleep well. May your dreams never be burdens.”

He lingered for a moment, hand resting just beside your shoulder. Then he moved to the nearby armchair, sat down, and tilted his head toward the stars just outside the wide train windows. His book remained unopened in his lap, forgotten. He didn’t need it. Tonight, the soft rhythm of your breathing was enough.

[sirxaibs]

Caelus X Reader Honkai Star Rail

“Another Me in Another World”

Masterlist

pov you come from a timeline where you and caelus loved each other. Though now thrown into this world you don’t remember anything.

:0

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ The moment the warp settled, a shiver laced down Caelus’ spine.

They stood at the edge of a crumbling city floating in a pocket of broken time what Herta dubbed a “dimensional fault zone,” where history bent like glass under pressure. Fractured towers loomed above, suspended by unseen strings. The air crackled, distorted. But none of it compared to the static in his chest. She was here. He didn’t know how he knew only that the moment he stepped off the Express, his heart started pounding like it remembered something he didn’t. Then he saw her. She was standing alone at the edge of a fractured platform, long coat fluttering behind her like a shadow. Mask half lowered, a Stellaron Hunter insignia stitched boldly across her sleeve. And when her gaze met his sharp, unreadable his world tipped on its axis.

“…You,” Caelus breathed.

You didn’t blink. “So you’re the Express’s precious Trailblazer.” His title sounded foreign in your mouth, like it didn’t belong like you didn’t want it to. But your fingers twitched slightly at your side, as if muscle memory betrayed you. Behind Caelus, March and Dan Heng tensed. “Careful,” Dan Heng said lowly, “she’s one of Kafka’s.”

But Caelus stepped forward anyway. You didn’t move. Not when he stopped a few feet away. Not when he tilted his head, searching your eyes for something you didn’t even know you’d lost.

“There’s something familiar about you,” he said softly.

Your lips curved into something like a smirk but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I hear that a lot before people try to shoot me.”

“I’m not going to shoot you.”

“And I’m not going to hesitate if you become a threat,” you replied coolly, though something in your voice faltered at the end. Just a little.

A pause stretched between you.

Then he said it, almost like a confession to the wind “I’ve seen you before. In dreams.”

The expression you wore froze. You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your throat tightened, because you’d seen him too every night since you woke up in Elio’s care, with a name you barely remembered and a void where your past should’ve been. A silver haired boy with amber eyes, reaching for you just as you disappeared. And now he was here, real and breathing and looking at you like he knew your soul.

“I don’t know you,” you said, a bit too quickly.

“Maybe not,” Caelus said, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips, “but I think… I loved you, once.”

Your heart missed a beat. Behind your back, your fingers curled into a fist and you backed up. You hated the way his words made your chest ache. Hated the way the cold mask you wore suddenly felt too heavy. Because if what he said was true if you had loved him once then fate had played a cruel trick and you didn’t know if you had the strength to undo it.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ The world returned in fragments like shards of a broken mirror pressed too close to your eyes. At first, there was only the hum. Low, metallic, steady. Then light. Blinding. Cold. You gasped. Air surged into your lungs like you hadn’t breathed in centuries. You jolted upright with a strangled sound, hand instinctively reaching out for something someone.

But there was only silence. You blinked furiously, vision adjusting to the sterile, glass panelled room around you. Pale walls. A console blinking with unreadable data. You were lying on a bed no, a containment pod, cracked slightly down the side. It smelled like ozone and dust.

“Easy little one.” A voice. Calm, smooth, a touch amused. You turned sharply.

Kafka stood at the foot of the pod, arms crossed, one brow slightly arched. She looked completely unbothered, as if this was routine. As if you were routine. You stared at her like she might be part of the dream.

“Who…?” Your voice rasped out, raw. “Where…?”

“Questions already?” Kafka mused.

You opened your mouth to retort and froze. You didn’t know your name. No, wait you did. Barely. It floated to the surface like a whisper. You clutched it like a lifeline. “…My name is…” You hesitated. “I think it’s [Y/N].”

Kafka nodded slowly, like she was testing the shape of your name against the air. “It suits you.”

You sat there, stunned. Trembling slightly. “What… happened to me?”

She shrugged, a glint in her violet eyes. “A warp event. Something… untraceable. We found you drifting between coordinates with a fractured signal and half a heartbeat. Elio said you’d be important.”

“Elio…?”

“You’ll meet him eventually. For now, it’s just us.” You looked down at your hands. They felt wrong. Or maybe the world did.

“I don’t remember anything,” you whispered.

“No,” Kafka said. “But your instincts remain intact. That’s the part that matters.” You flinched when she stepped closer, but she only placed a hand on your shoulder gentle, grounding. Her smile softened, just slightly.

“Listen to me. You were meant for something greater. A fate rewritten by stars too scared of your potential. Elio saw it. And I do too.”

You stared up at her, desperate, haunted. “Then why do I feel like I’m… missing something?”

Kafka tilted her head, curious. “Missing someone, you mean?” Your breath caught. Because for all the blanks in your memory, there was one thing one constant you couldn’t explain away. Amber eyes, filled with light. A boy smiling at you like you were his entire world. Reaching for your hand as everything around you crumbled.

“I don’t know who he is,” you whispered. “But I see him when I sleep.” Kafka didn’t answer right away.

Then, softly “Maybe one day, you’ll remember. Maybe one day, he’ll find you.” You never remembered the moment you met him. There was no clean origin, no first conversation etched in time just the feeling. Like gravity had shifted in your chest. Like your soul had turned its head toward someone and said, “There you are.”

Even in the days after waking, long before Elio whispered of fate and purpose, you carried that strange ache. It sat beneath your ribs, subtle but persistent. As if your heart had memorized a rhythm it could no longer hear and still beat along with it anyway. And always, him. A boy reaching for you through dreams. Sometimes smiling. Sometimes calling your name. Sometimes standing still at the edge of a world collapsing in gold. You never saw his full face, not really. It shifted with every dream like your memory was afraid to settle. But the feeling stayed the same. Safety. Sadness. Love.

Kafka called it a side effect of a damaged warp phantom memories stitched together by a soul that had jumped too many coordinates, too fast. Elio said nothing. He only looked at you, eyes unreadable, and murmured “Even in broken timelines, some threads find each other again.”

You didn’t know what that meant. Not then. But now standing in this fractured city, staring into Caelus’s eyes you do. Because it’s not a coincidence. Not a trick of dreams or Stellaron interference. It’s older than memory. Deeper than fate. A bond written somewhere before the stars. You and Caelus are mirror souls two halves born in the same cosmic breath, scattered by a universe that didn’t know how to hold you.

Maybe you boarded the Astral Express, once. Maybe you stood beside him, laughed with him, loved him. Maybe you were torn from that path by a warp gone wrong, or a choice you never knew you made. But your souls remember. They reach for each other still in dreams, in battles, in silences where your fingers almost twitch toward his before you stop yourself.

You were meant to walk together. But the universe split you. Now, you’re on opposite sides of a war you don’t fully understand. But the bond? It hasn’t faded. It can’t. Because no matter how much memory was taken, how many times your paths diverged. You are still drawn to him. Still tethered by something ancient and unfinished.

And when Caelus whispered, “I think I loved you, once,” your soul didn’t hesitate. It whispered back “You still do.”

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

At first, you didn’t speak to anyone. You woke, you trained, you followed instructions. No questions. No smiles. No attachments. That was how it started. The other Stellaron Hunters didn’t mind. Blade said nothing, as usual. Silver Wolf barely looked up from her screens. Sam never came close enough for conversation, and Kafka was always watching.

She never pushed, never pried. Just watched, like she already knew the storm inside you and was waiting for the clouds to shift. But it was her, in the end, who pulled you into the rhythm of this strange place. It started with a game.

“You’re watching me again,” you muttered one evening, eyes fixed on the holographic wall map you’d been pretending to study for the last ten minutes.

Kafka leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “I do that.”

You turned, half expecting mockery in her eyes. Instead, there was something softer faint amusement, edged with quiet interest.

“I’m not broken,” you said flatly. “You don’t have to treat me like I’ll crack open.”

“I never said you were,” she replied, and then, after a pause, “But you are still unfinished.”

“Unfinished?”

Kafka stepped forward, her coat trailing behind her like a slow moving shadow. “You remember fragments. Dreams. Pieces of another life. You haven’t decided yet who you want to be in this one.”

You clenched your jaw. “Maybe I already have.”

“Have you?” she asked, too gently.

You didn’t answer.

Later that night, she left something outside your room.A data pad. A short file. A simulation: sparring tactics against hypothetical enemies. Paired drills. On a whim, you ran the simulation. when you did, it loaded a preset with Kafka’s movement patterns coded as the partner. Every step she made was measured, confident. Every time you moved, the code adapted like she was anticipating you. Like she already knew how you fought. You didn’t sleep that night. Not because of fear or anxiety, but because you became entranced

From then on, things shifted.

You stopped avoiding the others in the corridors. Started nodding back when Silver Wolf greeted you with a lazy two finger wave. Listened when Blade offered one word advice during training. Responded when Kafka teased you, even if it was just with a dry, “Don’t push your luck.”

You began asking questions quiet ones, when no one was around.

“What’s Sam’s story?”

“Why does Blade meditate with his blade drawn?”

“Does Silver Wolf ever lose in those games?”

And every time, Kafka answered. Not always directly. Sometimes with riddles, sometimes with little smiles that said, You’ll figure it out. But she answered. More than that she listened. When you told her about the dreams again, she didn’t tell you to ignore them.

She only asked, “Do you want to remember?”

You did. Even if it hurt.

Weeks passed.

Your coat bore the Hunter insignia now. You walked with purpose in the base’s dim halls. You learned their methods how to dismantle systems, how to fight in sync with someone you weren’t sure you trusted, how to exist beside people who had no need for sentiment, but somehow left space for it anyway. Kafka didn’t change much.

But you started to see the way she lingered when Blade was injured. The way she glanced at Silver Wolf with a sisterly fondness when she thought no one noticed. The way she always made sure you got the missions that aligned with your strengths.

“Why do you help me?” you asked once, after a particularly clean victory where the two of you fought side by side, flawless.

Kafka didn’t miss a beat. “Because I remember what it feels like to be lost. And because Elio says you’re important.”

You scoffed. “You always follow Elio’s predictions?”

Kafka’s lips curved. “Only when I agree with them.” despite yourself, you smiled back.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ Kafka’s voice was calm over the comms.

“Quick in, quick out. Eyes open, [Y/N]. The relay’s still broadcasting faint traces of encrypted Express data. Elio wants to know why.” You crouched behind a collapsed support beam, hand tightening on your weapon. Your breath fogged slightly in the cold air. The station’s artificial gravity pulsed irregularly, like the heartbeat of something half dead.

“I don’t like it here,” you murmured. “Too quiet.”

“You’ll get used to that,” Kafka replied. “Most haunted places start that way.”

The door groaned as it opened rusted metal, reluctant hinges. You stepped inside, Kafka at your back, the hallway stretching before you like the throat of a dying star. The walls were scorched. Burned out terminals flickered and fizzed with leftover sparks. Bits of fabric clung to jagged debris passenger coats, maybe. You stepped over a half buried nameplate that read T78–Celestial Relay: Astral Express Docking Site.

You froze. Astral Express. The words rang in your head like a forgotten lullaby.

“Something wrong?” Kafka asked.

You stared at the nameplate, unsure what to say. “I… I think I’ve been here before.”

Kafka didn’t answer right away. She simply stepped beside you, gaze trailing over the ruined corridor. “Maybe you have.”

You pressed your hand against the wall, fingers brushing a faded imprint someone had drawn stars here once. The paint had nearly chipped away, but you could still make out the rough lines of a train and what looked like… a tiny figure standing at its edge. Your heart clenched. And then A whisper. Soft. Unmistakable.

“–[Y/N], you coming? We don’t leave people behind–”

You whipped around. No one was there. The hallway behind you remained empty, Kafka standing still as a statue beside the doorway.

“What did you hear?” she asked quietly.

You blinked. “That voice. I… I knew it.”

Kafka turned to face you, her expression unreadable. “What did it sound like?”

“Warm,” you whispered, before you could stop yourself. “He called my name like it meant something. Like I was his… crew.”

A slow beat of silence passed. Kafka stepped forward and reached up gently pressed two fingers to your temple. Not unkind. Not forceful. Just enough pressure to draw your attention.

“That’s not just a memory,” she murmured. “That’s a tether.” Your breath hitched.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will,” Kafka said. “Elio predicted this. A place would wake the memories. A name. A sound. You weren’t meant to forget it all. The universe just… paused you. Stalled the connection.”

You turned toward the hallway again. In the distance, barely audible, came another voice. Fainter this time. Familiar.

“Don’t wander off again, [Y/N]…”

Your lips parted. You could see it, just for a second flashing gold windows, March’s laughter, the faint hum of the Astral Express engine purring beneath your feet. It faded as quickly as it came.

“I… was with them,” you said softly, gripping your sleeve. “Before. Before all this. I can feel it.” Kafka studied you with something like pride.

“You’re remembering who you were. The question now is who do you want to be?”

You didn’t answer. Not yet. Instead, you turned back down the hall and whispered, like a promise only the stars could hear,

“I’ll find you.”

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ The first time he saw her, it was in a dream. She stood at the edge of a broken platform, surrounded by stardust. Hair swaying in a nonexistent wind, face turned away, just slightly. The light around her bent like it knew her. Soft, reverent.

She didn’t speak. Caelus woke with his chest aching. At first, he chalked it up to warp sickness. Another leftover hallucination, maybe Stellaron residue playing tricks on his head. It wasn’t new. Flashes of unfamiliar places, déjà vu that made no sense. The usual.

But this was different. Because the girl didn’t fade. She kept showing up. Not just in dreams now, but in thoughts. In echoes. In odd moments where he’d catch his reflection in a terminal screen and think She’s looking for me. He missed her. This random girl.

Without knowing her name. Without knowing if she was real. He missed her. Like his soul had once been stitched to hers, and something some event, some warping twist of fate had torn it in half.

“Hey,” March’s voice snapped him out of it, “you okay?”

He blinked. Realized he’d been staring out the train’s window for who knows how long. The stars looked endless tonight. Cold. Unreachable.

“Yeah,” he lied. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” she teased, leaning in. “Don’t tell me you’re finally getting poetic about the stars. Welt’s going to cry.”

He tried to smile. “Nothing important.”

But even then, he heard it.

A whisper, not quite sound, threading through his mind like a thread through fabric:

“Caelus…”

The way she said it wasn’t scared. Or urgent. It was warm. Familiar.

Intimate.

He rubbed at his temple. “It’s happening again.”

March sobered. “The dreams?”

He nodded. “She’s… everywhere. But I don’t know her.”

“You’re sure she’s not someone we met on another planet?”

“I know I’ve never met her,” Caelus murmured. “But it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like I’ve always known her. Like I’m forgetting something I should never have forgotten.”

March frowned, stepping a little closer. “What does she look like?”

“I don’t know. Her face is always in light. Or in motion. Or…” He sighed. “She’s always just out of reach.”

March crossed her arms. “Sounds like a cosmic love story.”

“Or a curse,” he muttered.

He meant it.

Because it hurt, missing someone you didn’t even know. It made no sense, but she had become a presence an ache under his ribs, a name he didn’t know how to speak.

That night, the dream changed. He was on the Express but not this one. The colors were warmer. The crew felt familiar, yet different. And there she was finally facing him. This time no blur and no haze.

She smiled, soft and sad. Like she knew something he didn’t. Like she’d watched him from afar for a long, long time.

He took a step forward. She held out her hand.

The sound of shattering glass. Light tore across the dream like lightning. Her image cracked, distorted, fell apart.

He screamed her name Except he didn’t know it. He woke up gasping.

He stood in the hallway outside the passenger car now, gripping the rail, heart pounding. The stars outside flickered like they were trying to whisper something back.

“I don’t know who you are,” he murmured, voice rough. “But I think I’m supposed to.”

Though he felt he had loved her once. that love got lost between the stars. But it was finding its way back. He could feel it.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

The moment hung between you like a heartbeat suspended in air fragile, trembling, too afraid to fall.

You didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

Because if you did, something would break.

Maybe it was the persona you’d built. Maybe it was the invisible wall that Elio insisted you keep between yourself and the rest of the galaxy. Or maybe… it was the feeling you’d been running from since the day you woke up in Kafka’s care:

The ache of knowing someone you’d never met.

Of longing for something you never had.

Of being seen when you had no memory of who you were supposed to be.

And Caelus saw you.

Not the mask. Not the weapon. You.

He stood there, closer than he should have, amber eyes gentler than any soldier’s had a right to be, and you hated how your resolve cracked around the edges just by looking at him.

“I don’t want to fight you,” he said, voice barely above the whine of static in the air. “I just… want to understand.”

Your mouth opened then shut again.

The wind shifted between the broken towers, pulling at your coat. You turned away first. Because if you kept looking at him, you weren’t sure you’d be able to hold your ground.

“I don’t care what you dreamed,” you said finally, trying to sound cold. Detached. “Whatever you think we were… I’m not that girl anymore.”

“I know,” he murmured, and that was somehow worse.

Because he meant it. And he still looked at you like that.

Like he was remembering you, even if you’d forgotten yourself.

Before you could respond, Kafka’s voice crackled in your earpiece.

“Darling. We’ve got what we need. Time to disappear.”

You inhaled sharply through your nose, nodding to nothing. for a second, just before you moved, your hand twitched again reaching out, purely instinct. But then you turned.

You vanished into the fractured skyline, not even a ripple left in your wake. Caelus didn’t follow. He just watched you go, a strange, hollow kind of sorrow nesting in his chest.

“She didn’t try to kill us,” March 7th said flatly.

“Progress,” Dan Heng deadpanned.

Caelus didn’t laugh.

He sat in silence, watching the universe drift past the train’s window. His reflection stared back at him, eyes tired and heart somewhere lightyears behind.

She didn’t remember him.

But her fingers had twitched when she said his name. Like muscle memory. Like muscle memory aching to reach out.

She was the one he’d been dreaming of. The one who didn’t board the Express. The one who was never supposed to walk the path she was on. The one fate had twisted away from him.

Later, after the brief standoff after Kafka led you away with a smile and a smug wave, and after Himeko called the mission a partial success Caelus sat alone in the Express observatory.

He stared out at the stars, but they felt different now.

You were real. And you knew him.

Not just knew of him. You knew him. The way your eyes lingered. The subtle way your fingers twitched when his voice hit the air. The way your name still escaped him but your presence didn’t.

“You okay?” March leaned in from behind, holding a cup of cocoa.

He didn’t turn. Just nodded. “I met her.”

March blinked. “Her?”

“…The one from the dreams.”

Her brows shot up. “Wait, seriously? That’s the girl?”

He nodded again. “She’s with Kafka.”

March made a face. “Of course she is. That explains the cool and mysterious aura coming from your weird head.”

“I don’t think she remembers me fully,” he said softly. “But she said my name.”

“hmmmm this feels kinda crazy,” March said, sitting beside him. “This is like some weird soulmate thing.”

Caelus glanced at her. “Is that even possible?”

She smirked. “With us? Anything’s possible.”

He turned back to the stars.

Somewhere out there, on another ship, or in another world, she had stood beside him. He knew it.

And even if time or fate had pulled them apart he was going to find his way back.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

It was stupid.

Dangerous.

Kafka had already noticed.

“You’ve been requesting missions in Express protected zones a lot lately,” she said one evening, her tone lazy, her gaze razor sharp. “Coincidence?”

You didn’t answer. Just kept cleaning your gear with surgical precision.

“…You saw him again, didn’t you?”

You paused, hand tightening on the cloth.

Kafka smiled like a cat who’d just cornered a bird. “I knew it.”

You didn’t look up. “It’s nothing.”

“Sweetheart, if it were nothing, your hands wouldn’t be shaking.”

They weren’t until she said it.

You shoved the cloth into your bag and stood. “Give me a mission.”

“Where to?”

You hesitated.

“Doesn’t matter,” you lied. “Anywhere near the Express.”

Kafka didn’t tease you. She just tilted her head, watching you like you were a story she already knew the ending to.

“Alright,” she said, voice soft. “Just try not to break his heart too fast.”

You rolled your eyes but your chest twisted. Because you didn’t want to break anything. You just… wanted to see him again.

Even if it was across a battlefield. Even if it was a few glances stolen between chaos. Even if it meant pretending you didn’t feel like the universe was holding its breath every time your paths aligned.

‼️‼️‼️

“Trailblazer, are you sure you need to scout that sector again?” Himeko asked, not unkindly.

“Yes,” Caelus said immediately. “I have a feeling.”

Dan Heng raised a brow. “A feeling.”

“Yeah.”

March grinned. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

Caelus didn’t deny it.

He didn’t know what he was expecting maybe another cold stare, another few seconds of standing too close without touching. But every time he caught a whisper of your presence on a planet, his heart pulled like a compass needle snapping to true north.

lately? You’d been showing up a lot. He started waiting on rooftops after missions, lingering longer than necessary. Hoping. Searching.

One time, he swore he caught your silhouette vanishing behind the smoke of a blown power core. Another, he spotted a shimmer in a crowd just a flicker of your coat as you disappeared into a ship.

You never stayed. you were always there.

You crouched at the edge of a ruined dome, watching the Express land below like a ghost too afraid to knock on the door.

Your comm buzzed.

Kafka: “You just gonna stare again, or say hi this time?”

You didn’t answer. Because you didn’t know how to explain it. That this wasn’t love…. at most you don’t know what that word even meant

He felt like It was gravity. He was the center of something you couldn’t name, and every time you stepped close, the past stirred in your bones like a song you once knew.

And still, you stayed. Watching him laugh with March. Watching him glance over his shoulder, like he felt you nearby. Watching him wait.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

The stars above the shattered dome flickered like dying embers dim, faraway, forgotten. The observatory was dead, a relic from a time when people still believed the cosmos could be mapped, understood, controlled.

Now, it was just quiet. A perfect place to hide. You didn’t know why you were here. Not really. The coordinates had come through a scrambled data trail supposedly a scouting point for a Hunter op. But Kafka had said nothing. She’d just smiled when she saw the file and said, “Go.”

So you went. You didn’t expect him to be there too. But the moment you stepped through the cracked threshold, you knew. The air changed. Like the world itself paused to take a breath.

And then you saw him.

Caelus stood by the remnants of a collapsed telescope, bathed in soft starlight filtering through the fractured glass above. His coat rustled quietly as he turned.

His eyes widened.

“…You.”

You didn’t move. You should’ve run. Should’ve vanished like you always did. your boots felt rooted to the floor, and your chest was tight with something you didn’t have a name for.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you said, voice low.

“I know,” he replied. “But I hoped you would be.”

That stopped you cold.

“…Why?”

“Because I can’t keep pretending you’re just a dream.”

Your heart stuttered.

He took a slow step forward. You didn’t stop him.

“You keep showing up,” he said, quietly. “And every time, I think maybe it’s just a trick. Just my mind trying to make sense of something it can’t remember. But then I see you. And I know.”

You swallowed hard.

“There’s a reason we remember each other,” he went on. “Even if we don’t know how.”

You looked away. “You don’t know who I am.”

“I don’t have to,” he said. “Because when I see you I feel peace. Like the galaxy makes sense for a second.”

That… hurt. Because you didn’t just feel peace when you saw him. You felt everything else. Hope. Ache. Fear. That sharp, impossible longing like something inside you was trying to claw its way out just to reach him.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.

“well that shouldn’t feeling kinda doesn’t apply here,” Caelus said again, gentler.

Silence stretched between you fragile, sacred. Then, softly, he asked, “Can I come closer?”

You nodded.

He stepped toward you, slow and careful, until there was only a breath between you. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then gently, so gently his hand reached out and hovered near yours. Not touching. Just waiting.

And your fingers… trembled.

You didn’t take his hand.

But you didn’t pull away either. It was the closest you’d been. Not physically emotionally. Soulfully. And for the first time since you woke up with no memories, you didn’t feel lost.

You felt… found.

It just hovered there between you, caught in some invisible tension neither of you had the words to sever. Caelus stayed still too, though you could tell he wanted to say something his eyes kept flicking to your expression, like he was trying to read stars in a language he used to know.

Then, very softly, he chuckled.

You blinked.

“What?” you asked warily.

“I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, expression going a little sheepish. “I was trying to think of something poetic to say. You know, something like, ‘Even across galaxies, I’d find you,’ or ‘Your eyes remind me of starlight before a warp jump.’” He paused. “But that would be cringe, right?”

You stared at him.

And then against your own instincts you laughed. It was small, quiet, almost disbelieving, but it escaped you anyway. “That’s so cringe.”

“I knew it!” he grinned, victorious. “See? March would’ve roasted me for it too.”

Your lips twitched. “You really are a dork,” you muttered.

“I prefer charmingly knight super cool amazing, thank you very much,” Caelus said, placing a dramatic hand to his heart. “Besides, you were about two seconds away from touching my hand. I saw the twitch. Don’t lie.”

You rolled your eyes, but something in your chest… eased. He noticed. And that dumb little smile of his softened into something quieter.

“I’m not trying to pressure you,” he said. “I just wanted to see you. Talk.”

You didn’t answer right away. The truth was you didn’t know who you were now. Not completely. But sitting here, with the moonlight dusting your boots and this ridiculous boy talking about bad pickup lines in the middle of a ruined observatory. You didn’t feel like a Stellaron Hunter. You didn’t feel like a traitor or a mistake. You felt… normal. For the first time in forever.

Your fingers inched just slightly toward his. Barely enough to count. But Caelus noticed. He grinned.

“So,” he said, voice light again, “should I keep going with the pickup lines, or have I impressed you enough for one night?”

You exhaled slowly.

“…Let’s just sit.”

He nodded. “I’m good at that. Sitting. Part of my best skills.”

You shook your head, but you didn’t pull away when he finally sat beside you close, not touching.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

Caelus couldn’t stop smiling.

It wasn’t his usual half grin or smug little smirk it was a real smile. One of those stupid, giddy ones that made his face hurt and had absolutely no business existing after a trip to a dead observatory.

But here he was. Practically skipping down the corridor of the Express like a guy who’d just gotten a love confession and a puppy all in one day.

He didn’t get what was happening. But he felt it. That weight in his chest that had been following him since the warp it was lighter now. Not gone, but gentler. Like seeing you made the ache less unbearable.

Even if you’d only laughed once. Even if your hand had hovered, not held. Even if you still looked like you were ready to vanish at the first sign of a threat.

It didn’t matter. He’d seen the crack in the mask. He’d seen you.

“Okay, you’re smiling. That’s never a good sign,” a voice called.

Caelus turned just as March 7th leaned dramatically over the back of the lounge couch, a mock suspicious look in her eyes. “Did you get hit on the head, or are you in love?”

“What?” Caelus blinked, then coughed. “Neither!”

“That was the most unconvincing response I’ve ever heard in my life,” March grinned.

“Didn’t even try to lie properly,” Dan Heng muttered from behind his book, not looking up.

“Oh my god.” March gasped and pointed at him. “You’re blushing. Are you blushing?!”

“I am not blushing,” Caelus said, very obviously blushing.

“You totally are!” she squealed. “You went somewhere, didn’t you? You did the secret meeting thing. The ‘forbidden connection across enemy lines’ thing. Like star crossed lovers in a trashy space novel!”

“I just… I ran into her,” Caelus muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “We talked. That’s all.”

March narrowed her eyes. “Define ‘talked.’”

“…There were words.”

“Ooooh. There were feelings,” March declared. “Dan Heng, he’s so doomed.”

Dan Heng sighed without looking up. “I’ll alert the press.”

At the front of the Express, Himeko sipped her coffee until she tilted her head toward Welt with a smirk. “I think the kids are gossiping again.”

Welt glanced up from the terminal, raising an eyebrow. “Should we be concerned?”

“Well, considering our dear Trailblazer seems to be falling for a Stellaron Hunter, I’d say yes,” she said with a knowing smile. “But also… not yet. Let them feel something. They’ve earned it.”

Back near the lounge, Caelus flopped onto the couch beside March and groaned into a pillow.

“I didn’t mean to like her,” he mumbled.

“That’s how it always starts,” March said with faux dramatic flair. “You ‘accidentally’ develop feelings for the mysterious, emotionally complicated girl who may or may not be working for a morally grey space cult.”

“She laughed at one of my dumb jokes,” Caelus admitted, muffled.

March gasped again. “She laughed?! Oh, it’s over for you. You’re done. Pack it up. Go write her name on your locker and doodle hearts in your journal.”

“I don’t have a locker.”

“its a metaphor you stupid hoe,” she said solemnly.

And as the Express continued its course through the stars, the crew kept teasing, bickering, and beneath it all watching over each other. Even if they didn’t say it, they all felt it.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

This sector was too close to the Express’s patrol route, and Kafka had given you a very specific order to avoid unnecessary contact with the crew for your own good, allegedly. But “allegedly” didn’t stop your feet from wandering. And it sure didn’t stop him.

Because Caelus was already there, poking his head around a half crushed console like he was looking for snacks and not violating multiple interdimensional boundaries.

“Psst,” he whispered, ducking behind a pillar like a badly disguised spy.

You stared at him, deadpan. “You followed me.”

“I think the term stumbled across you like fate intended,” he said, peeking out again with a hopeful smile.

You folded your arms. “You almost got spotted by Silver Wolf’s scouts. If I hadn’t looped their surveillance…”

“Okay, so maybe I’m not great at stealth,” Caelus admitted, sheepish. “But I am great at being incredibly charming in the face of mortal peril.”

You opened your mouth to tell him off but then he crouched, balancing on one leg with his arms out like a chicken, and made a dramatic caw noise.

“See? You can’t stay mad at this level of grace.”

You stared. Then pinched the bridge of your nose. And yet… your lips twitched. Damn it.

He grinned wider, clearly catching it. “There it is! The tiniest smile. I knew I could break through that scary, cool Hunter persona.”

“I’m not scary,” you muttered.

“You’re terrifying. In a hot way.”

You rolled your eyes, turning away to hide the heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’re a really weird guy.”

“And yet you keep meeting me,” he said, stepping closer now. “Isn’t that funny?”

It wasn’t funny. It was frustrating. It was dangerous. Every second spent with him risked blowing your cover, ruining your mission. Staying away from the people that hindered the stellarons hunters wishes

But every time he smiled at you like that like you were the only real thing left in the galaxy. You forgot what side you were on.

“Caelus…” you started, voice wavering.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you do this?” Your eyes locked with his. “Why do you keep chasing me when we’re supposed to be enemies?”

He hesitated, surprised by the weight in your voice.

Then he shrugged, quietly this time. “Because even when I close my eyes, I still see you. And I think… if I stop chasing that, I’ll regret it forever.”

Something in your chest cracked open. The longing. The ache. The static in your blood. It surged all at once.

You didn’t think. Didn’t plan. You just grabbed his collar and kissed him. Hard. The impact startled him his hands flying to steady you, your fingers curled in his jacket like you’d fall apart if you let go. It was clumsy, fierce, desperate.

You felt his breath hitch. Felt his fingers tighten. Though suddenly. The static surged. Your knees gave out and the world tilted. You collapsed into his arms, your consciousness slipping like smoke.

“Whoa! Wait!” Caelus caught you before you hit the ground, wide eyed. “Okay, not how I imagined our first kiss going hey, are you okay? Are you? Oh god, did I break you?!”

He knelt, cradling you gently, brushing hair from your face as your breathing steadied but your eyes stayed shut.

“…You kissed me,” he whispered, stunned.

Then, more softly.

“…Please wake up so I can tell you how i really feel”

A few moments pass and you’re still completely knocked out.

“She’s not waking up. She’s not waking up. She’s not okay okay it’s fine, I’ve definitely… totally… handled something like this before…”

He hadn’t. Caelus was not fine. You were unconscious in his arms, and he had no idea why. He was racing back toward the Express through dimensional shrapnel and twisted corridors like he was running from the universe itself. Every few seconds, he glanced down to make sure you were still breathing.

You were. Shallow, but steady. Thank every star in the sky.

“I mean, you kiss a girl, and she immediately collapses that’s gotta be a record, right?” he muttered, mostly to keep from screaming. “Cool, Caelus. Real smooth. She finally kisses you and the stellaron hunter gets beaten by a kiss. note to tell Dan heng to use that on blade later”

His foot snagged on a floating stone, and he nearly tumbled. He tightened his hold, shielding your head.

“Sorry, sorry gotcha,” he said softly, eyes flicking to your face. “You don’t look hurt. You just… fainted? Did I do something wrong? Was it the hair? Be honest, you hate the hair, don’t you?”

No answer. Just the soft, steady rise and fall of your chest.

The Express came into view. Warm lights. Familiar hum. A tether back to sanity. He bolted inside, panting. “Emergency! Kind of! I mean, not me okay, yes me, but mostly her!”

March’s head whipped up from the couch. “Is that?!”

Dan Heng appeared instantly at the sound of frantic footsteps, and Himeko turned from the navigation console.

“What happened?” she asked sharply, crossing the room. “Isnt she that girl youre always talking about?”

“I I don’t know! I mean, I do, but I don’t she’s the girl from the dimensional fault. She kissed me long story and then she just collapsed.”

“You kissed the enemy?” March asked, voice pitched somewhere between scandalized and amazed. “Oh my, Caelus!”

“She kissed me!” he hissed, glancing down at you. “And then passed out, which is not how kisses usually go right? That’s not normal?”

Welt Yang stepped in, grave and composed as always. “Where exactly did this happen?”

“Fragmented zone, a relay station near the collapsed ruins. She was fine then not. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You made the right choice,” Himeko said gently, already checking your pulse.

“She’s… she’s okay, right?” Caelus asked, voice cracking as he dropped to his knees beside you.

Welt nodded slowly. “Stable vitals. No external trauma. But her energy readings are odd.”

“Odd how?” Caelus asked.

March peeked over Welt’s shoulder. “Like Stellaron odd? Trailblazer odd? Or, like, cute girl with dangerous secrets odd?”

Welt exhaled. “Yes.”

Caelus swallowed hard. He looked at your face again. Still so still.

“Hey,” he murmured, taking your hand carefully. “You can’t just… leave me hanging like that. You can’t kiss me and ghost me in the same breath. That’s rude.”

March elbowed Dan Heng. “Yo i love the guy but has he ever been serious”

“I don’t think so,” Dan Heng replied dryly.

“I’m serious,” Caelus said, voice softer now. “You gotta wake up soon. I don’t care who you are. Or what you think you have to be. I just… I want to know you. The real you.”

Your fingers didn’t twitch.

But your heartbeat, quietly, began to quicken. The cabin of the Astral Express felt too quiet. You were still unconscious, resting in the medbay with March standing guard just in case you woke up and decided to, you know, unleash chaos. Dan Heng was nearby, arms crossed, calm but clearly on edge.

And Himeko… was doing something no one expected.

“She’s calling Kafka?” March whispered, wide eyed. “That’s… wow. That’s like dialing a volcano and asking it politely not to erupt.”

“I’m not asking,” Himeko said smoothly, tone neutral as she tapped into the comms. “I’m informing. She’s going to want to know her operative’s alive and on board. I’d prefer that information come from us than from, say… a surveillance drone.”

“Or a giant explosion,” Caelus mumbled from where he slumped against the wall.

March shot him a look. “You really kissed her, huh?”

“She kissed me,” he repeated, quietly now. “And then she collapsed. Not exactly the grand romantic moment I imagined.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘cursed,’” March offered helpfully.

Before he could spiral further, Welt Yang appeared beside him and nodded toward the back car. “Walk with me?”

Caelus didn’t argue. They ended up on the observation deck, stars stretched out endlessly through the glass windows. The silence was nice. Heavy, but nice.

“You’ve been quiet,” Welt said after a while.

“Trying not to panic,” Caelus admitted. “Not doing a great job.”

Welt studied him with the patience of someone who’d seen too many wars and too many versions of the same story. “You’re allowed to panic. But you’re also allowed to hope.”

Caelus leaned his head against the window, watching a comet streak by. “She was… cold. Distant. But when she looked at me, it felt like someone lit up the whole room. Like a puzzle piece finally clicked, even if it didn’t make sense.”

“And the kiss?”

“Unplanned. Very… wow. And then terrifying.”

Welt chuckled quietly. “Feelings can do that. Especially when they come from somewhere deeper than memory.”

“You think she’s really?”

“I think the universe has a way of trying again when it gets something wrong,” Welt said gently. “You two… may have been pulled apart by something beyond your control. That doesn’t mean you can’t find your way back.”

Caelus swallowed the knot in his throat.

“I just what if she wakes up and remembers who she is, and it means she leaves? Or worse, tries to finish what she started?”

“Then you face that moment with the same bravery you faced her now. With heart.”

Caelus looked up at him.

“…You’re good at this.”

Welt smiled, faint but kind. “I’ve had practice.”

The silence stretched between them comfortably this time. Then March’s voice crackled over the intercom.

“Uh, guys? So… Kafka responded. She’s coming. ETA fifteen minutes.”

Caelus stiffened.

Welt simply exhaled. “Well. Time to prepare for company.”

“And by company,” Caelus muttered, “you mean the scariest lady who might murder me for smooching her agent.”

“She might also say ‘thanks,’” Welt mused.

“…That would be a miracle.”

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

She came with the wind. No ship announced her arrival. No screeching engines or blaring alarms warned the crew. Just a sudden, eerie stillness like the Express itself recognized the presence walking its halls and chose to hold its breath.

Caelus stood in the medbay doorway, arms crossed tight against his chest, heart hammering like it still hadn’t caught up to the kiss or the collapse that followed.

You hadn’t stirred. Not once. He didn’t know what terrified him more the silence from your body… or the way he wasnt sure what everything meant

Then she appeared. Kafka stepped through the door like a queen entering her court graceful, confident, her long coat fluttering gently with her stride. Eyes sharp and knowing. Expression unreadable, but tinged with something… fond. Like she’d expected this.

“Well,” she murmured, surveying the scene. “You’re earlier than I thought, Caelus.”

He blinked. “You… expected this?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her gaze fell on you, lying still and pale on the cot, a faint glimmer of light pulsing beneath your skin where your mask once was.

Kafka smiled softly.

She walked closer and crouched beside you, brushing a gloved hand over your forehead in a rare moment of gentleness. “She always did overdo things when emotions were involved. Even across timelines, some things stay the same.”

Caelus stepped forward, jaw tight. “What happened to her?”

Kafka tilted her head. “She remembered you. More than she was supposed to. More than her mind this version of her was ready to accept.”

“What do you mean, ‘this version’?” Caelus asked slowly, dreading the answer.

Kafka looked up at him. “She’s not from here. Not exactly.”

Silence. Dan Heng, March, Welt, and Himeko stood nearby, tension bleeding into the room like fog.

“She’s a splinter,” Kafka continued. “A fracture of someone that once existed in a timeline that was… erased. In that version of the world, she boarded the Express. Just like you. She was one of yours.”

“…Ours?” Caelus echoed.

“You were happy,” Kafka said with a smile. “Close. Devoted. She loved you, Caelus. More than duty, more than fear. Enough to leap across timelines when fate collapsed around her.”

His breath caught. Kafka rose, brushing imaginary dust from her gloves. “Elio found her adrift. Not quite nothing, not quite whole. And I well, I’ve always had a soft spot for lost causes.”

March folded her arms. “So… you knew she didn’t belong with the Stellaron Hunters?”

“She belonged where her heart led her,” Kafka replied coolly. “We never forced her to stay. She chose to remain. But I knew the day would come when the two of you would meet again. Some things are inevitable.”

Himeko narrowed her gaze. “Then why bring her in at all?”

Kafka looked at her. Smiled. “Because sometimes, a storm needs a place to land.”

“…That’s not an answer,” Dan Heng said.

“No,” Kafka replied, unbothered. “It isn’t.”

She turned back toward Caelus then. Her tone gentled. “She found you again. Against all odds. And even without memories, her soul still remembered.”

Caelus swallowed. His voice felt hoarse. “So what now?”

“Now?” Kafka took a step toward him, something unreadable in her eyes. “Now you wait. Be patient. She’s strong. Stubborn. She’ll come back to you.”

Then, a pause deliberate and teasing. She leaned closer. “And be good, Caelus.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Be. Good,” she repeated with a sly smile. “Or I’ll steal her back.”

He flushed. “she came to me, you know.”

Kafka’s grin widened. “Soulmates do that. No matter the odds. No matter the sides.”

He stared at her. She softened. Just a fraction.

“Even when she was one of us,” she said quietly, “she still looked at the stars and dreamed of you. You’d think that kind of devotion would die between timelines, but… it doesn’t.”

Caelus’s chest ached.

“She loved you then,” Kafka whispered. “And if you’re lucky, she’ll love you again.”

Her gaze turned thoughtful.

“Opposing sides don’t mean much to the heart. What matters is how hard you’re willing to love, even when the universe tries to tear you apart.” Then she brushed past him, heading toward the door.

“Wait,” Caelus said. “Are you just going to leave her?”

Kafka smiled over her shoulder. “She’s exactly where she needs to be.” And with that, she was gone. Silence returned. Caelus stood there for a moment, eyes on your still form. Then, quietly, Welt stepped to his side again.

“Well,” he said gently, “you heard the woman.”

Caelus exhaled shakily. “Yeah…”

“She’ll come back.”

Caelus nodded. “Yeah.” And when she does, he thought, I’m not letting go again.

ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ It starts with light. Soft, golden, and endless. You’re weightless, drifting. Not through space through memory. Through pieces of yourself you didn’t know were missing. At first, the visions are disjointed, blurred at the edges. Like film caught between frames. A laugh. Your own. It’s bright, full of something warm. Something forgotten. You’re standing in the Astral Express kitchen, sleeves rolled up, flour on your cheek. March 7th is beside you, wielding a spoon like a sword. Across the counter, Caelus is dramatically pretending to faint as he eats a cookie you baked.

“It’s so good,” he gasps, flopping over a chair like a dying man. “I’m ascending Himeko, if I die, bury me with ten of these.”

You hit him with a dish towel. “Eat like a normal person.”

“I am! This is how Trailblazers eat. enjoying every second of this. Very cool.” You’re smiling so wide it hurts. The scene melts.

FLASH.

You and Dan Heng are leaning over a terminal together. He’s explaining star coordinates, but your attention keeps drifting. Not because you’re bored but because you’re waiting. Waiting for that familiar, goofy voice behind you. Sure enough.

“You’re cheating on me with star maps again?” Caelus says, mock offended.

“Jealous of numbers?” you tease, turning to him.

“I’m jealous of anything that takes your attention for more than thirty seconds.” Dan Heng clears his throat, but you swear he’s hiding a smile.

FLASH

It’s night. Or what passes for night on the train. You and Caelus are sitting on the edge by the door, legs dangling over the edge. Your heads are tilted toward the stars, shoulders touching.

No words. Just the sound of the universe breathing between you.

“I think I found home,” he whispers.

You blink. Look at him.

He doesn’t turn to you, but his hand finds yours in the dark.

“I think,” he continues, voice quieter now, “it’s not a place. I think it’s a person.”

“did you read that in a romance book?”

“shhhhh, you’re crazy you’re thinking too much. close your eyes and just embrace it”

You squeeze his hand back.

FLASH.

Battle. You’re bleeding. Something had gone wrong on a mission fight with a Fragmentum creature. You’re cornered, dizzy, staggering but then Caelus is there. Always.

He pulls you back against him, shielding your body with his own, teeth gritted, eyes wild with fear.

“I got you,” he pants. “Stay with me, okay? Just don’t go.”

You look up at him.

You smile.

“Like I’d leave you, dummy.”

FLASH.

You’re in the observation car, curled on one of the long benches. The stars are streaming by, casting the room in slow, celestial motion. Caelus walks in with two mugs and stops in his tracks when he sees you. You feign sleep. He sits beside you anyway. Then, softly, with that grin you’ve always hated because it makes your heart ache.

“I don’t know what I did in the past to deserve you,” he says, voice like a secret, “but I’d do it again. A thousand times.” Your heart clenches. Because something inside you remembers.

FLASH.

That ruined city. The fault zone. His face. You hear his voice again.

“I’ve seen you before. In dreams.”

“I think… I loved you, once.”

And for the first time, your consciousness stirs. The dreams fracture. Like mirrors catching too much light. The voice calling you back isn’t Kafka’s. It’s his.

Caelus.

You try to reach. To swim toward the sound. But something holds you back like the universe hasn’t decided if you’re ready to wake. Then, one final whisper reaches you. Not a memory. Not a dream. Just a feeling, laced in the warmth of amber eyes.

“Come back to me.”

You move.

There was no light when you first stirred just warmth. A soft hum beneath you. A scent in the air like metal and tea. And someone breathing. Slow, steady, near. Your eyelids fluttered open, lashes blinking against the low glow of the Astral Express’s medical bay. Everything felt strangely quiet thick, like sound and time had been layered under water. You blinked again. Once. Twice.

Then you saw him.

Slouched in a chair beside the bed, head tucked in his arms, was him. Caelus. He looked so much softer like this. Asleep, or maybe just resting his eyes. Hair slightly mussed, coat slipping off one shoulder, mouth slightly open like he had passed out mid thought. Your heart gave a small, traitorous flutter.

You whispered, “…Caelus?”

His head jerked up so fast you thought he might give himself whiplash. His amber eyes locked onto yours in an instant, and something shattered across his face. He bolted upright, nearly tripping over the chair in his scramble to get to your side.

“Hey hey! You’re awake! You’re actually awake! Not, like, fake half awake. Awake awake.” His hands hovered awkwardly over you, unsure if he was allowed to touch. “I Himeko said it could take a week, or a month, or uh, anyway, it’s been three days, and I’ve been sitting here the whole time and” You reached up and gently touched his wrist.

“I think…” you murmured, voice hoarse but steady, “I think I love you.” He froze like you’d physically unplugged his brain.

“W what?”

Your body ached, your throat still burned, and your thoughts swam like drifting stars but the feeling in your chest was real. Unmistakable. A tether that led back to him, no matter the timeline. You sat up slowly he instantly reached out to help you, like you might fall apart again and when you moved forward to hug him, his arms instinctively opened.

“Waitwaitwait!” He pulled back with sudden panic, palms bracing your shoulders like a human seatbelt. “Are you gonna kiss me again? Because the last time you did that, you passed out in my arms and scared me half to death. Not that it was a bad kiss honestly, it was amazing, I’m still recovering but I don’t want you to, like, die on me again. My heart can’t take it.” You stared at him. Then laughed. Softly. Genuinely.

Even now when he was clearly shaken, clearly not over what happened he was still him. A little weird. A little dramatic. A little too honest. It calmed you. Grounded you. You leaned in again slower this time and pressed your forehead against his.

“I’m not yours,” you said quietly. “Not the one you have ever met

He nodded, eyes dimming slightly. “Yeah. I figured.”

“But you…” You closed your eyes. “You’re not my Caelus either.”

A breath passed between you. And then, you whispered, “But I think… you’re still my home.”

His breath caught. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at you, that chaotic, sincere expression melting into something gentler. Something he hadn’t let himself hope for.

Then, his hand brushed the side of your cheek tentative, reverent. And he smiled.

“…You really know how to knock a guy off his feet, huh?”

You leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“You’ve been doing it to me since before I even knew your name.”

[sirxaibs]

no one:

me: reading my own fic over and over again

Dick Grayson | Nightwing X Reader

ᨒ ོ ☼ Voice on the Line ᨒ ོ ☼

I feel hes a munch. I feel hes a woman lover. He loves women. Him when women. Also did i think about Garcia and Morgan when writing this? yeah…. and what about it?

masterlist

You’re the newest addition to the Batsquad. Cant help if you’re basically forced to talk to eye candy all night. Though what if the eye candy wants you back.

ᨒ ོ ☼ The hum of servers filled the air like a lullaby, soft and steady behind the clack of your manicured fingers dancing across the keyboard. Multiple monitors cast a warm glow against your skin as codes flickered by, surveillance cams blinked into motion, and the Gotham skyline lit up under your careful watch. You chewed on a pink pen cap thoughtfully, then leaned into the mic on your headset.

“Alright, Bat Team, eyes up. Cameras just caught movement on the east perimeter. Looks like our guy’s not late to his own robbery party.” Static.

“Copy that,” came a deep voice laced with just enough sarcasm to make your lips twitch. “And here I was hoping for a quiet night.”

The soft glow of neon lights from Gotham’s skyline bled into the Watchtower’s tech room, giving everything a purple blue hue. The glow reflected off your screens, lighting up your face as your fingers flew across the keyboard. Surveillance cams, thermal feeds, encrypted audio all of it filtered through your custom built comms system. You leaned back in your chair, twirling said pink pen through your fingers. Your voice came through sweet as sugar, laced with a barely hidden smirk.

“Watch yourself Nightwing, I hope you’re wearing something cute under all that kevlar. You’re live on all my cams tonight.”

A low chuckle filtered through your headset, rough around the edges in the way that always made your stomach flip.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite guardian angel,” Nightwing drawled, voice dipped in charm he wore like a second skin. “What would I do without your voice whispering sweet nothings into my ear?”

“You’d probably walk into a wall,” you said sweetly. “Or into that very large man standing behind the dumpster on 5th and Main.”

There was a beat of silence, then a soft thwack through the mic.

“You mean that wasn’t a trash can?” he teased, slightly breathless. “How dare you underestimate my night vision, sugar.”

You grinned, propping your cheek in your palm as you tracked his movement across the rooftops. “Sugar now, huh? Is that your new nickname for me?”

“Unless you prefer ‘Sweetheart.’ Or ‘Hot Stuff.’ I’m flexible.”

You let out a melodic laugh, not even trying to hide it. “Wow, your flirting game is tragic tonight. You okay out there, Nightwing? Hit your head on a chimney?”

“I’m just warming up,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Wait ‘til I meet you in person. Then I’m turning the charm up to eleven.”

You opened your mouth to volley back but Barbara’s voice cut in like a whip.

“Alright, you two cut it.”

You both froze.

“Lock in,” Barbara said, her voice firm and dry as dust. “This isn’t a late night radio show. We’ve got multiple armed targets on the ground and a hostage situation developing five blocks south. Thermal (your hero name), patch the thermal overlay to Nightwing’s HUD.”

You straightened in your chair, fingers flying. “Yes, ma’am. Thermal incoming.”

“Nightwing,” Barbara added with the tone of a fed up older sister, “try keeping your tongue in your mouth for five minutes. You’re on mission, not a date.”

“Harsh, Babs,” he muttered.

“I’m just saying,” she continued, “if I had a dollar for every time I had to listen to the two of you flirt in the middle of a crisis, I could afford a better coffee maker.”

You bit your lip to hold back a laugh, then cleared your throat. “Aww, c’mon, Babs. Can’t a girl multitask? I can route power to Nightwings grappling line and boost morale at the same time.”

“I don’t need morale,” Nightwing interjected. “I need a distraction. Preferably wearing those glasses you mentioned last week.”

“You remember that?” you teased.

“I remember everything you say, Sweetheart.”

Barbara groaned audibly. “I’m leaving this room before I’m forced to bleach my ears.”

“I mean,” you added sweetly, “he’s just mad he can’t picture me behind this desk, legs crossed, looking very professional while saving his butt.”

Nightwing whistled. “If I didn’t have to stop a robbery, I’d be scaling that tower right now.”

Barbara’s voice snapped back over the channel like a rubber band. “Focus, both of you.”

“Copy that,” you said, suddenly all business again as you leaned forward and zoomed in on the warehouse entrance. “Three guards posted up. One pacing, one smoking, one with a submachine gun. Interior layout uploaded to your HUD. Entry through the southeast vent is clear. You’re greenlit, Nightwing.”

“See? She flirts, but she gets it done,” he muttered fondly.

You grinned. “I always stand on business, baby.”

“Then I better bring my A game. Wouldn’t want to disappoint my favorite tech goddess.”

You laughed quietly, adjusting your headset as you pulled up the emergency response grid. “Just don’t get shot, Nightwing.”

Barbara let out one final sigh before muttering, “I swear, I should’ve let Batman take this shift.”

But despite her grumbling, you swore you saw a smile tug at the corners of her lips as she turned away.

He grunted, and you could tell it was the kind of laugh he didn’t want you to hear.

“Let’s make a deal,” he said suddenly. “You keep me alive tonight, and I’ll finally let you buy me a coffee.”

You blinked. That was new. “You mean you buy me a coffee? Bold of you to assume you’re that charming.”

“You do call me every night.”

“Because it’s my job, Nightwing.”

Your own heart beat just a little faster as Nightwing’s icon approached the rendezvous point. It was almost always like this. Take the next day where you were thrown completely out of your own loop You were sprawled comfortably in the comms chair, pink converse kicked up on the desk, a bag of sour candy at your side, and at least three drinks within reach because hydration and caffeination were essential for optimal management.

Tonight’s mission? Barely a blip on the Bat Radar. A stakeout near the docks. Zero hostiles so far. Minimal risk. Maximal boredom.

“Nightwing,” you poured into your mic, stretching dramatically, “how’s the air up there on your boring little rooftop? You see anything exciting? UFOs? Pirates? A raccoon that looks like Bruce?”

“Negative on the Bruce raccoon,” Nightwing said through the comms, voice thick with amusement. “But thanks for the nightmare fuel, Sweetheart.”

“I try,” you chirped, popping another piece of candy into your mouth. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“You keep me somewhere, alright,” he murmured, just low enough to think you wouldn’t catch it.

You did. You always did. Before you could respond with another flirty jab, a new voice crackled in gruffer, sharper. Dry as sandpaper and twice as moody.

“Are you always like this?” Jason Todd’s voice cut in like a knife through silk. “I’ve been listening for ten minutes and I already want to uninstall my ears.”

You beamed, leaning closer to the mic like he could see your grin. “Red Hood! My favorite grump. Took you long enough to say hi.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he deadpanned.

“Oh, please. You love it,” you teased, swiveling in your chair like it helped transmit your energy. “I’m your emotional support chatterbox. You’d cry without me.”

“Unlikely.”

“Then why are you still listening?” you asked sweetly, tapping into his drone cam and watching as he crouched in the shadows near an old shipping container. “I see you didn’t even mute me. That’s gotta mean something.”

Jason sighed. The tiniest sigh. A truce in breath form.

“…You’re ridiculous.”

“And adorable, don’t forget that part.”

“Why does she talk to you like that?” Nightwing asked suddenly, cutting in with playful suspicion. “She doesn’t call me ‘adorable.’”

“I like to flirt with people who pretend to hate it,” you replied easily. “Keeps ‘em humble.”

Jason made a quiet scoffing noise. “You think I’m humble?”

“No,” you said, smirking. “But I do think you blush when I call you sweetheart.”

There was a long pause.

“…I’m turning off my comm.”

“You won’t,” you sang.

Before Jason could craft a dry comeback or fake a signal cut out, Nightwing returned this time with a tone that could only be described as smug older brother meets possessive flirt.

“Alright, alright,” Dick said, and you could hear his smirk. “Let’s not get carried away, Sweetheart. You do have a date coming up. With me, remember?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Oh yeah,” he continued smoothly, “you promised me coffee after our last op. Pretty sure that counts.”

“That was a tactical bribe to keep you alive,” you said quickly, cheeks burning despite your best effort. “Totally not binding.”

Jason actually chuckled at that chuckled. A small miracle.

“Well,” Dick said, clearly enjoying himself, “binding or not, I’ll be at that new café on 7th tomorrow at ten. You’re welcome to back out, but I do know where your candy stash is hidden in the Watchtower fridge.”

Your jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“You absolute menace.”

“See you then, Sweetheart.”

Jason exhaled like he was regretting all of his life choices.

“God, you’re both exhausting.”

You smiled, sweet and unbothered. “Don’t be jealous, Jay. I can pencil you in for brunch on Sunday.”

He groaned but didn’t mute you. Which, in your book, meant you weren’t the loser here .

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The room was quiet now.

The static from the comms had faded, the mics had all gone cold, and the buzz of conversation that had filled the Watchtower’s tech room just minutes ago had slipped into silence. You were alone, save for the hum of machines and the low, rhythmic click of a monitor blinking back to standby.

You leaned back in your chair slowly, arms folding over your chest as you stared blankly at the screens. Your bubbly persona so easy to slip into when surrounded by voices, teasing banter, and fast flying intel started to crack beneath the weight of the quiet.

It always did, when the room emptied.

He wanted coffee. Dick Grayson wanted to meet you. A date.

The thought hit you again, more real now than when he first said it in that casual, cocky tone of his. You’d brushed it off, played along, tossed flirtation back like you always did but now? Sitting alone, no distraction, no one listening?

You felt it. That creeping, slow turning anxiety curling in your stomach.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about what he looked like before. Sure, you’d heard his voice, shared late night chatter across missions, and even made him laugh more than once. But imagining him? That was easy. Everyone in the Bat Family was objectively hot. Like, annoyingly so.

And you? You swallowed hard, curling your knees up into your chair and hugging them gently.

You weren’t anything like them. Not tall or sleek or scarred from combat. Not graceful in a catsuit or strong enough to throw a punch through a wall. You weren’t stick thin, but you weren’t curvy in a dramatic way either. You existed somewhere in the middle comfortable in hoodies, always in glasses, a bit awkward when the spotlight came too close. Your brain was your strongest muscle, and it sometimes felt like that was all you had.

Would he be disappointed?

You let out a slow breath, eyes flicking to your reflection in the dark screen across from you. No makeup, hair pulled back, sweater two sizes too big. You looked like someone who blended into a crowd. Like someone no one would stop for a second glance. What if you showed up and he just… didn’t see you the way he did over comms? What if the mystery was the only thing that made you interesting?

Your hand reached out instinctively, pressing your fingers to the edge of the console like you were grounding yourself.

You wanted to meet him. Of course you did. He was charming, and kind beneath all the jokes, and smart in the ways only someone who’d been through hell could be. But a date? That felt like something other people did. People who didn’t feel the need to hide behind tech and sarcasm to feel confident.

You sat there in silence, chewing your lip, wondering if he even knew what he was asking when he said, “see you then.”

Maybe it wasn’t a real date. Maybe he didn’t think of it like that.

But deep down, you knew you wanted it to be. You wanted to be seen. And you were scared of what would happen if you really were.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

Dick Grayson stood in front of the mirror of his Blüdhaven apartment, tugging at the hem of his sweatshirt like it was a tux. Casual. Chill. Low key. That was the goal.

So why the hell did he feel like he was prepping for a mission?

He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it for the third no, fourth time. Dark jeans, clean white sneakers, a navy hoodie that fit just right not too fitted, not too loose. He changed shirts three times before this one finally felt like the right one. He hadn’t been this particular about his outfit since prom.

“It’s not a date,” he told his reflection. “It’s just coffee.”

A pause.

“…With the girl who knows all your safe houses, your secret patrol routes, and who once talked you through stitching your own shoulder at 3 a.m. without flinching.”

Okay. Maybe a little more than just coffee.

He reached for his phone on the counter. One unread text waited at the top of the screen.

Comms girl <3: You sure about this?

Comms girl <3:You don’t have to meet me.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he typed back quickly.

bluebird: I’m very sure. You owe me that coffee, remember? I risked my life for that latte.

Your reply came within seconds.

Comms girl <3: You were five feet from the guy. I stalled him with a fake 911 ping. YOU’RE WELCOME.

He chuckled, thumbs flying across the screen.

blurbird : Still counts. Heroics were involved. You agreed to a reward. No backing out now.

Comms girl <3: Still time to change your mind. Could just keep this mystery thing going. It’s fun. Less risky.

He stared at that message a moment longer than he wanted to admit. There was a strange comfort in the way things were. The comms. The banter. The way your voice softened when his breathing grew strained after a tough fight. How you’d scold him for reckless moves and then follow up with, “But also… that flip you did? Sick as hell.”

You were part of the job no, more than that. You were part of him. But only in fragments.

He’d seen the pieces you gave: your voice, your wit, your ridiculous caffeine addiction, the hum of music sometimes playing faintly in the background when you were on shift. But he’d never seen you.

Meanwhile, you’d seen everything.

bluebird: You’ve seen my file, haven’t you?

he typed.

bluebird: I know what color your eyes are. I haven’t even seen yours.

Comms girl <3: Don’t worry. They’re not laser eyes or anything.

Comms girl <3: Still time to run. I won’t be mad.

Dick stared at the screen, thumb resting over the keyboard again. A few moments passed. Then he typed back:

bluebird: I don’t want to run. I want to meet you. For real.

Read. But no reply. He locked his phone, shoved it into the pocket of his hoodie, and grabbed his keys and helmet. Outside, the early evening had begun to spill across the Blüdhaven skyline. Fading light. Long shadows.

For once, he wasn’t slipping into the shadows himself. He was stepping into the sun.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The café on 7th was a small, tucked away place with mismatched chairs and the smell of cinnamon and roasted espresso clinging to every wooden beam. A warm corner of the city where life slowed down just a little. He arrived ten minutes early. Too early.

The bell above the door jingled, and instinct kicked in. He scanned. Two older women by the window, a guy with earbuds tapping at a laptop, a bored barista pulling espresso shots with dead eyes. No sign of you.

He ordered her drink extra sweet, extra foamy, “liquid sunshine,” you once called it and a black coffee for himself. Settled into a table by the window. Full view of the door. He texted you again.

bluebird: I’m here. No pressure. But I brought your order. It’s waiting patiently.

Nothing.

He flicked the lid of the cup. Checked the time. Tapped his knee beneath the table. Every chime of the bell had him sitting up straighter, breath held in quiet anticipation.

Not her.Not yet.

And that was the thing he didn’t even know what she looked like. No name. No face. Just a voice in his ear, a rhythm in his nights, a lifeline during the chaos. But even without a face, even without a name, he knew you.

He leaned back and watched the doorway like it held all the answers. Maybe it did.

His phone buzzed again.

Comms girl <3: I’m close. Just… taking a second.

He stared at that message. His heart did a quiet, hopeful jump.

bluebird: You nervous?l

Comms Girl: Maybe. You?

He smiled.

bluebird: I’ve fought Killer Croc, Deathstroke, and Jason with a crowbar. This is worse.

You didn’t text back right away. He waited. Sipped his coffee. Looked at your untouched drink and wondered if you’d ever actually take a sip from it. Maybe you’d just show up, apologize, and walk away. Maybe you’d turn around before even walking through the door.

You were already on the sidewalk. One breath away from stepping inside. He turned his eyes to the window, scanning every person who passed. Wondering if one of them might look in, catch his eye, smile.

Waiting. he hoped that mask off, no gadgets, no grappling hooks, no safety net that was enough. So he waited. For you.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The drink was starting to sweat on the table.

Dick’s thumb spun slow, lazy circles around the lid of the cup you still hadn’t claimed. The café wasn’t busy only a few people trickled in here and there. His eyes lifted every time the door jingled, hopeful… and then dropped just as quickly.

He wasn’t used to feeling this unsteady. With the mask on, he could take a punch. Leap off a roof. Throw himself into chaos without blinking. But right now, sitting at a table with a slowly cooling cup of coffee for someone he’d never even seen before?

He was sweating more than the damn drink. The bell above the door jingled again.

And he looked.

She stepped in like she was trying not to be noticed shoulders drawn slightly inward, a quick glance around the room before her eyes dropped to the floor. She didn’t look out of place, not really. She looked… normal.

Pink Converse. Faded denim jorts hugging her hips. A plain black tank top tucked in just right to show her figure, casual and effortless. Hair pulled back loosely like she’d tried to fix it three times before giving up.

Dick’s eyes lingered…. respectfully. He wasn’t a jerk. But he was a man. And the way she looked, with nervous energy practically rolling off her in waves, had his chest tightening just a little.

Cute. Definitely cute. Attractive, sure. She was cute. Soft around the edges. Eyes wide like she wasn’t used to being looked at too long.

Dick’s gaze flicked down, then back up not lingering too long. A polite once over. Curious. Gentle. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he looked away.

He didn’t know what to expect. For all the times he’d imagined this moment, all the late night banter and daydreams of what she might look like, he’d never settled on a face.

Still watching her from the corner of his eye, Dick slowly reached for his phone and typed out a message.

bluebird: “I’m by the window. Got your sugar bomb of a drink already. You close?”

The girl the maybe you girl jumped slightly when her phone buzzed. Fumbled it out of her pocket. She smiled. Just a little.

Her hand went to her phone. Dick’s screen lit up.

Comms girl <3: Already here. Just… not sure where to go.

His heart stopped. Slowly, his gaze lifted again this time with full awareness. He watched as she read his message, fingers still hovering near the screen.

Like she was laughing at herself and suddenly, everything clicked.

Dick’s breath caught for a beat. His lips tugged upward in a crooked smile as he texted again. Dick forgot how to breathe.

bluebird: Black tank. Pink shoes. You really do own those Converse.

You didn’t even look up from your phone. You were already typing.

Comms girl <3: Ok stalker, stop checking me out

He huffed a quiet laugh.

bluebird: Respectfully. Thoroughly. Definitely.

You lifted your head then, eyes meeting his across the room. Nervous. Hopeful. Your lips curved into something soft and self deprecating.

He stood before he could overthink it, heart thudding as he crossed the short space between your hesitant stillness and his table.

“You’re late,” he said, voice light, teasing.

“Fashionably,” you replied, walking with him as he guided you toward the window seat. “Also, very nearly didn’t come in. I walked past the window twice. You didn’t notice.”

“I noticed,” he said, pulling your chair out like the gentleman he rarely remembered to be. “I just didn’t know it was you. But then you looked at your phone like it offended you.”

You sat, cheeks flushed with something caught between embarrassment and amusement. “That was me realizing I sent three different versions of ‘I’m almost there’ and still sat in my car for ten minutes.”

Dick slid your coffee toward you. “Well i guess in a way you were.”

You took the cup, curling your fingers around it like it might steady you. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I still might run.”

“Do I need to stop you? I’ve got grappling hooks.”

That made you laugh. Really laugh. He liked that sound more than he expected. It wasn’t tinny over the comm. It was full, alive, right in front of him.

“God,” you groaned, lowering your head for a second. “This is so weird.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But good weird.”

You peeked up at him. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Better or worse?”

You grinned, shy but cheeky. “You’re taller than I thought. That’s not fair. I have no defense against tall and charming.”

“Charming, huh?” He took a sip of his coffee, raising a brow over the lid. “You haven’t even heard my best lines yet.”

You rolled your eyes, the way you always did when he flirted too hard through the mic. But now it was real. Now, he could see the way you bit back a smile, the flush that crept to your ears.

“I’m not used to being looked at,” you admitted after a quiet beat. “I’m used to watching. Behind the screens. Behind the noise. I’ve seen your face a hundred times. This is… lopsided.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, gaze steady and warm.

“Then let’s even it out.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Let me learn you,” he said, voice low, honest. “No comms. No mission. No static. Just… you.”

You looked away, biting your lip, your fingers tracing the lid of your cup now like he had earlier. “You’re a lot more intense in person.”

“I’m a lot of things in person,” he said, smiling. “Most of them good. Some of them bad. All of them me.”

A silence passed. Not awkward contemplative. Like both of you were quietly adjusting to the weight of seeing each other. Really seeing each other.

“I always see you in your outfit, this feels a little weird” you murmured eventually.

He grinned. “You’ll be happy to know I left the spandex at home.”

“Tragic.”

Another moment of quiet, then

“I’m glad you showed up,” he said.

You smiled down into your drink. “Yeah. Me too.”

Outside, the city moved in its usual rhythm cars, footsteps, noise. But here, at this little table by the window, something new was starting. Not a mission. Not an assignment. Just Dick and you.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The coffee was long gone, but neither of them had made a move to go their separate ways.

Instead, they strolled the streets of Blüdhaven, their pace slow, like time had bent around them just for a little while. The sun had started to dip behind the buildings, casting soft golden light on the sidewalks, and the breeze stirred the trees enough to make the leaves flutter like lazy applause.

You walked beside him with your now empty cup in hand, straw still between your lips despite it having been dry for the last ten minutes. Nerves still clung to your skin, thin but persistent. You had no idea where to put your hands or how to keep your voice steady. You weren’t usually like this. Over comms, you were bold, loud, sarcastic, and playful.

But out here, in the open, without a headset and with Nightwing walking beside you in casual clothes that hugged him way too well for your nerves to take? It was different. He was real. And you were suddenly aware of every flaw you’d been trying not to think about since this morning.

“You know,” you said with a light chuckle, trying to keep your voice in that easy, familiar tone, “I honestly expected you to cancel last minute. Or like, show up but wear the mask the whole time and pretend to be mysterious.”

Dick looked over at you, one brow raised, and a smile playing at his lips. “You really thought I’d ghost you after all our late night flirting?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but your eyes darted away. “I mean… I dunno. Maybe.”

“You ruined that for you because i would never,” he said dramatically, then bumped his shoulder gently against yours. “I told you I was coming. I meant it.”

His voice was warm, not teasing this time. Just honest. He watched you as you gave a small smile, eyes still scanning the sidewalk like you were searching for something to say. He saw the way you carried yourself. Not shy, exactly just… cautious. Though he saw you and wanted too. All of you.

Not just the confident voice in his ear or the tech genius who could break into encrypted systems like they were open windows. He saw the little things: the nervous hand fidgeting with your cup sleeve, the way you pulled at the hem of your shorts when you thought he wasn’t looking, the practiced jokes you used to deflect any compliments.

So he gave you more of them.

“I like your shoes,” he said casually, glancing down at the worn pink Converse. “its a very you thing, reflective of your personality”

You laughed an actual laugh, not a polite one. “I don’t know if footwear can tell you my life story?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, nodding with mock seriousness. “Pink shoes? Total power move. I love when women.”

You shook your head, trying to hide your grin. “you love when women?”

“And the shorts?” he added. “Perfect length. Shows off those legs that have been sitting behind a computer for, what? Ninety percent of your adult life?”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, covering your face with your free hand. “You’re a menace.”

“I’ve been told worse,” he said with a wink.

You both fell into a comfortable rhythm after that. Step for step, laugh for laugh. The tension slowly ebbed away the longer he stayed near you like he was peeling back the nervous layers without ever drawing attention to them.

After a few quiet moments, you nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Okay, so serious question.”

“Hit me.”

“How the hell does this team work? I started hacking stuff and suddenly im here? ”

He laughed, raising both brows. “You tell me. You’ve got this adorable, good vibe going for you, but I’ve read some of those logs. You were wrecking firewalls like they owed you money.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” you defended with a smirk. “Okay, maybe the satellite thing was a little over the line.”

He turned to face you mid step. “Wait. What satellite thing?”

You winced, cheeks flushing. “I… might’ve accidentally hacked into a WayneTech orbital system when I thought it was an old NASA server.”

He stared at you, stunned. “You hacked WayneTech?”

“Allegedly,” you said, grinning now. “And two days later, Babs showed up in my basement. No warning, no badge, just… bam, red hair and righteous fury.”

“She must’ve been so mad.”

“She told me I was wasting potential and recruited me on the spot.”

Dick laughed again, and this time, it was full bodied, the kind that lit up his whole face. “Classic Babs.”

“Honestly? She’s the first person who ever looked at me and didn’t just see a mouthy hacker. She actually saw… me.”

His smile softened. “She does that. Did the same for me once.”

You glanced at him curiously. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. “Back when I was still figuring things out after leaving Bruce. I needed distance from the Bat stuff needed to figure out who I was when I wasn’t under the cape. Babs helped me get there. Helped me want to be more than just Robin.”

“I think you’re doing alright,” you said, bumping his shoulder this time.

“I’m trying,” he said with a shrug. “Still check in on the family though. Bruce, my brothers, Grandpa.”

You blinked. “Grandpa?”

“Alfred,” he clarified with a mischievous grin. “I started calling him that just to piss him off, but I know he secretly loves it.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “That’s so weirdly wholesome. ‘Nightwing has emotional depth and a soft spot for butlers,’ coming to theaters this fall.”

“Hey, he’s not just a butler. He’s the butler.”

“I stand corrected.”

The sky was blushing now, soft shades of purple and orange painting the horizon. The city buzzed around you, but for once, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt like a quiet pocket of something special.

Dick glanced sideways at you, the wind tugging gently at your hair, and felt that same flicker in his chest again. The one that started when your voice used to crackle in his earpiece during midnight stakeouts. The one that grew stronger every time you made him laugh, or saved his ass from another security lockdown, or stayed on the line with him just so he wouldn’t be alone.

“I’m really glad we did this,” he said softly.

You looked at him, caught a sincerity in his eyes that left no room for doubt.

“Yeah,” you said, voice just as soft. “Me too.”

The air had taken on that evening crispness the kind that whispered promises of something new. The two of you were still walking, slowly now, like neither wanted to reach wherever the sidewalk might end.

Dick glanced at you again, longer this time. Not just quick, playful side glances, but a longing look. One that lingered as the fading sun touched your skin. He could see the way your lashes caught the light, the slight smile tugging at your lips as you sipped from your empty straw out of habit. The way your eyes moved when you were thinking.

You caught him staring.

“What?” you asked, arching a brow.

He shrugged with an easy, boyish grin. “Nothing. Just… you’ve got a good laugh.”

You blinked. “What, like a ‘haha’ laugh or a ‘joker is getting off’ laugh?”

He chuckled. “The kind that’s been in my ear for months, but somehow sounds better in person.”

Your stomach fluttered. You covered it with a sarcastic smile. “Are you flirting with me again, Grayson?”

“Only mildly,” he teased, then glanced ahead. “I mean, I’ve gotta pace myself. You’re kind of… addictive.”

You didn’t answer for a moment. You didn’t know how. And honestly, you were worried your voice would betray how warm your chest suddenly felt.

He didn’t press it. Just kept walking with you in step. But then he said, a little more softly:

“I never really thought about it before… how different things feel when you’re not just a voice in my ear.”

You looked over at him, curious. “Better or worse?”

He gave you a look, deadpan. “What kind of question is that?”

You tried to laugh, to brush it off, but he turned toward you fully now, walking backward a few steps so he could face you as you moved.

“You have this… energy. When we’re on comms, it’s like… controlled chaos in the best way. Keeps me grounded, keeps me alert. But now? Seeing you like, actually seeing you your expressions, your body language, your weird obsession with pink…”

“I do not!”

He smirked. “You do. It’s very cute.”

You shoved his arm lightly, heat rushing to your face. But the smile was genuine now. You were relaxing, piece by piece.

“I guess I just didn’t realize how much I’d been missing until now,” he added, turning back around to walk forward again. “Hearing you’s great. But… seeing you talk? Watching your eyes move when you go on your little tech rants or when you start teasing me? It hits different.”

Your heart thudded hard.

He wasn’t saying “I want to see your face more.” But he was.

You swallowed around the growing smile and said, “Well… good thing I’m not going anywhere.”

He shot you a glance then, something soft and full of unspoken words.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That is a good thing.”

[sirxaibs]

Masterlist~~

𓇢𓆸☾☼ Keigo Takami was dangerously close to losing control. He sat on the edge of the rooftop, wings sprawled lazily behind him, golden eyes scanning the city below without truly seeing it. Patrol had ended an hour ago, but he hadn’t moved, hadn’t taken off into the sky. Instead, he let the silence swallow him whole while the weight in his chest pulsed with every beat of his heart.

He was thinking about you again. Not just thinking. Obsessing. Wanting. Craving.

It wasn’t new not really. You had been his best friend for years now. The only person who truly saw him for who he was beneath the feathers, beneath the smiles and playful banter. You weren’t fooled by his smirks or his cocky remarks.

And he wanted you in every way a man could want someone.

He pressed his fingers to his lips, as if he could trap the thoughts there, keep them from spilling out. But they always found their way back in. Memories of your laugh, your hand brushing his, the way you leaned into him when you were tired. The way you looked at him like you didn’t expect anything more than what he was already giving.

But God, he wanted to give you more.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, wings twitching behind him. “You have no idea,” he muttered to himself.

No idea how he thought about you when he showered, when he lay awake in bed, when he flew above the city. How the ache wasn’t just in his chest but deep, carnal, physical. You’d never touched him like that not even close but his body remembered every innocent brush, every accidental graze of your fingers, every look that lingered a second too long.

He remembered the last time you hugged him. Fully wrapped your arms around him without hesitation.

You were warm. So warm, it branded him. And he wanted to be selfish. Just once.

He wanted to kiss you. Hold you. Lay you down and worship you with every part of himself. He wanted to hear you moan his name like a plea, like he was the only thing in your world that mattered.

His fists clenched.

But he couldn’t. Because he was your best friend. And you trusted him. He’d never risk that. But lately… it was getting harder to pretend. Harder to act like his thoughts didn’t spiral when you smiled at him, when you laughed and leaned your head back like the world couldn’t touch you. Like he was safe in your orbit.

“Fuck,” he whispered to the empty air.

His wings flared slightly behind him, agitated. He was needy pathetically so and it rattled him. You. His best friend and the woman he couldn’t stop imagining underneath him, moaning his name like a prayer.

He exhaled a shaky breath, one hand dragging down his face. His fingers curled tightly in his hair, jaw clenched. It had started innocently enough thinking about your laugh, the way you teased him, the way your eyes sparkled when you talked about something you loved. But lately, that innocent warmth had twisted, melted into something far darker.

Now all he could think about was how soft your lips would feel against his. How your body would arch into his if he finally let himself touch you the way he needed to. Keigo, who wanted to touch the curve of your waist, bury his face in your neck, trace his fingers down your thighs and hear you gasp for him. Keigo, who thought about your lips parting for him, your nails digging into his back, your breath hot against his ear.

He could already feel your thighs wrapped around him in his imagination, could already hear the sounds you’d make soft, desperate, so unlike the friend you were. And he wanted it more than he wanted anything else.

His cock was already hard, straining against the tightness of his pants, and he fucking hated how easy it was to get this way just thinking about you. It didn’t take much just the memory of your legs crossed during a casual conversation, the way your shirt would ride up when you stretched, revealing the tempting curve of your waist.

He leaned back against the cool concrete of the rooftop wall, letting his head fall back with a low groan. “Goddamn it…”

He’d been so careful. So respectful. Always the charming best friend who gave you space, never said too much, never let his touches linger for too long. But he was starving now.

Keigo wanted to taste every inch of you.

He imagined it pulling you onto his lap, letting his hands explore everything he wasn’t allowed to touch. Your thighs spread for him, your breathy moans in his ear as he whispered filthy things you never thought he’d say.

“You don’t know what you do to me… how long I’ve wanted this.”

He’d take his time with you slow, worshipful, but dripping in hunger. He’d kiss down your neck, between your breasts, over your stomach, and lower, until your thighs trembled around his head. He wanted to ruin you with his mouth, over and over, until your voice was hoarse from crying out for him.

His hips shifted as he ground into his palm, teeth gritted. This wasn’t just some passing fantasy. This was a need buried in the deepest parts of him hot, relentless, consuming.

the worst part… You had no idea. You still called him your best friend. Still crashed at his place when you were too tired to go home. Still walked around in those shorts, those oversized shirts with no bra underneath, curling up beside him on the couch like it was nothing.

It wasn’t nothing to him.

Every brush of your fingers set his nerves on fire. Every laugh you shared made his heart ache and his cock twitch.

He wanted to fuck you so deep you’d forget your own name. Wanted to hear you beg wanted to make you feel good, worshiped, ruined. he’d hold back until the day that he dies. Because you trusted him. And he’d never take advantage of that. Never touch you unless you asked him to.

But he was slipping. More and more, his fantasies blurred with reality. He caught himself staring at your lips, imagining how they’d feel wrapped around his cock. He thought about bending you over his kitchen counter when you came over to cook dinner. About tasting you after a long day your sweat, your moans, your pleasure burning into his mouth like a reward.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, palming himself through his pants now, just to ease the ache.

His wings twitched behind him as he imagined your voice in his ear.

“Keigo… please…”

Would you say his name like that? Would you beg for him to go deeper? Harder? Would you cry out for him, nails clawing at his back, thighs trembling as he pushed you over the edge again and again?

Would you finally look at him not just as your best friend, but as the man who’s been dying to be inside you? The man who loved you with everything he had?The thought was enough to tip him over, and he hissed your name into the night air, guilt and desire tangled up in his veins like poison.

He stayed there for a while, chest heaving, sweat beading on his brow as the tension drained from him but the ache remained. Because no matter how many times he relieved the pressure, no matter how many times he imagined your hands on him, your mouth, your body it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough. Because he didn’t want your body for just a night. He wanted to have you consume his entire day, everyday. He wanted you. All of you.

[sirxaibs]

chat 🙉

Hawks is a "What's a little cock between friends?" guy

[sirxaibs]

Batfamily X Batmom!Reader

⁺‧₊˚My Sons Boyfriend⁺‧₊˚

Continuing my tim appreciation, Have a silly overprotective parents to one of their youngest kid

masterlist

Jason tattles that his younger brother has a boy over.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ The TV played some noir film neither of you were paying attention to black and white shadows flickering across the screen, the occasional husky voice of a detective muttering something about dames and danger. It was background noise. Everything was background noise right now.

Your back arched against the couch as Bruce’s lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, his stubble scraping deliciously along your skin. You let out a soft, breathy laugh, tangled up in him, your knees bracketing his hips while his large hands gripped your thighs beneath the hem of your oversized shirt.

His tongue slid against yours again, deep and slow, and the kiss had long since lost any sense of restraint. You tugged at his shirt, fingers skimming up beneath it, palms exploring every inch of familiar skin. Bruce growled low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your lips as he leaned further into you, pressing you back until your spine met the couch cushions with a soft thump.

There were no patrols, no emergency calls, no villains trying to blow up the city and a damn good excuse to indulge in weeks of pent up affection with no one around to ruin it.

“What the fuck?!”

A voice cracked through the air like a gunshot, and both of you froze mid kiss, mouths still a breath apart, panting and flushed. Well no one around to ruin might not work if you have a Jason Todd for a child (even though hes an adult it still applies).

You didn’t even turn around.

“It’s a lazy day,” you said flatly, lips still swollen, one hand still fisted in Bruce’s shirt. “Go away.”

Jason’s voice rose another octave, and you could hear the trauma in it. “Are you two seriously making out like that on the living room couch? In the middle of the day?! seriously making out like teenagers right now?! I’ve seen less tongue in French films!”

You rolled your eyes and finally sat up, sliding off Bruce’s lap with a groan and adjusting your shirt though it didn’t help much. Bruce just rubbed at his face with one hand, exhaling through his nose like a man trying not to start swearing. Jason stormed around the couch, eyes narrowed, nose wrinkled. “You were all over each other! That was full on pre bedroom behavior!”

“Which we would’ve moved to,” you muttered, “we only do stuff out here when you guys for sure aren’t.”

“TMI LADY!! I live here!”

“So do we.”

“I grew up here! Do you know how many times I’ve had to walk in on emotionally scarring things? And now I have to add this to the list?”

You gave him a pointed look and gestured vaguely to Bruce, who was still slouched and half hard under the sweatpants. “You’re twenty something and you’ve walked in on worse. Remember the time you accidentally opened the panic room during our anniversary trip?”

Jason gagged. “Why would you bring that up?! I had finally repressed it!”

You shrugged, completely unfazed. “That’s why I didn’t jump out of my skin when you yelled. You’re one of the oldest. You’re basically numb to it by now.”

“That’s not how trauma works!”

“You’ll live.”

Bruce finally stood, setting a firm hand on your lower back as he stepped forward. “Did you interrupt just to complain, or is there a point?”

“Oh, there’s a point,” Jason said, smirking now, even as he pointedly avoided making eye contact with either of you. “Tim’s upstairs. With Conner. Door closed. Voices low. Lots of awkward pauses and ‘I dunno, what do you wanna do?’s. Figured someone with authority should stop it before I need a bleach rinse for my brain again.”

You and Bruce exchanged a glance. You raised a brow. “You think they’re…?”

“I’m just saying, I’m not doing the awkward sex talk with either of them. That’s your job.”

Bruce sighed through his nose again, rubbing his temples. “We should’ve eloped in Fiji.”

Jason clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “You should’ve invested in a deadbolt and soundproof walls. You’ve got like fifty rooms. Go be gross in literally any other one.”

Bruce groaned, sitting up with the pained weariness of a man who just wanted five uninterrupted minutes with his partner. “I don’t know what’s worse,” he muttered. “You barging in, or the fact that you’re tattling like a six year old.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “You can ground me later. But someone needs to knock before that kid goes full hormonal teenager with Superman’s clone.”

You rubbed your temples and slid off Bruce’s lap. “Can’t we just go one day without something weird happening in this house?”

“Nope,” Jason chirped.

Bruce stood, adjusting his shirt and shooting Jason a tired glare. “You’re not getting a thank you for this.”

Jason grinned. “I’ll settle for watching the fallout.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The carpet was soft beneath your knees as you crouched near the top of the staircase, one hand gripping the railing and the other latched around your husband’s wrist. Bruce was not thrilled. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, towering behind you in full grumpy dad form.

You shushed him. “Shh. This is important. Our son is dating.”

Bruce arched an eyebrow. “He’s not a child anymore.”

You gasped loudly and dramatically, a feeling attune like he’d just slapped you with a divorce paper. “How dare you say that to a mother’s face.”

“I feel like as a mother you should be letting him have space” he whispered dryly.

“It’s anything and everything for my baby,” you whispered back, “heartbroken.”

Bruce sighed, letting you pull him forward like some six foot tall human leash. He followed behind you, slouched and sulking like a teenager being dragged into a parent teacher conference. But he didn’t resist. Not really. At the end of the hallway, just far enough not to be heard but perfectly in view, Tim was standing awkwardly with his shoulder slightly bumping against the wall, halfway through some rambling sentence that didn’t seem to have an end. Across from him leaned Conner Kent Superboy himself smiling with the easy, confident charm of someone who knew exactly how good he looked.

You gasped again, softer this time. “He’s so nervous. Look at him. Our baby…”

“Don’t start crying,” Bruce warned.

“He’s got no game, Bruce.”

Bruce squinted. “…This is objectively better than his brothers.”

You nearly cackled. “Low bar, sweetheart.”

Tim fumbled again, scratching the back of his neck while trying to not look directly at Conner. Conner leaned in just slightly, arms crossed as he nodded along, totally relaxed. He said something with a grin, and Tim laughed clearly too loud, then looked down at the floor in horror.

You sniffled, eyes shimmering. “Look at our baby flirting…”

“He’s not a baby,” Bruce said, though his voice was quieter now. “He’s nearly eighteen.” And yet, he leaned a little more over your shoulder.

You smirked. “You’re watching.”

“I’m observing.”

“You’re parenting.”

Bruce sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, crossing his arms as he stared harder at the two teens.

“What’s Kent’s clone doing here alone with him anyways?” he muttered, eyes narrowing.

“Ohhh,” you grinned, “now you care.”

“Of course I care,” Bruce snapped, more defensive than he meant to be. “That’s my kid.”

You nudged him with your elbow, whispering proudly, “Our kid.”

He didn’t respond to that but the corner of his mouth twitched. Down the hall, Conner leaned in and brushed something off Tim’s shirt something that wasn’t there. Tim went red, practically short circuiting.

Bruce straightened immediately. “Okay. That’s enough recon.”

“Oh, now it’s enough?”

“I’m getting my Batarangs.”

You caught his wrist before he could march off. “No. No Batarangs. No Bat glare. You said he’s not a baby, remember?”

“He wasn’t getting flirted with then.”

You snorted, still holding his arm. “I think your overprotective thing is hot.”

He paused. “That a fact?”

You smirked, glancing back toward your bedroom door. “Yes. Now let’s go back to our room lights off, no clothes, door locked this time and let the kids be kids.”

Bruce gave Tim and Conner one last skeptical look, then sighed. “If they start kissing, I’m interrupting.”

“No you won’t,” you said, dragging him back down the hall by the wrist again. “Because I’ll be too busy making out with you to let you get up.”

Despite that, the minute you headed to the room. Conner and Tim were happily walking towards the kitchen. making you drag your husband again to watch your boy. The kitchen was dimly lit, the only real noise coming from the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of snack bags. You and Bruce had found your new favorite spot behind the kitchen island, crouching low and trying your best not to make a sound, despite the undeniable excitement of spying on your son.

You had your phone held up, recording through the cabinet doors like a proud wildlife documentarian. Tim and Conner were in the next room, chattering nervously while they raided the pantry for snacks.

Bruce was less than impressed with the situation. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, glaring at you as if you were the one causing trouble.

You smirked, eyes never leaving the scene unfolding in the next room. “I practically raised him. I have the right to witness his first love.”

He grunted, his voice tinged with mild exasperation. “You’re literally crouched next to the coffee machine whispering commentary like it’s National Geographic.”

You held your phone at a slightly different angle, zooming in on Tim as he fumbled with a bag of chips. “And you’re crouched next to me, so what does that make you?”

Bruce looked at you, deadpan. “An unwilling accomplice.”

You shot him a look, trying not to giggle as you saw Tim’s hand hover uncertainly over a box of cookies while Conner casually leaned against the counter, looking way too smooth for someone who was probably still a teenager.

“Conner’s definitely a pro at this,” you whispered, shaking your head in amused disbelief. “Look at him, just leaning there. Like it’s nothing what if he just wants to play woth out boys feelings.”

Bruce sighed dramatically but didn’t move. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“This is serious, Bruce. It’s parental responsibility.”

Bruce looked at you, his eyes softening. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Yeah, well, you love me.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’ve got a lot of regrets today,” he muttered, but his hand brushed against yours in the dim light, soft and reassuring. Just as you were about to comment on Tim’s awkward attempt at getting a cookie into his mouth without looking too desperate, the kitchen door swung open with a familiar creak.

“Are you spying on Tim?” Dick’s voice rang through the space, sharp and amused.

Both you and Bruce froze, immediately making eye contact in a way that could only be described as a guilty deer caught in headlights moment.

Bruce was the first to recover. He straightened up quickly, stepping away from the island and crossing his arms like he was trying to physically distance himself from the ridiculousness of it all. “No,” he said instantly, as if the word would somehow erase the whole scene.

You, on the other hand, didn’t try to hide it. You looked up at Dick with wide, unapologetic eyes. “Yes,” you said, shrugging as though this was completely normal behavior for a concerned parent.

Dick raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe with a smug grin. “You guys are so lame.”

You grinned back, unbothered by his teasing. “You think we’re lame, but when you’re a parent, you’ll understand.”

Bruce, clearly not keen on the whole ordeal, shot a look at Tim and Conner through the kitchen entryway. “I’m just making sure he’s not making any… stupid decisions.”

“Right.” Dick’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Because you’re both really qualified for that.”

You shot him a sideways glance. “Hey, we did the best we could. And this is where you come in. Don’t think I didn’t see you sneak a peek when you thought we weren’t looking.”

Dick’s eyes widened for a second before he cracked a grin. “You two are hopeless.” He turned his attention back to the other room. “What are they even doing, anyway?”

You and Bruce both turned to look through the cabinets again, slightly distracted now that Dick was standing right there. Tim was holding a cookie out to Conner, his fingers trembling slightly, and Conner took it with a grin that could melt even the iciest heart.

“He’s handing Conner a cookie,” you said, your voice dripping with awe and mild concern. “A cookie. They’re not even talking about something deep or meaningful, like… I don’t know, saving Gotham or discussing conspiracy theories. It’s literally just this.”

Dick raised an eyebrow again, his grin widening. “You’re really invested in this?”

Bruce was rubbing the back of his neck, clearly torn between indulging your parental instincts and the embarrassment of being caught in such an absurd situation. “Yeah, we’re not stalking them. Just… observing.”

Dick snorted. “Sure, sure. Watching them like they’re some rare, endangered species.”

You looked at him deadpan. “They are.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “Look, we’ll stop when they stop… getting… weird.”

Dick gave the two of you an incredulous look. “You two are so ridiculous. Seriously.”

And with that, Dick pushed past you both to head upstairs, but not before he paused to make one last comment.

“If I ever catch you two creeping on me like this, I’ll start a family group chat called ‘Creepy Parents.’”

You and Bruce exchanged an amused glance. “We’ll take that risk,” you said,

Dick groaned, clearly not interested in sticking around for the ridiculousness, and disappeared upstairs.

You looked back at Bruce, who was still watching Tim and Conner, now in full parental protective mode. His brows were furrowed, a slight frown tugging at his lips.

“I guess we’re just going to wait this out?” you asked softly, leaning against the island.

Bruce nodded, but his tone was softer now, full of that deep, unspoken love only a parent could understand. “Yeah. But we need to be the ones to have that talk when they’re ready.”

You smiled, leaning into him, the whole world feeling a little less chaotic, even if the kids’ drama would never stop.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Tim and Conner were sitting at the kitchen table now, their snack raid completed, with Conner casually leaning back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the seat across from him. Tim, on the other hand, was picking at his cookie, his eyes occasionally flicking nervously around the room.

Conner noticed Tim’s unease and raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong, Drake?”

Tim cleared his throat, his gaze shifting quickly toward the hallway, and then back to Conner, hoping his casual demeanor would mask the slight panic he felt. “Uh, no, everything’s fine.”

Conner smirked knowingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “You sure about that? ‘Cause I can’t help but notice your… parents have been acting a little weird.”

Tim froze. His heart rate quickened as the words hit him. He blinked at Conner, unsure if he’d heard him right. “What?”

“You know, they’ve been hanging around for a while,” Conner said, a slight laugh escaping his lips. “I can’t believe they’re still hiding behind the kitchen island.”

Tim’s face went white, of course he noticed it. his eyes darted toward the kitchen counter, his heart sinking into his stomach. His parents… They had been watching this whole time. He quickly looked away, pretending he hadn’t heard anything, his eyes shifting uncomfortably as if he could pretend that the observation had never been made. “You’re imagining things.”

Conner raised an eyebrow. “Right,” he said, unconvinced. “Maybe I am.”

But before Tim could settle into any sense of relief, he couldn’t help himself. His eyes glanced toward the cabinets, toward the hidden space behind the island where his parents had been crouched like secret agents, but the moment he saw something shift in the shadows, he quickly turned his head away. A blush spread across his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and frustration bubbling up inside him.

He heard a muffled whisper coming from the kitchen, the faintest sound of your voice saying, “Do you think they noticed?”

His heart skipped. He knew they were there. He immediately looked back at Conner, who was now wearing an almost triumphant smirk, clearly enjoying this entire awkward exchange.

Tim’s face reddened even further. “Ugh, I hate you.”

Conner’s grin widened, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms still crossed, looking like he was thoroughly enjoying the chaos Tim was going through. “your family is so weird”

Tim just buried his face in his hands for a second, trying to collect himself. It didn’t help that he could hear the whispering getting louder, still faint, but unmistakable. “No way. I think they didn’t notice. Maybe we can sneak away after they leave…”

“We?” Tim thought he heard Bruce’s voice this time. It made him stiffen.

His face was now a bright red, and he buried his face further into his arms, hoping it might all just go away. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, his pulse racing. This was so embarrassing. Why couldn’t they have just left him alone? Why did his parents have to be so… so overly protective?

As his embarrassment grew, Tim stole another quick glance at the kitchen, only to see a shadow dart behind the cabinets. His stomach flipped, and he quickly turned away, biting his lip to keep from saying something he’d regret.

Conner’s eyes were sharp. “Yeah… they totally noticed,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “You’re lucky I’m cool with this. You’re lucky I didn’t go tell them they’ve been caught. That would’ve been funny.”

“Conner, shut up!” Tim hissed, but the laughter that followed didn’t make it any better.

Somewhere from behind the cabinets, you whispered again, louder this time, “Maybe they’ll pretend they didn’t see us.”

Bruce’s voice was closer to a growl. “We’re being subtle, right?”

Tim’s body stiffened again, but this time he was ready. He shot up from his chair and took a deep breath. There was no going back now. “I’m going upstairs. You’re all insane.”

Conner chuckled, watching him go, clearly having the time of his life while Tim fumbled his way toward the hallway.

As Tim rushed out of the room, trying to hide the heat in his cheeks, you and Bruce exchanged a glance from your hiding spot, then reluctantly peeked around the corner to make sure your son had left the kitchen.

“We should’ve just went in our room,” you muttered, sounding almost defeated.

Bruce nodded, glancing up at you. “This is why I wanted to go back to the room.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And you couldn’t let that go?”

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we’ve been caught so many times.”

“But it’s worth it, right?” You flashed a teasing grin at him, clearly finding amusement in the awkwardness.

Bruce didn’t respond immediately, but he didn’t move either. He just kept watching the empty kitchen, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Finally, he said, “I’d still rather be making out with you right now.”

You grinned. “One thing at a time, Bruce. One thing at a time.”

Bruce didn’t waste a second. The moment the last of Tim’s and conner’s footsteps faded up the stairs, he was on his feet, his usual quiet intensity shifting into something more playful albeit with a touch of authority.

Without a word, he moved toward you, his hand reaching for your wrist. Before you could even fully register his intent, he pulled you into his chest, his other hand gently cupping your chin as he tilted your face up to meet his. His lips were almost on yours, just inches apart, but he hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if savoring the moment.

“As much fun as that was,” he said in a low, husky tone, his voice thick with amusement, “it’s time for mommy and daddy time.”

Your heart skipped. You had to admit, despite the awkwardness of everything that just happened, the sudden shift in Bruce’s demeanor made your pulse spike. The playful tension in the air was thick enough to cut through. You could see the flicker of mischief in his eyes.

“Bruce…” you whispered, half trying to resist, half already giving in.

“Our boy will be fine” His voice was low, but there was a firm edge to it, a reminder that your playful surveillance time had come to an end. “You and me. Upstairs. Now.”

Before you could protest or offer some sarcastic response, he was already guiding you away from the kitchen island, his hand firm around your wrist. The way his grip tightened made it clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer not that you really wanted to resist.

“Bruce, we can’t just…” you started to say, but you were quickly cut off as he kissed you, his lips catching yours in a brief, but intense press that stole your breath away.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, “No more distractions. No more spying. Just us.”

You were about to make a snarky comment, but all the words caught in your throat when he pulled you against him again, his arms wrapping around your waist. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the way his strong frame seemed to draw you in closer.

“I’m not letting you get away that easily,” he said with a grin, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable.

Your breath caught as you felt his touch, suddenly aware of how much you’d been craving this intimate moment. The tension that had been building throughout the entire day between your kids, the spying, the ridiculousness was finally going to melt away, leaving just the two of you.

With a final, teasing smile, Bruce began leading you upstairs, his hand never leaving yours. The world outside your bedroom had faded into the background there was only him and you, and the quiet promise of some much needed time alone.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Tim was lying face down on his bed, groaning into the sheets. If he could dig a hole and disappear into it, he would. He’d half expected his parents to hover maybe ask a few awkward questions. But full on mission mode surveillance? That was next level.

The door creaked open, and Tim didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

“I knew they were weird,” Conner’s voice came, all smug and sing songy. “But hiding behind the cabinets? thats weird.”

Tim rolled over with a groan, face still half buried in a pillow. “Can we not talk about it?”

Conner stepped in like he owned the place, casually flopping onto Tim’s bed with zero regard for personal space. “Dude, your mom was crouched like it was recon. I think she even whispered something about your ‘game.’ I’m emotionally scarred.”

Conner, of course, wasn’t far behind. He opened the door without knocking and stepped into the room, his usual easygoing grin plastered across his face. But there was something different in his eyes something softer. Maybe he was trying to ease the tension Tim was still feeling.

“You good?” Conner asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Tim turned his head just slightly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… I dunno, everything’s just kinda weird today.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Conner chuckled, but it wasn’t a mocking laugh. It was more of an understanding one. “Your parents… they’re something else.”

Tim groaned and rolled onto his back, covering his eyes with his arm. “Don’t remind me. I didn’t think they’d go full surveillance mode.”

Conner moved further into the room, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Well, they’re just looking out for you, you know? They’re probably a little overprotective, but… I mean, I guess I’d do the same thing if I were them.”

Tim half smiled at that, finally sitting up. “Yeah, but it’s a little much. I’m almost eighteen, not, like, seven.”

Conner gave him a side glance, his smile still there. “Right. You’re allowed to… y’know, have a life outside of your parents’ radar.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Tim muttered, but it wasn’t with annoyance more like he appreciated Conner’s effort to lighten the mood. Tim glanced at Conner, his mind wandering as it often did when he was around him. Something about the way Conner carried himself, the way he was always so relaxed, so at ease it was easy to get lost in.

Conner seemed to sense it, his voice dropping a little lower. “So, uh… are you sure it’s just your parents that’s got you flustered? Or is it… something else?”

Tim blinked at him, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Conner leaned back against the headboard, looking over at him with a teasing smile. “I don’t know, just seems like you’ve got a lot going on in your head. And I mean, I did see how red your face was back there, so”

Tim immediately turned even more red. “Conner, I swear to God”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Conner laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I won’t make it worse. But, uh… you do know you can talk to me, right?”

Tim let out a soft exhale, unsure of how to respond. He didn’t even realize how much he’d needed to hear that until now. “Yeah. I guess I just… didn’t want to make it weird.”

“Making it weird is kind of my thing,” Conner joked, but there was something reassuring about the way he said it like he wasn’t trying to force the conversation, but also wasn’t afraid to be open with him. Tim’s heart skipped a little at the casual warmth in Conner’s voice. He wasn’t sure if it was the way Conner was looking at him now, or just the comfort of knowing someone actually cared, but he found himself letting out a nervous laugh. “I’m definitely not the best at this… flirting thing. I’m just… I don’t know, overthinking it all.”

Conner’s eyes softened, and before Tim could protest, Conner slid closer on the bed. He nudged Tim’s shoulder lightly, his voice quieter now. “You don’t have to be perfect at it. I think you’re doing just fine.”

Tim froze, his pulse racing at the sudden closeness. “Wait, really?”

Conner smirked, but there was something genuine in his smile now. “Really. You’ve just gotta stop trying to be all… cool about it. Just be yourself. If someone can’t see how amazing you are, that’s their loss.”

Tim swallowed, trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. “You’re… you’re the worst, you know that?”

But Conner just laughed, the sound light and effortless. “I know. But you like me anyway.”

Tim bit his lip, trying not to smile too much, but there was no denying the way his heart was beating faster now. Conner had always been the one to tease him, to make him laugh when things were tough. But this this felt different. The way they were sitting there, so close, the unspoken understanding between them it was the kind of connection Tim hadn’t realized he was craving.

“Alright, alright,” Conner said, standing up and giving Tim a teasing grin, “I’ll leave you to think about that. But you know I’m here, if you wanna… talk or whatever.”

Tim nodded, his throat a little tight, but he didn’t know what to say. Conner’s easygoing presence had a way of putting him at ease, and for the first time in a while, Tim felt like he was starting to understand what it meant to really be seen by someone.

“Thanks, Conner,” Tim muttered, his voice soft.

Conner winked as he walked toward the door. “Anytime, small bird. Anytime.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Tim sank back against the bed, his heart still racing, but now for a different reason.

Conner: So…

Tim: Please don’t.

Conner: Your parents have been following us for like… an hour. I swear I saw your mom dive behind a trash bin.

Tim: If I ignore it, maybe it’ll go away.

Reader, whispering from the kitchen: They didn’t see us.

Bruce, deadpan: They definitely saw us.

[sirxaibs]

ANIME

JUJUTSU KAISEN

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