A Not-So-Disastrous Romance

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.

so like i saw this prompt somewhere on here about a reader reaching…. completion and the other saying “i know baby” and im currently longing for the time when I used to play this game all the time

Kaeya Alberich

The night air in Mondstadt is crisp, carrying the faint scent of dandelions and the distant hum of revelry from the city below. But here, within the quiet sanctuary of Kaeya’s room, the only sound that matters is the soft cadence of his voice.

It had started with a drink, just one. A quiet escape from the noise of the tavern, from the ever watchful eyes of the city. Kaeya had offered, his smirk playful, his voice dripping with charm.

“Stay a little longer tonight, won’t you?”

And you’d said yes, because how could you ever say no to him?

Now, the candlelight flickers, casting warm shadows along the walls, bathing the room in a golden glow. Kaeya leans against the edge of his bed, a glass of wine resting in his palm, swirling lazily as he watches you from beneath heavy lashes. His coat had long since been discarded, leaving him in that deep blue shirt, the top buttons undone, exposing of his collarbone.

“You always look so tense,” he murmurs, tilting his head. His voice is smooth, teasing, but there’s something else beneath it something softer. Something meant only for you. “You let everyone else see you so strong, so put together… but I wonder,” he sets the glass down with a soft clink, his gaze locking onto yours, “who do you fall apart for?”

The weight of his words settles deep in your chest, warm and heavy. Your fingers twitch against the fabric of your clothes, a quiet tell you know he doesn’t miss. There’s something thick in the air between you, something unspoken but understood.

Kaeya rises from his seat, slow and deliberate, his movements fluid like the wine in his glass. He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the coolness of his body against the warmth of your own. His gloved fingers reach up, ghosting over your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to meet his gaze.

“Let me, just this once,” he breathes, his voice a whisper between you. His fingers brush against your skin, featherlight, as if testing, waiting for permission. “Let me see you unravel.”

And you do.

—

The room is warm, the scent of candle wax and wine lingering in the air. The flickering light casts shadows over Kaeya’s face as he hovers above you, his body flush against yours, pressing you into the soft mattress beneath him. The usual playfulness in his expression has melted into something deeper something raw.

His breath is uneven, his usual composure slipping with every desperate movement. His lips trace slow, open mouthed kisses down the curve of your neck, his gloved hands roaming over your body, mapping you like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough, hoarse with need.

Your breath hitches, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. He exhales a soft curse against your throat, his forehead pressing into the crook of your neck as he tries to steady himself, to hold on just a little longer. But the way you move beneath him, the way you whisper his name it’s undoing him.

Kaeya groans, a deep, broken sound, his grip tightening around you as he presses you impossibly closer. His body shudders, his breath ragged, his voice barely a whisper as he murmurs against your lips, “It’s okay… Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

And when you do, when pleasure overtakes you, leaving you trembling beneath him, Kaeya follows soon after. His breath stutters, his arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go, his entire body shuddering against yours as he loses himself completely.

Even when the waves of pleasure fade, he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. He stays pressed against you, his heart hammering against your own, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin. His lips ghost over your temple, pressing soft, lingering kisses against your heated skin.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion and something softer something more vulnerable. “I know.”

The night is quiet save for the sound of your breathing, the distant hum of Mondstadt beyond the window. And in that moment, wrapped in Kaeya’s arms, you know neither of you is ready to let go just yet.

VERY SHORT VERY SELF INDULGENT

HEY GUYS!!! I have a few fics Im working on but don’t want to seem like I died.

Thank you to the half a million Sally Face Fans and like the other half a million asking for present mic stuff.

I will be working on the present mic stuff a little faster because I love that man sm 🤤🤤

Keigo Takami | Hawks X Reader

𓅰 𓅬Smoke and Feathers𓅮 𓅯

I offer you angst and disgust and sadness and brainrot

masterlist

Synopsis: You love him, hes a whole hypocrite though

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯 The knock on your door came just as you had started to relax for the night. You glanced at the clock late, even for him. With a sigh, you padded over, unlocking it without much thought. Hawks never really needed an invitation.

Keigo Takami stood in your doorway, grinning like he always did. The kind of grin that put people at ease, but you knew him better than that. His golden eyes flickered across your face, scanning for something maybe exhaustion, maybe suspicion.

“Hey, partner,” he greeted, stepping inside before you could respond. “I was craving chicken, and I figured, why eat alone when I could bother you instead?”

“You could eat at your place,” you shot back, closing the door behind him.

“Nah,” he waved a hand. “Too quiet. Besides, your place is way fancier. Food tastes better after being in rich people’s apartments.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Keigo had been your friend since you debuted at eighteen. Four years of missions, battles, and shared exhaustion had formed a bond neither of you really questioned. But lately, something about him had been…off.

“Fine. I hope to not be super tired after this.”

“Obviously.” He threw an arm around your shoulders, leading you toward the door.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

You ended up on top of a bridge after grabbing food, the city sprawled beneath you in glittering lights. It was peaceful up here just the occasional hum of distant traffic and the rustling of Keigo’s feathers when he shifted. You sat side by side, bags of takeout beside you, a breeze lifting your hair.

“You ever think we peaked too early?” Keigo mused, biting into a drumstick.

“Are you having a mid life crisis at twenty two?”

He snorted. “Maybe. I mean, don’t get me wrong I love being a pro hero, but sometimes I think… I dunno. If I weren’t one, maybe my love life wouldn’t suck so bad.”

You smirked. “Yeah, you and your long line of failed flings.”

Keigo sighed dramatically. “Ouch. What about you, huh? Any luck?”

You shook your head, taking a bite of your own food. “No time. Not that you’d know anything about that, right?”

“yeah yeah,” he grinned. Then, after a pause, “You ever think about settling down?”

You raised a brow. “We sound like old people right now.”

Keigo chuckled, but there was something in his expression something calculating.

“Must be nice, though,” he continued, staring down at the city. “Having people to rely on. To trust.”

You frowned. Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. But before you could reply, he kept going.

“Speaking of trust, I heard some interesting things lately,” he said casually, leaning back on his hands. “The League’s been moving differently. Word is, they’ve been pulling back from certain areas, regrouping.”

You tensed slightly, but forced yourself to stay relaxed. “Yeah? Didn’t hear anything about that.”

Keigo hummed, side eyeing you. “Funny. You usually have good ears for things like this.”

You knew what he was doing. He wasn’t outright accusing you wasn’t even asking directly. But he was fishing. He knew you’d been close with Dabi, and now he was prying without making it obvious.

You took another bite of food, playing it cool. “Well, if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

Keigo smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Appreciate it.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted back to jokes and laughter. But you knew better. Hawks was good at this game at wearing masks, at pretending.

Keigo stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “You know, if we were normal, we’d probably be out right now. Living life, partying, dating.”

You snorted. “You’d probably be someone’s problem boyfriend.”

He gasped, “Wow. No faith in me at all?”

“None.”

Keigo laughed, but you could hear the strain underneath it. He was doing that thing again acting like everything was fine, like there wasn’t a million things weighing on his mind. You wanted to ask, but you already knew how that would go. He’d brush it off, give you some half truth, then change the subject.

Instead, you reached out, hesitating for only a moment before grabbing his hand. He blinked, caught off guard, but didn’t pull away.

“I mean it, Keigo,” you said, voice steady. “I know relationships are pretty much out of the picture for us, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. You’re important to me. No matter how messy things get, I value every second I spend with you.”

For once, Keigo didn’t have a snarky response. His golden eyes softened, the usual playful glint replaced with something quieter, something more vulnerable. He squeezed your hand slightly, as if grounding himself.

“Damn,” he muttered, looking away. “You always gotta go and say stuff like that.”

You smiled. “It’s the truth.”

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You know, sometimes I wonder if I deserve that. Having people who actually care.”

You frowned. “Of course, you do.”

Keigo didn’t answer right away. His gaze flickered to your intertwined hands, then back to the city. Whatever was on his mind, he wasn’t ready to say it.

“Thanks,” he finally murmured.

The word felt heavier than it should have, like there was more he wanted to say but couldn’t. And maybe he never would. But for now, this was enough.

You stayed like that for a while, sitting together on the bridge, hands still linked. For once, neither of you needed to fill the silence.

The silence didn’t last.

Keigo shifted beside you, the weight of his gaze pressing into your side. You could feel it before he even spoke the tension rolling off of him in waves, the way his body stiffened slightly.

“I just… I worry about you, you know?” His voice was light, casual, but you weren’t stupid. You could hear the edge to it. “The League isn’t exactly the safest crowd.”

Your stomach twisted. You knew where this was going.

“I don’t know anything, Keigo.”

He gave a breathy chuckle, but it lacked humor. “Come on, I know you’re smart. You’re always in the middle of things. You’re telling me you haven’t heard anything?”

You turned to him fully now, frowning. “I said I don’t know anything.”

Something in his expression wavered, just for a second. He rubbed a hand down his face, like he was trying to steady himself, but when he spoke again, there was something sharper underneath.

“I just” He exhaled harshly. “I don’t get it. Why won’t you tell me?”

That set something off in you. You pulled your hand away from his, frustration boiling over.

“Because there’s nothing to tell, Keigo! What, do you think I’m hiding things from you? That I’m playing some kind of double agent?”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t want to think that.”

“But you do.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his feathers ruffling behind him. “You’re close with Dabi. You’re” He cut himself off, inhaling sharply before continuing. “I’ve seen what the League is capable of. And you” He gestured at you, eyes burning. “You’re getting wrapped up in it whether you realize it or not.”

You scoffed, standing up abruptly. “So that’s what this is, huh? You don’t trust me.”

Keigo stood too, stepping closer. “It’s not about trust. It’s about keeping you safe.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “No, this isn’t about that. You’re trying to get answers out of me. Like I’m some suspect.”

Keigo’s usual mask was gone now no charming smiles, no lazy grins. His wings twitched, and his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“The Commission” He stopped himself again, shutting his eyes for a moment before reopening them. “I have to do this.”

You felt something crack in your chest. “So that’s what I am to you? A job?”

“Of course not!” His voice was sharper than before, his usual control slipping. “But if they think you know something, they’re gonna keep pushing! And if you do know something and don’t tell me, then what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“I already told you I don’t know anything! But that doesn’t matter, does it? Because you already made up your mind.”

His wings flared out, feathers rustling with tension. “You think I want to do this? You think I like treating you like this?”

You crossed your arms, biting the inside of your cheek. “Sure seems like it.”

Keigo let out a harsh breath, and suddenly, his frustration snapped into something else something desperate.

“I love you.”

The words hit like a shockwave, knocking the wind out of you. Your eyes widened, but he didn’t stop.

“I love you, okay?” His voice was rough, strained. “That’s why this is so fucking hard. That’s why I can’t just sit back and let you ” He exhaled shakily, shaking his head. “I can’t lose you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. He was breathing hard, his golden eyes wild with emotion. You had never seen him like this never seen him so raw.

The tension between you was thick, the city buzzing below, but up here, it was just the two of you. And you had no idea what to say.

“Fuck, Keigo.”

Your voice came out barely above a whisper, but the weight of it was enough to make him flinch. His wings, usually so steady, twitched behind him, like he was fighting the urge to fly away.

You didn’t know what to say. Lord knows you loved him you would do anything for him. But this? This hurt. The way he was looking at you, the way he was questioning you like you were some kind of liability instead of his friend. Instead of someone who had been by his side for years.

Your hands moved on their own, reaching up to cup his face. He stiffened at first, but then melted into your touch, his breath uneven.

You searched his face, desperate to find the trust that should have been there. But all you could see was hurt.

Hurt because he knew this was wrong. Hurt because he had to do it anyway.

And longing. Longing for something he had convinced himself he couldn’t have. Longing because, despite everything, despite the lines being blurred and the masks slipping, he wanted you.

You swallowed hard, your thumbs tracing along his jaw. “You don’t have to do this,” you murmured.

Keigo let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before meeting yours again. “I do.” His voice cracked slightly. “You don’t get it. If I don’t… they will.”

Your grip on him tightened. “I don’t know anything, Keigo.”

His brows furrowed, frustration flickering across his face before it faded into something more vulnerable. “Then why do they think you do?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Dabi and I, fuck Keigo we just talk. After fights, after missions. That’s it.”

His eyes searched yours, and for the first time tonight, it felt like he was actually listening. Like he was really seeing you.

His hands came up, hesitating for only a second before resting over yours, keeping them against his face. His touch was warm, calloused from years of battle, but there was a softness there too. A silent plea.

“I don’t want to do this,” he whispered.

Your chest ached. “Then don’t.”

Keigo let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “If only it were that simple.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to shake him and make him see that it was that simple. That he didn’t have to follow the Commission’s orders like a puppet, that he didn’t have to do this to you to himself.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t how it worked. that was the worst part of all. The first tear slipped out before you could stop it.

Then another.

And another.

You didn’t even realize you were crying at first, too consumed by the frustration bubbling in your chest, the betrayal clawing at your throat. Your hands were still on his face, trembling now, and Keigo’s eyes widened as he felt the wetness of your tears bleed into his heart.

“Hey”

You sucked in a sharp breath, but it didn’t help. The weight of everything crashed over you all at once.

You had spent years fighting, bleeding, sacrificing to protect people to make the world safer, to do the right thing. And this was your reward? Being questioned like a criminal? Being treated like someone who couldn’t be trusted by the one person who should have known better?

You let out a broken, bitter laugh, your grip on Keigo tightening. “I’ve killed for this job,” you choked out. “I’ve bled for it. I’ve given everything to make sure people are safe. And the thanks I get is my best friend accusing me like I’m some kind of traitor?” Your voice cracked at the end, and you let your forehead drop against his. “The Commission making you accuse me?”

Keigo inhaled sharply, like your words physically hurt him.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, and before you could say anything else, his arms were around you.

He pulled you into him, crushing you against his chest, his wings wrapping around the both of you like a shield. His grip was almost desperate, like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear entirely.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair, his voice raw. “Fuck I’m so sorry.”

But it didn’t fix anything.

It didn’t take away the ache in your chest, the sting of his accusations, the knowledge that if the Commission had its way, he’d be forced to keep pushing.

Still, you clung to him, your fists curling into his jacket. Because despite everything, despite the pain, despite the betrayal. You still loved him. that was the worst part of all.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. But the weight in your chest, the sting in your throat it wasn’t going away.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to steady your breath, but it came out shaky and uneven. And as much as you wanted to stay in his arms, to pretend like none of this was happening, you couldn’t.

So you let go.

You pulled back, slipping from his hold, and immediately, his arms twitched like he wanted to reach for you again. But he didn’t.

You took a step back. Then another. His wings twitched, his golden eyes wide and desperate.

“I don’t…” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed, shaking your head. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Keigo stiffened, the color draining from his face. “What?”

You wiped at your cheeks roughly, trying to catch your breath. “This us it’s just gonna keep getting worse. The Commission’s already pushing you to treat me like a suspect, and I can’t I won’t keep going through this.”

His expression twisted, panic flickering behind his eyes. “If we stop seeing each other, they’ll just use that as another excuse to build a case against you.” His voice was sharp, urgent. “They’ll say you’re cutting ties because you have something to hide.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

His brows furrowed, frustration creeping into his features. “Of course it fucking matters.”

You let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through your hair. “Keigo, how am I supposed to be around you if I know every conversation we have is controlled?” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “If I can’t even tell if you’re talking to me or to the Commission?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it, his throat working as he swallowed hard.

You took another step back. He took a step forward.

You held up a hand to stop him, your breath shaky. “I love you, Keigo.”

His whole body froze, like he wasn’t sure he heard you right. His wings twitched again, his feathers rustling in the cool night air.

“I love you,” you repeated, your voice softer this time. “And I meant what I said I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know. But I can’t trust you anymore.”

The words shattered something in him. You saw it happen in real time. His jaw clenched, his eyes darkening, his hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to grab you and shake you and beg you to take it back.

“Wait,” he said, and his voice almost sounded broken. “Just wait.”

But you shook your head.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered.

Keigo’s breath hitched, and for the first time since you had met him, you saw something you never thought you’d see in him.

Fear.

Not fear of the Commission. Not fear of the League. Fear of losing you.

And as you turned away, his hands curled into fists, his mind racing with the realization that the Commission had just done the one thing he never thought possible.

They had pitted you against each other.

And he had let them.

The moment you disappeared from sight, the weight of it all crashed down on him.

Keigo staggered back, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. His wings drooped, feathers trembling as if they could barely hold themselves up anymore.

You were gone.

His hands came up to his face, fingers curling into his hair as he let out a harsh, broken breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, but all he could see was you. The way your voice cracked when you told him you loved him. The way your eyes shined with betrayal. The way you walked away.

His chest felt tight too tight.

He had spent his whole life playing this game, moving pieces around the board, following orders, doing what needed to be done. He had done it all without hesitation, without attachment, without caring.

Because caring got people killed. Caring made you weak.

At least, that’s what he had always believed.

Then you happened.

And he hadn’t even realized how much you meant to him until he was watching you slip through his fingers.

A sharp, choked noise tore from his throat as he staggered forward, his hands gripping at his hair. His chest hurt. He had never felt this before not even as a kid, not even when he was forced into a life that wasn’t his own.

Because back then, it hadn’t mattered.

But you had mattered.

You had trusted him. You had let him in, had told him how much he meant to you. And in return?

He had destroyed it.

His knees hit the metal of the bridge, and he barely even registered it. His wings curled around him, shielding him from the rest of the world, but it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Because for the first time in his life He had let someone in. And he had ruined it.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

The television flickered in the dimly lit room, its glow casting soft shadows against the walls. Keigo Takami otherwise known as Hawks leaned back in his seat, golden eyes trained on the screen as a familiar figure appeared.

It had been months.

Keigo’s eyes followed every headline, every news segment, every article that mentioned you.

Y/n Soars to New Heights: A Pro Hero On the Rise

Hero Y/n’s Daring Rescue Saves Dozens in Quirk Incident

Top 10 Pro Hero Y/n: The Future of Japan’s Hero Society

Each headline was another stab to his chest. He saw the numbers, the statistics, the articles that spoke of your bravery, your skill, your rise to the top. The world had watched you climb, and you had done it with grace, with skill, with everything he knew you were capable of.

“Once again, Japan’s rising star, Y/n, has taken down another villain with efficiency and grace!”

The anchor’s voice carried an air of excitement, painting you as a beacon of hope for the country. Footage played of you in action your movements sharp and calculated, your quirk flowing seamlessly between offense and defense. The crowd erupted in cheers, reporters clamoring for your attention, yet you only offered them a polite nod before moving on, as if there was always more work to be done.

Keigo exhaled through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it between his fingers.

He wasn’t surprised. You had always been relentless in your pursuit of justice. He had seen it firsthand, the way you carried the weight of expectations without complaint. But now, watching you through the cold lens of a camera, he could see what no one else seemed to notice.

You were drowning yourself in work.

News articles flooded his phone.

“Japan’s Heroine Y/n Soars Higher Than Ever!”

“Y/n: The New Symbol of Hope?”

“Nonstop Victories, But At What Cost?”

The last one caught his attention. Clicking on the article, he scanned through the words. Some journalist had picked up on it too the dark circles beneath your eyes, the way your posture stiffened ever so slightly after every battle. But the world only saw the hero. They saw the unwavering smile, the power, the perfection.

Keigo knew better.

You were running yourself ragged, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

His hands clenched into fists. He had never felt so useless before. In the past, he would have sent a teasing message, a check in disguised as banter, just to make sure you were okay. But now, his wings were clipped metaphorically and literally. The mission he was on kept him far from the public eye, and any contact with you would compromise everything.

Still, he watched.

Night after night, he kept up with your hero work through screens and articles, seeing the light in your eyes dim just a little more each time. The world was blind to it, too enamored by your victories to notice the toll they took on you.

Keigo sighed, leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

“Dammit, Y/n.”

He wanted to tell you to slow down. That you didn’t have to carry everything alone. But he knew you you wouldn’t listen, not when you thought the weight was yours to bear.

But as he watched from afar, he saw something else something he knew he couldn’t ignore.

You were drowning.

It wasn’t hard to see, not if you looked closely enough. There were the faint bags under your eyes, the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes in the photos. He could see it in the way you moved quick, efficient, but with a certain rigidity, like you were trying to keep the pieces of yourself together.

The interviews, the press events, the rescue missions. You were out there always out there. Never stopping. Always moving.

Keigo had seen this before. It was the kind of thing that had broken him.

The thing he was now witnessing in you.

You were using your work as a shield. You were burying yourself in it, pretending that the mess of the world, the constant need to be the best, would somehow fill the hollow space where everything else had fallen apart. You were drowning in your responsibilities, in the expectations of others. And he hated himself for not being able to stop it.

He couldn’t reach you.

He couldn’t be the person you needed.

The Commission had made it clear the moment you walked away they had made sure that there would be no contact, no easy path to you. They had pushed him away, forced him to see you as an obstacle, a potential threat.

He had followed the orders. He had stayed away.

But every day, every night, when he saw the photos, heard the reports of your latest success, it felt like another punch to the gut. He couldn’t reach you, couldn’t protect you. And worse he was the reason you had shut him out.

You deserve better than this, he thought, each time he saw a picture of you smiling, though it never quite reached your eyes. You deserve better than me.

The most recent headline:

Y/n’s Heroic Feat: A Mission Gone Wrong Injuries and Recovering, But Will She Stay at the Top?

The article detailed how you had barely made it out of a dangerous mission, sustained injuries, and had pushed through it, despite the odds. The photos showed you at the hospital, a bruise on your cheek, your expression cold and distant as you posed for the cameras. Your usual confidence was there, but it was muted like a shell of yourself.

Keigo’s fingers clenched around the coffee cup in his hand, his gaze locked on the screen.

There it was again you were hurting.

But he couldn’t be there. He couldn’t reach you, couldn’t protect you. The Commission had made sure of that.

Every day, it ate at him. The guilt. The fear. The constant ache in his chest. And all he could do was watch.

Because that’s all he was allowed to do.

He turned away from the screen and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. He couldn’t keep doing this.

But as much as he wanted to move on, as much as he wanted to focus on his own missions and do what the Commission had trained him for, he knew he couldn’t.

You were out there, giving everything for a world that barely understood you.

And he was here, stuck in a cage of his own making.

“Fuck,” Keigo whispered to himself. “I miss you.”

But you were gone. And he was the one who had pushed you away.

That was the price he paid for trying to be the hero everyone needed. The cost of being a tool of the Commission.

He couldn’t even hate them for it. Not when it was his own failure that had led to this.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

Keigo sat in the Commission’s office, his expression neutral as he listened to the orders being laid out before him. The air was stale, the weight of the conversation pressing down on his shoulders. He knew what was coming before they even said it.

“Your next mission is infiltration.”

The head of the Commission, a woman with sharp eyes and a voice that left no room for argument, slid a file across the table. Keigo barely glanced at it. He already knew whose name was inside.

“The League of Villains is growing stronger. We need someone on the inside. Someone they’ll trust. You have the skills to make this work, Hawks.”

His fingers tightened around the edge of the folder.

“You’ve already shown your ability to keep a close eye on potential threats before.”

The words weren’t just words. They were deliberate. A reminder.

A reminder that they had once given him a different mission to keep tabs on you.

And what had they accused you of?

“Suspicious relationships with certain individuals.”

“Questionable morals due to prolonged conversations with known villains.”

“Potential compromise to the hero system.”

All because you had spoken to someone deemed dangerous. All because you hadn’t followed their rigid, black and white definition of justice.

And now, they were telling him to do the same thing.

A bitter laugh curled at the edges of his thoughts, though he kept his face unreadable. So it was fine when it was for them? When it was for the mission?

Hypocrites.

Keigo wanted to tell them to go to hell. That he saw through their bullshit. That if they thought he hadn’t noticed how they twisted things to suit their needs, they were dead wrong.

But he didn’t.

Because despite the anger curling in his gut, despite the guilt gnawing at his ribs, he still cared.

He cared about the future. About a world where kids didn’t have to grow up training to fight for their lives. A world where people had too much time on their hands instead of living in constant fear.

A world where you were safe.

So he bit his tongue.

“Understood,” he said instead, voice smooth and unwavering.

The Commission nodded, satisfied.

As the meeting wrapped up, Keigo tucked the folder under his arm and left the room. His steps were light, easy, just like always. But inside, his thoughts swirled like a storm.

⸻

Later that night, he sat on the rooftop of a tall building, the city stretching out beneath him. The folder lay open beside him, the moonlight illuminating the pages.

Dabi.

He had never spoken to the guy. Only knew what the files told him. Ruthless. Unpredictable. Dangerous. The League’s arsonist. The only reason Dabi hadn’t been fully exposed was because he covered his tracks well.

And yet, there was one thing in these files that stood out more than anything else.

You knew him.

You talked to him sometimes. That alone had been enough for the Commission to put you under watch. Enough for them to wonder if you could be turned into a threat.

Keigo exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

It felt wrong. All of it.

But he had already made his choice.

If playing the villain meant securing a world where you wouldn’t have to look over your shoulder every day, then he would do it.

Even if it meant stepping into the same shadows they once accused you of standing in.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

It wasn’t like you had planned for things to turn out this way.

But after everything with Hawks after the accusations, the betrayal, the months of silence you had found yourself somewhere you never expected.

With Dabi.

It hadn’t happened overnight. At first, he was just another thorn in your side, another ghost you kept running into when the night was too quiet and your thoughts were too loud. But for whatever reason, the two of you had fallen into an odd sort of rhythm.

Dabi didn’t ask questions. Didn’t pry. He didn’t look at you with pity or expectation. He was just there, in the same way you were floating, untethered, existing in the spaces where heroes and villains blurred.

And maybe that’s why you were here now.

The scent of burnt concrete and gunpowder still clung to the air, mixing with the sharp, acrid smell of Dabi’s scorched skin. The battle had ended not long ago, and now, the two of you sat in the dimly lit hideout, the flickering light casting long shadows across the worn out walls.

“You looked like shit out there,” you teased, stretching your legs out in front of you as you leaned back against the couch.

Dabi scoffed, rolling his shoulder with a slight wince. “Yeah? And you looked like a damn try hard. What, gunning for some hero points?”

You snorted. “Please, like I need to impress anyone.”

Dabi grinned, a lazy, knowing smirk as he tapped ash from his cigarette onto the floor. “Right, right. Forgot you’re already Miss Popular out there. Japan’s sweetheart.”

“You’re just mad I had you on your knees.”

“dont make shit up.”

“You were about to eat pavement, dude.”

He flicked the cigarette away, leaning forward with an elbow on his knee. “Tch. Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, tossing a nearby rag at him. Dabi caught it effortlessly, shaking his head. “Annoying.”

Before you could respond, the door creaked open.

Your breath caught.

For a moment, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you. It had been months months since you’d seen him.

Yet, there he stood.

Hawks.

He looked the same as always messy blond hair, sharp golden eyes, wings tucked neatly behind him. But there was something off about seeing him now, here, in this space. Like an image that didn’t belong in the same frame.

Your reaction must have been obvious, because Dabi’s gaze flicked between the two of you, a slow, amused smirk creeping onto his face.

“Well, well,” Dabi mused, leaning back. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing a celebrity tonight.”

Hawks smiled easy, smooth, like he was slipping into a familiar rhythm. “What can I say? Thought I’d drop by, see what all the hype’s about.”

His eyes flickered to you, just for a second.

You were still staring. You hated that you were still staring.

Months. Months. And now he was just… here?

“Guess you finally wanted to be cool,” Dabi said, standing up slowly. “Took you long enough, bird boy.”

Hawks let out a laugh, loose and effortless. “Hey, better late than never, right?”

Dabi tilted his head, watching him. Sizing him up. “So, what? You lookin’ to make friends?”

“Something like that,” Hawks said, slipping his hands into his pockets. His tone was light, playful, but you knew him well enough to catch the calculation behind his words.

Dabi must’ve caught it, too, because his smirk widened slightly, like he was deciding just how much he wanted to play with his new toy.

“Sweetheart,” Dabi suddenly drawled, shifting toward you, “you didn’t tell me you and our new guest had history.”

You felt your stomach drop.

Hawks didn’t react.

Not even a twitch.

Dabi, of course, wasn’t done. He took a step closer, slinging an arm around your shoulder in an almost lazy manner, fingers drumming lightly against your arm.

Hawks’ gaze flicked to the movement quick, calculated. But he didn’t break.

Not even a hint of irritation, no change in posture. He just smiled, golden eyes still half lidded with that same effortless charm.

“Guess she didn’t think it was important,” Hawks mused, voice smooth as ever. “Can’t say I blame her.”

Dabi’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on your shoulder, and you felt the heat of his skin even through the fabric. He was testing. Poking at the edges.

“Mm. Maybe,” Dabi mused. “Or maybe she just didn’t want you to know.”

“Now, why would she do that?” Hawks asked, tilting his head, his voice still perfectly even.

You could feel the tension between them, even if it was all wrapped in easy smiles and playful words.

You exhaled, finally moving.

“Alright, enough,” you muttered, shoving Dabi’s arm off you. “I’ve had enough for the night.”

Your tone was casual, but you knew you knew that your hands were trembling just a little.

Dabi let his arm fall away easily, watching you with amusement. “Aw, come on, sweetheart. We were just getting started.”

You shook your head, already walking past them, needing space. “Not in the mood for whatever weird macho thing you two are doing. Try not to kill each other.”

You didn’t look back.

Didn’t want to see the way Hawks was watching you.

Didn’t want to think about why he was here. And definitely didn’t want to acknowledge the way your heart was still racing.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

The sky burned.

Smoke curled into the air, thick and suffocating, a mix of fire, blood, and the crumbling remains of the Meta Liberation Army’s last stand. The battlefield was a mess of clashing wills heroes and villains tearing through each other in a violent symphony of destruction.

And at the center of it all, Hawks stood with blood on his hands.

Twice lay lifeless at his feet.

His chest rose and fell heavily, his wings twitching with adrenaline, but there was no time to breathe, no time to process.

Because standing just a few meters away, fire licking at his fingertips, was Dabi.

The villain’s usual smirk was absent. His blue eyes burned hotter than his flames, sharp with something Hawks couldn’t quite place anger, satisfaction, something in between.

“You heroes are all the same,” Dabi muttered, taking a slow step forward. “Always so high and mighty. Always so convinced you’re better than us.”

Hawks tightened his grip on his remaining feathers. “You think Twice would’ve been better off if I let him go?”

Dabi’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “Oh, don’t give me that crap. This wasn’t about saving people. You’re just another pawn doing whatever the Commission tells you, right? Good little lapdog.”

Hawks didn’t flinch, but the words dug in.

Dabi’s flames flickered to life, casting shadows across the ruined battlefield. “Tell me, Hawks. Did it feel good? Taking down a guy who just wanted to protect his friends?”

Hawks exhaled, steadying himself. “I’m not getting into this with you.”

But Dabi wasn’t finished.

His smirk returned, slow and deliberate, and Hawks didn’t like it.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Dabi mused. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that righteous hero image of yours, huh?”

Hawks knew what this was. Psychological warfare. Dabi was trying to dig into his head, to make him hesitate. But Hawks couldn’t afford to he needed to finish this quickly.

A red feather shot toward Dabi in a blur of speed.

But Dabi was already moving.

Flames roared to life, meeting the attack head on, burning the feather into nothing. He closed the distance between them fast, forcing Hawks back with a wall of searing heat.

“You really don’t like talking about yourself, do you?” Dabi taunted, voice dripping with amusement. “Always gotta focus on the mission. But let’s talk about something more interesting.”

Hawks didn’t respond he couldn’t afford to. His feathers moved like blades, slicing through the air, but Dabi dodged, relentless in his approach.

And then Dabi said something that made Hawks’ blood freeze.

“She’s been treating me real nice, you know.”

Hawks’ entire body tensed.

Dabi grinned, sensing the shift. “Ah, so you do care.”

Hawks’ feathers shot forward in a flurry, faster, sharper, but Dabi dodged with ease, the flames around him growing wilder.

“You should see her, Hawks,” Dabi continued, voice smooth, taunting. “The way she looks at me. The way she lets me touch her.”

Something inside Hawks snapped.

He moved without thinking, faster than before, closing the distance between them with a brutal efficiency. His feathers struck harder, aiming for vital points.

But Dabi wasn’t done.

“She never mentioned it?” Dabi dodged, twisting out of the way at the last second. “How we spend our special time together?”

Hawks’ next attack wasn’t clean. It wasn’t precise. It was pure anger.

His feathers slashed out with no restraint.

Dabi barely managed to throw up a wall of fire in time, skidding back as the force of the attack cut through his jacket, slicing against his skin.

“Ohh,” Dabi let out a low whistle, shaking out his arms. “Touched a nerve, huh?”

Hawks didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His heart was pounding.

Dabi laughed, slow and deliberate, eyes flickering with something dangerous.

“That’s what I thought.”

But Hawks didn’t let him say anything else. Because in the next second, he was on him.

This fight was over.

𓅰 𓅬 𓅭 𓅮 𓅯

The hospital room was dimly lit, the only source of light spilling in from the window. It was quiet too quiet. The kind of silence that followed catastrophe, where the air was too still, too heavy, as if the world itself was still trying to understand the weight of what had happened.

Your body ached with every breath. The bandages wrapped around your torso were tight, holding together wounds that had nearly been fatal. Every movement reminded you of how close you had been to not making it out.

And yet, all of that the pain, the exhaustion, the weight of the war it all faded away the moment the door opened.

You almost didn’t turn.

You had spent weeks expecting to see him, waiting, hoping but he never came.

Not when you needed him. Not when everything fell apart.

And yet, something in you recognized him before you even looked.

When you finally did, you felt your breath hitch.

Keigo.

He stood in the doorway, alive but barely.

His wings were a shadow of what they once were. The red feathers that had once been so vibrant were scorched, burnt at the edges, some missing entirely. His body was wrapped in bandages, his movements slower, weaker. But what hit you the hardest was the mask strapped over his mouth.

A speaker had been attached to it, taking over for the voice he had nearly lost in the fire.

Dabi’s flames had nearly ruined him.

You sat there, frozen, staring.

Your heart clenched so painfully it felt like another wound had opened up inside you.

And then you moved.

The blanket was thrown off, the pain screaming through your body as you forced yourself to stand. Your legs were unsteady, but you didn’t care. You needed to reach him.

Your hands curled into fists before you could stop yourself, and the moment you were close enough you hit him.

He didn’t move.

Your fist landed against his chest, not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to feel it.

Then you hit him again.

And again.

“You!” Your voice cracked, emotion clogging your throat, burning behind your eyes.

He didn’t stop you.

“You accused me” Another hit, weaker than the last. “You said I was playing both sides that I wasn’t loyal!”

Your breath was coming in ragged gasps now, your vision blurring as you kept hitting him, kept pushing him, as if forcing him to feel just a fraction of the hurt you had been carrying.

“Then you” Your fists trembled as they pressed against him. Your knees felt weak. Your voice cracked.

“You did the exact same thing.”

The words barely made it past your lips before they were swallowed by a sob.

You had tried so hard to stay angry. To hold onto the rage, the betrayal because anger was easier than hurt.

But seeing him now, standing in front of you alive but barely holding on It was too much.

Your fists loosened, curling into his shirt instead, gripping him as if he would disappear if you let go.

“I thought you were dead.”

Your voice broke entirely, and the dam inside you cracked, the emotions you had been holding in for months finally spilling over.

The nights spent staring at the news, searching for any sign that he was still alive.

The silence stretching on for too long.

The fear that you had lost him forever.

Your body trembled as you pressed your forehead against his chest, the sobs wracking through you with the force of everything you had been desperately trying to bury.

And then finally he moved.

His hands rose, hesitating for only a second before they touched you.

One cradled the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. The other wiped at your tears with his thumbs, his touch impossibly gentle despite the roughness of his gloves.

And then he did something he shouldn’t have.

He pulled off the mask.

You gasped. “Keigo”

He shouldn’t have. You knew it. He knew it.

But when he spoke, his voice was hoarse and broken, ruined by the burns, by the damage that had permanently scarred him but the words hit harder than anything else.

“I missed you.”

Your breath caught.

His thumb traced the tear streaked path down your cheek, his touch trembling, but steady.

“I never” His voice faltered, the pain clear in the way his throat choked on the words, but he forced them out anyway. “I never stopped regretting it.”

Your fingers tightened in his shirt, anchoring yourself to him.

“Letting them control me,” he rasped. “Letting them ruin this. Ruin us.”

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven, shaky.

“I’m so sorry.”

You swallowed, your tears still slipping down your cheeks, your emotions still raw, still aching.

But you could see it now the weight he carried. The exhaustion in his eyes. The guilt that had been eating him alive from the inside out.

Even if he had a hundred lifetimes, even if he was reborn again and again, you knew.

He would regret this every single time.

Regret losing you.

Your fingers uncurled from his shirt, moving up to cup his face, your thumbs tracing along his cheekbones. His skin was warm beneath your touch, warmer than you remembered. Maybe from the burns. Maybe from the way he was looking at you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“You should’ve come back sooner.”

His eyes softened, his hands still cradling your face, thumbs still brushing over your skin as if trying to memorize the shape of you, to convince himself that you were real.

“I know.” His voice was so hoarse, so wrecked, but still so him.

Your chest ached at the sound of it.

“You scared me,” you whispered, fingers curling into his skin. “I thought ” You swallowed, voice trembling. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

His breath hitched.

“You think I didn’t feel the same?” His forehead pressed more firmly against yours. “Every day, I thought about you.”

Your heart clenched.

“I don’t want to do this again,” you whispered. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

His grip tightened. “You won’t.”

There was so much promise in those two words, so much desperation, as if he was trying to will them into being true.

You weren’t sure if you could believe it. Not yet. Not with the war still raging, not with everything still uncertain. But you wanted to.

Dabi : “Man, your girl’s been treating me real nice lately. We’ve had some… special time together.”

Hawks: “Shut up.”

Dabi: “What? You don’t like hearing about how sweet she is to me? How she—”

Hawks: “CONGRATULATIONS! YOU JUST WON A FREE ASS WHOOPING!”

Veritas Ratio HSR X Reader

“Stubborn, Stubborn, Stubborn.”

masterlist

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

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

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

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

Still, you tried again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

There it was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A chronicle. An account. An observation. You. You, the girl who barged into his space several days ago claiming she was eager to “learn more about forensics” so she could stop playing amateur detective across the galaxy like some kind of self declared interstellar sleuth. The girl who stood there in front of him bright eyed, annoyingly persistent, armed with nothing but a notepad and a smile that dared him to reject her.

He should have said no. Really. He meant to.

Entry One:

She is insufferably stubborn.

From the moment she entered, she challenged my authority not with words, but with that relentless, aggravating optimism. It’s like trying to teach science to a golden retriever that insists on wagging its tail every time it gets a basic equation right.

She surrounds herself with the imbecile crew of the Astral Express each of them so charmingly flawed that one would need earplugs just to survive a conversation. She listens. She stares at equations like a brain dead dog. if puzzles are worth solving, and when she gets them wrong…

Ratio’s pen slowed for a second.

Entry Three:

I threw a book at her.

She botched a rudimentary breakdown of spatial decay honestly, I still don’t understand how someone confuses atomic diffusion rates with heat based deconstruction and I threw a book at her.

He tapped the end of the pen to the page.

She didn’t cry. Didn’t storm out. She laughed. Actually laughed. Rubbed the back of her head and said, “Should’ve known you’d have better aim than that,” before flipping back to her notes and reworking the entire equation.

Stubborn. Stubborn. Stubborn.

He underlined the word twice.

Entry Five:

She got something right today.

Not just right. Brilliant, actually. She identified a miscalculation in a gravitational bleed pattern I hadn’t even caught yet. I told her it was “adequate.” She beamed like I’d handed her a Nobel Prize.

Ratio exhaled slowly at the memory. There had been more moments like that. More times than he cared to admit where he’d look at her work and see genuine understanding growing like a slow, tenacious weed through cracked pavement.

She was undisciplined. A jumbled mess of deduction and instinct. But she was learning.

He flipped to the last few pages in the book, where neat bullet points were written in his precise hand. Not for himself. For her.

• You need to stop jumping to conclusions without sufficient data.

• Emotion clouds deduction. Maintain detachment until evidence is confirmed.

• Your spatial awareness is strong. Consider pursuing work in trajectory and motion based forensics.

• Your memory recall, while clumsy, is oddly adaptive. You seem to remember patterns more than facts use that.

• Stop doodling in the margins.

And then, written softer, smaller, like it embarrassed him:

• You are better than you think. Just… be better still.

He hadn’t meant to go into so much detail. It was just supposed to be notes. Brief, simple. A few guiding remarks she could use once she returned to playing Sherlock on alien planets. But the longer he spent around her, the more the book filled. He would’ve given it to her. That was the plan. Hand it off as a cold farewell and return to his own work, alone, uninterrupted.

But when she said she was leaving, a strange ache settled in his chest. He had closed the book instead. He told her she was idiotic. That was easier than saying anything else. He wasn’t built for sentiment.

But now, in the sterile quiet of the lab, he opened the book again and stared at the last empty page. His pen hovered for a moment before he wrote:

You were the most tolerable nuisance I’ve encountered.

He closed the book. Folded his arms. And sat there, in silence. Holding the only piece of you he could.

📜🪶𓍢ִ໋🀦✎ᝰ. The Astral Express had settled into its familiar rhythm a quiet lull between the catastrophe that just occurred. You sat in your room, sprawled on your back atop your bed, legs dangling off the side as a small packet of data chips and half doodled notes littered the floor beneath you. The lighting was dim, and soft music played in the background something March had been trying to get everyone into. Bubblegum pop something or other. You didn’t mind it.

Then, your terminal lit up with an incoming call.

Caller ID: Dr. Veritas Ratio

You blinked. Seriously? The last time you’d heard from Ratio was months ago, back when you’d finished your “training” with him at Herta’s Space Station. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t sent a single follow up. Hell, you figured he forgot you existed. Which was fine. He’d called you idiotic more times than you could count. You got the message.

So why the sudden contact? You leaned over, smacked the “Answer” button with your palm, and sat back again, letting the hologram flicker to life. The familiar sight of Ratio appeared sharply dressed, arms crossed, and already mid glare.

“Have all of you completely lost your minds?” he barked.

“Wow, no hello? You’ve really softened over the months,” you drawled, stretching your arms above your head and letting out a long yawn.

Ratio ignored the comment. “You brought it on board. A Stellaron. A living, breathing, ticking time bomb and you you let them install it into the crew roster like it’s a decorative lamp!”

“Not me,” you replied casually. “That was Himeko and Welt’s call. I was too busy teaching March how to tell the difference between a footprint and a crater.”

He leaned closer into the hologram, voice sharp as shattered glass. “And you didn’t stop them?”

You tilted your head, gaze flat. “Ratio, I’ve learned many things in my life. One of which is: you do not argue with Himeko unless you want to be questioning your own sexuality.”

“This is reckless. Irresponsible. Foolhardy. Welt Yang used to be logical.”

“He still is,” you said, picking at a thread in your blanket. “Realistically, this was the safest option.”

“Oh?” Ratio lifted a brow, sarcasm soaking every syllable. “Yes, why not keep the volatile Stellaron host onboard the most advanced dimensional train known to man? Surely the best place for a cosmic disaster seed is inside the space equivalent of a floating museum.”

“See? You do have a heart,” you said, smiling slightly. “You’re worried about us.”

“I’m worried about the structural integrity of your ship, and the illogical stupidity of a crew that includes people like well, like you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Ratio scowled. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

You rolled onto your side, cheek pressed to your pillow, gaze on the projection of his furious form pacing like a scientist on the edge of an aneurysm. “No, I am. I just also live on a train that is fully capable of going against the Antimatter Legion, hunted by robots, and now has an amnesiac walking stellar bomb with a winning smile and a personality March immediately adopted like a stray puppy. You’ll excuse me if I conserve my panic energy.”

Ratio paused, folding his arms. “You’ve grown bolder.”

“You called me idiotic for a week straight. I had to evolve or die.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, softly so softly you barely caught it he muttered

You blinked, eyebrows lifting. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. “Still. You would be wise to proceed with caution. The Stellaron may not act today or tomorrow, but entropy is inevitable. One misstep, and it could unravel every layer of existence you so casually nap on.”

You smiled lazily. “I missed your bedtime stories.”

“You are insufferable.”

“You called me.”

Ratio paused. For a flicker of a second, his expression shifted barely visible, like a crack in marble. Thoughtful. Frustrated. Maybe even… hesitant. “you have a brain. And I don’t like seeing it wasted.” He gestured vaguely in your direction. “You’re tolerable when you’re being cautious.”

“And you’re tolerable when you’re not actively trying to kill me with a migraine.”

The hologram began to glitch slightly signal fading as the Express entered another sector.

Ratio’s voice cut through one last time before the line ended: “Just don’t get comfortable. You may not always have time to brace for the explosion.”

Then the screen blinked to black. You sat there, the weight of his words hanging in the room like smoke.

“…Still didn’t say goodbye,” you murmured, grabbing your tea and taking a slow sip. You weren’t worried.

📜🪶𓍢ִ໋🀦✎ᝰ. Herta’s Space Station was bustling with its usual polite chaos researchers skittering around with datapads too big for their hands, drones zipping above heads, experiments sparking in sealed chambers. The scent of metal and burnt circuitry lingered faintly in the air. A strangely nostalgic aroma, really.

You had come here for one reason and one reason only: to visit Screwllum. The robotic genius had promised to show you a new forensic simulation model, one that could track theoretical blood spatter in zero gravity. You were deeply interested, and by “deeply interested,” you meant giddy like a child with a crime scene coloring book.

You weren’t expecting to see him. Not as you rounded the corner of the central archive, passing Herta’s projection arguing with itself, and almost bumped headfirst into a tall figure already ranting at a researcher over some miscalculation involving quantum probability flow.

“Dr. Ratio,” you breathed, blinking once.

He turned toward you slowly. You immediately put your hands over your mouth, gasped dramatically, and staggered back a step. If he gets to ghost you, why cant you have fun yourself?

“Veritas? Is it really you?” you cried, voice shaking like a widow in a play. “The universe said you were lost to the abyss of academia, never to be seen again! I we I waited so long!”

Ratio stared at you, expression unreadable but very much unimpressed. “You’re being absurd.”

“Absurdly in love,” you swooned, grabbing his arm with faux desperation. “I swore I’d wait, no matter how long the stars turned. You you arrogant bastard you came back.”

“Stop being ridiculous,” he replied flatly. “Ill have you know that if you even tried i would’ve answered. You were simply too busy pretending to be a detective on every rock you stumbled across.”

“not one letter. Not one call. Do you have any idea how I’ve suffered? Ive missed my stuck up asshole of a husband”

He raised an eyebrow. “You were messaging Screwllum memes less than twelve hours ago.”

You blinked. “Screwllum loves my memes. Don’t derail me trying to make you look like a bad husband.”

“I should’ve let you fail the entropy unit,” he muttered, brushing your hands off like you were a particularly annoying layer of dust.

You laughed, arms crossing over your chest. “Still as insufferable as ever, Ratio. You really know how to make a girl feel welcome.”

Ratio returned to his datapad. “If by ‘welcome’ you mean ‘tolerated,’ then yes. I remain consistent.”

There was a beat of silence. The usual static hum of the station pulsed around you. You tilted your head slightly, observing him not just as a former mentor or your favorite verbal sparring partner, but as someone you honestly missed.

You stepped a little closer, voice dropping. “Hey… could we catch up a bit?”

He paused. His fingers hovered over the datapad. Just for a second. Then, slowly, he looked at you out of the corner of his eye.

“why”

You smiled. “Ok big guy is asking the questions, I suppose I just want to see how you’re doing.”

Ratio’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smirk. “I suppose… some minds are worth the occasional recalibration.”

“Is that your way of saying ‘yes’?”

“It’s my way of saying you’re still stubborn and prone to foolishness but slightly less irritating than most of the imbeciles I suffer daily.”

You beamed. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Ratio glanced away, resuming his work. “Don’t get sentimental.”

But you saw the way his posture shifted less tense, a fraction more open.

📜🪶𓍢ִ໋🀦✎ᝰ. Ratio’s quarters were exactly what you expected and somehow even more Ratio than you thought possible.

Minimalist, sterile, everything arranged with sharp symmetry almost clinical, like the man had tried to recreate a science lab in the shape of a bedroom. The lighting was dim, a soft overhead hue that neither strained the eyes nor dared to be comforting. Shelves upon shelves of books lined the walls, but not a single one looked even slightly out of place. His desk had no dust, no loose wires, no snacks just data pads, models, papers arranged in brutal harmony. despite all the perfect order, there was something kind of… homey about it. Or maybe you were just losing your mind. Probably the latter.

“I’ll return shortly,” he said earlier, stepping out with a brief mention of fetching something from Screwllum or threatening Herta’s projection into silence you weren’t sure which. His voice was already vanishing down the hall as you nodded absently, too curious about seeing this inner sanctum of his to stop him.

Which is how you ended up alone in the room and your eyes landed on the book. You hadn’t seen it since your time as his reluctant partner slash student slash mental punching bag. Leather bound, its corners slightly worn, it sat there on the desk like it had been placed just for you to find it. An artifact of a past so recent it still itched under your skin. You told yourself to leave it alone. You didn’t. Fingers brushed the cover. You opened it.

The first few pages were filled with sharp, scathing commentary written in Ratio’s precise, aggressively legible handwriting. Your early days of working together where you barely kept up and made mistakes that, according to him, “required divine intervention to unsee.” You scoffed, flipping forward.

There were notes, not just about your blunders, but about what you’d done right. Diagrams you’d drawn that he’d annotated, not with insults, but improvement suggestions. Questions you’d asked that he’d praised though usually in the most begrudging tone imaginable.

You flipped further. Dates from after your training had ended appeared.

She let that walking disaster <Stelle> on board. Of course she did. Her loyalty to the crew is stronger than her self preservation. Idiotic.

…Though, if she’s the one monitoring it, perhaps there’s hope it won’t implode immediately.

Your brows lifted. Another entry, this time sloppier, less rigid:

Saw her solve a multi layer deduction test from Ruan Mei’s simulation. Beat the projection time by five minutes. Either she’s improving rapidly… or cheating. I doubt the latter. Annoying. Impressive.

And then:

You were the most tolerable nuisance I’ve encountered.

You stared at that line for a long time, blinking. Your heart gave the smallest traitorous flutter. Ratio? Writing that down? In his own personal notes? Voluntarily?

“Veritas Veritas Veritas,” you whispered, amused, letting the book rest gently on the desk again, “you’re so down bad and you don’t even know it.”

You glanced around the room with new eyes now. Not just a workspace. There were signs of you scattered in the margins things you’d said that he’d scribbled down verbatim, questions you’d asked, observations you’d made. There, in this sterile haven of knowledge, you existed. When the door slid open again with that same low mechanical hiss, you didn’t turn immediately. You kept your hands at your sides, innocent, as Ratio entered holding a datapad and a cup of something that definitely wasn’t coffee.

He raised an eyebrow.

“You moved things,” he said bluntly.

You turned, grinning. “I breathed in here. Hope that’s not too much.”

Ratio’s eyes zeroed in on the open book like a hawk spotting a wounded animal. The datapad in his hand made a dull thud as he dropped it to the desk beside you.

“You read it,” he said, voice low, clipped. It wasn’t a question. It was a fact delivered like an accusation.

You opened your mouth, but he was already moving, closing the book in one motion that was more violent than necessary. His eyes flicked to you, sharp with something between irritation and disbelief. “That book was for me. My documentation. My evaluations. Not for you to comb through like some sentimental schoolgirl with a crush.”

You just raised your hands a little in mock surrender. “Okay, first of all ow. Second, maybe don’t leave emotionally repressed love letters in plain sight if you don’t want them read.”

His scowl deepened. “You are not the center of my notes. You were a case study in irritating persistence.”

You smiled. “A tolerable nuisance, if I remember correctly.”

“I regret ever writing that.”

“You do not.”

Ratio looked like he was about to snap again, but your tone shifted before he could. A little more sincere this time. Less teasing.

“Look, before you combust into quantum dust or something, I’ve been doing the same thing. Kind of.”

That made him blink. His arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched.

You shrugged. “Whenever there was news. Whenever Screwllum or Herta mentioned something cool you did. Whenever you published something with Ruan Mei. I’d log it in a little virtual journal. Notes, quotes, observations. Even drew a diagram of your frustrated face once. It was very detailed.”

“You tracked my activity?” His voice was dry with disbelief.

“Kept tabs,” you corrected. “I mean, you did teach me how to observe patterns and record data. I thought it’d be fun to apply it to you.”

Ratio stared at you. Hard.

You grinned again, stepping closer now, just into his space, enough to make him instinctively stiffen. “So, if you like me so much, Veritas…” you tilted your head, voice dipping into a teasing lilt, “it doesn’t have to stay theoretical.”

The room went dead silent. Ratio’s eye twitched.

“I do not like you.”

You leaned back with a smug hum, hands slipping behind your back. “Sure. That’s why you wrote, ‘perhaps there’s hope it won’t implode immediately.’ About me and the crew.”

“That was in reference to the logistical risk of hosting a walking bomb, not an emotional attac—”

“You said impressive, Ratio.”

“I said annoying right before.”

You shrugged. “And still impressive.”

Ratio turned away from you, muttering curses under his breath in a tone too quiet to catch. But he didn’t tell you to leave. Didn’t shove you out or erase his notes or block access to his quarters. Instead, he sat, flipped open a new file on his datapad, and typed exactly three words

Emotional interference: persistent.

You laughed as you settled in across from him.

“Glad I’m still in your data set.”

chat 🙉

Hawks is a "What's a little cock between friends?" guy

ू(ʚ̴̶̷́ .̠ ʚ̴̶̷̥̀ ू) Like Real People Do

Astarion Ancunín X Reader

Synopsis- how do you both really understand each other. Why can’t you love like real people do

“I know very little about this man, but as a devoted lover of Hozier, this song made me think of him….. Oh, did you see me complaining the other day about all Astarion fics being the same? Shut up and read the story. I know you all will still read it, you desperate whores.”

ू(ʚ̴̶̷́ .̠ ʚ̴̶̷̥̀ ू) The night was cool, the stars burning quietly above as the two of you sat a little away from the camp. The others were asleep, but you knew Astarion wouldn’t be resting at least not yet. He never truly let himself rest, even when his body was still.

The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his red eyes seemed almost golden in the dim glow. But there was something dark lingering in them tonight, something unspoken that had been clawing at him for days.

“I had a thought, dear,” he murmured, his voice soft but carrying an edge of something wary, almost sharp. “However scary.”

You turned to him, sensing the shift in his mood. “Tell me.”

His fingers twitched where they rested on his knee, as if he were debating whether to reach for you or not. He didn’t. Instead, he exhaled, gaze fixed on the fire.

“About that night,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “The bugs and the dirt. Why were you digging?” His eyes flicked to yours, searching, unsure. “What did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth?”

You swallowed, understanding what he meant what he was truly asking.

You had found him, once. Broken, lost, a ghost of a man forced into survival. You both after the ship were so lost. You had reached for him without hesitation, pulled him from the dark, and given him something he still didn’t fully understand. But what had you sacrificed to do so?

You sighed, your fingers curling in the fabric of your sleeve. “Maybe… maybe I buried the part of me that thought I could walk this world alone.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s a poetic way of saying you were already broken.”

You frowned at that. “I never said I was broken.”

“No?” His head tilted slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “Then why? Why care for me, of all people?” He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not some tragic hero in a story. I am selfish. I am cruel when it suits me. And I was. am. a man made into a monster. You should have left me in that grave.”

His voice cracked on the last word. He hadn’t meant for it to, but it did.

You reached for him then, slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wanted to. He didn’t. Your fingers found his, cool and trembling, and you held them tight.

“I care for you,” you said, voice steady, “because I see you.”

His breath hitched.

“You are not just what he made you,” you continued. “Not to me.”

Astarion turned his face away, as if your words were something sharp he couldn’t bear to touch. His throat bobbed, his fingers tightening around yours.

“You make me feel real,” he whispered, as if confessing a sin. “And I hate it.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh, squeezing his hand. “That’s alright.”

He turned back to you then, something vulnerable and raw in his eyes. “You’re alright with loving a man who doesn’t know how to love himself?”

You smiled, shifting closer until your foreheads nearly touched. “I think that’s why I love you, Astarion. Because I want to show you how.”

His breath shuddered against your skin. For the first time in centuries, he let himself believe.

Astarion was quiet for a long time. The fire crackled between you, but his fingers remained tangled with yours, his grip just tight enough to keep him tethered to the moment. You could feel it the weight of everything he wasn’t saying, the ghosts of centuries clinging to him like a second skin.

He had told you pieces of his past, but never all of it. And you had never asked. You watched the way his jaw tensed, how his shoulders curled inward as if bracing for something inevitable.

“I will not ask you where you came from,” you murmured.

His head turned slightly, red eyes flickering toward yours in quiet surprise.

“I will not ask you,” you repeated, voice gentle but firm. “Neither should you.”

He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Something in him loosened, something old and afraid.

“You don’t want to know?” His voice was almost cautious, as if the question itself was foreign to him.

You shook your head. “I want to know you. Not the things you were forced to do. Not the chains that bound you. Just you.”

Astarion swallowed hard. He had spent so long believing he was only what had been done to him, that there was nothing else nothing worth salvaging. But here you were, sitting beside him, holding his hand as if he were someone worth touching.

As if he were someone worth loving.

Slowly, his free hand lifted, brushing over your knuckles. A hesitant, unfamiliar gesture. His eyes studied the way your fingers curled into his, as if trying to understand why you weren’t pulling away.

“I don’t know who that is,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know who I am without, without him.”

You squeezed his hand, grounding him. “Then let’s not look back. Let’s just be here. Now.”

Astarion let out a soft, shaky laugh, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, there was something lighter in them something fragile but real.

“Here. Now.” He tested the words, as if rolling them over in his mind. Slowly, carefully, he let his head rest against your shoulder.

For the first time, Astarion let himself exist without expectation, without past or future. Just here. Just now. with you.

The fire had burned low, glowing embers casting long shadows across the ground. Astarion still leaned against your shoulder, unmoving, his fingers still curled around yours. He felt real like this warm, tangible, not just some fleeting ghost of a man lost to time.

And yet, something lingered in his eyes when he finally looked at you. Something raw.

“I knew that look, dear,” he murmured, voice hushed in the stillness of the night. His red eyes searched yours, sharp and knowing. “Eyes always seeking.”

You parted your lips to respond, but his fingers cold, careful lifted to trace along your jaw, silencing you.

“There was someone once, wasn’t there?” His voice was softer now, almost gentle. “Someone you buried long ago.”

Your breath hitched.

He tilted his head, his eyes flickering over your face, studying every shift in your expression. “So I will not ask you why you were creeping,” he murmured. “In some sad way, I already know.”

Your throat tightened. Because he was right.

Maybe you had found him in the dirt, broken and lost, because some part of you had been buried there too. Maybe you had seen your own ruin in the ghost of a man clawing his way out of the earth.

But none of that mattered now.

Not when Astarion was here. Not when his hand slid from your jaw to your cheek, his touch trembling but sure. Not when his breath mingled with yours, and his eyes softened in a way you had never seen before.

“Honey,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “Just put your sweet lips on my lips.”

His lips barely brushed yours hesitant, uncertain. A question more than a kiss.

And you answered.

You pressed forward, slow and deliberate, your fingers tangling in his curls as you pulled him closer. Astarion inhaled sharply against your mouth, his other hand gripping your waist as if anchoring himself to the moment. He kissed you like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to, like he was still waiting for the moment you would realize he wasn’t worth this kind of tenderness.

But you didn’t pull away. Instead, you kissed him like you had all the time in the world. Like he was someone worth keeping.

quiet and still, save for the soft crackle of dying embers and the distant rustle of leaves in the wind. The world felt small in this moment just you, Astarion, and the fragile space between you.

His fingers lingered against your cheek, cool as marble, trembling ever so slightly, as if he still wasn’t certain you were real. As if he wasn’t certain he was real.

You watched the way his expression shifted, the war within him written across every furrow of his brow, every flicker of doubt in his crimson eyes. There was a time when he might have masked it all behind a teasing smirk or a well-placed quip, a time when he would have used charm as a shield. But here, now, he let himself be bare before you. No pretenses. No games. Just the truth of him, laid out in the fragile press of his lips to yours.

And gods, how fragile he was beneath it all. How much he had been taught to believe he was unworthy of this, of you.

His forehead stayed pressed against yours, his breath shallow. He didn’t speak for a long time, only let his fingers trace idle patterns over the back of your hand. Then, so softly it was almost lost to the night, he whispered, “I’ve never had this before.”

You swallowed, your grip on him tightening. “Had what?”

His gaze flickered up to meet yours, something raw gleaming beneath the firelight. “something that meant something.”

You felt your heart twist at that, at the quiet pain woven into his words. The idea that a touch so simple, so human, could feel foreign to him. That intimacy had always been a transaction, never a gift.

Astarion let out a breath, shaking his head. “I spent centuries pretending I had control. That I was the one taking, the one winning. But I wasn’t, was I? I was just…” He trailed off, his fingers curling into his palms. “I was nothing. I felt like nothing.”

You cupped his face then, guiding his gaze back to yours, refusing to let him slip into the past. “You are not nothing, Astarion.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “And yet, I still don’t know how to be something.”

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” you murmured.

His lips parted, as if to argue, but whatever words he meant to say withered before they could form. Instead, he just… looked at you. Like he was seeing something new, something terrifyingly unfamiliar. A possibility he had never let himself hope for.

He exhaled a small, shaking laugh, leaning into your touch. “Gods, listen to me. You kiss me once and suddenly I’m a blubbering mess.”

You smiled, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. “I don’t mind.”

He huffed, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Only something softer. Something aching.

Astarion shifted, his body relaxing against yours, his head once again resting on your shoulder. This time, though, it was different. He wasn’t just leaning on you. He was allowing himself to be held.

The fire dwindled further, shadows stretching long and deep. But you stayed like that, with your fingers tangled in his, with the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath against your skin.

For the first time in centuries, Astarion let himself be vulnerable without fear.

For the first time in centuries, he let himself stay.

:0

Cleanup on aisle 4

⋆˚✿˖° ❝𝗜𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗱𝗲𝗱❞ ⋆˚✿˖°

────୨ৎ────

Geto Suguru x Reader

Gojo Satoru x Reader

────୨ৎ────

⋆˚✿˖° 2. I’ve Played these Games Before

Headcannon, the men are stupid

if you missed the last chapter and want more-> masterlist

₍^. .^₎⟆ Geto sighed, stretching his arms as he strolled toward his dorm. The study session had been useless (as expected), but at least it had been entertaining. Though, if he was being honest, the best part of the evening had been watching Gojo flail around in real-time romantic panic.

He smirked to himself. That was going to be fun to watch unfold.

Not that he cared much about the bet itself. That was just a way to mess with Gojo, to see him squirm. Nothing more.

His plan was simple he’d treat you exactly the same as always. Calm, confident, teasing. Unlike Gojo, he didn’t need to rely on some ridiculous strategy. He wasn’t about to start googling psychological tricks like a lovesick idiot.

No, he’d just make a few subtle changes. More intentional eye contact. More casual touches. More moments of quiet attention, the kind that made people feel like they were the only one in the room.

At least, that’s what he thought, until lunchtime the next day, when Gojo started getting on his nerves.

Because, of course, Gojo wasn’t capable of subtlety.

“Wow,” Gojo whistled, sliding into the seat across from you. “Look at you, already eating without me? I thought we had something special.”

You looked up mid bite, a spoonful of rice halfway to your mouth. “Gojo, you were literally behind me in line.”

“Details,” he waved off, dramatically propping his chin in his hand. “But you know, I was thinking of eating alone today… until I saw you, and my heart just knew I couldn’t let that happen.”

You snorted. “Sounds rough, buddy.”

His sunglasses slid down his nose just enough for you to see his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You have no idea.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, taking another bite of your food. Gojo watched you closely, subtly shifting in his seat. Step one—mirroring movements. You lifted your spoon, and he lazily picked up his chopsticks. You leaned forward slightly, and he mirrored the action. He was subtle about it, of course. Natural. Completely normal. Definitely not weird.

Except you paused, squinting at him.

“…Are you copying me?”

Gojo choked on air. “Wh—what? No! Pfft. I’m just sitting.”

Your grin widened. “Satoru, are you copying me?”

He waved his chopsticks. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You squinted a second longer, then shrugged, going back to your food. “Mhm. Sure.”

Gojo let out a silent breath. Okay. Maybe less obvious on that one.

Right. Step two—eye contact.

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm as he gazed at you, letting his signature smirk tug at his lips. A confident, roguish expression that, historically, had driven people wild.

You, however, just blinked at him. “Are you- why are you staring at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re waiting for me to read your mind or something.”

Gojo sighed dramatically. “I was just admiring the way the cafeteria lights shine in your eyes. Very mesmerizing. Stunning, even.”

You blinked again. “Satoru, the cafeteria lights are fluorescent.”

“Exactly,” he grinned. “Yet, somehow, you make them work.”

You just groaned, shaking your head. “You are so weird.”

He ignored the minor setback and moved to Step three—casual physical touch. Casual. Natural. Smooth. So he reached across the table and lightly flicked your forehead.

You recoiled, dramatically grabbing your head. “Ow?!”

“Oops.” He grinned. “Slipped.”

“You slipped into flicking me?”

“Crazy, right?”

You narrowed your eyes before retaliating, smacking his arm with the back of your spoon. “Oops,” you mimicked, grinning. “I slipped.”

Gojo laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, truce.” You huffed, still smiling, before turning your attention back to your food.

Step four—make them laugh.

He was already a pro at that. Easy. No problem. You weren’t in a bad mood or anything, just a little spaced out, quietly picking at your food while Geto and Shoko talked beside you. Normally, you’d be more engaged, but today, your mind just wasn’t all there.

Gojo, of course, noticed. And he could not let that slide.

“Alright, I’m making an official declaration,” he announced, leaning forward with a grin. “I’m getting her—” he pointed dramatically at you “—to laugh before lunch is over.”

Shoko didn’t even look up from her juice box. “Shouldn’t take long. Five minutes.”

“Two,” Geto said, smirking. “He’s predictable.”

You blinked at them. “Wait—what? I do laugh.”

“Not enough,” Gojo countered, watching you with exaggerated scrutiny. “Not the real, ugly, snorting kind. That’s the goal.”

“You don’t need that,” you said flatly.

“Oh, but I do.”

He leaned forward, hands clasped like he was about to deliver something profound. “Okay. Picture this. I’m fighting this cursed spirit the other day—big, ugly thing, smelled like a sewer. And it looks at me and goes, ‘Hey, aren’t you that discount Kakashi?’”

Silence.

Geto exhaled through his nose, mildly amused. Shoko just sighed. You gave Gojo a slow blink.

Gojo placed a hand on his chest, scandalized. “Nothing? That was comedy gold.”

“That was sad,” Geto corrected.

“Okay, fine, I can do better,” Gojo said, shaking it off before dramatically throwing himself against Geto’s side. “Bro, I can’t believe this. My own best friend, laughing before she does. This is a betrayal. How do I go on?”

“Quieter,” Geto muttered, shoving him off.

Gojo ignored him. “Alright, last attempt.” He turned to you, suddenly serious. “If you don’t laugh in the next ten seconds, I’m taking your dessert.”

Your head snapped up. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

And then, as if to prove he meant business, he grabbed two onigiri from Geto’s tray, wiggled them like little sock puppets, and in the most high pitched, overly dramatic voice you’d ever heard, went:

“Oh no, Gojo-sama, please spare us! We are but humble rice balls!”

He made one onigiri turn to the other. “Brother, I don’t think he’s going to show us mercy…”

The second onigiri shook dramatically. “No, we still have so much to live for! My wife, my children, who will tell them what happened to me?”

“I will, dear brother,” the first one promised solemnly. “I will tell them of your bravery!”

“No!” The second onigiri screamed (or rather, Gojo screamed for it). “You must live on! Let me be the one to—AHHH!”

And with that, Gojo chucked the onigiri into his mouth and took an exaggerated, victorious bite.

You burst out laughing. The kind of laugh you couldn’t hold in if you tried, the kind that made you lean forward onto the table, shoulders shaking as you gasped for air.

Gojo pointed at you with a mouthful of rice. “Boom. Victory.”

Shoko sighed, sipping her juice. “Took longer than I thought.”

Geto shook his head. “I’m never letting you near my food again.”

But Gojo wasn’t listening. He was too busy basking in his success, leaning toward you with a cocky grin. “Told you you couldn’t resist my charm.”

“You’re an idiot,” you wheezed, still catching your breath.

“And yet,” Gojo said, stealing your dessert anyway, “an idiot with perfect comedic timing.” You groaned I’m reply.

He grinned, triumphant.

Then, Step five, say their name more. “Hey, (Y/N),” he drawled, propping his chin on his hand.

You raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Satoru?”

He blinked. “Uh.”

Damn it. He didn’t actually have anything to say. He’d just read in some stupid article that saying your name was supposed to make you subconsciously more interested in him.

“…Nothing,” he said smoothly, smiling. “Just wanted to remind you how nice your name sounds.”

You gave him a look. “Right.”

A beat of silence. Then

“Satoru,” you said, voice suspiciously sweet.

Gojo grinned. “Yeah?”

“You are being weird.”

“Me?” He placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Weird? Perish the thought.”

You just laughed, shaking your head as you finished the last of your food. “Anyway, as fun as this has been, Im a little thirsty.”

Gojo gasped. “What, you’re leaving me?”

“You’ll survive.” You smirked, standing up. “Probably.”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “(Y/N), your cruelty knows no bounds.”

You just rolled your eyes but smiled. “I’ll be back I want to get a other juice Gojo”

And then you were gone, disappearing into the cafeteria crowd.Gojo sighed, dropping his head onto the table.Well. That could’ve gone better. He pulled out his phone, opening his notes app.

The Gojo Satoru Foolproof Love Plan™ (That Hopefully Works and Doesn’t End in Humiliation)

1. Mirroring movements (FAILED. TOO OBVIOUS.)

2. Eye contact (??? Unclear. Need feedback.)

3. Casual touches (Flicking? Bad idea. Find alternative.)

4. Make them laugh (SUCCESS. OBVIOUSLY.)

5. Say their name more (Awkward. Do not force it.)

6. Grand romantic gesture??? (Not yet. Too soon.)

7. Don’t mess this up. (Currently… TBD.)

Gojo sighed, locking his phone.

—

Geto watched from across the lunch table, fingers idly tapping against his drink, as Gojo leaned way too far into your space. He dropped your name into the conversation at least three times in the last minute, nudged your arm, and let out an exaggerated laugh at something you’d said, something that wasn’t that funny. Then when you got up he looked straight at gojo.

“Alright,” Geto drawled, resting his chin in his palm. “Are you trying to scare them away?”

Gojo shot him a look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Geto just raised an eyebrow. Gojo’s eye twitched slightly. Shoko, who had been watching this unfold with the air of someone witnessing a tragic yet hilarious accident, snorted. “You’re overdoing it,” she told Gojo.

“No, I’m not” Gojo started, then cut himself off, visibly forcing himself to look less desperate. He leaned back, feigning ease. “I mean, pfft. No way. This is all natural.”

Geto exhaled slowly, leveling Gojo with a knowing look.

Because here was the thing, Gojo wasn’t bad at this. He was naturally charismatic. He could be smooth. But when he actually cared about something? When it actually mattered?

He became a disaster, it was obvious that this mattered. Which meant Geto had the upper hand for now. He allowed himself a small smirk before turning back to you as you came back. Unlike Gojo, he wouldn’t trip over himself. He wouldn’t force it. He’d just let things fall into place.

This was going to be easy.

Except.

As lunch went on, Geto noticed something.

At first, Gojo’s fumbling had been amusing. Watching the ever-confident Satoru practically trip over his own feet was undeniably entertaining. But the longer Geto watched, the more he started to realize why Gojo was messing up so badly. Because Gojo flirted all the time. He teased, he charmed half the jujitsu world was wrapped around his finger without him even trying.

Gojo actually liked you.

The thought settled like a weight in Geto’s chest. His fingers tapped idly against the table.

He glanced at you. You were laughing, completely oblivious to the quiet crisis happening across the table. And something about that sent an uncomfortable twist through his stomach.

He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like this was serious. He was just messing with Gojo. That’s what he’d told himself. That’s all this was.

…Right?

Then why did his gaze linger a little too long when you smiled? Why did it bother him when Gojo made you laugh first? Why did it feel like he was always second to Gojo?

Because that was how it always went, wasn’t it?

Gojo was loud, blinding, impossible to ignore. The center of attention in every room. And Geto?

He was there. A presence. A shadow. Not invisible, not overlooked but never first. watching Gojo fight for your attention, watching you react to him, laugh at him. The weight in Geto’s chest grew heavier. His grip on his drink tightened.

No.

This wasn’t about Gojo. It wasn’t about the bet. It wasn’t about proving a point. This was about you. Because he didn’t just want to win. He wanted you and for you to know he wont always come second

He exhaled slowly, leaning back in his seat, watching as Gojo tried (and failed) to act casual.

—

“You know, (Y/n),” Gojo drawled, slinging an arm over the back of your chair like he owned the place. His fingers drummed lazily against the wood, his usual cocky smirk in place. “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s a first,” you quipped without missing a beat, eyes still focused on your food as you casually poked at your meal.

Across the table, Geto exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. Shoko, perched beside him with her cigarette balanced between two fingers, barely hid her smirk as she took a slow drag.

Gojo clicked his tongue, feigning offense. “Rude. I was about to say something really profound, actually.

Finally, you glanced up at him, eyes sparkling with playful curiosity. “Oh? Enlighten me, oh wise and powerful one.”

Gojo grinned wider, but Geto, who knew him better than anyone, noticed the way his fingers tapped just a little too quickly against the table. A nervous tic, barely noticeable. Interesting.

“Well, now I don’t want to with that attitude” Gojo continued, voice dripping with forced nonchalance. “I was just thinking, don’t you think we make a great pair?”

You blinked at him, head tilting slightly with a smirk. “A pair of what, exactly?”

For the first time since opening his mouth, Gojo hesitated. It was only for a fraction of a second, but in that brief pause, Geto could see the exact moment doubt crept into his friend’s mind.

“A pair of… cool people?” Gojo finally offered, flashing a sheepish smile, one hand adjusting his sunglasses even though they hadn’t moved.

There was a beat of silence. Shoko exhaled smoke through her nose, unimpressed. Geto took a slow sip of his drink, watching the interaction unfold with the air of a man witnessing a slow motion car crash painful, but fascinating.

Meanwhile, you squinted at Gojo, head tilting slightly, as if trying to decipher some kind of hidden meaning. “Did you just try to flirt with me by suggesting we… form a club?”

“No” Gojo started, but before he could finish, Geto decided to cut in. Because, really, this was just too good to pass up.

“Oh, I dunno,” he interjected smoothly, tilting his head slightly in your direction. His voice carried the perfect balance of amusement and intrigue, just enough to make Gojo twitch. “I think he’s onto something. You are pretty cool, after all.”

That got your attention. Your lips curled into a delighted grin as you turned to Geto. “Someone recognizes my greatness!” You placed a dramatic hand over your chest. “It’s about time.” You stick out your tongue to gojo

“Get I’m your knees and say I’m cool and you’re not ” You pointed your chopsticks at gojo,

Geto hummed, pleased with himself as he set his drink down. “I only speak the truth.”

Gojo’s eye twitched. Oh, come on.

Shoko exhaled another puff of smoke, watching the scene unfold like it was the best entertainment she’d had in weeks. This is a mess, she thought. A hilarious, glorious mess.

Gojo, meanwhile, looked like he was seconds away from combusting. He narrowed his eyes at Geto, who looked far too pleased with himself, before quickly shaking it off.

“Anyway,” Gojo cut back in, clearly trying to regain control of the conversation. He turned to you again, tapping your shoulder lightly as his grin returned. “What I meant was, you and me? We work well together, y’know? Great chemistry and all that.”

You smirk at him. “Like lab partners?”

There was a moment of silence and then Shoko choked on her drink. Geto coughed lightly, raising a fist to his mouth to cover his smirk. But internally? He was dying.

Gojo froze. His jaw clenched for just a fraction of a second before he forced a grin, his usual confidence cracking under the weight of sheer secondhand embarrassment. “Exactly like lab partners,” he said, voice painfully flat.

“Cool!” You beamed, completely oblivious to Gojo’s growing inner turmoil. “Let me know when we’re dissecting frogs, I guess.” Then you for up and ran to utahime for a moment when you see her aggressively waving you over.

Gojo groaned, flopping back in his seat like a man defeated.

Shoko wiped a tear from her eye, shaking her head. “This is actually painful to watch.”

“Not for me,” Geto mused, barely containing his smirk as he leaned back.

Gojo turned his head just enough to glare at him. “You suck.”

“Aw, Satoru,” Geto drawled, resting his chin in his palm. “Don’t be such a sore loser.”

“Losing implies I’ve lost,” Gojo shot back, sitting up with renewed determination. “And I never lose.”

Geto merely raised an eyebrow. “Sure,” he said smoothly, sipping his drink again. But inside, he was still thinking about the way you had laughed at his words. The way you had turned to him so easily, bright eyed and happy.

And just like that, what was supposed to be a harmless bet felt like something else entirely. Something he wasn’t willing to lose.

—

After lunch wrapped up, Gojo had been dragged away by some underclassmen pestering him for help though, judging by his exaggerated groan of suffering, you’d think they were sentencing him to life in prison. Shoko had peeled off shortly after, muttering something about a nap and waving lazily over her shoulder.

That left you and Geto.

The two of you walked side by side through the courtyard, the afternoon sun casting long shadows on the pavement. It was warm but not unpleasant, with a soft breeze rustling through the trees. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance.

“So,” Geto said, hands slipping casually into his pockets. “Lab partners, huh?”

You grinned, glancing up at him. “What? You don’t think me and Gojo have great chemistry?”

Geto hummed, pretending to consider it. “More like chaotic combustion.”

You laughed, nudging his arm playfully. “Okay, thats just basic math when you out us I’m a room together”

The sound of your laughter settled into Geto’s chest, warm and lingering. He’d always liked that about you how easy it was for you to find amusement in things, how naturally lighthearted you could be. It was one of the reasons he enjoyed your company so much.

He wasn’t even sure when it had started this noticing of yours. The way you smiled when you were really, genuinely happy. The way your hands moved when you talked excitedly. The way your eyes lit up when you were being playful, like they had during lunch when you had turned to him.

Yeah. He was noticing a lot more than he used to.

“You were really enjoying yourself back there,” you mused, shooting him a knowing look.

Geto smirked. “Can you blame me? Watching Gojo crash and burn is one of life’s simplest pleasures.”

You laughed again, and he found himself watching you a little too closely.

It had started as a joke. Just a bet. A way to mess with Gojo and watch him struggle for once.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted.

Maybe it was because you always seemed to get along with him so easily, without all the dramatics and fanfare that followed Gojo everywhere. Maybe it was because teasing you came as naturally as breathing, and you always played along. Maybe it was because, when you looked at him, it never felt like he was standing in Gojo’s shadow.

Because Geto had spent years watching people flock to Gojo first. It wasn’t something he resented, not really it was just the way things were. Gojo was loud, larger than life, the sun in the center of everyone’s orbit.

But now, as you walked beside him, smiling and laughing and completely unaware of the thoughts creeping into his head he wondered what it would be like if, just this once, he wasn’t second.

If you chose him.

“Alright, then,” you said suddenly, shaking him from his thoughts. “If Gojo and I are chaotic combustion, what kind of chemistry do we have?”

You grinned up at him, eyes bright with curiosity. Playful. Innocent. But for the first time all afternoon, Geto felt just the slightest bit off balance. But for the first time all afternoon, Geto felt just the slightest bit off balance. Because for all his usual confidence, for all his careful, patient planning, he hadn’t been expecting that.

His smirk lingered, but this time, it took a fraction of a second longer to form.

“Hmm,” he mused, tilting his head in thought. “I’d say… slow burn.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, is that a real chemistry thing or—”

“Who knows?” Geto said smoothly, flashing you a teasing smile before stepping ahead. “Guess you’ll have to figure it out.”

You gaped at him. “Oh, now you’re being mysterious?”

He only laughed, glancing back over his shoulder. “What can I say? Gotta keep things interesting.”

You rolled your eyes but grinned as you jogged to catch up with him and Geto, for all his patience, was beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wanted to win this more than he thought.

The neon lights of Tokyo buzzed overhead as the four of you wandered the crowded streets, blending into the after-school . It was that perfect in between time too early for the late-night crowd, but just late enough that everything felt a little more exciting.

And, as usual, Gojo was causing problems.

“You dragged us out here,” you sighed, watching Gojo pat down his pockets like he’d just realized he forgot something important. “How do you not know where we’re going?”

“I do know!” Gojo huffed, placing a hand over his heart like you’d mortally wounded him. “I’m just giving the night a sense of mystery.”

“You lost the directions, didn’t you?” Shoko deadpanned.

“Have some faith in me,” Gojo scoffed.

“I did,” Geto mused. “Then I watched you confidently lead us to a random 7-Eleven last time because you thought there was a ‘secret food market’ underground.”

Gojo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are none of you gonna let that go?”

“No,” you, Geto, and Shoko said in unison.

Gojo grumbled under his breath, but before he could keep digging his own grave, you gestured toward a bright, bustling arcade across the street.

“Let’s just go in there,” you suggested. Pointing towards the arcade near by “Since our fearless leader clearly has no actual plan.”

Gojo perked up. “Hey! I did have a plan—”

“Oh my god, shut up and walk,” Shoko sighed, already making her way inside.

—

The place was packed, rows of flashing game screens, the constant clinking of tokens, and the occasional victorious yell from someone landing a big win. It was the kind of that was just fun enough to be energizing rather than overwhelming.

Immediately, Gojo beelined for a claw machine. “I’m winning something for you,” he declared, pointing at you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume you’ll win.”

Gojo grinned, cracking his knuckles. “Bold of you to underestimate me.”

“Gojo, I watched you spend 3,000 yen last time trying to win a keychain,” Geto reminded him, his voice thoroughly unimpressed.

“Okay, but this time is different,” Gojo insisted. “This time, I have motivation.”

You snorted. “Sure you do.”

Shoko rolled her eyes and wandered off to find a rhythm game, and Geto turned to you, smirking. “Wanna bet on how many tries it takes before he gives up?”

You grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”

Thirty Minutes Later…

Gojo was slumped against the claw machine, forehead pressed against the glass, as the plush he had almost grabbed slipped back into the pile for what had to be the twentieth time.

“…This thing is rigged,” he muttered.

Geto, sipping his drink, hummed. “Mmm. Sure.”

You held out a hand toward him. “Pay up.”

Geto sighed but placed a few coins into your palm. “I should’ve known better.”

Shoko strolled back over, glancing at Gojo’s miserable form. “Wow. Are we gonna have to carry you out of here?”

Gojo groaned dramatically. “Leave me. I belong to the void now.”

You rolled your eyes before stepping up to the machine, slipping in a coin. “Here,” you said, gripping the controls. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

Gojo peeled himself off the glass just enough to watch, skeptical. “If you win this on your first try, I’m actually gonna lose my mind.”

You maneuvered the claw, timed the drop perfectly, and…….Bam!

“Your mind better be severally lost when I turn around” you smirk while holding it out to the three of them. Then talking a look at the white haired guy.

“Here, since you worked so hard for it”

Gojo blinked. Then he stared at you. “…You’re giving it to me?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. You worked hard for it.”

Gojo expected you to rub it in, to make some smug comment about how much better you were, but you didn’t. You just… gave it to him. No teasing, no conditions. Just an easy, casual, Here, this is yours.

Something in his chest actually ached.

He took the plush from your hands, staring down at it like it was something important.

“…Wow,” he muttered, voice a little quieter than usual. “So this is what kindness feels like.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“No, no, this is a life changing moment,” Gojo insisted, holding the plush to his chest. “I feel so appreciated right now.”

Geto smirked. “You’re gonna sleep with that thing, aren’t you?”

Gojo scoffed. “Of course not.” He absolutely was.

Shoko yawned. “Can we go now, or do you need a moment to emotionally bond with the plush?”

Gojo pouted. “Let me have this.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “C’mon, Gojo.”

As the four of you made your way back outside, Gojo fell into step beside you, still clutching the plush. He glanced at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Maybe he had completely embarrassed himself tonight, but… This was definitely the best prize he’d ever won.

—

The four of you ended up at a cozy little ramen shop tucked into a side street, the kind of place with handwritten menus, warm lighting, and the rich smell of broth and grilled meats filling the air. It was nothing fancy, but it was good, one of Geto’s usual spots, which meant it was guaranteed to be great.

The ramen shop was cozy, the kind of place that felt like a well kept secret. The handwritten menus, the warm yellow glow from the hanging lanterns, the smell of rich broth and grilled skewers, it all made for a welcoming atmosphere. A place you could linger, talk, enjoy good food without pretense.

Gojo was still holding the small, plush keychain you’d won for him at the arcade earlier, absentmindedly squeezing it between his fingers as you all slid into a booth. He had insisted he didn’t need it, but you had seen the way his face lit up when you handed it to him, how he twirled it in his hands the entire walk over. He hadn’t let go of it since.

Shoko and Gojo immediately launched into a heated debate over toppings, something about whether bamboo shoots were a necessary addition or a waste of space.

You and Geto exchanged a glance. Unspoken solidarity.

“You wanna share something?” Geto’s voice was casual, smooth, as he leaned an elbow against the table, turning his full attention to you.

You blinked. “Uh"…

Gojo, mid argument with Shoko, snapped his head around so fast you thought he might get whiplash.

“What?”

Geto hummed, reaching for the menu, eyes glinting with amusement. “I was just saying we could split something.” His gaze flicked back to you, warm and steady. “Figured you’d get tired of Gojo stealing food off your plate.”

You scoffed, tilting your head in mock consideration. “That’s… actually a really good point.”

Gojo gasped, pointing an accusatory chopstick at Geto. “I do not steal—”

Shoko snorted. “You ate half my gyoza last week.”

Gojo immediately turned to her, defensive. “You weren’t gonna finish them!”

“You didn’t ask.”

Geto chuckled, nudging the menu toward you. “So? What looks good?”

You skimmed the options, feeling the weight of Geto’s gaze. He wasn’t rushing you, wasn’t pushing, just waiting, watching, letting you make the decision. It was subtle, but it felt different from his usual teasing. More intentional.

Meanwhile, across the table, Gojo had gone suspiciously quiet.

He kept fidgeting with the plush you won him, his fingers idly squeezing its soft fabric. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t a big deal, so what if Geto was pulling out his smooth operator act? That’s just how he was. And it wasn’t like Gojo cared. Except… he kind of did.When the food finally arrived, the table filled with steaming bowls of ramen, plates of dumplings, and skewers of grilled meat. Gojo had ordered the biggest portion possible…partly out of habit, partly as some unspoken form of protest.

Geto slid the bowl of spicy miso ramen between the two of you. “You want the first bite?”

You shrugged. “I don’t mind—”

Before you could finish, Geto picked up a spoon, scooped up a bit of broth, and lifted it toward you

.

“Here. Try it.”

You blinked. Gojo blinked. Shoko, sipping her drink, raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“…Are you feeding me?” you asked, both amused and caught off guard.

Geto smirked. “Only if you want me to.”

Gojo’s chopsticks snapped in half.

You chuckled, shaking your head before taking the spoon from Geto yourself. “I can handle it, thanks.”

Geto leaned back, looking very pleased with himself. “Fair enough.”

Gojo, meanwhile, was gripping what was left of his broken chopsticks, staring down at his ramen like he was contemplating the meaning of life.

Shoko nudged him with her elbow. “You good?”

Gojo didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”

Shoko smirked. “Uh-huh.”

Gojo kept stirring his ramen. He wasn’t going to say anything because what was there to say? Geto wasn’t doing anything technically wrong. It was just his usual, effortless charm. The same charm that made people naturally gravitate toward him. But tonight, for some reason, it was getting under Gojo’s skin. He knew Geto knew how he played things, knew how easy it was for him to slip into that role. And Gojo had always been fine with that. They were best friends, partners in crime. But now? Now, watching Geto lean just a little closer, watching you smile and laugh without hesitation Gojo felt something simmering in his chest. A feeling he didn’t quite want to name.

Shoko nudged him again. “You sure? Because you’re either planning murder or having an existential crisis over there.”

Gojo exhaled, flopping dramatically against the booth. “I’m just thinking.”

Shoko’s smirk widened. “Thinking about what, exactly?”

Gojo scowled. “Nothing.”

She didn’t press, but she didn’t have to. They both knew exactly what he was thinking.

Across the table, you and Geto were still chatting, sharing your ramen without a second thought.

Gojo finally dropped his chopsticks with a dramatic sigh, flopping back against the booth. “Okay, enough about feeding each other. We get it. You guys have basic teamwork skills.”

Geto, completely unfazed, turned to him with a lazy grin. “You jealous, Satoru?”

Shoko bit back a laugh.

Gojo rolled his eyes. “Me? Jealous? Of you?” He let out a loud, exaggerated laugh before immediately turning to you. “Hey. You wanna try my ramen?”

You gave him a flat look. “Gojo, you got the most boring option on the menu.”

Gojo gasped. “Excuse me? Classic shoyu ramen is a timeless masterpiece.”

Geto chuckled, watching the exchange with amusement. “Yeah, nothing says excitement like a safe choice.”

Gojo pointed a dramatic finger at him. “I don’t need your judgment, Suguru.”

“Not jealous,” he muttered. “Just… not that hungry anymore.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

You, however, nudged his arm lightly. “Gojo, you literally ordered the biggest bowl on the menu.”

He glanced at you, blue eyes flickering with something unreadable for a second before he shrugged. “Guess my appetite’s smaller than I thought.”

Lies.

Gojo always ate like he had a bottomless pit for a stomach. But tonight, the food tasted a little bland.

Geto leaned back in his seat, watching him carefully. He didn’t say anything, but the way his fingers tapped lightly against the table made it clear he noticed the shift.

For the rest of the meal, Gojo stayed a little quieter than usual, only half-listening as you and Geto talked. He didn’t make a fuss. Didn’t push the usual playful banter. But every now and then, his gaze would flicker toward Geto, then back to you. And for the first time in a long time, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, He was already too late.

Geto just smiled, relaxed and confident as ever. He didn’t need to gloat, Gojo was already riled up enough for the both of them.

Across the table, Shoko stretched her arms over her head, looking just about done with the two of them. “Alright, children. Eat your food before the shop kicks us out.”

Gojo grumbled under his breath before finally taking an actual bite of his ramen. But as he chewed, he glanced at Geto, then at you, and then back at Geto. He didn’t say anything. But in the back of his mind, he was already planning his next move.

——

The streets were quieter now, the distant hum of the city fading as the four of you made your way back to Jujutsu High. The crisp night air nipped at your skin, but the warmth of the ramen shop still clung to you, the scent of broth and grilled meat lingering in your clothes.

It should have been a perfect night. A rare one, even. Just the four of you, no missions, no training, no looming sense of responsibility. But despite the easy conversation and the comfortable rhythm of your walk, something felt… off. Or maybe different was the better word.

You weren’t sure when you started noticing it. Maybe it was back at the ramen shop, or maybe even earlier at the arcade, but the feeling had been creeping up on you all night, just subtle enough to ignore, until now.

Geto had always been smooth. Confident in a way that never felt overdone, just natural. He had a way of making things seem effortless, like he wasn’t even trying. But tonight, there was something pointed about it. The way he leaned in just a little closer, the way he found reasons to keep the conversation between just the two of you, the way his gaze lingered a second too long.

And then there was Gojo. Normally, he’d be the loudest one here, cracking jokes, making everything a competition, dragging all the attention toward himself like it was second nature. But tonight?

Tonight, he’d been different too.

Quieter. A little distant. He still teased, still complained, but there was something off about it. Like his heart wasn’t really in it.

You stole a glance back at him. He was trailing just a step behind, hands buried deep in his pockets, his usual long strides feeling slower, heavier. His shoulders were set, his jaw tight—like he was thinking too hard about something he didn’t want to say. It made something in your chest twist.

“Cold?”

You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. Geto’s voice was low, even, pulling you back to the present.

“Huh?”

“It’s chilly,” he said, already shrugging off his jacket. “Here.”

“Oh, I’m fine—”

“Just take it.” His tone left little room for argument as he draped the jacket over your shoulders before you could protest, his fingers grazing lightly against your collarbone. Your breath hitched. Geto was always like this, thoughtful in a way that felt effortless, like he didn’t even have to think about it you try to rationalize to yourself.

“…Thanks,” you murmured, fingers instinctively curling around the fabric.

He smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kept walking beside you. His pace was steady, close but not too close, just enough that your arms brushed every now and then—not quite accidental, but not completely intentional either.

It was the kind of thing you probably wouldn’t have thought twice about—if it weren’t for the way Gojo had gone completely silent behind you.

You glanced back again.

Gojo’s expression was unreadable, his lips pressed into a thin line. He was still fidgeting with the plush keychain you’d won for him earlier, rolling it between his fingers, his grip just a little too tight. Something about the sight made your stomach sink.

“Shortcut?”

Shoko’s voice broke the tension, casual and lazy as she stretched her arms over her head.

Gojo barely hesitated. “Yeah, same.” His voice was flat.

You blinked. “Shortcut?”

Shoko gestured to a narrow side path. “Cuts the walk down. Bit of an uphill climb, but faster.”

“But it sucks,” Geto pointed out, unimpressed. “Too steep.”

She shrugged. “Worth it.” Then she turned to you and Geto, smirking. “Guess you two are taking the scenic route, huh?”

Your face immediately went warm. “That’s not—”

“Later,” she cut you off with a lazy wave, already tugging Gojo along.

You barely caught a glimpse of his face before he turned away. But for a second. Just a second. his eyes flickered toward you, something unreadable behind them. Like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t.

Instead, he let himself be pulled along, following Shoko without another word. Just the Two of You. The silence left in their absence felt heavier than it should have.

“Guess it’s just us,” Geto said lightly, casting a glance at you.

You huffed, still flustered. “Shoko says stuff just to mess with people, you know.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah. But… she’s usually not wrong.”

Your stomach did a weird little flip.

“What?” you blurted out, a little too quick.

Geto didn’t answer right away. He just smiled to himself, looking ahead like he knew something you didn’t. Your thoughts tangled together, a mess of contradictions. Gojo had been off tonight. And Geto was acting just different enough that you couldn’t ignore it.

It made something in your chest tighten. They were your friends. You weren’t supposed to overthink things like this. But something was changing. And you didn’t know how to feel about it.

The rhythmic sound of your footsteps filled the silence between you. The campus was still a ways off, the path stretching ahead of you under the glow of streetlights. “…Did you have fun tonight?” Geto’s voice was softer now, lacking his usual teasing edge.

You hesitated. “…Yeah. Did you?”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you. “More than I expected to.”

There was something about the way he said it that made your pulse jump.

You looked away, focusing on the ground ahead of you. “…You want this back?” you asked, shifting under the weight of his jacket.

He shook his head easily. “Nah. Looks better on you.”

Your face felt warm despite the cool air.

“So,” Geto broke the quiet, hands still stuffed in his pockets. “You really gonna make me carry this whole conversation by myself?”

You shot him a look. “You’re the one who insists on talking all the time.”

He grinned. “Well, yeah. Someone’s gotta keep things interesting.”

You scoffed. “Oh, right. Because I’m just so boring.”

“Didn’t say that.” His tone was teasing, but his gaze flickered over to you with something unreadable. “Just quiet.”

You huffed. “I can be fun.”

“Oh?” He raised a brow, intrigued. “Prove it.”

You squinted at him. “What, you want me to juggle or something?”

“That’d be a start.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. Uh… okay, did I ever tell you about the time I completely humiliated myself in front of Mei Mei?”

His eyes lit up. “No, but I already know this is gonna be good.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “It was awful. I was helping her carry some stuff, right? Trying to be useful. But I tripped on absolutely nothing, flailed like a total idiot, and somehow managed to launch her entire stack of training manuals across the courtyard.”

Geto let out a loud laugh. “No way.”

“Oh, it gets worse. Instead of, I don’t know, getting up with some dignity, I just laid there for a second. Mei Mei didn’t even say anything, she just stared at me like she was trying to figure out if I was a lost cause.”

“That sounds like her.”

“I still don’t know if she was more disappointed or just impressed by how thoroughly I managed to embarrass myself.”

Geto was still grinning. “That’s beautiful. I wish I’d been there.”

“See? I am fun,” you said triumphantly.

He hummed, tilting his head in consideration. “I don’t know. That sounds less like ‘fun’ and more like ‘chronic bad luck.’”

You smacked his arm. “Oh, shut up.”

He just laughed, rubbing the spot like you’d actually hurt him. “Okay, okay. You win. You’re fun.”

“Damn right I am.”

You were both smiling now, the warmth of the moment making the chilly night air feel insignificant.

“…You should laugh more,” he said after a beat, his voice quieter.

You blinked at him. “Huh?”

He shrugged, looking ahead. “Just saying. It suits you.”

Your stomach flipped again, but this time, you didn’t push the feeling away.

Instead, you just shook your head with a soft chuckle. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“Not a chance.” He flashed you a grin, his steps falling just a little closer to yours.

The rest of the walk was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Just charged in a way you weren’t used to.

By the time you reached the school gates, your thoughts were a mess.

The weight of Geto’s jacket still lingered on your shoulders.

somewhere in the back of your mind, Gojo’s silence stuck with you in a way you didn’t quite understand.Something was changing and you had no idea what to do about it.

The school grounds were quiet at this hour, the faint hum of the cicadas in the trees the only sound filling the night air. Most of the students had long since gone to sleep, the dorms dark and still, but you and Geto lingered by the entrance, neither of you quite ready to part ways just yet.

You shifted the jacket draped over your shoulders, acutely aware of its warmth, of the faint scent of Geto’s cologne still clinging to the fabric.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Geto’s voice broke the silence, amused.

You blinked, glancing at him. “Huh?”

He smirked. “You get this little crease in your brow when you’re overthinking something.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I do not.”

“You do,” he insisted, tapping a finger to your forehead in demonstration. “Right here. Deep in thought. Probably overanalyzing everything that happened tonight.”

Your stomach flipped.

You were overthinking it. Overthinking him. Overthinking Gojo, and the weird tension that had lingered between the three of you all night. Geto must have noticed the way your expression shifted, because his smirk softened.

“…You good?” he asked, quieter now.

You hesitated.

You could play it off, pretend everything was fine. But part of you, maybe the part still rattled by the way tonight felt different, didn’t want to.

“…Do you think Gojo’s mad at me?” The words slipped out before you could second guess

them. Geto’s expression didn’t change, but you noticed the way his fingers twitched at his sides.

“No,” he said simply.

You frowned. “Then why was he acting so weird?”

Geto exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You’ll have to ask him that yourself.”

You huffed. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I can give you,” Geto said, looking at you now, gaze steady. “Whatever’s going on with Gojo, it’s not my place to say.”

That definitely meant something.

You stared at him, searching for some kind of hint, but Geto just smiled, unreadable as ever.

Before you could press further, a voice cut through the quiet.

“You guys are still out here?”

You turned, and there he was Gojo, standing a few feet away, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his uniform. He must have circled back at some point, because Shoko was nowhere to be seen.

For a split second, his gaze flickered to the jacket on your shoulders. His fingers tightened around the plush keychain in his hand.

“…You took a while ?” he asked, voice light, but there was something off about it.

You swallowed. “Uh. No. We just walked and talked.”

Gojo nodded, like that answer was expected, but the sharp edge in his expression didn’t ease.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” you said, attempting to ignore the strange tension between the three of you.

Gojo just shrugged, rocking back on his heels. “Yeah, well. I was gonna be real mad if you got kidnapped before I had the chance to make fun of you tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes. “Touching.”

But there was something about the way he said it that made your chest feel tight.

The three of you stood there for a moment, the silence thick between you and then Geto, ever the smooth one, clapped his hands together. “Well. It’s late,” he said easily. “We should probably get inside before Yaga yells at us.”

You nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted.

Gojo said nothing. Geto turned toward the dorms, his stride unhurried. But just before he walked past Gojo, he slowed just enough to murmur something under his breath.

You didn’t catch it. But whatever it was made Gojo’s jaw tighten. You hesitated, glancing between the two of them. You could feel whatever was happening here, unspoken and heavy, and it made something in you twist.

“…Night,” you said finally, the weight of the day settling over you.

Geto smiled, easy and warm. “Night.”

Gojo just nodded, but his usual smirk was nowhere to be found. You weren’t sure what to make of that. As you finally turned to head inside, the weight of Geto’s jacket still on your shoulders, you had the distinct feeling that tonight had changed something.

.

.

Geto: I like your laugh😽

You: Chat is this rizz !?!

Geto: you just ruined it

Geto: we were having a moment

You: Chat am I cooked?

Geto: WHO ARE YOU TALKING TOO RIGHT NOW

You: chat clip that

.

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

.

Gojo: can i try rizzing you up

You: sure

Gojo : PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

.

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no hate to yall but someone give a fun teasing, sweet and lighthearted astarion fic. I don’t want smut, I don’t crave the angst (at least at the moment) LIKE SLICE OF LIFE OR SOMETHING. let this man be happy and safe and comforted. Even some scenes within the first week of meeting tav. YALL ARESOMEANTO HIM!!