˗ˏˋ My Love Note ´ˎ˗

LIKE FATHER LIKE SON

James Potter x Reader

WARNINGS: just fluff, FEM!R + use of Y/n, nonVoldemort!au, dilf!James + mamasboy!Harry being protective of their wife/mom and Y/n being done with them lol, Lucius and Draco Malfoy being Lucius and Draco Malfoy.

English is not my first language so feel free to correct me.

"James Fleamont Potter, what is this?"

James looked up from his coffee cup and raised his head to look at you, seeing you waving a paper envelope in front of his eyes.

"A letter?" he asked ironically.

You nodded, placing it in front of his eyes on the table and crossing your arms.

"Uh-uh. And can you tell me who it was sent by?"

James focused his gaze on the elegant writing and logo printed on the envelope.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizard-

When he realized where it was coming from, James had to double check, not having realized the first time and almost spit the coffee on you.

"From Howgwarts?!" he exclaimed, turning sharply towards you.

You nodded.

"It's strange that they called us, they only do it when it's something serious" you murmured worriedly. "What if something happened to Harry?"

James raised his arm to untie your crossed arms and grab your hand.

"Why don't we read what it's about first, mh? Maybe we're just worrying about nothing" he asked, giving you an encouraging smile.

You slowly nodded and James opened the envelope, taking out the letter and reading it on his own first. When you noticed his expression drop, you realized that maybe it really was something serious.

"Oh crap..." he muttered.

"What? What does it say?"

You came up behind him to read the contents of the letter and felt a pang in your heart when you saw what it was about.

"Oh… Oh crap indeed"

When you and James arrived at Hogwarts, some students stared at you strangely but you ignored them and walked to the main door. As soon as you opened it, you were met by Professor McGonagall, who had an expression of concern on her face equal to yours.

"Oh, i'm glad you're here my dears" she said, advancing towards you.

"Minnie, what happened with Harry?" James asked.

"Is he okay?" you continued.

The woman alternated her gaze from you to him in silence for a couple of seconds and then let out a sigh.

"Follow me" she only said, then she turned and walked down the corridor. And the more you and James walked, the more you realized that the road you were on wasn't the one to Dumbledore's office, but the one that led to the hospital wing. You and James exchanged a worried look, but you didn't say anything.

After a few minutes you arrived at the door of the infirmary and before you could enter, Minerva turned to look at you.

"We don't usually call parents, but your presence has been explicitly requested... By Lucius Malfoy himself"

At hearing that name, James didn't help himself from making a groan and rolling his eyes, while you let out a breath through your nose. This was not good.

"Great" James said annoyed.

You placed a hand on his arm and then looked back at her.

"Professor can you tell us what happened, please?"

Minerva gave you a heartened smile. Unlike your husband who always called her by that nickname, you were always more formal towards her and she always appreciated that.

"I was told that Harry and Draco have been involved in an argument a bit… Rough" the woman said cautiously. "Well, they fought after the Quidditch match"

"What?!" you exclaimed.

"Who won?!" James said with hopeful eyes.

You and Minerva turned to look at him unimpressed. James chuckled sheepishly.

"Sorry, wrong question. Harry won, didn't he?"

Minerva ignored him, looking back at you and you rolled your eyes.

"Why is Lucius here?" you asked, crossing your arms.

The teacher let out a small sigh.

"It's nothing new that your sons don't get along, but this time Mr. Malfoy insisted on discussing this situation with the parents of the person who continues to mistreat their child"

"It's not Harry who mistreats him!" James said immediately, already feeling his soul heating up with anger. "It's that brat with gelled hair that keeps provoking him, but unlike Harry, he isn't capable of defending himself!"

"James" you called, trying to calm him down.

Minerva looked at you both with a sympathetic look. It was obvious that she also supported what James said, but as a teacher she had to try to be as neutral as possible and make both students understand that they were wrong. And then, it was better not to go against the Malfoys too much.

"If you want to go, they are waiting for you" the woman only said, indicating the door with a wave of her hand.

You glanced at James and without waiting for his permission, you threw open the door, rushing into the infirmary.

"Harry James Potter!"

Harry jumped from under the covers when he heard your voice echo throughout the hospital wing.

"Damn..." he cursed under his breath.

Hermione, who was sitting in a chair next to his bed, looked at him worriedly. Standing behind her, Ron looked between him and you, terrified.

"Uh-oh. I think your mother is angry, Harry" he muttered and Harry tried to slide under the sheets, as if to hide.

The three Gryffindors saw you advance towards them, followed by James. When you were close to the bed, Hermione stood up instinctively and both she and Ron stepped back, leaving Harry alone in your jaws.

You looked him up and down, crossing your arms and tapping your foot on the floor. Harry and James exchanged a look and as Harry tried to ask him for help with his eyes, not wanting to face your fury, James looked at him with a smirk that seemed to say "You're a goner, kid".

"Mom" he murmured. "I can explain"

"Oh, but i don't need explanations my dear, because i've already been told everything" you replied.

Harry looked down, staying silent and waiting for your next move. Until... With a sigh you leaned towards him and hugged him tightly, stroking his hair with one hand.

"I'm glad you're okay, darling" you murmured.

Harry felt taken aback, but when he looked at James and saw him smile tenderly, he realized there was nothing to worry about and returned the hug. You gave him a couple of kisses on the cheek and then you pulled away and sat next to him on the mattress, leaving the chair to Hermione.

Flick!

"Ah!"

Harry narrowed his eyes when you gave him a little flick on his forehead with your finger and James chuckled.

"That's because you got into a fight" you said in a fake stern tone, but still serious.

Harry nodded solemnly, while Ron and Hermione looked at him in relief. The worst was over.

"Harry" James then said, walking up behind you and placing a hand on your shoulder. "What happened with Malfoy?"

"Darling, we were worried when we got the letter" you continued, covering James' hand with yours. "We thought something serious had happened"

"It's all Malfoy's fault!" Ron exclaimed.

You and James turned to look at him.

"Yes, he was angry because the Slytherins lost the Quidditch match and he taunted Harry as usual" Hermione continued.

You let out a small sigh.

"That little boy will never learn, will he?" you murmured. "He's only good with words. Just like his father"

James looked back at Harry, who hadn't answered his question and had remained silent, his eyes focused on the bedsheets. He was being too silent.

"There's more, isn't there?" your husband asked, getting all of you's attention.

Harry looked at him almost shyly and made a fist with his hand. Yes, there was more, but he didn't have the courage to say it.

"Harry" you called softly and he looked at you. "You can tell us everything. You know that, right?"

Harry exchanged glances with Ron and Hermione, who knew exactly what Harry wasn't going to say. She gave him a small smile of encouragement and he mouthed "Tell them" with his lips. Your son hesitated, but after a few seconds he took a breath and told the truth.

"Malfoy insulted you, mom"

You immediately felt James' hand tighten on your shoulder.

"Oh Harry-" you tried to say, but he continued.

"He called you a mudblood and he said you didn't deserve to be in the world and other stupid things"

You fell silent, but James had the opposite reaction as you.

"He said what?!"

You continued to look at your son, who huffed.

"I know you always tell me that Malfoy's words aren't worth listening to and you're right. But this time i couldn't resist, i'm sorry. I couldn't let him say those things about you"

You let out another small sigh, but then smiled slightly. You leaned towards him and caressed his cheek with one hand, gently running your thumb over the patch on the bridge of his nose.

"Harry, sweetheart. I appreciate you standing up for me, i really do. But i've learned not to care about what the Malfoys and those who think the same say about me, by now. And even if there's always you and dad, i can handle myself when i want too, anyway" you said, making him smile. "But i don't want you to get in trouble for my name again, okay? You need to prove that you're better than that"

When he nodded slowly, you raised the pinky of your free hand.

"Promise me" you ordered softly.

Harry intertwined his pinky with yours, murmuring a "I promise" and you gave him a small kiss on the forehead, while Hermione watched the scene tenderly.

"Well well well, here's the whole family reunited"

You all turned towards the new voice and both Harry and James clenched their fists when they saw Malfoy and Malfoy Jr behind him. James didn't say it out loud, but he was proud on the inside to see that Draco looked worse than Harry. He deserved it.

"Potter" Lucius said looking at James, raising his cane. "I hope you are willing to apologize to me for your son's unruly behavior"

James crossed his arms.

"None of us will apologize, because YOUR son only got what he deserved"

"And yet he only told the truth" Lucius continued, shifting his gaze to you and you glared at him. "And i'm not surprised that your son is raised this way, when his mother is nothing more than a filthy, unworthy mudblood. Pathetic"

James gritted his teeth and took a step towards him.

"Say that again, i dare you"

Behind them, Harry and Draco were also exchanging challenging glances.

"James" you called out to him, but he ignored you.

Lucius smirked and pointed the tip of his cane at you.

"That woman is scum. People like her should just die-"

SBAM!

Lucius was forced to stop when James punched him squarely in the nose, knocking him backwards.

"Father!" Draco exclaimed, frightened.

"James!" you yelled, standing up and running to him. Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at the scene with wide eyes, but also with satisfied smiles on their lips.

"Were all the beatings i gave you at school not enough for you!? Haven't you learned your lesson yet, after all these years?!" James exclaimed angrily. "You're just as vapid as your son, you're only good at giving air to your stupid mouth!"

He took a step towards Lucius, but you grabbed onto his arm, trying to pull him back.

"James no-"

"I don't give a damn if i'll go to Azkaban for what i'm about to say, Malfoy. I solemnly swear, that if i hear you or your son insult my wife one more time, you'll be the one who's going to die. I swear it"

Lucius from the floor looked at your husband with a look of disgust, wiping the blood from his nose with his thumb and James looked back with a murderous one, breathing heavily. The tension between the two men was suddenly broken by the voice of Madame Pomfrey, who was approaching the scene.

"Does this seem to be the time and place to fight you two?!" the woman snapped with anger. "This is an infirmary and you're not students anymore! Stop acting like children and leave right now!"

James and Lucius glared at each other for the last time, until the latter hastily got up and walked briskly out of the hospital wing, followed by Draco. Some students lying on the beds who had witnessed the scene, including your son and his friends, clapped and whistled in support for James. You ran a hand over your face, embarrassed at all that attention, but they were immediately shushed by Madame Pomfrey.

"You too Potter! Visiting hours are over!" she exclaimed again, waving a hand, annoyed.

When you were sure that James had calmed down, you let go of him to move closer to Harry again.

"Sorry honey, but we have to go now. We'll see you for the holidays, okay? I love you" you said quickly, kissing his head and cheek.

"Me too, mom"

You took James' hand and dragged him towards the exit, turning to look at your son one last time.

"And remember our promise!"

Those were your last words before you closed the door behind you, entering the silence of the hallway. Then you turned to your husband and gave him a small slap on the back of the head.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, immediately covering the affected spot with his hand and turning to look at you. "What was that for?"

You crossed your arms over your chest.

"You idiot! Didn't you hear anything about the speech i gave to our son??"

A few weeks later, one evening during the Christmas holidays, the Potter family and friends were all gathered in the living room of the Potter's household.

"I can't believe it AHAHAHAH!" Sirius's thunderous laughter echoed throughout the house. "Oh, how i wish i was there to see it! Y/n, you should have owled me!"

You glared at him.

"Sure, so instead of trying to convince these two-” you said, placing your hands on the heads of your husband and son. "-that arguing with the Malfoys is a waste of time, you would've only encouraged them to continue"

"And from what i understood Harry did a great job!" Sirius continued, looking at Harry, who smiled sheepishly. "Well done son, i'm proud of you"

You sat on the couch between James and Harry and the former wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards him.

"I think the only one here with any sense that understands my point of view by now is Rem"

The aforementioned gave you a small, uncertain smile.

"Well... If James, Sirius and Harry weren't there, nothing would stop me from punching Malfoy in the face. Be it the old or the young one"

You widened your eyes, feeling betrayed, while everyone else burst out laughing.

"Remus!"

Remus chuckled with red cheeks.

"Dollface, those fuckers deserved it" Sirius continued, taking a sip from his goblet. "And we are your best friends, so if anyone dares to mess with you we will not hesitate to defend you. Just accept it and it'll be easier for you"

You sighed in resignation, while James smiled, tilting his face to leave a couple of kisses on your head.

"That scene was amazing though! Iconic!" Ron exclaimed with a toothy grin. "I don't think i'll ever forget the face Lucius and Draco made"

"Dad was so cool" Harry said.

James looked at the two boys, puffing out his chest proudly.

"Well, i had to defend my woman" he said and you giggled, resting your head against his body.

"James, can i ask you a question?" Hermione asked suddenly.

"Ask away, darling"

"What did you mean by what you said to Lucius? When you asked him if all the beatings you gave him at school weren't enough. Had this already happened when you were our age?"

"Oh several times, unfortunately" Sirius replied before James could and then he continued drinking his wine.

"Y/n and Lily were often picked on by Slytherin pureblood students" Remus continued.

Harry turned to look at you with sad eyes, not knowing about the torment you had endured during your years at Hogwarts. You noticed this and gave him a thoughtful smile, reaching out to his hand and squeezing it, as if to say, "Don't worry about me, it's over now".

"But we were always there to protect them, right?" James then asked, lowering his head to look at you and when he saw your look he quickly added. "Even though they didn't need it and could handle themselves~"

"You must know, my dear kids" Sirius interjected again, referring to the three teenagers present "That the brave knight James here, was always ready to save his beloved princess Y/n. He didn't care what the consequences were"

Both you and James blushed, exchanging a loving look, while Harry, Hermione and Ron looked at you tenderly.

"And it's good to know that Harry would do the same for his mother" Remus said then. "Like father like son"

"Aah i love this family so much, i swear!" Sirius sighed, opening his arms wide and almost spilling the wine on the floor.

And everyone laughed.

𖦹.✧˚ MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN 𖦹.✧˚

“He asked for no pickles >:(” Trope Headcannon

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚The Classic Luigi Dilemma™ → Luigi is too nice for his own good. When the waiter sets down his plate and he realizes they got his order completely wrong, he just freezes for a second, staring at it like it personally betrayed him.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚Internal Panic Mode → His brain immediately starts short circuiting. Do I say something? No, that’d be rude! But I didn’t order this! But maybe it’s fine? But I was really looking forward to- oh no, they’re walking away :(

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚The Nervous Little Smile™ → Instead of complaining, he just awkwardly chuckles and goes, “O-oh! Haha, well, um… guess I’ll just eat this, then.” Meanwhile, you can see the disappointment in his eyes

. ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚Your Protective Instincts Kick In → Oh, absolutely not. This is Luigi, your sweet, beautiful, anxious boy. He deserves to eat what he actually ordered. So, before he can talk himself into suffering through it, you wave down the waiter.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚Luigi’s Immediate Reaction → His eyes widen in pure terror. “W-wait, no, it’s fine! I don’t wanna cause trouble—”

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚But You’re Already On It → With the sweetest but firmest voice, you politely explain that they got his order wrong and ask them to fix it. You make sure to be nice (because you know he’d feel bad otherwise), but there’s no way you’re letting him sit there with something he doesn’t want.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚Luigi.exe Has Stopped Working → He just stares at you in awe, cheeks heating up. His brain is going, Oh no they’re standing up for me I think I’m in love all over again.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚The Waiter Fixes It, and Luigi is So Grateful → The moment they walk away with his plate, he looks at you like you just saved his life. “You… you really didn’t have to do that,” he mumbles, embarrassed but so touched. ༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚You Just Smile → “Of course I did! You deserve to get what you actually ordered, Luigi.”

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚Flustered Boyfriend Mode Activated → He gets so shy but also so in love. He keeps fidgeting with his napkin, mumbling something about how amazing you are.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚The Happiest Green Bean → When his correct order finally arrives, he thanks the waiter about five times and then immediately takes a bite, beaming. “Mmm! Grazie!” he says, looking at you with pure adoration.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚Bonus: Extra Softness → The rest of the meal, he keeps sneaking little glances at you, still blushing. At one point, he shyly reaches for your hand under the table and squeezes it. “You’re the best, you know that?”

⋆˚✿˖° Picture this ⋆˚✿˖°

Dinner was supposed to be relaxing. A nice little date, just you and Luigi, eating at a cozy restaurant in Toad Town. The kind of place with checkered tablecloths, candles on every table, and the smell of fresh-baked bread in the air.

Luigi had been excited, too he’d spent the entire walk here rambling about how much he was craving their famous mushroom risotto. So when the waiter finally brought out your food and set a plate of… was that seafood pasta? in front of him, you knew something was wrong.

Luigi blinked at the plate. Then again. Like he was hoping it would magically turn into what he actually ordered.

“Oh! Uh… haha…” He let out a nervous chuckle, shifting in his seat. “W-well, um… I guess this looks good too…?”

You frowned. “Lu, that’s not what you ordered.”

He waved a hand, already trying to play it off. “Oh, it’s no big deal! I, uh… I like pasta?” He stabbed a shrimp with his fork, his expression betraying him entirely.

Yeah, no. Absolutely not.

Before he could talk himself into just eating it, you waved down the waiter. Luigi’s eyes immediately widened in panic.

“W-wait, no, no, it’s fine! I don’t wanna bother—”

“Excuse me,” you said, smiling at the waiter, “but I think there was a mix-up. He actually ordered the mushroom risotto.”

The waiter glanced at the plate, realization dawning. “Oh! My apologies, I’ll fix that right away.”

“No problem!” you said cheerfully.

The moment the waiter walked off with his incorrect order, Luigi turned to you, absolutely beside himself. “You—you didn’t have to do that!” His face was already pink, hands nervously fiddling with his napkin. “I mean, they’re busy, and I-I didn’t wanna be a bother, and—”

You reached across the table and squeezed his hand, effectively shutting him up.

“Luigi,” you said, giving him a look. “You deserve to eat what you actually ordered.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. He just stared at you, completely flustered, eyes full of awe like you just pulled off the most heroic act imaginable.

“I-I…” He cleared his throat, squeezing your hand back. “…Grazie.”

When the waiter finally returned with the correct dish, Luigi thanked him at least five times before eagerly taking his first bite. His entire face lit up in pure happiness.

“Mmm! Oh, it’s so good!” He practically melted into his seat, finally able to enjoy his meal. Then, he glanced at you, still pink in the face. “You, uh… you’re really amazing, you know that?”

You just grinned, nudging his foot under the table. “I do know that, actually.”

Luigi let out a shy little laugh, cheeks still burning. But before he could get too flustered, he shyly reached for your hand again, holding it under the table as he ate.

You didn’t miss the way his thumb softly rubbed against your skin.

Yeah. Totally worth it.

You to Luigi : oh man... sorry bro. i accidentally left some lipstick on your neck.. here let me kiss it off... shit i left more... here hold on... oh no i left even more...

⋆˚✿˖° ❝𝗜𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗱𝗲𝗱❞ ⋆˚✿˖°

────୨ৎ────

gojo satoru x reader

geto suguru x reader

────୨ৎ────

5. what kind of woman are you attracted too?

masterlist

I felt I wasnt nurturing the bond between gojo and geto. like they are close friends and I feel the bond that they have would still remain though strained in this trope. Geto and Gojo support each other but are each other’s downfall. Like you know how in the show its the jujutusu kaisen world that was hurting each other. Make it you.

You had barely sat down with your breakfast when Gojo appeared out of nowhere, plopping into the seat across from you with a grin that immediately put you on edge.

“…What?” you asked, eyeing him warily.

Gojo leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “So.” You sighed. “So?”

He wiggled his fingers in your direction. “Tell me.”

You blinked. “Tell you what?”

Gojo tilted his head. “What kind of person you’d date.”

You froze mid bite. “…Huh?”

He tapped his fingers on the table impatiently. “Your type. Preferences. Ideal boyfriend.” He leaned in further, grinning. “Or girlfriend, I don’t judge.”

Your face heated slightly, but you quickly masked it with a deadpan look. “Why do you care?”

Gojo gasped, placing a hand over his heart as if deeply offended. “Excuse me? As your best friend, I need to know these things.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”

Gojo waved a hand dismissively. “Since always.”

You sighed, going back to your food. “And what are you going to do with this information?”

“Oh, you know.” He twirled his chopsticks between his fingers. “Just… make sure you don’t end up with someone lame.”

You snorted. “Lame?”

“Yes, lame.” He jabbed his chopsticks toward you. “Like some guy who doesn’t get your jokes, or can’t keep up with you in a fight, or, God forbid is boring.”

You gave him a look. “You realize you’re sounding like you’re hinting at something”

Gojo grinned. “Wow. Can’t believe you’d just admit your feelings like that.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “That’s not what I said.” “But it’s what you meant.” “Absolutely not.”

He watched you for a moment, unreadable behind his ever present sunglasses. Then, his smirk softened just a fraction, his voice taking on a more casual tone. “I just think you deserve someone great, y’know? Not some broody guy who thinks too much, or someone who carries the weight of the world like it’s his personal burden. Definitely not someone who overcomplicates things when they could just… I don’t know, be happy.”

Your stomach twisted, and you suddenly you had a feeling you understood exactly who he was talking about. Suguru.

Your throat tightened slightly, but you masked it with an eye roll. “Uh huh. And you’re saying you don’t overcomplicate things?”

Gojo’s grin was immediate. “Please, I’m a simple man. Good food, good company, and looking absolutely amazing at all times? That’s all I need.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Of course.”

Gojo propped his chin in his palm, watching you with something suspiciously close to fondness.

Your stomach flipped slightly, but you quickly masked it. “Why do you care?”

“Because I have to care. What if you end up with a loser?”

You snorted. “I think I can handle myself.”

“Sure, sure, but like…” He gestured vaguely. “I have standards for you, y’know?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Your standards?” He nodded sagely. “Yep. And obviously, only the best will do.”

You rolled your eyes, deciding to humor him. “Alright, then. What are your standards?”

Gojo smirked. “Glad you asked.” He held up a finger. “One, they have to be funny because if they’re boring, I’ll have to personally intervene.” Another finger. “Two, they have to be cool but, like, not cooler than me because that’s just unrealistic.” A third finger. “Three, they have to be strong because if they’re not, then I’ll have to protect both of you, and that’s just exhausting.”

You gave him a deadpan look. “So basically, you just described yourself again.”

Gojo gasped, “Are you saying I would be your perfect match?”

You groaned, shoving his shoulder. “That’s not what I said.”

Gojo grinned, sitting back up. “No, no, I totally get it now.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You’ve just been too shy to admit you’re into me.”

You scoffed. “I promise you, that is not the case.”

He pouted. “Deny it all you want, but the evidence is right there.”

“What evidence?!”

“The fact that you haven’t answered my question!” Gojo leaned forward again, grinning. “Come onnn, what’s your type? Tall? Handsome? White haired?” You picked up your toast and took a pointedly long bite, refusing to answer.

Gojo gasped dramatically. “Silence? That means I’m right.” You chewed slowly, making direct eye contact. “I just don’t feel like feeding your already enormous ego.”

He leaned back, frowning. “C’mon, just tell me. Do you like the cool, broody type? The serious, stoic kind? Or are you more into, like, hilarious, handsome, and incredibly talented men?”

You shot him a flat look. “Gojo.”

“Hmm?”

“Eat your breakfast.”

He pouted. “You’re dodging the question.”

You sighed, standing up with your tray. “That’s because I don’t have to answer it.”

Gojo hummed, watching you go. Then, just as you reached the door, he called out. “You do like me, though, right?” You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response and that was definitely not the reason you left the cafeteria so quickly.

—

You walked down the hall, gripping your tray a little tighter than necessary. What was that? Gojo was always like this annoying, teasing, insufferable. Maybe it was the way he kept pressing the issue, like he needed an answer. Like it mattered to him.

You sighed, setting your tray down at the dish return. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just being Gojo. That was what he did: push buttons, crack jokes, demand attention. But then there was that last question.

“You do like me, though, right?”

You frowned, rubbing your temples. He’d said it so casually, like he was asking if you liked a new snack from the vending machine. But there had been something else beneath it something just a little too expectant, like he cared what you would say. that was the problem. Because if it was just a joke, you could roll your eyes and move on. But if there was even a chance that Gojo was being serious…

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. Nope. Not going down that road. Gojo was your best friend. He was ridiculous and loud and overwhelming, but he was Gojo. Thinking about him like that would just cause problems. You felt heat rise to your cheeks and groaned. Shoko and Utahime have ruined my brain. Because now, instead of just brushing it off like usual, their teasing from last night lingered. “Geto’s got the slow burn, weird emo thing going for him.”

“Gojo? Oh, he’s a mess over them.” You bit your lip, glancing toward the cafeteria doors as if expecting Gojo to come waltzing through them at any moment. You needed to not overthink this. Maybe Gojo was just being dramatic. Maybe he was just teasing. You shook your head, turning on your heel. Nope. Still not thinking about it. Gojo was just being Gojo. That’s what you kept telling yourself. He teased, he poked, he demanded attention nothing new. But the way he’d said it… the way he looked at you… There was something different about it, something that lingered in the back of your mind like a stray thread you couldn’t stop tugging at. You sighed, pressing your fingers to your temples. Nope. Not doing this. Not overthinking.

You turned a corner, passing by one of the common rooms, when a familiar voice made you pause. Geto.

You hadn’t meant to stop, but something about the way he was talking held you in place. His voice was quieter than usual, thoughtful. Curiosity prickled at you, and before you could think better of it, you took a step closer, peeking around the corner to stay out of sight. Geto stood near the vending machines, his usual relaxed posture leaning slightly against the wall. His expression was softer than usual, absent of the teasing smirks you were used to. Across from him stood a second year student, who was listening intently with a playful grin.

“Yeah, she always forgets to bring water, so I figured I’d keep an extra bottle for her,” Geto was saying, his tone almost casual but laced with something gentler You blinked, confusion stirring in your chest. Who was he talking about? “She never remembers to eat in between training either,” Geto continued, a fond, almost exasperated smile tugging at his lips. “Always running around, taking care of everyone else first.” He let out a small chuckle that sounded far too tender. “So, I just make sure to bring extra snacks. Nothing big. Just enough so she won’t notice I’m looking out for her.”

The second year grinned, nudging his shoulder. “Sounds like you’re practically her caretaker at this point.”

Geto laughed softly, a sound that warmed your chest and left your heart aching. “Nah. She’s plenty capable on her own. But, y’know…” His gaze shifted away, his fingers rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nice. Making sure she’s okay.”

Your mind whirled, trying to piece together what you were hearing. Geto had always been reliable, steady a calming presence when things got too overwhelming. But this… this felt different. It felt deliberate. Personal. You should have stepped out. Made a joke, teased him about his “caretaker” status, anything. Instead, you stayed rooted in place, eyes wide and heart thumping.

“Come on, Suguru,” the second year teased, their tone light. “Sounds to me like you’re a little more invested than just looking out for her.”

Geto rolled his eyes, but the flush on his cheeks betrayed him. “It’s not like that. I just… care about her, okay?” Your breath caught, your chest tightening. Was he really talking about someone like that? Like that?

“Uh-huh,” the second year hummed. “I think you care a little more than you’re letting on.”

Geto hesitated, his gaze lowering. “You’re really that surprised? She’s incredible. How could I not like her?” Your heart stuttered, the air catching in your throat.

The second year laughed, nudging him again. “Wow, you’re seriously gone, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Geto chuckled, a sound that was quieter and self deprecating. “Go ahead and say it. I know I’m obvious.” A beat. “Not like it matters.” The lightness in his voice faltered, and there was a heaviness that weighed the air down. You stared, caught between wanting to stay and needing to leave before your presence was discovered.

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?” the second year asked, a little more serious now.

Geto sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just bad timing. Or maybe it’s just… not meant to be like that.”

Your chest tightened painfully, a confusing mix of emotions crashing over you. Disbelief, confusion, curiosity something deeper, something raw. The second year seemed to sense the weight of his words, and they shifted awkwardly. “I think you’re overthinking it, Suguru. Maybe it’s simpler than that.”

Geto offered a small, wry smile. “Or it’s just… complicated.”

Your breath was too shallow, your skin too warm. You had no idea what to make of any of this of Geto’s tone, his words, the vulnerability in his voice. Before you could make sense of it all, the sound of approaching footsteps snapped you back to reality. Your heart lurched, panic flooding your veins. You turned on your heel and walked away quickly, leaving Geto’s quiet confession behind. The echoes of his voice lingered in your mind, heavy and impossible to ignore. Who was he talking about? Was it someone you knew? Someone close to him? The questions followed you down the hall, unrelenting and insistent.

—

The library was quiet except for the occasional rustle of pages and the faint scratching of a pen against paper. You sat across from Geto at a secluded table, textbooks and notes sprawled between you. The plan had been to actually study, but as usual, things weren’t going according to plan. “Are you even listening?” you asked, tapping your pen against the open textbook in front of you.

Geto smirked, not looking up from where he was casually spinning his own pen between his fingers. “Hmm? Oh, of course. Every single word.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Okay. Then tell me what I just said.”

Geto finally glanced up, resting his chin on his hand. “Something about… the properties of cursed energy reinforcement?”

You deadpanned. “That was twenty minutes ago.”

He chuckled, stretching his arms over his head. “Alright, you caught me. Maybe I got a little distracted.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Geto, we actually need to study.”

“I am studying,” he said smoothly, tilting his head. “I’m studying you.”

You blinked. “What?”

His lips twitched into a smirk. “I mean, it’s more entertaining than cursed energy formulas, don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes. “dont be weird, I kinda would like to pass and never have to be here again.”

He placed a hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “I would never. I’m just making an observation.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Fine, if you’re not going to take this seriously, I’ll just—”

Before you could finish, Geto leaned forward, smoothly plucking your pen from your fingers and twirling it between his own. “Relax,” he said, voice softer now, less teasing. “You’re always so focused on making sure we don’t fall behind, but when’s the last time you took a break?” You opened your mouth, then hesitated. “…That’s what I thought,” he said, giving you a knowing look. “It’s okay to slow down, y’know?”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I just don’t want to fail.”

Geto’s smirk softened into something almost fond. “You won’t. You’re way too stubborn for that.”

You snorted despite yourself. “That supposed to be a compliment?”

“Absolutely.” He twirled the pen once more before handing it back to you, fingers brushing yours for just a second too long. “Now, if it’ll help, I promise to actually focus.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He placed a hand over his heart again. “Scouts honor.” You gave him a skeptical look, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Alright… but im not helping you again if you dont focus”

“Deal,” Geto said, grinning.

And for the next hour, he actually did focus though, every now and then, you caught him watching you with that same quiet, thoughtful look. You chose not to question it. For the next hour, Geto actually kept his promise mostly. He worked through the material, asked the right questions, and even managed to answer a few on his own. But every so often, when he thought you weren’t looking, you’d catch him watching you instead of his notes. You tried to ignore it. Tried. But after the fifth time, you finally sighed and set your pen down. “Okay. What?”

Geto blinked, caught red handed. “What?”

“You keep looking at me,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “And not in the ‘I’m paying attention’ kind of way.”

A slow, amused smile crept onto his face. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes. “. Sure. And maybe I’ll start flunking on purpose just to see if you actually take notes for once.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, alright. No need for extreme measures.” He rested his cheek against his palm, watching you with something unreadable in his expression. “It’s just… nice. Studying like this. Just us.”

You hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “…Yeah,” you admitted, twirling your pen between your fingers. “It is.”

Geto smirked. “See? You do like hanging out with me.”

You scoffed, pushing his book toward him. “I never said that i dont. Now, focus.”

He laughed but finally turned back to his notes. “Yes, yes. Diligent as always.”

But then, as you flipped to the next page of your textbook, Geto suddenly spoke again. “Hey.”

You looked up. “Yeah?”

He hesitated for half a second, like he was debating something, before offering you a small, genuine smile. “Thanks. For always making sure I don’t fall behind.”

Your grip on your pen tightened slightly, not expecting the warmth that spread through your chest at the simple words. You cleared your throat. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta keep you in check.”

Geto chuckled, but there was something softer in his eyes now. “Guess I’m lucky it’s you, then.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you quickly covered it with a scoff. “Alright, now you’re just trying to distract me again.”

He held his hands up in mock innocence. “Not at all. That was just a bonus.”

You shook your head, trying (and failing) to fight the small smile threatening to break through. “Just focus, Geto.”

And, surprisingly, he actually did. The library had mostly emptied by now, leaving only the faint hum of the lights and the occasional rustle of paper breaking the silence. You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a small groan as you leaned back in your chair.

“We’ve been at this for hours,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes.

Geto smirked, resting his chin in his hand. “Tired already?”

“You say that like you aren’t exhausted, too.”

He hummed noncommittally, flipping his pen between his fingers. “Maybe. But I don’t mind it. This is still better than being out there.”

You glanced at him. “Out where?”

His smirk faded into something quieter, more thoughtful. “With them,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Normal people. Civilians.”

You frowned slightly, sitting up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”

Geto leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “It’s just… I don’t know. Every time we go out on missions, I see it. The way people look at us. Like we’re freaks. Like they can’t decide if they’re grateful or terrified.” His fingers tightened slightly around his pen. “Even when we save them, they still flinch when we get too close.”

You stayed quiet, watching the tension in his shoulders.

“They don’t get it,” he continued, voice softer now. “What it means to live like this. To always have to fight. To put our lives on the line for people who don’t even want to understand us.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Sometimes I wonder if they even deserve us.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken for a moment. “…I get it,” you finally murmured.

Geto glanced at you, eyes flickering with curiosity. “You do?”

You nodded, running a finger along the edge of your notebook. “I’ve felt it, too. The distance. The way they look at us. Sometimes it’s admiration, but most of the time it’s fear.” You exhaled slowly. “And yeah, it’s frustrating. Knowing we go through so much for people who will never truly see us.”

He watched you carefully, a hint of surprise flashing across his face like he hadn’t expected you to understand, not really. “…But,” you added, meeting his gaze, “I don’t think that means we should stop protecting them.”

His brows lifted slightly, waiting for you to continue.

“They may never understand us,” you admitted, “but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to live their lives in peace. I don’t think it has to be us versus them, it’s just… the way the world is.”

Geto studied you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, slowly, he sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. “You really are too good for this world,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You snorted, nudging his foot under the table. “And you sound like you’re going to start some rebellion.”

He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “Nah. Not today.”

You rolled your eyes. “if you do, make me your right hand man so I keep you in check. Dont want you to become an evil cult leader.”

And though the conversation moved on, the words lingered between you. Somewhere, deep down, you both knew this wasn’t the last time you’d talk about this.

—

The gym smelled like polished wood and sweat, the faint echo of sneakers squeaking against the floor bouncing off the high ceilings. Gojo and Geto were caught up in an intense one on one basketball match, both far too competitive for a game that wasn’t supposed to mean anything. You, on the other hand, were seated comfortably on the bleachers next to Shoko, sipping on a sports drink and watching them with mild amusement.

“You know,” you said, stretching your legs out in front of you as you lazily sipped your drink, “you’re actually the coolest person I know.”

Shoko, who had been half watching the game and half scrolling through her phone, let out a soft snort. “That so?”

“Mhm.” You nodded, turning to her with a grin. “You’re smart, you’re strong, you don’t take shit from anyone plus, you’ve got this whole ‘mysterious but effortlessly hot’ thing going on. It’s really unfair, honestly.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, finally glancing up at you. “You flirting with me?”

You gasped, hand over your heart. “Would it work?”

She laughed, a real, genuine one, shaking her head. “Careful. You keep this up, and I might start thinking you actually like women.”

You shrugged. “What can I say? I have good taste.”

Shoko smirked, tilting her head slightly. “Y’know, at this rate, I might just win the bet.”

You blinked, confused. “…What bet?”

Shoko’s smirk widened. “Oh, nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, not nothing. What bet?”

Before she could answer, Gojo suddenly shouted from across the gym, “DID YOU SEE THAT?! I JUST BROKE GETO’S ANKLES!”

“You tripped me, you bastard!” Geto yelled back.

Shoko took a slow sip of her drink, looking entirely unbothered. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.” You stared at her, completely lost, while she just laughed to herself, enjoying your confusion.

“I don’t even know why they take this so seriously,” you muttered, shaking your head. “It’s just a pickup game.”

Shoko snorted, stretching her legs out in front of her. “It’s them. They can make breathing a competition.”

You both watched as Geto smoothly dribbled past Gojo, dodging his outstretched arms with an easy grace before sinking a three pointer without even looking fazed. Gojo groaned loudly. “UGH, come on!”

Geto smirked, spinning the ball in his hands. “What’s wrong, Satoru? Thought you were the strongest?”

Gojo huffed, jogging to retrieve the ball. “Oh, please. I’m just getting started.”

Shoko turned to you, deadpan. “This game is never going to end.”

You sighed. “Nope.”

She took a sip from her water bottle before giving you a side glance. “So, which one are you rooting for?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

She smirked. “Oh, don’t play dumb. I know they’re both trying to show off for you.”

Your face warmed. “They are not.”

Shoko gave you a look. “Mmm, sure. Gojo has been throwing over the top passes this entire time, and Geto? He never plays basketball this seriously. Tell me I’m wrong.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but at that exact moment, Gojo attempted some ridiculous, unnecessary trick shot spinning mid air before launching the ball at the hoop. He completely missed. Shoko burst into laughter, clapping her hands. “Oh my god, did you see that?” You stifled a laugh as Gojo landed, immediately turning to look in your direction as if to check whether you saw his attempt. You quickly averted your gaze.

Shoko leaned in, whispering, “Yeah, totally not trying to impress you.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Shoko, please.”

She grinned. “I’m just saying. You’ve got two of the strongest sorcerers wrapped around your finger, and you’re over here acting like it’s nothing.” Before you could respond, Geto casually walked over, spinning the ball on his fingertips. “Shoko, you wanna play next? Might give me more of a challenge.”

Gojo scowled. “Hey!”

Shoko waved him off. “Nah, I’m good. I like watching you two embarrass yourselves.”

You smirked. “It is pretty entertaining.”

Geto arched a brow at you. “Oh? Would it be more entertaining if you played?”

You rolled your eyes. “Absolutely not. I refuse to get caught up in whatever this is.”

Gojo, now recovered from his earlier failure, grinned. “Aw, c’mon, I’ll go easy on you~.”

You deadpanned. “gojo youll still be mean to me” Geto chuckled, spinning the ball once more before tossing it to Gojo. “Alright, alright. We’ll finish this first.”

Gojo smirked. “Good. Because I refuse to lose in front of my favorite person.”

You blinked. “Who?”

Gojo winked. “Guess.”

Shoko gagged. “I’m leaving.”

You laughed, shaking your head as the game resumed, Gojo and Geto both seemingly more fired up than before. Shoko nudged you with her elbow. “So, really, who are you rooting for?” You sighed, watching as Geto smoothly stole the ball from Gojo.

“…I plead the fifth.”

“hoe we’re not in america”

—

Gojo wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t. He was just… mildly aware that this was not going as smoothly as he’d hoped. That was fine. He was Gojo Satoru. He could recover. He could be charming. The problem was, you were making it really difficult. You were just walking next to him after the little game, completely oblivious to the fact that he was actively trying to flirt with you. And sure, maybe that was on him for being bad at it today, but also how were you not picking up on any of this? He had practically draped himself over your chair at lunch the other day. He had called you cool super amazing (which, okay, maybe wasn’t the best line, but he’d panicked). He had literally just suggested hanging out in a way that was clearly date coded. And still, you weren’t getting it.

“Are you okay?” you asked suddenly, shooting him a look.

Gojo immediately straightened up. “Me? Oh, I’m fantastic.” No, he wasn’t. He was fighting for his life.

You narrowed your eyes. “You sure? You look like you’re buffering.”

Gojo felt his eye twitch. Great. Incredible. I am exuding peak attractiveness right now. “Rude.” He tried to sound playful, but even he could hear the strain in his voice. “I was actually gonna ask if you wanted to hang out later.”

You blinked at him. “We always do”

Gojo resisted the urge to grab you by the shoulders. “Yeah, but like, something different. Maybe, I dunno, date adjacent?”

You actually tilted your head at that, confused. “Date adjacent?”

Oh my god, I’m going to die.Gojo groaned. This was so not how he pictured this going. He had imagined you blushing, maybe teasing him back, at least acknowledging what he was doing. Instead, you were just standing there, looking at him like he had two heads.

“…Are you flirting with me?” you asked suddenly.

Gojo froze. His brain short circuited. Oh. Oh no. This is it. This is my moment. Say something cool. Say something.

“…No?” he blurted.

The second the word left his mouth, he wanted to throw himself into traffic. You, meanwhile, burst out laughing. And just like that, he lost to the plot again Gojo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god.”

“I knew something was up with you!” you cackled, nudging him with your elbow. “You’ve been acting so weird.”

Gojo flailed slightly. “I was not acting weird—”

“You totally were.”

Gojo huffed. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was being a little weird—”

“Painfully weird.”

“Rude,” he muttered. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. This was not how he wanted this to go, but at this point, it was so obvious he was trying, so he might as well just go for it.

“Look, all I’m saying is,” he started, glancing at you, “if I was flirting, which I’m not saying I was” You raised an eyebrow. He ignored you. “hypothetically, if I was flirting, would that be, like… a bad thing?”

You tilted your head, considering. Gojo felt his heart actually skip a beat. He hadn’t meant to phrase it like that, hadn’t meant to actually sound like he cared about the answer (But he did. Of course, he did.) You smirked. “I dunno,” you said, starting to walk again. “Guess you’ll have to try harder if you want an answer.” Gojo blinked. Then he processed what you had just said.

Oh. Oh, you little—

A slow grin spread across his face as he easily fell into step beside you. “So there’s a chance?” he asked, voice light.

You just shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to find out.” Gojo chuckled, shaking his head.

—-

You hesitated, debating whether to keep walking or turn back. Geto’s voice was always smooth, steady like a calm river. But there was something else in it now, something amused yet careful, that made you pause. Curiosity got the better of you, and you leaned subtly against the doorway, just out of sight.

“…and then she just left the cafeteria,” Gojo’s voice came through, animated and exasperated. “Didn’t even answer me!”

Geto chuckled, warm and low. “Maybe she didn’t want to.”

Gojo huffed. “No, no, she was blushing, Suguru. I saw it.” You exhaled slowly. Blushing? Was it really that obvious?

“Maybe you pushed too far,” Geto mused. “You do that a lot.”

“I wasn’t pushing!” Gojo shot back, then hesitated. “Okay, maybe I was, but I had to! They never answer me seriously.”

“Ever wonder why?” Geto asked smoothly.

There was a pause. You could hear Gojo thinking, and for some reason, that made your chest feel tight. “…No?” Gojo finally admitted, and Geto sighed, almost fondly.

“Satoru,” Geto said patiently, “not everything is a game. You joke about everything. Everything. Why would she think this is any different?”

“Because I mean it!” Gojo argued, his voice rising in frustration. “I’m always flirting with her, always giving her chances to say something back”

“And maybe she doesn’t know if you’re being serious,” Geto interrupted, firm but calm. “Maybe they think it’s just a game to you, and she doesnt want to be played.”

Gojo scoffed. “That’s stupid. Why would I waste my time playing games with her?”

“Because that’s what you do,” Geto said simply. “It’s how you are. You make everything lighthearted, everything funny. But it also means that sometimes, people don’t know when you actually mean something.”

Gojo was quiet for a moment before muttering, “I… I don’t know how to not do that.”

Something in your chest twisted. Gojo, struggling with sincerity? it wasn't something that isn't real. It's painfully obvious to anyone who meets him Though if you're assuming right that this is about you, it feels weird. “Well,” Geto said, voice softer now, “maybe it’s time you figured it out.”

Gojo let out a dramatic groan. “Oh, sure, easy. Just suddenly stop being me. That’ll work.”

Geto huffed a laugh. “No one’s asking you to stop being you, Satoru. Just… maybe start showing them that they deserve more than a joke.”

A pause. “…More?” Gojo repeated, like the word didn’t quite make sense. “Yeah,” Geto said, and there was something final about the way he said it. “More. She deserve more, Satoru.” Your breath stilled in your throat. Gojo was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “You really think that’s what she wants?”

Geto exhaled, something thoughtful in his tone. “I think that if you really want to mean it, you should start acting like it.” Then, after a brief pause, he added, “And I think you’re not the only one who’s going to be trying harder.” The weight behind his words made your stomach flip. Gojo let out a low hum, considering. “Huh. That sounds like you mean something too, Suguru.”

There was no teasing in Geto’s response, only certainty. “I do.” Your mind raced. You shouldn’t have been listening, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it not when it felt like you had just witnessed something you weren’t supposed to.

Before you could process it all, a presence settled at your side. You turned sharply, heart hammering, only to find Geto standing there, watching you. His gaze was steady, knowing. A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Eavesdropping, huh?” The smooth timbre of Geto’s voice sent a shiver down your spine before you could even turn to face him. When you did, he was already watching you with that lazy, knowing smirk, the kind that made it clear he had caught you red handed.

Your heart lurched. “I absolutely wasnt, me walking down the hall and loud voices means inevitably someone wi—”

Geto chuckled, warm and low, like he had all the time in the world. “Relax. I won’t tell.” Your shoulders slumped slightly, though your mind was still spinning. “I didn’t mean to listen”

“Wanted to hear what everyone really thought?” Geto supplied smoothly, his voice quieter now. Your mouth opened, but the words tangled on your tongue. He wasn’t wrong. After a moment of struggle feeling strangely exposed under his gaze.

Geto hummed, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “Satoru can be… a lot,” he said, lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. “But he means well.”

You exhaled slowly, still processing everything. “Yeah, I know.” His gaze lingered, a beat too long. That easy amusement was still there, but there was something else beneath it, something thoughtful, something intent.

“He’s not the only one who cares about what you think, you know.”

Your heart skipped. The air between you shifted, suddenly heavier, like the conversation had turned into something delicate. Something that had to be handled carefully.

“What do you mean?” you asked, though you weren’t sure you were ready for the answer. Geto tilted his head slightly, watching you with that same unreadable expression. “Just that… it’s not always easy, liking someone like you.”

The way he said it sent a rush of heat to your face. You swallowed. “Geto…” His smirk softened into something smaller, “What?”

You didn’t know how to respond. Your mind was still tangled in the weight of his words, the quiet but unmistakable way he had just said it like it was already fact. Geto’s eyes traced over your face like he was memorizing something, his amusement dimming into something quieter. “You’re always looking at him,” he murmured. “But do you ever think about who’s looking at you?”

Your breath caught. “You deserve more than teasing, you know.” His voice was almost casual, but the weight behind it was anything but. “More than jokes and empty flirting.” You stared at him, feeling like you had suddenly stepped into unknown territory. He let out a soft chuckle, almost as if he could hear your thoughts. “I won’t push,” he said easily. “I know you don’t like that.” His fingers brushed against your shoulder a fleeting touch, too light to be an accident. “But just… think about it.”

You couldn’t find your voice. Geto held your gaze for a moment longer before stepping back, hands slipping into his pockets. “Give yourself a chance,” he murmured again but lower, tilting his head slightly. “But don’t forget there are other people who care about you, too.” And then he was gone, walking away without waiting for an answer, leaving you standing there mind reeling, heart racing.

It was complicated. Messy. But as you finally stepped away from the doorway, you found yourself thinking not just about Gojo’s teasing or the way he had fumbled for sincerity, but about Geto’s steady warmth, his quiet certainty. And for the first time, you weren’t just thinking about them. You were wondering what it was you wanted.

——

It had been years since you first walked through the gates of Jujutsu High, and looking back now, it almost felt like another lifetime. The first time you met Geto was a memory etched in the back of your mind, one you revisited often, though it was a little more distant now.

You’d been a first year, fresh and wide eyed, filled with excitement and nerves as you navigated the complex world of Jujutsu sorcery. You’d barely even known what to expect from your fellow students, let alone the upperclassmen. But when you first saw Geto, it was impossible not to be struck by him. Tall, calm, and exuding an effortless coolness, he had a kind of quiet magnetism that seemed to draw people in.

You remembered the first day you saw him, sitting alone in the classroom during the the morning. His dark hair fell just the right way, framing his face, and his eyes those intense eyes never seemed to miss anything. The world seemed to gravitate toward him without a second thought. there was something about the way he carried himself that made it feel like he belonged in the spotlight. You couldn’t help but be a little starstruck. It wasn’t just his looks, though. His demeanor, the way he spoke with such effortless confidence, made you feel like you were standing in the presence of someone who had everything figured out. Even back then, as a shy first year, you found yourself drawn to him. You’d always been a little shy when it came to those kinds of feelings, so you never dared to express how you felt.

You had a crush on him, without a doubt. It was something you didn’t admit easily not to anyone, least of all to yourself. You were just starting to adjust to the world outside of you and gojo, let alone figure out how you fit in it, and trying to sort out your feelings for someone like Geto only made things more complicated. But as time went on, as you became more familiar with him, the crush slowly turned into something else. You began to see the layers beneath the surface. Geto wasn’t just the cool guy who could command attention with a single glance. he was thoughtful, intelligent, and surprisingly perceptive in ways that weren’t immediately obvious. He didn’t just notice people; he understood them, in a way that made you feel like you were more than just another face in the crowd.

You remembered the first time you really spoke to him like REALLY spoke to him. , after a mission where you both ended up working together. You’d been struggling with something either your technique or just how to focus under pressure and Geto had come up to you, casual as always, and offered a few words of advice. It wasn’t anything grand or life changing, just a small adjustment, but the way he said it, the way he made you feel like he truly believed in your potential, had stuck with you.

“Don’t overthink it,” he had said, offering a slight smile. “It’s simple. Just focus on the moment.”

You were surprised by how much that simple comment helped you how much it made you feel seen. From then on, every interaction with him felt different. Instead of a distant rando, Geto became someone you could rely on someone you could talk to about anything, whether it was missions, school, or just life in general. His presence, while still commanding, became comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.

Now, when you looked at him, it wasn’t with the same starry eyed admiration of that first day. He was one of your closer friends, someone you’d come to trust deeply. The crush, though it had remained a part of you in the back of your mind, had shifted into something else, something more meaningful. You appreciate him not for the image of him you had built in your head, but for the person he truly was. The calm, steady support he offered, the way he never judged, and how he always seemed to know when to challenge you and when to step back.

You found yourself often smiling a little as you watched him, lost in thought. He was standing off to the side, talking with some of the others, his usual easygoing demeanor present even now. He had become someone you could confide in, someone who genuinely cared about the people around him. The ease of your friendship, of the way he accepted you, made you realize just how far you had come from those first days of high school.

The crush was a distant memory now, but you couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of gratitude when you thought back to that first meeting. What you had with Geto now was something far more valuable, something real. He was your friend, and in many ways, you had grown together. And as you watched him, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he had always known exactly what you needed before you even realized it yourself.

—

The halls of Jujutsu High were quieter at this hour, bathed in the deep oranges and purples of the setting sun. Most of the students had turned in for the night, and even the teachers had begun to retreat to their rooms. But Gojo sat on the training field, staring up at the sky like it might hold the answers to the thoughts swarming in his head.

Shoko plopped down next to him, stretching her legs out with a quiet sigh. “You look like you’re thinking too hard,” she remarked, tilting her head to look at him.

Gojo huffed a laugh but didn’t turn to face her. “I am the strongest, y’know. That means my brain’s gotta be strong, too.”

Shoko snorted. “That’s not how that works.” A comfortable silence settled between them. Gojo let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. The usual brightness in his voice dimmed slightly when he finally spoke again.

“Shoko…” he started, hesitating in a way that was unlike him. “What does it mean when someone makes your brain feel all… messy?”

Shoko raised a brow. “Are you asking me about feelings, Satoru?”

He groaned, tipping his head back. “Ugh, don’t make it weird.”

“You’re the one making it weird,” she shot back, amused. “What’s going on?”

Gojo was silent for a beat before his fingers dug into his hair. “I really like her, Shoko.” His voice was quieter now, like saying it too loudly might make it real in a way he wasn’t ready for. Shoko blinked, before an easy smirk tugged at her lips. “Yeah, no shit.”

He groaned again. “Come on, be helpful.”

She chuckled but softened a little. “Okay, okay. What about them is making your brain all ‘messy’?”

Gojo exhaled, shoulders slumping slightly. “It’s just… I flirt with them all the time, right? But I don’t think they ever really believe me. Like it’s just some game or whatever.”

Shoko hummed thoughtfully. “You do treat everything like a joke.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Gojo muttered, rubbing his temple. “And then there’s Suguru.”

Shoko frowned slightly. “What about him?”

Gojo hesitated before sighing. “He likes her too.”

Shoko’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes sharpened. Shes heard both sides of her best friends complain about their love for you “And?”

Gojo hesitated again, and that alone was enough to tell her how much this was really messing with him. “It’s Suguru,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

And in a way, it did. Suguru Geto was his oldest friend, the one who had always been by his side, the one who understood him in ways no one else did. But now, suddenly, there was this… rift. Not spoken, not fought over just there, quietly growing between them.

Shoko let the words settle between them before speaking. “So, what? Are you gonna back off?”

Gojo snapped his gaze to her, eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Of course not.”

Shoko gave a small, knowing smile. “Didn’t think so.”

Gojo exhaled sharply. “But it’s weird, okay? It’s weird because… because he’s Suguru, and he’s never really wanted the same things as me before.” He ruffled his hair, frustration evident. “It’s like I don’t know how to feel about it. He’s my best friend, Shoko.”

“And so is [Y/N],” Shoko pointed out.

Gojo faltered. She sighed, nudging him lightly. “Look, you like her, right? I think it naive to think suguru has never wanted the same as you”

“Yeah,” Gojo muttered, quieter this time.

“And Suguru likes her too,” she continued.

Gojo clenched his jaw but nodded. Shoko studied him for a moment before shrugging. “Then stop thinking so much.”

Gojo stared at her. “That’s your advice?”

She gave a lazy grin. “Yup.”

He scoffed. “Gee, thanks, that helps so much.”

Shoko chuckled, then let her expression turn more serious. “Listen, Satoru. I get it. You don’t like dealing with feelings yours or anyone else’s. But this isn’t about Suguru. And it’s not about some stupid competition.” She held his gaze. “It’s about you and how you feel about them.”

Gojo pressed his lips together. “Yeah,” he murmured, like he was finally letting himself admit it. “I really, really like her.”

Shoko patted his back, standing up with a stretch. “Then do something about it.”

Gojo tilted his head back to look up at her, lips tugged in a lopsided smirk. “You’re really bad at comforting people”

She rolled her eyes. “And you’re a pain in my ass. Just because i chose to be a doctor doesn’t mean psycologist.”

Gojo chuckled, but as she walked away, he let his head drop back, staring up at the sky again.

no one:

Y/n this chapter:

taglist : @pandabiene5115 @inthedarkshadows000

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.

rody soul x reader

｡𖦹°‧ You Matter To Me ｡𖦹°‧

it a the middle it the night kill a me but i’m tired but the brain rot is too strong. When i see him i think howl and calsifer

masterlist

Rody means the world to you, The world has a way of taking advantage

“Come on, slowpokes!” you called over your shoulder, already halfway up a stack of crates that led to your usual rooftop hideout above the bakery.

The streets of Otheon were always full of life, bustling markets, kids darting between stalls, the occasional shouts of vendors selling fresh bread or trinkets. But for you, Rody, and his siblings, the real adventure was never in the busy streets. It was in the quieter places, the hidden nooks and rooftops where no one bothered you.

“I’m trying!” Rody huffed, carrying Roro on his back while Lala clung to his arm. “Unlike you, I’ve got two little germs to deal with!”

Lala pouted. “I’m not a germ!”

“You kinda are,” Roro mumbled sleepily against Rody’s shoulder.

You laughed, hopping back down to help. “Alright, Lala, your ride’s here.” You crouched down, and without hesitation, she scrambled onto your back. “Hold on tight!”

Rody blinked at you, a little surprised, then turned his head away, hoping you wouldn’t notice the faint blush creeping onto his face. Pino, on the other hand, chirped way too much for it to go unnoticed. The little pink bird flitted around excitedly, landing on your shoulder and nuzzling into your cheek

As soon as she wrapped her arms around your neck, you effortlessly climbed back up, Lala giggling the whole way. When you reached the rooftop, you set her down, and she plopped onto the ground dramatically. “Made it!”

Rody finally got up after you, carefully setting Roro down before collapsing onto his back. “You have way too much energy,” he muttered, glancing at you.

You smirked. “you’re just getting old.”

“I’m old?” He scoffed, sitting up. “Excuse me? Who was the one struggling to carry Lala just now?”

“you were the one that was struggling with both—”

Pino, who had been fluttering around your head this whole time, landed on your shoulder and nuzzled against your cheek. You grinned and reached up to gently scratch her head. “What’s up with your little bird today? She’s been extra clingy.”

Rody stiffened. “Uh—no reason! She just, uh—likes you!”

Pino chirped a little too enthusiastically at that.

“she’s so cute and affectionate,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “If you ever want her off your hands i’ll gladly take her”

Rody quickly turned away, rubbing the back of his neck. “AHH! nooo. nope. no. nooooo. she’ll just stick with me”

You raised an eyebrow at him but let it go. If there was one thing about Rody, it was that he was always a little mysterious when it came to certain things.

Roro tugged at your sleeve, looking up at you with big eyes. “Can you tell us a story? The one about the hero who tricks the bad guys!”

“Again?” You grinned. “You guys never get tired of that one.”

“It’s the best one!” Lala said, scooting closer. “But this time, make Rody do the voices!”

Rody groaned. “Why me?”

“Because you’re good at it!”

You smirked, nudging him. “Yeah, come on, partner. Don’t leave me hanging.”

Rody sighed dramatically, but when Lala and Roro gave him matching puppy-dog eyes, he caved. “Fine.”

As you spun your tale, Rody, despite his earlier complaints, got really into the voices. Lala and Roro giggled at his exaggerated villain impressions, and even you had to bite back laughter at his over the top dramatic gasps. By the end of the story, Lala was leaning sleepily against your arm. “You’re gonna be a real hero someday,” she mumbled.

You ruffled her hair, grinning. “Maybe. But for now, I think Rody’s the real hero, he takes care of you guys all the time., you both better appreciate him” by the end you’ve adjusted to squishing her cheeks

Rody sputtered, caught off guard, and Pino chirped in agreement. “Whaaa No, I mean, I just do what I have to.”

His siblings nodded enthusiastically, and Lala giggled. “Then you can be the sidekick!”

“Hey!” you pouted, crossing your arms. “I think I should be the main hero here!”

Roro laughed. “No way! Rody’s way cooler!” Rody looked away, scratching the back of his head, clearly embarrassed but also secretly pleased. You just smirked at him, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

“Guess that makes us partners, huh?” you said, offering your pinky to him.

For a second, Rody just stared at your outstretched hand, his heartbeat stuttering. Then, swallowing down whatever goofy feelings he had, he looped his pinky around yours, locking it in place.

“Yeah,” he said, softer this time. “Partners.” Pino chirped, flitting excitedly around you again.

“See? Even your bird agrees.” You shot him a teasing grin before offering your pinky. “Well i mean Ill say you’re my hero at least”

Rody just stared for a second, his heart skipping a beat. Then, swallowing down whatever weird feeling was creeping up on him, he linked his pinky with yours.

“You’re too much,” he said quietly.

Pino chirped again, landing between your hands.

You sighed dramatically. “Seriously, what’s with her today?”

Rody groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t know, okay? Just—drop it!”

Lala giggled, Roro snickered, and you? You just awkwardly smiled. You had no idea what was really going on. And Rody really hoped you wouldn’t figure it out anytime soon.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The warm glow of the Otheon sunset stretched across the rooftops as you made your way back home, the scent of freshly baked bread still clinging to your clothes. The afternoon had been perfect laughing with Rody, telling stories to Roro and Lala, and soaking in the feeling of belonging. But that feeling always faded when the night came.

The streets were quieter now, shadows stretching long against the buildings. You kept your head down, slipping through alleys with the ease of someone who had grown up in them. A habit. A necessity. Because the truth was, you couldn’t afford to be seen anymore.

Not after they found you.

It started a few weeks ago an offer, one you couldn’t refuse. The commission had their eyes on you for a while, watching, waiting. Not a hero in the traditional sense, but something else. Someone who could move unseen, get things done where others couldn’t.

They told you the country needed people like you. That you could make a real difference. after everything you’d been through, everything you’d done to survive, wasn’t that what you wanted?

Still, it didn’t feel real until you stepped inside the headquarters for the first time. Unlike the crowded streets of Otheon, the commission building was sleek, clinical. People moved with purpose, their faces unreadable. You weren’t sure what you expected maybe more warmth, more reassurance. But the moment you signed that contract, any illusions of comfort vanished.

“Your work will be in the shadows,” your handler had told you, sliding a file across the table. “We’re not looking for another flashy hero. We need efficiency. Discretion.”

You hesitated for only a moment before flipping the file open. That night, as you lay in your small apartment, staring at the ceiling, you thought about Rody and his siblings. About Lala’s certainty that you’d be a hero one day. About Rody’s quiet admiration when he thought you weren’t looking.

Would they understand this choice? Would they forgive you for walking a path that pulled you further away from them?

You exhaled sharply, sitting up. There was no room for hesitation. This was the only way forward. They didn’t need to know.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The trailer smelled like coffee and something faintly sweet, probably the remnants of breakfast from earlier that morning. The small kitchen was as cramped as ever, with barely enough space for one person, let alone two. Yet, somehow, you and Rody had both ended up here, navigating the tight space like an old dance neither of you had forgotten.

You reached for the sugar at the same time he did, your hands brushing. “Sorry—”

“My bad—”

You both pulled back, only for you to move toward the sink as he turned in the same direction. Your hip bumped against his, making him stagger slightly. “Seriously?” he huffed, rubbing his side with an amused smile.

“Not my fault your kitchen is tiny,” you shot back, nudging him playfully before grabbing a mug from the cabinet.

He shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee. “Or maybe you’re just in my way.”

You smirked. “Maybe you’re in mine.”

Another bump, this time, your shoulder against his as you reached for a spoon. The closeness wasn’t new, not really. You’d spent your childhood shoulder to shoulder, running through the streets of Otheon, always moving together. But something about now about being here after all this time made the space feel even smaller.

Rody exhaled, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “Y’know… I don’t see you much these days.”

The shift in his tone made you pause. You stirred your coffee absentmindedly, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic. “Yeah? Guess I’ve been busy.”

“Right. Busy.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. “You always disappear for weeks at a time. Then you show up out of nowhere, act like nothing’s changed, and then poof. Gone again.”

You looked at him, seeing the way his brow furrowed just slightly, the way Pino chirped softly from his shoulder, almost as if echoing his thoughts. You flashed an easy grin. “What, miss me that much?”

Rody rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “Not the point.”

You let out a soft chuckle, stepping aside as he reached past you for the sugar again. In the tight space, you barely had room to move without brushing against him. He didn’t step away, and neither did you.

“Come on, Rody,” you said lightly. “You know me. I go where the wind takes me.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah. You always say that.”

The words were familiar, like an old refrain, but this time, they held something heavier beneath them. You didn’t answer right away, just took a sip of your coffee, letting the warmth settle in your hands. Rody studied you, waiting. You could feel it the way his gaze lingered just a little longer than necessary. Like he was searching for something.

Pino fluttered over to you, landing on your shoulder and nuzzling into your cheek. You smiled, brushing your fingers gently over her feathers. “Your bird’s really loves me. I think she’ll be happier following me around”

Rody exhaled a soft laugh, “she’s…. just affectionate ”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t the same as before. It wasn’t the easy silence of two kids who had nothing to worry about. It was something different now something heavier, something older.

“Still the same, huh?” Rody finally said, his voice softer this time.

You smiled, tilting your head slightly. “Wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t.”

But you both knew that wasn’t true. You weren’t the same kids running through the streets, scraping by on clever tricks and sheer determination. Time had pulled you in different directions, left gaps that neither of you knew how to fill.

Still, you wouldn’t say that. You wouldn’t tell him where you’d been, what you’d been doing. Some things were better left unspoken. Rody let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair before picking up his coffee again. “Guess I’ll just have to enjoy the company while you’re here, then.”

You clinked your mug against his in a small toast, your grin still in place. “I hold the company I have with you so close.”

Pino chirped again, and Rody glanced at her before shaking his head with a smile.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

A question came up more often than you liked.

“You don’t have a hero name?”

People always asked with some mix of surprise and curiosity, like the idea of someone doing this kind of work without a flashy title was strange. Like it wasn’t normal to just be a person. But you never had an answer that satisfied them.

Because the truth was, you never needed one. Heroes had names to stand for something hope, power, legacy. They had people waiting for them, people who chanted their names in the streets, who relied on their presence. But for you?

There was no crowd waiting. No legacy to uphold. Just the job. That’s what you sold yourself too. Growing up in Otheon, names didn’t mean much. You learned early on that no one was coming to save you. No one cared what you called yourself when you were scraping by, running through life with Rody, protecting his siblings from the kind of people who didn’t bother learning kids’ names before taking what they wanted.

Survival was enough. A name wouldn’t have changed a thing. Even now, with the commission branding you as one of their best assets, you still didn’t see the point. The work you did wasn’t meant for the spotlight it was quiet, precise, the kind of thing that made people uneasy when they thought about how things really got done.

And maybe, deep down, it was better this way. A name meant being known. And to be known was to be missed.

You weren’t sure you could handle that.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The night air was cool against your skin as you leaned back against the hood of Rody’s beat up car or is probably his car, you stopped asking. Staring up at the Otheon sky. The city lights blurred out most of the stars, but a few stubborn ones still shone through, distant but steady.

Rody sat beside you, one leg pulled up, his arms resting lazily over his knee. Pino was curled up on his shoulder, half dozing. For once, the world wasn’t pulling either of you in different directions. No missions. No responsibilities. Just this.

“You ever think about leaving?” he asked suddenly, voice softer than usual.

You glanced at him. “Otheon?”

“Yeah. The city. The country. Just… all of it.”

You exhaled, tilting your head back. “I used to.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just sat with it, letting the silence settle between you like a familiar weight. Then, finally “But you stay.”

You turned your head toward him. His eyes were unreadable, reflecting the dim city lights, but there was something in them, something careful. Like he was waiting for an answer that mattered.

“…Yeah.”

Rody hummed, looking away, a small smile playing on his lips. “Good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Good?”

“Yeah.” He let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because if you left, I think the whole damn world would feel it.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “…Rody.”

“I mean it.” He turned to face you fully now, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “I know you don’t think about yourself like that. I know you don’t see yourself the way you should. But you—” He huffed, shaking his head. “You matter, Y/n. To me. To the kids. To a hell of a lot more people than you think.”

Your throat tightened. You had spent so long moving in the dark, convincing yourself that it was better that way, that your presence wasn’t needed. Rody saw right through that. Like he always did.

“…You really believe that?” you asked quietly.

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Of course I do, dumbass.”

Rody reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours with a familiarity that made your chest ache. His grip was warm, solid, grounding.

“We’ve always been surviving against the world, I’m scared you don’t know how much you mean. Everything is changing and… and-” he said. “You just need to be you. And that’s enough.”

You swallowed hard, looking down at your intertwined hands. There was no teasing in his voice, no deflection. Just truth. For a long time, you had carried the weight of being unseen, unnoticed, untethered. But Rody saw you.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

It was supposed to be another straightforward mission for you, a pro hero on a routine contract. The job was simple, intercept an illegal exchange of weapons and information, apprehend the individuals involved, and ensure the goods didn’t make it onto the streets. You had done this hundreds of times. But now, standing above the alley, you realized just how easily something simple could spiral into chaos.

You’d always kept your personal life separate from your work as a pro hero. Being top tier came with its own pressures, and if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t need anyone’s pity or sympathy. The world of heroes was a strange one, filled with expectations, spotlight, and public relations. You never cared for the fanfare or the flashy name. To you, it had always been about getting the job done, saving lives, and making sure that people who needed help got it.

The mission was unfolding, but everything felt wrong.

You crouched low, eyes scanning the alley below as you noticed the familiar figure of Rody, his lanky frame standing awkwardly among a group of shady looking individuals. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, trying to play it cool, but the tension in his shoulders told a different story. He was out of his depth, and you could see it.

The voices from your earpiece crackled with static, a reminder of the task at hand. “Y/n, do you have visual on the target?”

You clenched your jaw. “Yeah. I see him.”

The rush of adrenaline hit you. You were supposed to be the one in control. You were the one who was supposed to stay ahead of this. no surprises, no distractions.

You’d seen Rody around the city occasionally, but you never really asked about what he was doing. He always seemed to disappear for days at a time, coming back with some new odd job, a bit more worn down, a bit quieter each time. He never talked about his work, and you never asked. You had your own life to handle, your own responsibilities to take care of. But seeing him standing there, surrounded by men you knew were tied to dangerous underground syndicates, made your blood run cold.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, realizing what this was.

You’d been hired for the same mission, but you never imagined he’d be involved in something like this. The contract you’d taken was straightforward: stop an illegal arms trade. But seeing Rody here, in the middle of it, made your stomach drop. He wasn’t a part of this world the world you worked in as a pro hero. This wasn’t the carefree kid you’d grown up with, not by a long shot. He was knee deep in a deal with people you knew to be dangerous, and the worst part was, he didn’t even seem to notice the weight of it.

Rody adjusted his jacket, glancing around like he was trying to hide his nerves. The man in front of him, a bulky figure with a scar running down his cheek, sneered as he took a step closer. “You’re late. You got what we asked for?”

You tensed, instinctively crouching lower behind the ledge, your heart pounding in your chest. The contract you had taken was to take down a ring of illegal arms dealers that had been slipping through the cracks of the law. They were smart, elusive slipping between the hands of the law with fake names and a string of different identities. You had been tracking their movements for weeks, and now here they were, just a few steps from being caught.

But Rody didn’t belong here. It wasn’t just the shady group of people. It was the fact that he was so calm too calm. This wasn’t the awkward, lovable Rody you grew up with. This was someone else, someone playing a part in a world you didn’t want him anywhere near.

The scarred man reached into his coat, pulling out a small package wrapped in cloth. “You know what to do with this,” he said in a low, menacing tone, handing it over to Rody. You couldn’t see the contents from this angle, but you didn’t need to. The exchange was happening.

You swallowed, unsure of what to do next.

“Rody, what the hell are you doing?” you muttered under your breath, a mix of anger and confusion flooding your chest. You never thought he’d go this far this deep into the underground world.

A flash of movement caught your eye, and you snapped your attention back to Rody. He was holding the package now, slipping it into his jacket like it was no big deal, still wearing that careless grin of his. The man gave him a nod of approval, and Rody took a step back, almost as if he was waiting for something.

Your heart raced. Was this the moment to act? Static crackled again in your earpiece. “Y/n, what’s your status?”

You exhaled, trying to steady your breath. “I’ve got eyes on the target.” You hesitated, your thoughts racing. “There’s someone else in the mix. Stand by.”

The radio was silent for a moment. “Acknowledged. Proceed with caution.”

You didn’t respond. Your mind was already made up. You couldn’t leave him there. You couldn’t just walk away and pretend it was any other mission. You had to act. Slowly, you slid from your perch, moving down toward the alley with practiced silence. Every movement, every step, had to be calculated. This wasn’t just about catching criminals anymore. This was about saving someone you cared about, someone who, despite everything, still mattered to you.

As you neared the corner, you heard Rody’s voice, low and a little too relaxed for the situation. “So, uh, do I just walk away, or what?”

The scarred man smirked. “You’ve done your part. Now get lost.”

Rody shrugged, turning as if he were about to leave. But then, just before he could make it to the exit, you rounded the corner.

“Hey!”

He froze, eyes wide as he looked up, catching sight of you standing at the end of the alley. His expression shifted surprise, then recognition, followed by that damn grin of his. “Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?”

You didn’t answer. You took a step toward him, hands raised, quirk already activating. “Get out of here,” you said, voice low but firm. “Now.”

He didn’t move. He just stared at you, a thousand questions in his eyes. “wait what?”

You didn’t want to explain. You didn’t want to answer the question he had no right to ask. You had always kept your work separate from your personal life, and this was not how you wanted him to find out what you’ve been occupied with.

The scarred man behind him grunted, clearly annoyed by the interruption. “What’s this?” he growled, eyeing you suspiciously.

Rody held up a hand, signaling for the man to calm down. “Hey, it’s fine. She’s an old friend. We go way back.”

But you couldn’t lie to him now. Not when he was standing there with a package in hand, standing right in the middle of your mission.

“I’m a pro,” you said, the words slipping out of your mouth before you could stop them. “But I’m not here for you. You need to walk away before things get worse.”

Rody blinked, looking down at the package in his hand, then back at you. “This… This is what you’re after?”

You didn’t answer. Rody swallowed, the tension suddenly making itself clear. “You know what this is, don’t you?” His voice was quieter now, a little softer.

“I know,” you said quietly. “But this isn’t the world you want to be in. It never was.”

The confident grin faded from his face for the first time since you’d seen him. His shoulders stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t need you to tell me what I can and can’t do.” His voice was sharp, defensive like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince you.

You stepped forward, keeping your voice steady. “This isn’t some delivery, Rody. This is an illegal arms deal. And you’re standing right in the middle of it.”

He didn’t answer, but his jaw tightened, and his gaze shifted uneasily. You could see the conflict behind his eyes now, the way he was trying to hold on to that facade of control, but it was slipping. He didn’t want to admit that he’d made a mistake, that he’d gotten too deep.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said softly, lowering your hands slightly. “There’s always another way.”

Rody stared at you for a long moment, the tension thick between you. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a second, it felt like he might say something real, something vulnerable. But then he just shook his head, the smile returning, forced this time.

“Yeah, well, we all gotta make a living somehow.” He picked up the package again, slipping it into his jacket, and turned his back to you. “I’m not your problem anymore.”

You reached out instinctively, grabbing his arm and spinning him around. “Rody, stop!”

He met your eyes, his expression unreadable, but the way his gaze flickered for a split second told you everything. “I have to do this.”

The words hit harder than you expected, and for a moment, you were both frozen in place, neither of you moving. The sound of Pino chirping nervously on his shoulder barely registered in the background.

Finally, Rody pulled his arm away gently, but there was a finality in the motion that stung more than it should have. “You’re a hero,” he said quietly, his voice almost sad now. “You do your thing. Let me do mine.”

You couldn’t let him go. Not like this. Before you could speak again, the scarred man growled, stepping toward you. “Enough talking. You’re not gonna ruin this deal, are you?”

Rody didn’t look back at you. He just started walking toward the exit, his steps slow but determined.

You stood there for a moment, torn between staying on mission and pulling Rody back from the edge he was so dangerously close to falling off. But you knew he was too far in now.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Rody had expected this to be another routine gig quick in, quick out, no complications. But now? He was sprinting through a crumbling warehouse, barely keeping up as bullets ricocheted off steel beams and crates splintered around him. This was not what he signed up for.

And the biggest problem wasn’t the deal gone wrong. It was you.

You moved through the fray like it was second nature, weaving through enemies like you had all the time in the world. Rody had always known you were quick, clever, and strong growing up, but this? The way you fought, the way you anticipated every move before it happened, the sheer confidence in your stance, none of it made sense.

He’d seen you fight before. Back when you were kids, you used to take down low level thugs together, scamming the occasional rich idiot out of their money just to survive another day. But that had been scrappy, desperate. Survival.

This was something else entirely. He barely ducked under a flying crate, cursing under his breath. “Oh, come on—”

The guy who threw it didn’t get another chance. You pivoted, a single sharp movement, and with barely a touch, redirected the momentum of the crate straight back at its sender. The impact sent him flying into a rusted container with a loud clang.

Rody’s brain stuttered. You hadn’t just dodged, you had controlled it. Like you’d known exactly where the force was going to go.

And you were completely calm about it.

He barely had time to process before another attacker lunged at him. Rody braced himself, twisting just in time to dodge, but before he could counter, you were already there. A single, well placed strike sent the guy sprawling to the ground, unconscious before he hit the concrete. Rody exhaled sharply. “Okay—what the fuck—”

You just turned to him, barely out of breath. Then another wave of enemies poured in.

“Later,” you said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him behind cover just as gunfire shredded through a nearby wall. He felt the way your grip tightened not panicked, not frantic, but controlled. You had everything mapped out in your head. You knew exactly what was happening.

Rody didn’t know what to focus on, the gunfire, the chaos, or the fact that the person he grew up with, the person he thought he knew, was not the same anymore.

You peeked out from cover, scanning the situation. “Alright, we need to move—”

Rody grabbed your sleeve, yanking you back before you could go any further. “No.” His chest rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath. His mind was spinning. “What do you do?”

You blinked. He wasn’t joking. His usual carefree expression was gone, replaced with something between shock and frustration. His brown eyes searched yours for some kind of explanation, some reason why the person standing in front of him wasn’t just the same street smart kid he grew up with.

You hesitated for only a second before smirking. “Let’s just say…” You adjusted your stance, tilting your head slightly. “I got a little more official than you.”

Rody blinked. Then the realization hit him like a train.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. what you said earlier was real? ” Rody groaned, running a hand through his hair as the realization fully settled in. “You’re a hero?” The words sounded ridiculous coming out of his mouth, but there was no denying it now.

You gave him a lopsided grin, adjusting your stance. “Surprised?”

“Surprised doesn’t cover it,” he muttered. His heart was still pounding, half from the gunfire, half from the fact that everything he thought he knew about you was apparently wrong.

You shot him a knowing look, but before he could argue more, another burst of gunfire tore through the air, forcing you both to duck. The remaining thugs were regrouping, barking orders, trying to surround you.

Rody exhaled sharply. No time to argue.

“Alright,” he said, glancing around. “We need an exit.”

You peeked over the crate you were crouched behind, scanning the warehouse. “Main doors are too risky, they’ll have snipers covering the outside. Back entrance?”

“Locked, bolted, probably rigged to hell,” Rody said without missing a beat. He had already been looking for exits the moment things went sideways. Years of slipping in and out of trouble taught him to always have a way out.

You grinned. “ok pretty boy i’m gonna need you to lock in.”

Rody rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Give me cover, I’ll get us out.”

Just like that, the tension shifted. The shock of finding each other on opposite sides of the mission took a backseat to something more instinctual survival. The old rhythm kicked in before either of you could think about it. You launched forward, drawing the attention of the gunmen while Rody moved, darting between shadows and obstacles, slipping into the background like he was made for it.

And damn it, it was smooth. While you dismantled threats head on, Rody did what he did best found an opening no one else would’ve noticed. He spotted a rusted out maintenance ladder leading up to a row of high windows. If they could get up there, they could drop onto the roof and disappear before anyone noticed.

He worked fast, prying open an access panel and overriding the lock mechanism with a flick of his wrist.

“Y/N!” he called over his shoulder. “Exit secured!”

You heard him, but you were still occupied, two guys left, both moving in sync, trying to corner you. You sidestepped one’s attack, caught his wrist mid swing, and redirected the momentum into the other guy, sending them both sprawling.

Rody stared with awe. “Damn.”

You grinned, breath steady. “Told you. Official.”

“Yeah, yeah, get moving!”

You fell into step behind him, scaling the ladder with practiced ease. As soon as you reached the top, Rody swung the window open and hoisted himself onto the roof, offering a hand to pull you up after him.

“Not bad,” you said as you both landed, crouched low on the rooftop. The night air was crisp, the chaos below now just a dull hum.

Rody dusted off his jacket, grinning despite himself. “Yeah, well… turns out I still know how to work with you.”

You met his gaze, and for a second, it was like nothing had changed like you were still just two kids running through the streets of Otheon, watching each other’s backs, finding your way out of trouble together.

Except now, the stakes were higher. And you weren’t sure where you stood anymore. Rody exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So… what now, hero?”

You glanced back at the warehouse. “You tell me, thief.”

The tension between you both lingered, but there was no time to pick it apart. Not now. Not while the remnants of the fight still rang in your ears, and adrenaline buzzed beneath your skin.

Rody shook his head, letting out a breath as he stared out over the rooftops. “You know, I thought tonight was gonna be simple. Just another job, in and out, no surprises.” He shot you a look, half exasperated, half amused. “And then you show up.”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “What, disappointed?”

He scoffed. “I don’t know what I am. Still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you—” He gestured at you, exasperated. “—are a hero.”

You shrugged, feeling the weight of the moment settle in. “Wasn’t exactly the plan growing up. But life happens.”

“Yeah. Life happens.” He let out a short laugh, rubbing his temple. “And apparently, it happened to you a lot harder than it did to me.”

You just hummed in response, watching the city stretch out below you. The streets you both grew up on were still the same bright, busy, uncaring. But standing here now, after everything, you realized you weren’t the same kids anymore.

Rody shifted beside you, reaching into his jacket. “Speaking of jobs…” He pulled out a small, tightly wrapped package, the one he had been hired to deliver.

You frowned. “That what this was all about?”

“Yeah. Didn’t exactly ask questions when I took the gig.” He exhaled sharply, tossing the package once in his hand. “Turns out, I probably should’ve.”

You held out your hand. “Let me see it. Rody hesitated for half a second before placing it in your palm. You turned it over, feeling the weight. The package was small, but whatever was inside wasn’t just some ordinary delivery. You had a bad feeling about it.

“I need to take this,” you said finally, slipping it into your jacket. You shot him a look. “This thing nearly got you killed. Whatever’s inside? It’s dangerous. And if it’s linked to whatever bastard sent those guys after us, I need to know what it is.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that.”

“Then why do you sound so annoyed?”

“Because,” he grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets, “I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to deal with you stealing my paycheck tonight.”

You smirked. “Technically, it was never yours to begin with.”

He groaned. “Oh, shut up.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of the night, the revelations, the near-death experienced it all settled between you.

Then, Rody stepped closer, tilting his head slightly. “You know, for what it’s worth… I get it now.”

You blinked. “Get what?”

He gave you a lopsided grin. “Why you stayed.”

Your breath caught. He wasn’t teasing. Wasn’t deflecting. He just meant it.

And suddenly, everything—the mission, the years of knowing each other , the different paths you had taken it all faded into something smaller. Less important. Without thinking, you grabbed his jacket and pulled him into a hug. Rody stiffened for only a second before relaxing, arms wrapping tightly around you. He smelled like gunpowder and cheap cologne, familiar and warm in a way that made your chest ache.

“Idiot,” you muttered against his shoulder. “You mean more to me than some dumb package.”

Rody let out a breathless laugh, squeezing you a little tighter. “Yeah. You too.” And just when the moment felt too much, when your heart was on the verge of really saying something stupid

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Something in his voice made your chest tighten. You had spent so long keeping your distance, letting your work pull you away from him and the life you once had. Now, seeing him like this standing beside you, after everything you realized how much you missed him.

And you weren’t going to let the moment slip away. Before Rody could react, you closed the distance and wrapped your arms around him.

He stiffened at first, caught off guard. But after a second, he sighed, his body relaxing as he slowly returned the embrace. His arms curled around you, firm but familiar, like they belonged there. You turned your head and kissed his cheek.

Rody froze.

A strangled noise escaped him as he immediately let go, taking a full step back. “H-Hey! What was that for!?”

You grinned, hands on your hips. “Oh, relax, pretty boy. Just proving a point.”

His ears were bright red. “You are so—”

But before he could finish, a tiny, distressed chirp rang out. You barely had time to react before Pino, who had been perched on Rody’s shoulder, suddenly collapsed, dramatically fainting onto your head.

Both of you stared at the tiny bird, now sprawled over your hair like she had just witnessed the most scandalous thing in existence.

Rody groaned, covering his face. “Pino, please.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my god—”

Pino twitched weakly, as if trying to recover from the absolute shock of it all. “Pino—?” Your brows furrowed in concern, carefully cupping your hands around her small form.

Rody sighed beside you, rubbing the back of his neck, but there was no real annoyance in his voice when he muttered, “Yeah… saw that coming.”

You looked at him, confused, but his expression told you everything you needed to know.

Pino was relieved.

He never told you his quirk but right now you saw him in her. She had always been a reflection of Rody’s true emotions, the ones he didn’t say out loud. And right now, she wasn’t holding anything back she was clinging to you, sobbing like she had been carrying the weight of all the time you had been gone.

Your chest tightened.

You gently stroked her head with your thumb, whispering, “Hey, I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Pino let out another wobbly chirp, her grip tightening. Rody let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, she’s gonna be like this for a while.” He glanced at you, something unspoken in his gaze. “Guess I can’t blame her.”

You met his eyes, something settling between you and Rody no matter how much he pretended otherwise had missed you just as much.

How long had it been since you had really been here? Since you let yourself be with Rody, without the weight of your job, without keeping him at arm’s length?

Too long. Way too long. The thought hit you all at once, and before you could think twice, you launched yourself at him.

“Rody!”

His eyes barely had time to widen before you crashed into him again, arms wrapping around his shoulders as your full weight sent the both of you stumbling. He let out a startled grunt, barely keeping his balance as you buried your face against his neck.

“Whoa—okay—hi didn’t we just do this?” He sounded surprised, but his hands instinctively came up to hold you steady.

You didn’t care.

“You mean so much to me,” you mumbled against his skin before pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. “Like, so much.”

Rody froze. You felt his whole body tense, his breath hitch. Pino, still curled between you two, let out a delighted little chirp, wiggling excitedly at the pure joy radiating off of you.

For a second, Rody was completely silent. “You really had to go for the cheek, huh?”

You pulled back just enough to see his face, his ears were red. Like, burning red. His usual easy smirk was nowhere to be found. Instead, he was staring at you, wide eyed, lips parted slightly, and way too stiff to be playing it cool.

You grinned, tilting your head. “What? Would you rather I kissed you somewhere else?”

He made a choked noise. “I—”

You laughed, tightening your hold on him. “I missed you, idiot.”

Slowly, his hands settled more firmly against your back, fingers gripping just enough to keep you there. His chest rose and fell beneath you, and finally, he let out a quiet chuckle.

“…Yeah.” His voice was softer now, barely above a breath. “I missed you too.”

Pino chirped happily, flapping her wings.

“Now come on, partner. We’ve got work to do.”

Rody rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at his lips as he held you tighter.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The small trailer was as rowdy as ever, filled with the sounds of Roro and Lala excitedly recounting their day. You sat on the couch, Lala clinging to your arm while Roro dramatically reenacted a scene from school.

“—And then I told him, ‘That’s not how you do it!’ and bam, I solved the problem first!” Roro grinned proudly.

You gasped, playing along. “No way. You totally outsmarted them.”

“Obviously.”

Lala tugged at your sleeve. “Did you see my drawing? I made you a hero!”

Your heart warmed. “Yeah? Let me see.”

She beamed and scrambled to grab her notebook. Rody, meanwhile, leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching. His expression was unreadable, but you knew him well enough to catch the way his fingers tapped lightly against his arm a small habit of his when he was thinking too much.

After Lala finished showing off her masterpiece (which featured you punching a villain twice your size), Rody finally spoke up.

“Alright, alright, bedtime,” he announced.

Roro groaned. “But—”

“No buts.”

Lala pouted dramatically. “You just wanna talk to Y/n alone.”

Rody sputtered. “I—what? No, I just—”

You burst into laughter. “Smart kid.”

Lala giggled, dragging Roro toward their room. “Goodnight, Y/n! Don’t let Rody be too boring.”

The second their door closed, the trailer fell into a quieter hum. The absence of their voices made the space feel smaller.

You exhaled, standing up. “They’ve got you figured out.”

Rody huffed, moving to the sink. “Yeah, yeah.” He grabbed a glass, filling it with water. “So, you sticking around this time, or am I gonna have to wait another few months for you to show up again?”

You blinked. There it was, the question you had expected, but still weren’t fully ready for. Stepping into the kitchen, you leaned on the counter beside him. The space was narrow, just enough that every time Rody shifted, his arm brushed against yours.

“You miss me?” you teased.

Rody scoffed. “No. Pino does.”

Right on cue, Pino fluttered onto your shoulder, nuzzling into your cheek with an excited chirp.

You grinned. “Uh-huh. Just Pino, huh?”

Rody turned to face you, his usual smirk in faded something about it was different. Maybe it was the way his fingers drummed absently against the counter. Maybe it was how his breath had slightly hitched when you got closer.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Maybe the truth.”

Something flickered across his face. Neither of you moved, the weight of unspoken things pressing between you. suddenly, you were done waiting. You reached up, cupping his face, and before Rody could react.

You kissed him.

It was soft hesitant for just a second—until Rody melted. His breath caught, his hands gripping the counter like he was grounding himself, like he was making sure this was real.

Pino let out the most dramatic squeak you had ever heard before fainting onto the counter.

You barely registered it, too focused on the warmth of Rody’s lips, the way he exhaled like he had been holding this in for years. When you finally pulled back, his eyes were wide.

“You—” His voice cracked, and he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really do so much for me?”

You glanced up at the tiny, unconscious bird. “…Yeah, when it comes to you, i’ll do anything”

Rody groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Y/n…. what is this .”

You smirked. “did you like it?”

Rody opened his mouth paused then sighed, shaking his head with a lopsided grin.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Yeah, I did.”

You grinned, wrapping your arms around his waist, and this time

He pulled you in first.

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.”

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.

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.

Yuta Okkotsu X Reader [mild crack edition]

Hey guys do you want to see a silly thought that came to mind when I myself am dramatically in love with this character.

Synopsis: Oh my god, Geto just beat you to a pulp! Will you focus on not dying like a normal person, or will you be lame and pathetic and stare at Yuta like he’s the love of your life? (Spoiler: It’s the second one.)

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ The battlefield is in ruins. smoke and dust filling the air, debris scattered across the temple grounds. The echoes of battle still ring in your ears, but your body is too weak to move. You, Maki, Panda, and Inumaki are barely conscious, slumped against the shattered ground, too injured to do anything but watch as Yuta stands alone against Geto.

Your vision blurs from exhaustion, but you can see him, Yuta, battered and bloodied, standing firm with his sword drawn, Rika’s monstrous form looming behind him. He looks nothing like the nervous, flustered boy you once teased during training.

This Yuta is strong. Determined.

“I didn’t realize you were such a womanizer.”

Geto’s mocking tone cuts through the chaos like a blade. Even in your dazed state, you pick up on it.

You blink slowly, trying to focus. What…?

Yuta doesn’t hesitate.

“Don’t be rude,” he says firmly, his voice steady. “This is pure love.”

Your heart stops.

Then it shatters into a million pieces.

Your lip wobbles. Your breath hitches. Tears well up in your eyes faster than you can control.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, voice trembling. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

Maki, who is barely holding onto consciousness, cracks open an eye to stare at you. “Are… are you crying right now?”

You are. Fat tears stream down your battered face as you clutch your chest, completely overwhelmed.

“H-He loves her so much,” you hiccup, your body too weak to do anything but sob in place. “I c-can’t— It’s so romantic!”

Panda, equally injured, groans. “Oh no. They’re simping while dying.”

Inumaki, barely breathing, wheezes, “Salmon…”

You ignore them, still crying. “Do you hear the way he said it?! The passion! The devotion! The way he’s fighting for the one he loves!” You sniffle loudly. “I-I think I’m gonna pass out from how beautiful this is.”

Maki lets out a ragged sigh. “You’re already half-dead. Focus.”

But you can’t focus. Not when Yuta is standing there, declaring his love in the middle of battle like the protagonist of the most heart wrenching romance novel you’ve ever read.

You clutch Maki’s sleeve weakly. “I-I know I should be focusing on not dying, but—” Another dramatic sniff. “He’s just so perfect.”

Maki shoves your hand off. “I swear, if you use the last of your energy to think about—”

“It’s too late,” Panda mutters. “They’re already gone.”

You nod, eyes still sparkling with tears. “G-Gone for Yuta Okkotsu.”

Meanwhile, Yuta and Geto are still fighting for their lives. Yuta has no idea you’re in the background, weakly crying over how much you love his love.

Gojo, who has just arrived and is surveying the battlefield, pauses when he hears your quiet sobbing. He turns, looking down at you with mild amusement. “Ah,” he hums, crouching beside your beaten form. “So you’re the dramatic one as always.”

You sniffle again. “Gojo-sensei,” you whisper hoarsely, grabbing onto his sleeve like you’ve just seen heaven. “Have you ever seen love so pure?”

Gojo glances at Yuta, then back at you. His lips curl an amused smirk.

“…Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice softer than usual. “I think I have.”

alternate ending

Gojo glances at geto, then thinks to himself. His lips curl an amused smirk.

“…Yeah,” he says quietly, his voice softer than usual. “I think I have.”

Kon-el | Connor Kent X readerbatsis!

⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° Batblood ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ °

uhhh self indulgent bat family stuff

masterlist

This is mostly Batfamily X Batsis. Though I think I had enough Conner Kent X Reader to classify this as a thing.

GUYS I WROTE DAMIENS NAME WRONG THROUGHOUT THIS WAIT

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩ The first thing you learn about your parents is that they are fundamentally incompatible. The second thing you learn is that they will never stop trying anyway.

You don’t remember a time when Bruce and Selina were ever something as simple as together. They exist in contradictions she flirts, he broods; she steals, he stops her; she leaves, he waits. You used to think they would eventually find a middle ground, but you’ve long since given up on that idea.

Bruce and Selina have always been on and off, a constant push and pull. He loves her, but he can’t accept her choices. She loves him, but she refuses to change for him. You grew up watching them dance around their feelings. One moment, she’s draped over his desk in the Batcave, teasing him, and the next, she’s gone without a trace, leaving only a cryptic note behind.

Still, they make sense, in a way that defies logic. And despite all their back and forth, they both love you just in completely different ways. The truth is, Bruce and Selina will never be able to give you the same kind of love.

⸻

“Again.”

You grit your teeth, clenching your fists as Bruce circles you in the Batcave’s training area. You’ve already gone through this drill a dozen times. Your muscles ache, your ribs are sore from earlier blows, but he’s relentless.

You feint left, then pivot sharply, throwing a kick at his side. He blocks it easily. Too easily. His expression remains unreadable, but you can feel his disapproval.

“Sloppy,” he says, stepping back. “You’re letting yourself get tired.”

“That’s because I am tired,” you snap. “We’ve been doing this for over an hour.”

He crosses his arms. “On the field, you don’t get to decide when you’re done.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, but Tim does? Jason does? Even Damian doesn’t get this much micromanaging.”

Bruce’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t about them. It’s about you.”

“No, it’s about me being your daughter.”

His silence confirms it.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You trained all of them, let them fight their own battles. You trusted them to figure it out. But me? You’re scared to let me.”

Bruce’s expression darkens. “I’m not scared.”

“Then what is it?” you challenge, stepping closer. “You push me harder than you ever pushed them, but you still won’t let me prove myself. What’s the point of all this if you’re just going to hold me back?”

His voice is quiet when he finally answers. “Because I can’t lose you.”

The weight of those words presses against your chest. You want to be angry, to keep fighting him on this, but the raw emotion in his voice makes it impossible.

You don’t know what to say, so you settle for the only truth you have.

“You won’t,” you murmur. “But you have to let me go.”

Bruce doesn’t answer. He just exhales slowly, tension still radiating from his stance. You don’t expect him to change overnight, but at the very least, he doesn’t call for another round. That’s something.

⸻

Selina finds you hours later, sprawled out on the balcony of her penthouse. You weren’t planning on coming here tonight, but after your fight with Bruce, you needed air. And if there’s one thing Selina understands, it’s the need to escape.

She slides the glass door open, stepping onto the rooftop with effortless grace. “I thought I’d find you here.”

You don’t turn to face her. “Bruce is being impossible.”

She chuckles, settling beside you. “He’s still your dad don’t call him bruce, though when isn’t he?”

You sigh, tilting your head back against the cool metal railing. “I just… I don’t know how to make him see me as more than just his kid. He acts like I’ll break if I take one wrong step.”

Selina hums thoughtfully. “That’s what he does. He builds walls around the things he loves, convinces himself it’s the only way to keep them safe.”

You glance at her. “And you?”

She smirks. “Oh, I’d never keep a bird in a cage. I’d teach her to fly.”

There’s something appealing about that. With Selina, there are no rules, no suffocating restrictions. Just a quiet, unwavering confidence in your abilities. Even if you don’t approve of the way she lives, you can’t deny that she makes you feel free.

She pulls a small velvet pouch from her pocket and tosses it into your lap.

You raise a brow. “Do I want to know?”

She grins. “Just a little something I picked up.”

You groan, shoving it back at her. “I told you to stop giving me stolen jewelry.”

Selina only laughs. “It’s not stolen technically. I swapped it for something better.”

“That’s still stealing.”

“Details, darling.”

You can’t help but laugh. She winks, ruffling your hair before standing. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat before you let your father’s brooding ruin your whole night.”

You shake your head but follow her anyway.

For all their differences, Bruce and Selina have one thing in common: they both love you, fiercely.

Your dad will always try to protect you from the world. Your mom will always remind you that it’s yours to take. You exist in the space between them.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Patrol had been standard until it wasn’t. You and Tim had been watching an arms deal go down from the rooftops of Gotham’s East End. The intel from Oracle suggested this was a simple exchange one that didn’t require much interference. The plan was to observe, gather intel, and report back if things escalated. But you weren’t convinced.

Something felt off. You crouched beside Tim, scanning the warehouse below. The deal was happening inside, but your eyes were locked on a figure slipping through a side entrance, unnoticed by the others.

“Tim, we’ve got movement,” you whispered.

He barely glanced at the figure before shaking his head. “Not our priority. We wait and”

“I’m going after them,” you interrupted, already moving.

Tim grabbed your arm. “That’s not the plan.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” you insisted, shaking him off. “Cover me.”

And before he could protest, you were already gone.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The side entrance led you through a narrow corridor, crates stacked high along the walls. You moved quietly, using the shadows to your advantage.

The man you were following a mercenary by the look of his armor spoke softly into an earpiece. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the urgency in his tone sent a chill down your spine.

You pressed closer, peering around a crate. Then you saw it.

This wasn’t just an arms deal. There were bombs. Crates of them. Military grade explosives, lined up and ready to be moved.

Your stomach dropped.

“Oracle,” you whispered, touching your comm. “We have a problem.”

“I see it,” her voice came through your earpiece. “I’m running facial recognition on the men inside. This isn’t just some street gang these guys are mercenaries.”

“Figures.”

Tim’s voice suddenly crackled through. “You were supposed to wait.”

“I’d say ‘I told you so,’ but I’m a little busy.”

A movement caught your eye. The mercenary was reaching for a detonator.

Shit.

You sprang from cover, knocking him back with a swift kick to the ribs. The detonator clattered across the floor.

“Got company,” you muttered.

“On my way,” Tim responded.

But it was already too late.

The other mercenaries had heard the commotion, and within seconds, you were surrounded.

⸻

Fighting in the Fire

You moved on instinct, blocking the first blow aimed at your head and countering with a knee to the gut. The second merc swung at you with a baton, but you ducked, sweeping his legs out from under him.

The fight was brutal there were too many of them, and you were alone.

A blade sliced across your side, and you hissed, twisting to avoid a deeper wound. Blood soaked into your suit, but you ignored it, focusing on staying alive.

Then the explosion hit.

A grenade thrown from somewhere behind you detonated against one of the stacked crates. The force sent you flying, crashing through a pile of debris. Your ears rang, and your vision blurred.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard Tim’s voice in your earpiece. “Hold on I’m almost there!”

Gritting your teeth, you forced yourself to move.

You weren’t dying here.

When the dust settled, the mercenaries were either unconscious or retreating. The explosives were still intact, and Tim arrived just in time to secure them.

But you were wrecked.

He looked at you, taking in the blood seeping from your side. “You’re an idiot.”

You gave a weak smirk. “Yeah. But at least I was right.”

Tim muttered something under his breath before helping you out of the warehouse.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

The moment you step off the platform, you feel him before you see him.

Bruce is waiting. Arms crossed. Silent.

He’s still in the Batsuit, the cowl pulled back, his expression unreadable but you know better. You’ve seen that look before.

Tim doesn’t say a word. He just gives you one final glance and walks off, leaving you alone with the inevitable.

You brace yourself, but Bruce doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. His disappointment is a physical weight in the air.

“You abandoned your partner,” he says, voice like stone.

“I chased a lead.”

“You disobeyed orders.”

You grit your teeth. “It was the right call.”

He steps forward, and suddenly, you feel small. Not because you’re afraid Bruce would never hurt you but because his presence alone is suffocating.

“The right call?” His tone sharpens. “You were injured. You could have been killed.”

“But I wasn’t,” you argue, though the sting in your side says otherwise.

Bruce exhales slowly, his jaw tightening. “You’re reckless.”

“You don’t say that when literally anyone else is on a mission,” you snap.

He doesn’t answer immediately, and that silence stings. Because you already know the truth. You’re different. You’re his daughter. And that changes everything. but it doesn’t Damien is younger than you. You don’t get it.

“You’re dismissed,” he finally says, voice cold.

You hesitate, fists clenched, but there’s no point in arguing. Not when his mind is already made up.

You turn and head toward the med bay, fuming the entire way.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

You’re half out of your suit, sitting on the medical table while Alfred patches up your side, when Jason storms into the Batcave like a force of nature.

“The hell happened tonight?”

You groan. Of course he found out.

Bruce, still near the Batcomputer, barely glances up. “Jason”

Jason ignores him, turning straight to you. His eyes flick to the bloodstained bandages, and his expression darkens. “Who did this?”

“Relax,” you sigh. “It’s just a scratch.”

Jason scoffs. “A scratch?” He turns to Bruce, eyes blazing. “What the hell was she doing in a situation where she could end up like this?”

“I made the call,” you interject. “It was my decision.”

Jason looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “That’s not a good thing, dumbass.”

You scowl. “It’s part of the job.”

Jason shakes his head, pacing. “Nah. No. You shouldn’t be out there like this. He shouldn’t be letting you”

“I let her do nothing,” Bruce interrupts, his voice a low warning.

Jason laughs humorless, sharp. “Oh, really? Because it looks to me like you’re putting her through the same damn cycle we all went through. How long before she ends up dead in an alley too?”

“Jason”

“No, screw that,” Jason snaps. “You’re just letting her walk into this life like it’s fine. Like it’s not gonna chew her up and spit her out like the rest of us.”

You push yourself up from the table, ignoring the sharp sting in your side. “I chose this, Jason. No one forced me.”

Jason turns his glare on you. “You don’t get it, do you? You think this is just about being a hero, about doing good?” He scoffs. “It’s a death sentence.”

You clench your jaw. “So what, you expect me to just sit at home and do nothing?”

“I expect you to be smarter than this,” he snaps.

Before you can fire back, his eyes narrow, and suddenly, the conversation takes a sharp turn.

“Speaking of dumb decisions,” Jason mutters, crossing his arms. “You’re still with Superboy, right?”

Your frustration spikes. “Oh my godseriously?”

Jason gives you a deadpan look. “knock off superman? Really? You could do better.”

You throw your hands up. “Why does everyone have a problem with me dating Conner?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Because he’s a walking red flag wrapped in blue spandex.”

You glare. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Jason scowls. “I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust anyone.”

He doesn’t deny it.

You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “Look, I’m tired, I’m injured, and I don’t have the energy for this right now.”

Jason studies you for a moment, then sighs, running a hand through his hair. His anger hasn’t faded completely, but the sharp edge of it has dulled.

“Fine,” he mutters. “But if he ever screws up, I will break his face.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of something warmer underneath the annoyance. Jason will never say it outright, but you know what this is.

It’s not just anger. It’s fear.

Bruce was right about one thing losing people leaves scars. And Jason? He has more than most. He won’t stop you from fighting your battles. But he’ll sure as hell be there when you fall.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Dating in the Batfamily was a challenge. Dating Conner Kent? That was practically a declaration of war.

You weren’t an idiot you knew what your family thought of him. Bruce didn’t trust him. Superman’s clone, an unpredictable force of power, a boy with too much strength and too little control. That’s how your father saw him, at least. Jason didn’t respect him. “A knock off in a leather jacket? Come on, you can do so much better.”

Tim was wary. Conner was his best friend, but even he had his doubts when it came to you.

And your mother? Selina raised a delicate brow when she first caught wind of your relationship, a teasing smirk playing at her lips. “Oh, darling,” she had purred. “You know how your father’s going to react, right?”

You had sighed, rubbing your temples. “Yes, Mother, I know.”

She had hummed in amusement. “Well, Im starting to think i’m a bad influence, at least try not to be like me and your dad.”

“Mom.”

She had only laughed.

At first, it was easier to keep it hidden. You and Conner met in the shadows, in places no one else would look.

Abandoned rooftops, dimly lit diners on the outskirts of the city, quiet parks in the dead of night where he could float just above the ground, keeping you wrapped in the warmth of his presence.

He wasn’t like Superman and you weren’t just Batman’s daughter.

That’s what you loved about being with him. When he looked at you, he didn’t see the vigilante, the heir to Gotham’s dark legacy. He didn’t see someone who had to be perfect. He saw you. Your flaws, your fears, your messy, complicated emotions. And he never tried to change them.

“I don’t care about what your dad thinks,” he had told you once, leaning back against the fire escape outside your window. “Or your brothers. Or your mom, even.”

You raised a brow. “Not even a little?”

He grinned. “Okay, maybe a little. But it doesn’t change anything.”

You had smirked. “You are stubborn.”

“Says the girl who won’t admit she likes me.”

You scoffed, but he had been right. Liking him had been the easy part. Accepting that he was yours? That had been harder.

Gotham was a city of ghosts.

Your life had been built on shadows, on silent movements, on always thinking five steps ahead. Mistakes had consequences, emotions were weaknesses, and attachments?

They got you killed.

But Conner… Conner made you feel like you were alive.

He never cared about the weight of your family name. He never expected you to be perfect. He let you be wrong, and he still stood by you.

One night, after a brutal mission, you had been exhausted, bruised, and pissed at your father for another round of overprotection.

Conner had found you on the rooftop of your shared apartment, sitting at the edge, staring out at the skyline.

He had landed softly beside you, his presence warm against the cold night.

“You okay?”

You hadn’t answered right away.

Then, quietly, you had admitted, “Sometimes I think its much more worth it to leave this place”

Conner had been silent for a moment before he shifted closer. “Yeah. I get that.”

And you knew he did. Superman saw him as something broken. A project. An accident to be controlled. Bruce saw you as something fragile. Something not ready.

You had glanced at Conner then, at the way he looked at you not as something to fix, but as someone whole. You had leaned into him, and he had let you.

That was the thing about Conner.

He didn’t just love you. He trusted you to be exactly who you were.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Your father was the last to acknowledge it.

Bruce had spent months pretending you weren’t sneaking out to see Conner, pretending he didn’t know why your patrol routes started conveniently lining up with the edge of the city.

But Bruce noticed everything. eventually, he noticed him. It started with the little things.

Conner was always near you in battle, always the first to shield you from an explosion, always ready to catch you if you fell.

Bruce watched the way Conner would take the hit for you not because he thought you couldn’t handle it, but because he could. Conner was powerful, but he never used that strength to control you. He never underestimated you.

One night, after a particularly nasty fight against a group of assassins, you had ended up battered and bloody, a knife wound deep in your side.

Conner had carried you back to the Cave.

Bruce had been waiting.

The air had been tense as Conner laid you gently on the med bay table, his jaw tight, eyes burning with barely contained fury.

“She shouldn’t have been alone,” Conner had said, voice sharp.

Bruce had met his glare, unreadable. “Yeah she shouldn’t have.”

“Then act right on this and she wouldn’t have been alone,” Conner snapped. “shes strong but I don’t care like assholes like you neither does she.”

Silence.

Then Bruce had simply turned and walked away. It wasn’t approval. But it wasn’t rejection, either. You supposed, in his way, Bruce was starting to understand.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Looking back now, lying in the med bay once again, you let out a slow breath.

The room was empty.

The cave was silent.

Your body ached, your side still throbbing from the mission gone wrong. You stared at the ceiling, letting exhaustion creep in.

Jason’s words still echoed in your head.

“Tights and a cape? Really?”

You sighed.

They’d never understand.

when Conner held you, when he saw you, when he treated you like something more than just Batman’s daughter… It didn’t matter what anyone else thought.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

Gotham was different when Dick was in town. Maybe it was the way he carried himself loose, easy, like the city didn’t weigh on his shoulders the way it did on everyone else’s. Maybe it was because he didn’t live here anymore, so Gotham’s shadows didn’t cling to him the way they clung to you, to Jason, to Bruce.

Either way, his presence always changed the air. Right now, though? It just made the tension in the Batcave feel even heavier.

Dick had barely been back for a full twenty four hours before he noticed. The way Bruce’s jaw was tighter than usual, how Jason was avoiding both of you, how Tim kept smirking behind his coffee cup like he was enjoying the chaos. And you?

You were just done.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched.

Watched as Bruce checked your gear three times before your patrol. Watched as Jason kept throwing pointed glances your way, muttering curses under his breath like you were the idiot. Watched as Tim leaned back against the Batcomputer with the most entertained expression, like this was his own personal sitcom.

Eventually, Dick just sighed.

“Alright, kid,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Burgers. Let’s go.”

Bruce barely looked up. “She has patrol.”

Dick raised a brow. “No, she has burgers with her favorite brother.”

Jason scoffed from across the room. “Favorite? Yeah, okay, Nightwing.”

Tim sipped his coffee. “I don’t know, Jay. He is also my favourite.”

You didn’t argue. You just grabbed your jacket and followed Dick out before Bruce could protest.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The diner was a little hole in the wall place, tucked between two crumbling buildings. Greasy food, crappy lighting, the kind of place that felt like Gotham to its core. You slumped into the booth, arms crossed as Dick slid in across from you.

He didn’t push. Didn’t prod. Just casually unwrapped his burger and took a bite, waiting. It didn’t take long for you to break.

“He treats me like a soldier,” you said suddenly, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Not even a good one. Just one he doesn’t trust to make their own decisions.”

Dick chewed, nodding. “Bruce?”

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously Bruce.”

You picked at your fries. “he’s such an ass, i know he’s had this tough love thing since Jason but god why cant he let me be? Every move I make, he second guesses. Every mission, he reroutes my patrol to keep me ‘safer.’ He acts like I’m some reckless idiot who’s one bad decision away from getting killed.”

Dick hummed. “Jason probably isn’t helping.”

You huffed. “Oh, he’s worse. At least Bruce lets me fight Jason acts like I’m made of glass. Like I need protecting, like I can’t handle myself.”

Dick smirked. “Well, you did almost get blown up yesterday.”

You scowled. “That’s not the point.”

“Mmhmm.”

You ignored him and kept going.

“And then there’s Tim. Who just smirks. Like he enjoys watching me get lectured by dad and chewed out by Jason. Like this is all some kind of entertainment to him.”

Dick laughed. “It is entertaining.”

You threw a fry at him. He caught it without looking.

“It’s just” You exhaled sharply. “Bruce doesn’t trust me, Jason coddles me, and Tim thinks it’s all a joke. And yet Damian gets to do whatever the hell he wants.”

Dick raised a brow. “Ah. So this is about Damian.”

You stabbed your fork into your fries. “It’s not. It’s about all of it. But also? Yeah. It’s about Damian.”

Dick took another bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully. “Bruce would let him get away with murder?”

“Literally,” you muttered. “Meanwhile, I take one risk one calculated risk and suddenly I’m ‘not ready.’”

Dick sighed, setting his burger down. “Okay. So, what’s the actual problem?”

You frowned. “I just told you”

“No, I mean the real problem. You don’t actually care that Bruce is strict. You expect that. You don’t even care that Jason’s overprotective he does that to everyone he loves.”

You looked away. “…So?”

“So,” he said, smirking, “what you actually hate is that they don’t see you as an equal.”

You frowned.

Dick leaned back, crossing his arms. “They see you as their little sister. Their daughter. They see someone they have to protect, not someone they can trust.”

Your grip on your fork tightened. “And that’s not fair.”

“No,” he agreed easily. “It’s not.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, casually, Dick added, “But hey, at least Conner treats you like an equal.”

You froze mid bite.

Slowly, you looked up at him.

He grinned.

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.”

He tilted his head. “What?”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” he teased. “You could’ve gone for someone normal, but nooo. You had to pick another dark, broody, overpowered meathead”

“Dick, I swear”

“You surround yourself with annoying guys”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Never speak again.”

“Oh, absolutely not.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting mischievously. “In fact, I think I should speak more. Maybe bring this up at family dinner. Hey, Bruce, did you know your daughter has a thing for emotionally constipated guys in leather?”

You threw another fry at him.

He dodged it effortlessly, laughing.

“Dick. I will kill you.”

“I kinda want to meet this guy.”

You glared.

He just smiled. But despite your annoyance, despite everything Bruce’s overprotection, Jason’s coddling, Tim’s smirking something about the conversation helped. Because at least one of your brothers saw you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

You regretted ever telling your family now. Dick knowing about Conner means you’ve been introduced to hell.

oh satan over there? yeah he’s on the body of your bug brother.

Not because he was mad not even because he was disapproving but because he was Dick.

Which meant relentless teasing.

Which meant grinning at you like he had the world’s juiciest blackmail material. Which meant the exact sentence that had been haunting you ever since your burger night.

“I want to meet my younger sister’s hero.”

It had been two days. Two. And he would not let it go.

You tried to avoid it. Tried to make excuses. But Dick was persistent.

So now here you were on a Gotham rooftop, arms crossed, glaring at him as he sat on the ledge like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m interested,” he corrected. “I mean, c’mon. I’ve only ever heard about this guy from our brothers, and none of them have anything nice to say.” He smirked. “Figured I should form my own opinion.”

You groaned. “Can you not?”

“Oh, I definitely can,” he said. “I just won’t.”

Before you could argue further, a gust of wind swept through the air, and There he was.

Conner landed a few feet away, hands in his jacket pockets, red cape billowing slightly behind him. His gaze flickered between you and Dick, brows furrowed in mild suspicion.

“You okay?” he asked you first, like he always did.

You exhaled. “Yeah. I just ” You shot Dick a look. “Had a situation to handle.”

Conner raised an eyebrow.

Dick, meanwhile, was grinning.

“Well, well, well,” he said, standing up and brushing off his suit. “The infamous Superboy.”

Conner’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And you’re…?”

Dicks mouth dropped glancing to you “Oh, wow. That actually hurt.” Then he extended a hand. “Dick Grayson. Also known as Nightwing. Also known as best older brother. Nice to finally meet you.”

Conner eyed him for a second before shaking his hand. “…Right.”

Dick’s smirk widened. “So. You’re the little guy my little sister’s been sneaking around with, huh?”

You instantly regretted your entire life.

Conner’s gaze flickered to you before he answered, clearly unsure how to respond. “Guess so…?”

“Oh, I like him already,” Dick laughed. “Got that classic ‘brooding hero’ energy. I see the appeal.”

You glared. “Dick”

“I mean, you do have a type,” he continued, grinning at you. “The whole ‘dark, broody, overpowered’ thing? Classic. keep the family values. I respect it.”

Conner glanced at you, fidgeting slightly as if trying to hold back a laugh. “its not a wrong point.”

You smacked his arm. “Not you too.”

Dick just laughed. “So. How’s the Super life treating you?”

Conner shrugged awkwardly, clearly not sure how to navigate the conversation. “Could be worse.”

“Dealing with my family yet?”

“All the time.”

Dick nodded sagely. “Yeah, that’s rough, buddy.”

Conner gave a quiet, awkward chuckle. “It’s not that bad.” His gaze softened slightly when he looked at you. “She makes it easier.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. Then slowly he grinned.

“Oh, man,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re down bad.”

You groaned. “Dick. it’s gross when you say that. Shut up.”

“I love this,” he continued, delighted. “This is so much better than I imagined.”

Conner crossed his arms and tried to lean against the ledge nonchalantly, but there was a slight stiff tension in his posture. “I wont stop her if she starts fighting”

Dick gasped, hand over his heart. “You’d turn her against me?”

“mmmmm i’m in a Y/n wrongs and right are rights morality,” Conner pointed out with a soft, awkward chuckle.

Dick sighed. “ew you sound like me with women.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay. We’re done here.”

But before you could drag Conner away, Dick clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, all jokes aside,” he said, suddenly more serious, “I get why Bruce and Jason are… difficult about this. You’re powerful. You’re dangerous. You’re not one of us.”

Conner tensed slightly, glancing over at you like he didn’t know how to respond.

Dick met his gaze. “But I see how you look at her. And I see how she looks at you.” His expression softened. “So, for what it’s worth? You’ve got my approval.”

Conner blinked, clearly caught off guard. He cleared his throat, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck. “Wasn’t asking.”

Dick grinned. “Oh, I really like you.”

You groaned. “I hate both of you.”

Conner just took your hand, squeezing lightly, trying to brush off the awkwardness that had started to settle in. “You love me.” he whispered

You muttered something under your breath. Dick slung an arm around your shoulders, still grinning.

“Alright, Superboy. Don’t break her heart. Or I will break you.”

Conner didn’t flinch. “You could try.”

“Ohhh, I really really like him.”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩

The gala was everything you dreaded about Gotham’s elite. The high end designers. The glittering chandeliers. The fake smiles and empty conversations about stock markets and charities you knew were just tax write offs. You were dreading it. But you had no choice. Your dad had insisted.

“You’re going with me,” Bruce had said, his tone one you couldn’t argue with. “Damien’s going too.”

Damien.

You rolled your eyes. If there was one silver lining, it was that Damien would make the night more bearable. Sure, he was insufferable, but deep down, he was your favorite… well one of them.

You didn’t know when it started, but you couldn’t deny it. Every time someone made a comment about you, something snide about being Bruce Wayne’s daughter or how you’d grown up in a world of privilege, Damien was right there. He might have been a bratty little boy, but he had a surprisingly soft spot for you.

He’d bark back at anyone who dared talk down to you. And that always made you smile.

Still, you hated the galas. The whole act of pretending to be someone you weren’t, of feigning interest in the people who rubbed elbows with the most corrupt figures in Gotham. It made you feel like you were just another part of Bruce Wayne’s PR machine, just another Wayne for the rich to admire, the perfect daughter.

You weren’t. At least not in the way they thought you were.

⸻

You stood in front of the mirror in your dress, adjusting the neckline slightly. It wasn’t too flashy. Not as tight or revealing as some of the other dresses you’d seen at these events. It wasn’t your style to try and look like you were above everyone else. There was an elegance to it, sure, but it wasn’t over the top.

You sighed, glancing at the clock. You were almost late. You had not been in the mood to get dressed up and pretend you weren’t itching to leave this stupid party as soon as you walked in.

The door to your room creaked open just a bit, and you turned to see Damien standing in the doorway, his usual scowl plastered on his face.

“Are you done yet?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

You blinked at him. “Are you done yet? You look like a little mini Bruce.”

He shot you a glare. “I’ll have you know, I’m a Wayne too, and I’m far superior to Father in many ways.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Mm. Sure, Damien. If that’s what helps you sleep at night.”

Damien’s eyes narrowed in the way they always did when he was being stubborn. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t embarrass the family again.”

“Again?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

You chuckled. “Whatever, Damien. Just don’t get in my way.”

He huffed, but his expression softened for a second. “You know, you don’t have to act like you don’t belong there. It’s your place.”

The rare kindness from Damien caught you off guard. You almost wanted to tease him about it, but something in the way he said it made you pause.

Before you could respond, Bruce’s voice echoed from downstairs. “Damien, [Y/N], let’s go.”

You rolled your eyes. No escape.

⸻

The gala was in full swing when you arrived, the grand ballroom filled with well dressed Gotham’s elite, all laughing, talking, and pretending to be better than they really were. As you walked in behind Bruce and Damien, you couldn’t help but feel like a fish out of water.

Damien, ever the mini Bruce, stepped confidently beside you, his posture straight, eyes sharp. He barely even looked at anyone around him, already ready to shoot down any attempts at conversation. You, on the other hand, put on your best poker face, walking with your head high, but your mind already halfway to escaping.

Bruce was already surrounded by some of the usual suspects, but it didn’t take long for the first person to notice you.

“You know,” a woman with a glass of champagne in hand said, smiling in that way people did when they thought they were better than you. “It’s nice to see the Wayne family so well represented. A fine, upstanding family, despite… well, you know…”

The pause was intentional, like she wanted to see if you’d react to the snide remark. It was a comment about your family’s history, a little jab that no one dared speak out loud but always found a way to slip into their conversations. Isnt being a woman supposed to be about supporting other women? Damien arguably had the same history as you.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Damien beat you to it.

“That’s quite enough.” He said it flatly, stepping forward with a warning glare. “I’m sure if you don’t have anything productive to say, you’d be better off leaving.”

The woman blinked, surprised by the bluntness, but Damien was already walking away, his weird little aura behind him like he was some miniature Dark Knight.

You couldn’t help but smile at him. You were right. He was your favorite.

Bruce glanced at you both, an eyebrow arched. He had seen the whole exchange. You could practically feel him holding back a smirk.

“Damien,” Bruce said, his voice a little too controlled. “You don’t have to go picking fights.”

Damien didn’t back down. “I’m simply defending Y/n. Some of these people need to remember their place.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but the faintest glimmer of approval passed through his gaze, and it was enough.

⸻

The night dragged on, but you found yourself less uncomfortable with Damien by your side. His quiet protectiveness, the way he always seemed to catch the smallest slight before you did, made it easier to navigate the pretentious conversations. Every time someone made a comment about your family, you could feel Damien’s posture tense and his eyes narrow. And each time, he defended you.

Despite everything, despite how much you complained about his bratty tendencies, Damien was your brat. the weight of the night began to settle. The glittering lights of the gala still flickered in your mind, but the presence of your father and Damien beside you made the ride back almost bearable. Damien, as usual, sat stiffly, his posture perfect even in the backseat of the car, while Bruce remained uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze focused out the window.

You couldn’t help but glance over at Damien, who was looking out his own window, seemingly lost in thought. There had been a moment earlier when Bruce had shared a look with him, something small but meaningful a look you couldn’t quite place. But it was enough to make you feel something unspoken between the two of them. It wasn’t often you saw your father show a soft spot for anyone, let alone his own kids.

The car pulled up to the Manor, and as it came to a stop, you turned to Damien, the words already spilling out before you could stop them.

“You know, you’re not as bad as you pretend to be,” you said, voice teasing but soft. “I might just like you after all.”

Damien scoffed. “You shouldn’t like me. I’m better than you, after all.”

“Pfft, whatever,” you grinned, ignoring his words. The sudden burst of affection you felt in that moment made you throw all your self control out the window. Without thinking, you lunged at him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

Damien let out an exaggerated, dramatic gasp, his body going stiff in shock. “Unhand me, woman,” he hissed, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden outburst of affection.

You ignored his protests, squeezing him tighter. “Nope! Not until you admit that you love me.”

Damien scowled, his face flushing just slightly. “I do not love you, you foolish girl.” But there was no hiding the faint blush creeping onto his cheeks as he tried unsuccessfully to push you away.

Bruce, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, cleared his throat from the front seat, as though reminding you both that you weren’t exactly alone. But it was too late to stop now.

You pulled back just enough to look Damien in the eye, still grinning like a cat. “Come on, admit it. I know you love me.”

Damien tried to glare at you, but there was no hiding the slight curve of his lips. “I tolerate you,” he said begrudgingly.

You held him tighter. “Close enough!”

He growled, finally breaking free from your grip. “This is not over,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting his suit with a dramatic flair.

You leaned back, still grinning like an idiot. “Sure, sure, Damien. You can pretend all you want.”

Bruce finally spoke up, his tone surprisingly light. “Alright, break it up, you two. We’ve still got a whole night to get through.”

Damien shot a glare at Bruce. “I’m not the one causing disruptions here.”

You and Bruce shared a look, and for just a brief second, you saw it, something rare and almost tender between the two of them. Damien wasn’t as bad as you’d thought. he had his own way of showing care.

Damien, still grumbling, marched ahead toward the front door, muttering something about how he was going to “train” and “get away from these ridiculous people.” But you knew better. Underneath the bravado, Damien was just like everyone else in this family he cared.

As you stepped out of the car and onto the front porch of Wayne Manor, the cool night air hit your face, carrying the faint scent of rain. You were exhausted, mentally drained from the fake smiles and shallow conversations of the gala, and the weight of the night hung heavy on your shoulders. You couldn’t wait to retreat to your room, get out of this damn dress, and let your thoughts settle.

But as you walked toward the front door, something or rather someone caught your eye. Standing by the door, just under the archway of the Manor, was a familiar silhouette. The figure straightened when he saw you approach, a soft smile appearing on his face.

Conner.

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected him to be here, but there he was, waiting for you, like he always did.

“Hey,” you said softly, as you run over to him. your exhaustion suddenly lifting at the sight of him.

He tilted his head, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. “You look… very beautiful tonight.”

You let out a small, tired chuckle. “Beautiful? someone is learning how to express his emotions”

Conner’s brow furrowed, his eyes scanning you like he could see the exhaustion beneath your calm exterior. He stepped forward, his large frame nearly blocking the door. “You okay?”

You nodded, but only half heartedly. “Yeah, just… tired of it all. Tired of pretending.”

Conner didn’t say anything at first, but his gaze softened. His next words were simple, but they always meant more than you expected. “you’re done now, don’t have to think about it now.”

You stepped closer to him, letting the tension in your body melt just a little. “Thanks, Conner. It means a lot. I don’t think I could stand much more of these stupid galas if I didn’t know you’d be waiting for me.”

He smiled at that, the kind of smile that made your heart flutter in your chest, as he stepped aside to let you in. “Always. You know I’ve got your back.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “You’re the best.”

Conner chuckled, stepping back as you passed him. “I’m just doing my job, keeping you out of trouble.”

You shot him a playful look over your shoulder. “Really? Keeping me out of trouble?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, you seem to find it even when I’m not around.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, but the moment you passed him, you felt his hand gently grasp your arm, a soft but firm hold that pulled you back toward him.

“What?” you asked, confused.

Conner was staring at you, his blue eyes intense but gentle. “You looked like you needed someone tonight. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

You stared at him for a moment, letting his words settle. But instead of saying anything, you simply let out a long sigh and let your shoulders relax. You didn’t need to talk about it now. Not when Conner was here, offering comfort without the need for words.

Instead, you smiled softly, stepping into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “I think… I think I just need this right now.”

Conner wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as if to shield you from everything outside this moment. “I’ve got you.”

You closed your eyes, letting the familiar warmth of his embrace wrap around you.

The moment of quiet was shattered by the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.

You tensed slightly, already knowing exactly who it was before you even turned your head.

Bruce stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable but his presence alone was enough to make the warmth in your chest falter just a bit.

“It’s late,” he said, voice even, but carrying that weight of authority only he could manage. “You should be inside now.”

You sighed, pulling back slightly from Conner but keeping your hand locked around his wrist. Of course, Bruce had impeccable timing.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” you muttered, turning toward the door but you didn’t let go of Conner. Instead, you tugged him along with you, acting like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Bruce’s eyes flicked down to your hand still gripping Conner’s, his expression barely changing, but you knew he noticed.

Conner hesitated for half a second, casting a glance between you and your father, as if gauging whether it was a terrible idea to follow you inside. But you weren’t giving him a choice.

Bruce let out the tiniest sigh, stepping aside to let you both in, but not without a warning glance at Conner.

“Don’t make me regret this,” Bruce said evenly.

Conner just glared at him, tight lipped smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

You definitely caught the way Bruce’s brow twitched ever so slightly at the sir, but you didn’t dwell on it. You just smirked to yourself and pulled Conner further into the Manor, past your father, past all the unspoken tension, and straight toward the one place you could finally relax.

Conner leaned in as you walked, voice low and teasing. “You dragged me in here.”

You grinned up at him. “What, scared of my dad?”

Conner huffed. “No. But I am scared of what your brothers are gonna say when they see me here.”

You just laughed. “Oh, you should be.”

As you pulled Conner deeper into the Manor, you moved quickly, knowing full well that the longer you lingered, the higher the chance of getting ambushed by one of your loving brothers.

You practically speed walked through the grand hall, past the dimly lit corridors.

“Ah, welcome home, Miss.”

You skidded to a stop as Alfred appeared seemingly out of nowhere, standing near the bottom of the staircase with his usual composed demeanor.

Conner tensed beside you, standing up straighter like he was about to get scolded. Clearly, even he wasn’t immune to Alfred’s presence.

You shot the butler a quick smile, still keeping a tight grip on Conner’s wrist. “Hey, Alfred. Gala was awful, as expected. Goodnight!”

And before he could reply, you dragged Conner up the stairs.

“Goodnight, Miss. Goodnight, Mister Conner,” Alfred called after you, voice laced with mild amusement.

Conner barely managed to glance over his shoulder to offer a polite, “Uh goodnight, sir,” before he was pulled around the corner and out of sight.

When you finally made it to your room, you threw the door open and all but shoved Conner inside before shutting it behind you with a sigh of relief.

“Okay, safe,” you muttered, leaning against the door.

Conner raised a brow. “You act like we just broke into the White House.”

You pointed a finger at him. “This house probably has better security than the white house.”

Conner snorted, shaking his head as he glanced around your room. He’d been here before, but it was still surreal for him standing in Wayne Manor.

You walked over to your bed, flopping onto it dramatically. “I swear, I love Alfred, but he always pops up at the worst moments. It’s like a sixth sense.”

Conner smirked, stepping closer. “Maybe he was just making sure I wasn’t sneaking in to corrupt his favorite Wayne.”

You peeked up at him through your arms. “Bold of you to assume I’m his favorite.”

He sat down beside you, resting his elbows on his knees. “You definitely are.”

You grinned, nudging him lightly with your foot. “Flatter me more, Superboy.”

Conner just chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t need flattery. You already know how great you are.”

You huffed, rolling onto your side. “Tell that to my dad.”

Conner didn’t say anything right away, just let his hand rest on yours, grounding you. You let out a slow breath, the exhaustion of the day finally settling in.

“Get some sleep,” Conner murmured. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”

You didn’t even think about it before squeezing his hand. “Stay.”

And he did.

Conner sat beside you on the bed, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your wrist. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows across his face, making his blue eyes stand out even more than usual. He was warm, solid, grounding in a way you desperately needed after the night you’d had.

You shifted closer, tilting your head up toward him. He caught the movement instantly, his gaze flicking down to your lips before he leaned in, closing the space between you.

The kiss was gentle at first, unhurried. His lips pressed against yours in a way that made your chest tighten not with nerves, but with something softer, something steady. His hand slid up, fingertips brushing your jaw before cradling your face, pulling you just a little closer.

You sighed against him, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. He kissed you again, deeper this time, as if memorizing the shape of your lips, as if reminding himself that you were here, that you were his.

A loud noise from the window, followed by the distinct sound of fabric rustling, and then.

THUD.

Conner barely had time to pull back before a voice cut through the moment.

“Oh, come on I just ate.”

You both snapped your heads toward the window, where Tim stood, looking absolutely horrified, like he’d just walked in on the worst crime imaginable.

You groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “Jesus Christ, Tim”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose like he was experiencing actual pain. “You know I tolerate this relationship for your sake, right? Doesn’t mean I need to see it.”

“Theres a reason we’re in my room with the door closed. what did you even want anyways”

“Ok miss shitbag, I was gonna see if you brought any food from the gala”

Conner, looking far too smug for someone just caught making out, leaned back on his hands. “You could’ve knocked.”

Tim made a disgusted face. “Knocked? On her window? I didn’t think I needed a warning before coming in.” He gestured wildly between the two of you. “I thought I was safe! But no, I have to live with the trauma of seeing my best friend all over my sister.”

You threw a pillow at him. “We weren’t even doing anything!”

Tim caught it with one hand, unimpressed. “There was face touching. That’s enough.”

Conner just shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, I think she’s a better kisser than you.”

Tim immediately gagged, doubling over like he’d been physically attacked. “WHY WOULD THAT MAKE ME FEEL BETTER?!”

You burst out laughing, while Conner grinned like he’d won something.

Tim groaned dramatically, shaking his head as he turned toward the window. “I hate this. I hate both of you. I’m leaving.”

“Goodnight, Tim,” you called sweetly.

“I hope you both stub your toes,” he shot back before disappearing out the window.

As soon as he was gone, you turned to Conner, still grinning. “You did that on purpose.”

Conner smirked. “Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes before pulling him back down into another kiss because if Tim was gonna be dramatic about it, you might as well make it worth it.