⍰ ⍰ Sweet Eddie ⍰ ⍰

⋆˚✿˖° ❝it feels crowded❞ ⋆˚✿˖°

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Gojo Satoru x Reader

Geto Suguru x Reader

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4. How it feels to be a girl and do no wrong

masterlist

update! i’m back from vacation but i offer you this with what little time I have.

…

Your dorm was warm and cozy, lit softly by the glow of a few fairy lights strung along the walls. The scent of popcorn and sugary snacks filled the air, and laughter spilled freely between you, Shoko, and Utahime as the three of you lounged around the room.

It had been a few days since your night out at the arcade and ramen shop, but the memory still lingered in your mind specifically, the way Geto had acted, the way Gojo had been off. And based on the way Shoko kept smirking at you, you had a strong suspicion she knew exactly what you’d been overthinking.

“Alright, but hear me out,” Utahime said, sitting cross legged on the floor as she carefully painted your nails. “What if, just once, in a horror movie, the characters actually had some common sense?”

You snorted, blowing on the nails she had already finished. “Then the movie would be ten minutes long.”

“Exactly,” Shoko chimed in, sprawled lazily across your bed, a cigarette tucked between her fingers. “The second a single door creaks on its own? I’m out. No investigation. No ‘who’s there?’ Just immediate evacuation.”

Utahime grinned. “See, that’s why we’d all survive.”

You hummed. “Not if one of us trips.”

Shoko flicked her lighter absently. “You’d trip.”

You gasped, “I’m super adept.”

Utahime giggled. “You did trip at the arcade that one day.”

“That was once!” you protested, then immediately regretted it when Shoko and Utahime exchanged a look.

“Oh yeah,” Shoko drawled, her smirk widening. “Speaking of the arcade…”

Utahime sighed, putting the nail polish down and leaning back on her hands. “We’ve been nice and patient, but now you have to tell us.” You blinked. “Tell you what?”

Utahime gave you a deadpan look. “Don’t play dumb.” Shoko grinned, propping herself up on her elbows. “How’s it feel to have both Gojo and Geto all over you?”

Your face immediately heated up. “They were not—” “Please,” Shoko cut you off. “Geto was practically glued to your side, and Gojo looked like he wanted to launch him into orbit.”

Utahime hummed. “He was acting weird, wasn’t he?” You frowned, thinking back to Gojo’s quiet mood after dinner, the way he had trailed a step behind when you and Geto had walked back together.

“He’s been weird ever since,” Shoko mused, tapping ash into an empty cup. “More annoying than usual.”

“He’s probably just being dramatic,” you muttered, trying to ignore the way something in your stomach twisted.

Utahime gave you a patient look. “And Geto?”

You hesitated. Geto had been different too. More intentional with his words, with his actions. The memory of him draping his jacket over your shoulders flashed in your mind, unbidden.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “It’s just… Geto’s always smooth. But lately, it’s like he’s actually trying.” Utahime nodded thoughtfully, while Shoko smirked. “And you like it.” “I didn’t say that!”

Utahime raised an eyebrow. “But you don’t hate it.” You groaned, flopping backward onto the bed, covering your face with a pillow. “Why are we even talking about this?”

Shoko chuckled, tossing a piece of popcorn at you. “Because it’s fun watching you squirm.” You lifted the pillow just enough to glare at her. “I hate you.” She grinned. “No, you don’t.”

Utahime leaned back, stretching her arms over her head. “Well, either way, something’s happening.”

You let out a long sigh. “Nothing is happening.” “Yet,” Shoko corrected, looking far too pleased with herself.

You groaned again, dragging the pillow back over your face. This sleepover was supposed to be relaxing. Instead, you were going to lose your mind. Utahime stretched, letting out a content sigh as she leaned back against the bed. “Well, whatever’s going on, you’re gonna have to deal with it eventually.”

You groaned, still partially buried under your pillow. “Or I could just ignore it forever.”

Shoko snorted. “Yeah, because that always works.” Utahime shook her head, about to say something else when she suddenly froze. Her eyes narrowed, her head tilting slightly as she peered toward the chair in the corner of your room.

“Wait a second.”

You sat up a little, frowning. “What?”

Utahime’s gaze flicked back to you, her expression sharpening with curiosity. “That jacket.” Your stomach immediately dropped. You followed her line of sight straight to the familiar black jacket draped over the back of your chair. Geto’s jacket. The same one he had casually thrown over your shoulders a few nights ago. The one you had fully intended to return but had somehow… forgotten about.

Utahime slowly turned back to you, her smirk growing with every passing second. “Is that Geto’s?” Shoko, who had previously been lounging, suddenly perked up. She squinted at the jacket, then at your increasingly guilty expression. Then, in perfect sync with Utahime, she let out a dramatic gasp.

“Oh my god.”

“No,” you said immediately, face heating up. “It’s not—”

“It so is,” Utahime cut in, sitting up straighter. “Why is it still here?”

“I—” You floundered for an explanation, your brain working overtime. “I just… forgot to give it back.”

Shoko smirked while laughing. “You forgot?”

“Yes!”

Utahime grinned, standing up to grab the jacket off the chair. She turned it over in her hands, inspecting it like it held the secrets of the universe. “I bet it even smells like him.”

“Utahime!” you yelped, reaching to snatch it from her. She easily dodged, waving it out of reach. “Oh, this is rich.”

Shoko propped her chin in her hand, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “So. You’ve just been keeping it? Sleeping next to it? Maybe wearing it when you miss him?” You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “I hate both of you.”

“Please,” Utahime said, shaking the jacket for emphasis. “This is gold.”

Shoko hummed thoughtfully. “You should return it, y’know. Maybe personally.”

You squinted at her. “You just want to watch me suffer.”

“Absolutely,” she confirmed, smirking.

Utahime threw the jacket over your head with a dramatic flourish. “Well, either way, you should probably return it before people start asking questions.” You peeked out from under the fabric, pouting. “You two are the worst.” Shoko shrugged. “And yet, with all this going on I might have to steal you for myself.”

Utahime grinned, flopping back onto the bed. “Now, be honest how many times have you worn it?”

You launched a pillow at her face. Unfortunately, that only made them laugh harder.

—

“This is nice,” Utahime murmured, admiring her work. “Quiet. Relaxing. No responsibilities.”

Shoko let out a content sigh, stretching her legs over the arm of the couch. “No early missions, no annoying teachers, no one yelling. Just peace.”

You hummed in agreement, flipping lazily through a magazine, barely paying attention to the pages. “We should do this more often.”

Utahime nodded. “Definitely. We always talk about it, but we never actually set time aside.”

“That’s because every time we plan, something interrupts it.” Shoko cracked one eye open, smirking. “Remember the last time? We barely made it through a movie before—”

“No,” you cut in quickly. “We are not bringing up last time.”

“That’s fair.” Shoko yawned, stretching her arms over her head before slumping back down. “So, what’s the plan? Are we just hanging out, or are we doing something fun?”

You glanced around at the mess of snacks and nail polish. “I thought this was the fun part.”

Shoko waved a dismissive hand. “No, no. I mean, like, real fun. Something chaotic. Utahime, you’re too responsible when’s the last time you did something reckless?”

Utahime narrowed her eyes. “You’re acting like I’m some kind of” She paused, then sighed. “You know what? It’s been a while.” Shoko grinned. “See? I knew it. Let’s do something.”

Utahime raised a brow. “Like what?”

Shoko turned to you, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You got any ideas?” You glanced between them, already sensing that something was about to spiral out of control. “…I might have one.”

“i don’t like that look you’re giving” utahime lets out quietly

Shoko smirked, sitting up properly now, clearly entertained. “No, no, let’s hear them out. If they’ve got that look, it means this is gonna be good.” You shrugged, trying to seem casual. “Well, we could sneak into Gojo’s room and mess with his stuff.”

Utahime sighed, already rubbing her temples. “Why is your first instinct always to start problems?”

“Because it’s fun?” Shoko answered for you, already getting excited. “What are you thinking? Classic prank? Rearranging his furniture? Stealing something important?”

“Oh, stealing is good,” you mused. “Imagine if we took his sunglasses. He’d lose his mind.”

“He would,” Shoko agreed. “What about his hair gel? You know he goes through, like, a bottle a week.”

Utahime groaned. “I’m not getting involved in this.”

“Oh, come on,” you nudged her. “It’s harmless. He deserves it after all the times he’s annoyed you.”

Utahime hesitated, glancing away. “…He has been worse than usual lately.”

Shoko grinned, sensing the shift. “See? Exactly. Think of it as justice.”

Utahime huffed, crossing her arms. “Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming both of you.”

Shoko threw an arm around her shoulders. “That’s the spirit!”

The plan was simple: sneak in, steal something mildly important, and leave before Gojo even noticed. But in true you, Shoko, and Utahime fashion things did not go as planned

The plan was simple: sneak into Gojo’s room, take something mildly important, and leave before he even noticed. Given how messy he usually was, you figured it’d be easy just rummage through the and swipe something small. But the second you pushed open the door, all three of you froze.

“…What the hell?” Utahime muttered.

Shoko blinked. “Did we walk into the wrong room?”

Gojo’s dorm was… immaculate. No scattered clothes. No empty snack wrappers. His bed was made, his desk was organized, and even his infinity scarves were neatly folded on a shelf. The air smelled faintly of fabric softener, like he had just done laundry. You turned to your friends, wide eyed. “Did he hire someone to clean?”

Utahime shook her head, suspicious. “This has to be a trap.”

Shoko whistled, walking inside. “Or he finally got sick of living like a raccoon.” Stepping further in, you carefully looked around. It was unsettling this was not the Gojo you knew. No mess , no clutter, no sense of a human disaster living here.

“…I feel like we should leave something messy just to restore balance,” you murmured.

Utahime crossed her arms. “Focus. We need to find something valuable before he comes back.”

Shoko flopped onto his bed dramatically. “What even counts as valuable to Gojo?” As if on cue, Utahime spotted something small and very out of place on his desk a tiny, pink, bunny shaped scrunchie.

She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. “What is this?”

Shoko sat up. “Since when does Gojo own a scrunchie?”

“I don’t know, but it does not fit his whole thing,” Utahime said, looking scandalized. You smirked. “Which means it’s sentimental. Perfect.”

Shoko grinned. “Stealing it is the only logical course of action.”

Before you could celebrate your victory, disaster struck. Footsteps. Approaching. From right outside the door.

“Shit” you hissed.

“Hide!” Utahime whisper yelled.

All three of you scrambled like cockroaches when a light turns on. Shoko dived under the bed, Utahime pressed herself inside the closet, and you flattened against the wall near the door. The knob turned. Gojo stepped in, stretching. He yawned, rubbing his eyes as he scanned the room.

“…Weird,” he muttered. He took a slow step inside, glancing around. Your breath caught. His gaze narrowed slightly. “mmm something is off?” You stayed completely still. Shoko, from under the bed, barely stifled a laugh. Gojo exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Maybe I’m just paranoid.” He turned, reaching for his blindfold on the desk, then froze.

His fingers hovered over the empty spot where the pink scrunchie had been. Slowly, his head turned. “…Where is it?” Your stomach dropped. Gojo knew.

His entire posture shifted casual suspicion replaced by immediate certainty. His eyes flickered as he scanned the room, brows furrowing. Utahime was dead silent in the closet. Shoko wasn’t even breathing under the bed. Gojo’s gaze lingered on the doorway. Then, he smirked.

“I knew I felt something off.” Crap. Time to run. The second without thinking, you bolted. Gojo moved fast too fast but you had a head start, and you weren’t about to go down without a fight. You dodged past him, sprinting out the door and down the hallway, gripping the stolen scrunchie in your fist like it was some kind of prized treasure.

“Hey!” Gojo’s voice rang out, way too delighted for someone who had just been robbed. “Get back here, thief!”

You didn’t look back. Behind you, you could hear Utahime and Shoko dying of laughter, but they had chosen self preservation over loyalty, leaving you to fend for yourself. You turned a sharp corner, barely avoiding crashing into a stack of textbooks outside Yaga’s office, and kept running, your breath coming in short gasps.

But Gojo wasn’t even trying. That was the worst part he wasn’t sprinting after you, wasn’t calling on his infinity to stop you in your tracks. He was just strolling down the hall like he had all the time in the world, like he was playing some slow, inevitable game of cat and mouse.

“You know I can catch you whenever I want, right?” You didn’t dignify that with an answer. Your plan? Unclear. Your only goal? Survive. But the second you made it to the stairwell, you felt it, A shift in the air. An invisible force coiling around you like a net.

Oh, shit.

Before you could take another step, your body stopped moving. You weren’t frozen, exactly just stuck, like something was gently pressing you in place. Gojo’s infinity. A heartbeat later, he was behind you, leaning down to speak right next to your ear.

“You really thought you could get away?”

His voice was smug. Too smug. You turned your head slightly, glaring. “That’s unfair.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” he shot back easily. Then, after a pause, “Wait, which one is this?”

You groaned. “Just take your stupid scrunchie back.” But instead of snatching it away, he just rested his chin on your shoulder, peering at the pink fabric in your hand. “You really wanted this that badly?”

You felt your face heat. “It was part of a game!”

“Oh? And what exactly was the game?”

You refused to answer. Gojo chuckled, finally releasing his technique so you could move again. But before you could shove the scrunchie back at him, he reached up, plucking it from your fingers with a satisfied hum.

Then, to your shock, he casually stretched it over his wrist.

You stared. “You’re actually wearing it?”

“Why not?” He grinned, holding up his hand like he was showing off some expensive bracelet. “Looks cute, right?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then groaned. “You are so annoying.”

He just beamed, rocking back on his heels. “Admit it you’re impressed I caught you.”

You scowled. “I let you catch me.”

Gojo barked out a laugh. “Oh, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

You turned on your heel, storming off, because if you stayed any longer, he’d probably say something even more ridiculous

.

But just as you reached the door, you heard his voice again, softer this time.

“See you later, thief.”

And then he walked away, leaving you standing there, flustered, as the warmth in your chest refused to go away.

—-

The memory was old, so old that Gojo sometimes wondered if it was real or just something his brain made up over time. But no, he knew it had happened. He could still hear the sound of your voice, tiny and full of determination, and he could still remember how warm the summer air had felt against his skin that day.

It was before Geto, before Shoko before either of you had anyone else. Just two kids, running around the vast Satoru estate, where everything was too big and too quiet and too lonely.

Gojo had been sulking. He didn’t even remember why. Maybe one of the servants had scolded him for sneaking sweets before dinner. Maybe his father had said something about being stronger or better or more than what he already was. Or maybe he was just having one of those days where being Gojo Satoru felt way too heavy for a little kid to carry.

Whatever the reason, he had plopped down onto the wooden engawa outside his house, legs dangling over the edge, arms crossed over his chest. His sunglasses too big for his face back then had slid slightly down his nose, but he was too grumpy to push them back up. like always, you appeared.

Marching straight up to him with something clutched tightly in your tiny fist, you stopped in front of him and huffed. “Satoru.”

Gojo barely glanced at you. “What?”

“Hold out your hand.”

He squinted at you, suspicious. “Why?”

“Just do it!”

He let out the world’s most dramatic sigh, but finally, he held out his palm. Immediately, you shoved something soft and fabric-y into it. Gojo blinked, looking down. A scrunchie. Pink. With little bunny ears on it.

He stared. Then stared harder. “…What?”

You crossed your arms, standing tall well, as tall as a little kid could stand. “It’s for you.”

Gojo wrinkled his nose. “A scrunchie?”

“Yeah.” Without waiting for an invitation, you flopped down next to him, swinging your legs over the edge of the engawa. “My mom said I have too many, so I decided to give this one away.”

Gojo frowned. “Why to me?”

You gave him a look, like the answer was so obvious. “Because you always complain about your hair.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. “…No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

Then, to Gojo’s absolute horror, you scrunched up your face and mimicked him in a high pitched, exaggerated voice:

“Ugh, my hair’s in my face! Ugh, it’s so annoying!”

Gojo gasped. “I DO NOT sound like that.” “You totally do.”

He scowled, clutching the scrunchie like it had personally offended him. “Well still! It’s pink!” You shrugged. “So?” “And it’s got bunny ears!” “So?” Gojo was flabbergasted. “It’s it’s cute!”

You blinked at him, unimpressed. “Satoru. You have white hair and wear sunglasses indoors. I don’t think a pink scrunchie is your biggest problem.”

Gojo gawked at you. “huh!”

You just grinned, all mischief and sunshine. “Besides, it’s practical.” You swung your feet again, bumping his knee. “You always get annoyed when your hair’s in your eyes, right? Just use it when no one’s looking.”

Gojo glanced down at the scrunchie again.

It was practical… and soft… and warm from your hands… and something about the fact that you gave it to him made his face feel kinda hot. He grumbled under his breath, stuffing it deep into his pocket like he was hiding evidence. “…Fine. But if anyone asks, I stole it from you.”

You laughed, bright and clear. “Sure, Satoru. Whatever makes you feel better.”

—

Gojo sat on his bed, rolling the same pink scrunchie between his fingers. The bunny ears were slightly bent, the fabric worn from time, but it was still intact.just like the memory.

He sighed, rubbing a thumb over the soft fabric. You didn’t even remember giving this to him.

Figures. He closed his fist around it, holding it close. It was his, after all.

Gojo sat cross legged in the middle of the wide, empty field behind the estate. The sun was beginning to dip, stretching his shadow out long and thin on the grass. Summer air clung to him, sticky and warm, and the cicadas’ endless chorus buzzed in his ears. He stared at the ground, fingers absently picking at the grass, his mind heavy with everything and nothing at once.

His dad’s voice still echoed in his ears, sharp, cutting, never satisfied. The words blurred together in his head, a tangled mess of expectations he didn’t ask for.

Footsteps crunched softly behind him, but he didn’t bother to look up. No one else came out here except for you.

“Hey,” you greeted, voice cautious but casual. “Why’d you run off like that?”

Gojo grunted, still plucking at the grass. “Dunno.”

You plopped down beside him without hesitation, legs folded neatly under you. There was a beat of silence as you looked at him, waiting for him to say more, but when he didn’t, you spoke up again.

“You ran off right after your dad yelled at you,” you pointed out, like it was obvious.

Gojo’s fingers stilled. He ripped a piece of grass and tossed it away. “So what?”

“So, it clearly bothered you.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

You huffed, exasperated but amused. “Liar. I know when something’s bothering you.”

Gojo finally looked at you, a half hearted glare behind those too big sunglasses. “You think you know everything.”

You grinned, unphased. “Yeah, ‘cause I do. I’m a gojo expert.”

Gojo’s lips twitched almost a smile. Almost. The two of you sat there, listening to the cicadas fill the silence. Gojo went back to tearing up the grass, and you leaned back on your hands, tilting your head to the sky.

“Y’know,” you began casually, “I don’t get why you always pretend you’re fine when you’re not.” Gojo’s jaw tightened. The sunglasses slid down his nose, and he pushed them back up, a barrier between you and the storm brewing in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me,” you countered softly, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “You’re my friend.”

Friend. That word made his chest feel weird too tight and too light all at once. It was easier to be Gojo Satoru, The Strongest, than to be just Gojo Satoru, a kid whose family thought “the strongest” was all he ever had to be.

“I’m not supposed to need friends,” he muttered. “I’m supposed to be the strongest.”

You looked at him, tilting your head a little. “Yeah, but being the strongest doesn’t mean you have to be alone, dummy.”

Gojo’s fingers stopped picking at the grass. The weight of his father’s expectations pressed down on his shoulders be stronger, be better, be more but your voice cut through the noise, steady and certain.

“Besides,” you added, nudging his shoulder with your own, “I think even the strongest person needs someone. Maybe even especially the strongest person.”

Gojo’s throat felt tight. He wanted to argue, to tell you that you didn’t get it, that no one did but then he looked at you, and you were just sitting there, legs swinging a little, your gaze soft but stubborn. You didn’t pity him; you were just there, like always.

Your hand reached out, fingers wrapping around his wrist gently. Gojo glanced down, staring at the way your fingers curled around his skin. It was grounding a touch that reminded him he was still here, still a person, not just some untouchable concept of strength.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said, voice light but sincere. “Even if you keep acting like a grumpy old man.”

A laugh snorted out of him before he could stop it. “I don’t act like a grumpy old man.”

“Yes, you do,” you teased, a playful smirk curling your lips. “You sulk and mutter under your breath like you’re eighty.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you’re just annoying,” he shot back, but there was no bite in his voice.

You laughed, bright and clear, the sound blending with the cicadas. The sun had dipped a little lower now, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. The world felt quieter, softer, and Gojo’s heart didn’t feel as heavy as before. The two of you sat there until the sun sank below the horizon and the air began to cool. When it was finally time to head back, you stood up first, offering your hand to help him up. Gojo looked at your outstretched hand, then at your face determined and patient.

He took it, your grip warm and steady.

“Come on, old man,” you teased, pulling him to his feet. “Dinner’s gonna get cold, and you know the staff’ll lecture you again.”

Gojo rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked into a smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

But as the two of you walked back, your arms swinging between you,

——

The sun was setting over Jujutsu High, bleeding orange and gold across the sky. The air was warm and heavy, the end of another long day hanging lazily over the campus. Shoko leaned against the window frame of the common room, a cigarette balanced between her fingers, the smoke curling lazily upward.

Geto sat on the windowsill, his back against the frame and one leg drawn up while the other hung outside. His gaze was fixed on the training grounds below, where you and Gojo were supposed to be training though it looked more like Gojo was just finding new ways to annoy you.

“Do they ever actually take this seriously?” Shoko mused, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.

Geto huffed out a quiet laugh, but there was a heaviness to it. “If they did, they wouldn’t be themselves.”

Down below, Gojo had his infinity up, that smirk plastered on his face. Every time you tried to hit him, he’d lean back just enough for your fist to miss. His sunglasses had slid down his nose, but he didn’t bother fixing them.

“C’mon, try harder!” he teased, voice bright and taunting. “I thought you said you were getting stronger!”

“Oh, I am,” you shot back, grinning even as your frustration grew. “You just need to stop being a coward and drop your technique!”

“Ha! As if!” Gojo laughed, effortlessly sidestepping your next swing. “You’d have to make me!”

Without warning, you lunged forward and grabbed the front of his uniform. His eyes widened, a flicker of surprise breaking through his cockiness just before you yanked him down. The two of you tumbled to the ground, a heap of limbs and laughter, dust clouding around you.

Gojo’s dramatic yelp echoed through the courtyard, followed by your triumphant, breathless laughter.

Shoko snorted softly, shaking her head. “Idiots.”

Geto watched the two of you tangled up on the ground, his smile faint but strained. There was a bittersweet weight to it, a quiet sort of resignation.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his eyes still on Gojo’s bright, careless grin. “They are.”

Shoko took another drag of her cigarette, her eyes glancing sideways at Geto. The way he watched the two of you there was something there, a thread of something unspoken and conflicted.

“They’ve always been like that,” she said, testing the waters. “Even before we got mixed in.”

Geto’s gaze lingered on the two of you, Gojo’s arm now slung over your shoulders while you tried to shove him off, your mock protests drowned out by his laughter. There was a time when that laughter had been his, something that had belonged to just the two of them. Before everything had gotten so complicated. Before he began to see the cracks in the world that Gojo seemed so effortlessly above.

“Yeah,” Geto replied softly, voice tight. “They have.”

Shoko watched him carefully, the corner of her mouth curving into a smirk that was almost sympathetic. “Getting sentimental, Suguru?”

He scoffed, the sound sharper than usual. “No. Just thinking.”

“About?” He didn’t answer right away, his eyes still fixed on Gojo’s grin, the same one that used to be mirrored by his own. Used to be.

“Nothing,” he finally muttered, turning away from the window. “It’s nothing.”

Shoko watched him retreat, her gaze lingering on his back before drifting back to you and Gojo. Gojo had finally let you up, his head thrown back as he laughed, and you were swatting at him, a grin breaking through your faux irritation.

The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long across the courtyard. Shoko took another drag of her cigarette, her eyes thoughtful. In the quiet space between laughter and cicadas, there was something heavy something that Geto couldn’t bring himself to name.

@pandabiene5115 @inthedarkshadows000

Present Mic / Hizashi Yamada x Reader

⋆˚✿˖° Feedback Loop ⋆˚✿˖°

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ This man has zero chill, and I have zero chill for him. He’s a freak. He has to be. The studded leather jacket proves it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ You all see loud and annoying I see a rockstar who would definitely date a younger woman. peak rockstar behavior. Except instead of the wild, bad boy type, he’s got the personality of a total dad rock guy. classic vinyl collection, bad puns, probably owns at least three band tees from the ’80s.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Anyway, this is teacher him, but you? You’re the new TA, and unfortunately, you’re already down bad and you’ve BEEN down bad…. The way I wrote this is a little taboo… how your high school crush on Present Mic never really faded, and now, as a new UA TA, you’re right back where you started… only this time, he’s looking at you differently.

Anyways I wrote this very light hearted!!

Warnings: idk you simp for older man and he sorta flirts back. you’re 22 in this story but yuh

૮₍´｡ᵔ ꈊ ᵔ｡`₎ა You could hear the distant hum of the city below as you and Hawks crouched on a rooftop, surveying the warehouse across the street. It was a classic sting operation, intel suggested a group of low-level villains were stockpiling illegal support gear, and you two were here to put a stop to it before things escalated.

Hawks adjusted his goggles, barely looking phased. “Man, these guys never learn, huh?”

You smirked. “You sound almost bored.”

“‘Cause I am,” he admitted, stretching his arms lazily. “I could’ve wrapped this up ages ago, but apparently ‘reckless property damage’ is frowned upon.” He threw up air quotes, grinning.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, heaven forbid you actually follow protocol.”

Hawks snickered but then glanced at you, tilting his head. “So, what’s next for you, anyway?”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, c’mon, you’ve got the skills, the power, and a shiny little hero license,” he said, casually flicking a feather toward the warehouse to listen in. “You ever thought about… I dunno, long-term plans?”

You frowned. “I am a pro hero. This is the long-term plan.”

Hawks hummed. “Yeah, for now. But what about later? You gonna keep doing this forever?”

You huffed. “What else would I do?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “Some heroes eventually go into support roles, some do solo work, some…” He gave you a pointed look. “End up teaching.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, no thanks.”

Hawks snorted. “Wow. Said that real fast.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t exactly strike me as ‘teacher material’ either.”

“Hell no,” Hawks said without hesitation. “I’m not about that ‘shaping young minds’ crap.” He waved a hand. “I don’t got time to babysit kids who think they’re hotshots just ‘cause they passed an entrance exam.”

You exhaled through your nose. “You do know they need heroes to train the next generation, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hawks said lazily. “Good thing there’s people out there willing to do it. But me? Nah. I care about results. Not teaching a bunch of kids how to throw a punch.”

Something about that didn’t sit right with you. You fell silent, watching the warehouse as Hawks kept talking.

“I get why some people do it,” he continued. “Sure, it’s important, but I’d rather be out here handling real threats, not lecturing some kid about ‘proper combat form.’”

You pursed your lips, staring at the city skyline. You’d never really thought about teaching before. You’d always assumed you’d stick to hero work, fighting, saving people, that’s what you trained for. But…

Wouldn’t it be better if newer heroes were properly prepared before getting thrown into all this? Before they had to stand on rooftops like this, watching crime unfold and making impossible choices?

You suddenly remembered your own time at U.A., the mentors who guided you, the lessons that stuck with you, the moments that shaped you.

Hawks might not care about the next generation. But maybe… you did. You inhaled deeply. “Someone has to do it.”

Hawks glanced at you. “Huh?”

“Teach,” you clarified. “Someone has to make sure they don’t just become a bunch of reckless brats.”

Hawks smirked. “That sounded real pointed.”

You ignored him, mind already racing. Maybe this was something worth considering. Maybe making a difference didn’t just mean being in the field. it meant helping others get there, too.

Before you could say more, Hawks suddenly grinned. “Welp. We can debate hero philosophy later. Right now-” He flexed his wings. “I believe it’s ass kicking time.”

You exhaled, pushing the thoughts aside. Teaching could wait. For now, you had a mission to finish.

—-

The idea had been nagging at you ever since that mission with Hawks. You hadn’t been able to shake it, how different would things have been if someone hadn’t taken the time to teach you? If the pros before you had just decided they didn’t care about shaping the next generation?

It was a dangerous job. Heroes had to make impossible choices every day.And if you could help even one student avoid the mistakes you had made… wasn’t that worth it?

So, when the opportunity to assist at U.A. came up, you took it. Standing at the school gates, you felt incredibly unprepared.

The school looked the same as when you were a student. The towering gates, the familiar pathways, the slight hum of excitement in the air.

But now, instead of wearing a uniform, you were standing here as a pro hero. A teachers assistant to the very people who had once trained you.

Before you could start spiraling, a very familiar voice rang out. “Nooooo waaay!”

You barely had time to react before a blur of yellow moved into your peripheral vision.

“Yo, Y/n!!” Present Mic grinned, stepping right in front of you. “Look at you, all grown up and back at U.A.!”

Your brain stalled for a moment. Because oh. Oh no. You had mentally prepared yourself to see your old teachers again, sure.

But Hizashi Yamada? The very same Present Mic who had been the coolest teacher when you were a student? The one whose energy was infectious, who had somehow made learning fun, whose voice had been a constant in your life back then?

Yeah. You were not ready. You forced yourself to smile. “Hey, Mic.”

He grinned even wider. “Man, this is wild! Feels like just yesterday you were wandering the halls! Now you’re back and all pro hero-y!” He clapped a hand on your shoulder. “I knew you were gonna be big someday!”

You swallowed. Say something normal. Say something normal.

“Uh well, you were one of my favorite teachers, it was bound to happen if you were there for me” you blurted. The moment the words left your mouth, you immediately regretted them.

Hizashi’s eyebrows shot up, and then he smirked. “Ohoho? Is that so?” He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting. “Favorite, huh?”

Your face burned.

“N-not like that!” you stammered, waving your hands. “I just.. I mean… your class was fun, and..” He laughed, clearly enjoying your suffering. “Man, this just keeps getting better.”

You groaned, covering your face.

Hizashi grinned, rocking back on his heels. “Well, it’s good to have you back. These kids are gonna love you.”

You exhaled, trying to compose yourself. “Yeah, well… let’s hope I survive them first.”

“Pshh. You survived me, didn’t ya?” He winked. “This’ll be a piece of cake.”

Your heart stuttered. Oh. Oh, this was going to be dangerous for your heart.

—

The halls of U.A. felt different now. As a student, they had been full of excitement, nerves, and the overwhelming presence of those who had come before you. But now, walking through the main building as a pro hero and teacher, the weight on your shoulders felt entirely new.

You adjusted the hem of your hero costume, feeling the crispness of how new it was. Even though you had experience in the field, nothing quite prepared you for standing in front of a room full of students expecting to learn from you.

“You got this,” you muttered to yourself, taking a steadying breath before stepping into the teacher’s lounge.

Aizawa was the first to look up, his usual tired expression unreadable. “You’re early,” he noted, setting down his coffee.

“I figured I’d try to make a good impression,” you replied, attempting a casual smile.

Present Mic leaned against the counter, grinning. “First day jitters? Don’t worry, we all had ‘em. Well, except for Eraser here. He just scowled his way through it.”

Aizawa sighed. “I still do.”

You chuckled, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. Before you could respond, the door swung open, and Midnight strolled in. “Oh, our new young hero teacher has arrived! Ready to inspire the next generation?”

“I hope so,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck.

Midnight winked. “Confidence is key. And if all else fails, just channel your inner Aizawa, give them the stare.”

“I’m right here,” Aizawa deadpanned.

The conversation continued as a few other teachers trickled in, welcoming you and offering small pieces of advice. It was reassuring, knowing that despite the prestigious reputation of U.A., the staff was still just a group of people doing their best.

Then, the bell rang. Your first class was waiting You turned to see Shouta Aizawa standing up and heading to the door, coffee in one hand, capture weapon draped loosely around his neck. He looked as exhausted as you remembered from your time as a student, but there was a small, approving nod in his greeting. “. Ready for your first day?”

You gave him a firm nod. “Yes, sir.”

He raised a brow at the formality but didn’t comment. “Good. You’ll be shadowing me for the first week. Learn the flow, get used to the kids. Don’t let them walk all over you.”

You swallowed. “They’ll try?”

“Of course,” he deadpanned. “They’re future pro heroes. Testing limits is in their nature.”

Before you could respond, the bell rang. Aizawa gestured toward the door. “Come on. Let’s introduce you.”

Walking into Class 1-A’s homeroom was surreal. The chatter died down the moment Aizawa stepped inside, eyes instantly on you. These weren’t just random students; these were the next big names in hero society, brimming with potential. Some of them were already whispering, clearly recognizing you from your own hero work.

Aizawa’s gaze swept over them, and the class immediately straightened up. “This is Lumine. She’s a pro and will be assisting in your training from now on. Treat her with respect.”

You took a step forward, clearing your throat. “It’s nice to meet you all. I was in your place not too long ago, so if you have questions or need advice, I’m here to help.”

A student raised a hand, an excitable redhead in the front row. “Can we see your Quirk in action?”

You smirked. “Maybe another time perhaps your next training session.”

A few students groaned in disappointment, but a blue haired student beside him adjusted his glasses, nodding approvingly. “A professional approach. I look forward to learning from you.”

As the students got to work, you exhaled, easing into your new role. First day nerves or not, you were ready for this. After all, you weren’t just here to assist you were here to help shape the future of hero society.

As Aizawa turned to the board, the atmosphere in the classroom shifted. It started small whispers, giggles, but you could feel it. The moment your eyes met with some of the students, they looked away too quickly, stifling laughter like they were plotting something.

Then, predictably, a hand shot up.

“Yes?” you asked, already bracing yourself.

Denki Kaminari grinned, leaning back in his chair. “So, uh… what’s your type?”

A few eyes shot up to stare at him. Particularly a certain purple adjacent kid started glaring. You blinked, thrown off for only a second before regaining composure. “My type?”

“Yeah, you know,” he wiggled his eyebrows. “Like… in a romantic sense.”

“Denki.” Iida’s voice cut through the air, scandalized. “That is highly inappropriate to ask a teacher’s assistant!”

“But it’s important info!” Denki argued, slouching in his seat. “Like, what if we need to set her up with someone?…. like myself” he muttered the last part but the rest of the class gathered what it was.

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m here to teach, not to date.”

Denki clicked his tongue. “Damn, there goes my plan.”

“Your what?” you asked.

Jirou groaned, smacking her forehead. “He’s been muttering about ‘securing the ring’ since you walked in.”

You blinked. “Wait. Excuse me?”

The class lost it.

Even Aizawa, who had been diligently ignoring the nonsense, finally turned, rubbing his temples like he had a migraine forming. “Kaminari. If you spent as much effort on your studies as you do on flirting, you might actually be a decent student.”

Denki pouted “Sensei, that’s harsh.”

You crossed your arms, fighting back a laugh. “I think what Kaminari meant to ask was if I have any advice for balancing hero work with personal life.”

The blond perked up. “Ohh, yeah! That’s totally what I meant!”

Aizawa sighed. “Right. That’s enough for today. Open your books before I start handing out laps.”

The class groaned but obeyed, even as you heard whispered bets being placed on whether Denki would propose by the end of the semester.

Class had barely settled before you heard the unmistakable sound of a palm smacking the back of Kaminari’s head.

“Ow!” Denki yelped, rubbing the spot where he’d been hit.

“Quit being an idiot,” Bakugo grumbled from his seat, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like he was personally offended by Kaminari’s entire existence. “You sound pathetic.”

“Excuse you, Bakugo, but I was just making conversation,” Kaminari shot back, still grinning despite the clear lack of support. “You don’t understand romance.”

Bakugo’s glare sharpened. “I understand that you should shut the hell up”

“Damn, man,” Kirishima cut in with a chuckle, elbowing Bakugo. “Give him a break. It’s not every day a there’s someone new teaching. Let him dream.”

Bakugo scoffed. “It’s embarrassing.”

Before Kaminari could retaliate, Mina gasped dramatically, slamming her hands on her desk. “Wait, wait, wait! Kaminari’s getting all the attention here, but I think we’re missing the real question!” She turned to you with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Who was your teacher crush when you went here?”

The class erupted.

“Ohhh, good one, Ashido!” Sero laughed, leaning forward on his desk. “C’mon, spill! Was it Aizawa-sensei?”

At that you whipped to turn to aizawa but you can see he’s already regressed into his sleeping bag.

“Present Mic?” Kirishima guessed. “He’s got that cool vibe, y’know?”

“I swear if anyone says Midnight, I’m walking out,” Jirou deadpanned, already rubbing her temples

.

You held up a hand, trying to contain your laughter. “Okay, okay, first of all, just because i’m barely older than you all doesn’t mean I’m just going to gossip.”

A wave of boos filled the room.

“Second of all,” you continued, ignoring them, “That wasn’t even anything I thought about when I was your age”

Mina sighed dramatically. “Ugh, so responsible.”

“I’m literally here as a teacher’s assistant,” you reminded her, crossing your arms. “What did you expect?”

“Secret romances,” Kaminari answered instantly.

“You guys watch way too much TV,” you muttered.

Meanwhile, in the corner of the room, Todoroki, who had been silent this whole time, slowly turned to Momo. “Is this… normal?”

Momo sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Unfortunately, yes.”

At the front of the class on the ground, Aizawa audibly exhaled, already regretting everything. “I should’ve taken the day off.”

The teasing finally died down after a few more minutes, mostly because Aizawa threatened extra homework, but you could still hear the occasional whisper of “I know it was Aizawa” and “Kaminari’s totally going to propose by the end of the week.”

You barely made it into the teachers’ lounge before dropping into the nearest chair with an exhausted sigh. The first half of the day had been absolute chaos. You knew Class 1-A had a reputation, but no amount of mental preparation could’ve readied you for Kaminari planning your imaginary wedding, Mina interrogating you about teacher crushes, and Bakugo nearly committing homicide out of secondhand embarrassment.

Aizawa sat down across from you, looking unsurprised. “You survived.”

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. “I think so.”

Before he could respond, the door slammed open. “YOOO! How’s our newest teacher assistant holding up?!”

Your stomach flipped. Present Mic strolled in, grinning ear to ear, and before you could even process the way your heartbeat definitely skipped, he was dropping into the seat beside you, all energy and enthusiasm.

“I heard 1-A gave you a hell of a welcome,” he laughed, elbowing you lightly. “Gotta say, I love the enthusiasm, but you good?”

Your brain was short circuiting. He smells good. Why does he smell so good?

You snapped out of it immediately. “Y-Yeah! Totally fine! Just y’know, Students being students, and uh, some… unexpected questions.”

Aizawa gave you a slow, knowing side eye but said nothing, sipping his coffee. Hizashi leaned in slightly, his expression full of curiosity. “Ohhh? What kind of questions?”

The door opened again, giving you a much needed second to gather yourself as Midnight, Cementoss, and Snipe walked in. Midnight smirked the second she spotted you. “Oho? Is this about the interrogation 1-A put you through?”

You groaned. “Why does everyone already know about this?”

Cementoss chuckled. “Word travels fast when it involves that class.”

Snipe took a seat, tipping his hat back. “So? What’d they grill ya on?”

You hesitated, but of course Midnight leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Don’t be shy now. Spill.”

You exhaled in defeat. “Okay, fine, Kaminari apparently thinks we’re getting married, Mina demanded to know if I ever had a teacher crush, and the rest were just hyping them up.”

Silence. Then, Midnight lit up. “Oh, now this I gotta hear.”

“No, you really don’t,” you muttered.

But it was too late. Present Mic gasped dramatically beside you. “WAIT.” He pointed at you with exaggerated excitement. “You had a teacher crush?!”

Your face felt hot. “Nope! That’s classified information,” you said way too quickly, reaching for your drink like it could physically save you from this conversation.

Hizashi let out an offended noise, leaning closer. “It’s me, isn’t it?!”

Your brain short circuited. Your entire body froze. Aizawa, who had been silently watching this train wreck unfold, took a slow sip of his coffee. “It’s not you.”

“You don’t know that!” Hizashi shot back, grinning, and oh no, he was looking right at you.

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, but you refused to crack. “I- I am not answering that.”

Midnight smirked, clearly catching something. “Hmm… interesting.”

You glared. “Drop it.”

“Never,” she teased.

Meanwhile, Hizashi was still grinning, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil. “Aw, c’mon! I won’t tell anyone!”

You buried your face in your hands. “I literally don’t trust you.”

The teasing continued as the rest of the staff ate, and even though your entire body was still burning from that interaction, you had to admit… it wasn’t a bad way to spend your break.

—

You walked beside Aizawa, still recovering from the absolute disaster that had been lunchtime. Your face felt like it was permanently warm, and you were convinced you’d never be able to look Present Mic in the eyes again.

“So,” he started, voice dry as ever, “you want to be a teacher?”

You nodded, still staring ahead, trying to will away your embarrassment. “Yeah. I mean, today was hectic, but it felt… right, y’know?”

Aizawa hummed. “Uh-huh.”

Something about his tone made you glance at him warily. “…What?”

“Oh, nothing.” He took a slow sip from his coffee, expression unreadable. “Just thinking about how subtle you were about it in the lounge.”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He side eyed you, and even though his face barely changed, you could feel the judgment.

Your stomach dropped. “I—what—” You groaned, covering your face. “Please stop.”

“Just saying,” he continued, deadpan, “if this was a test on subtlety, you’d be repeating the year.”

You groaned louder. “Oh my god.”

He sipped his coffee again, shrugging. “But, y’know. Mic’s an idiot, so you’re probably fine.”

“That is not reassuring.”

He didn’t respond, just kept walking like he hadn’t just ruined your entire life. You, on the other hand, were spiraling. How obvious had you been? Was everyone going to figure it out? Was Hizashi already onto you?

Before you could fall further into despair, Aizawa glanced at you again. “But if you’re really serious about teaching, you should stick with it. You did fine today.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Sure.” He paused, then added, “Just maybe work on your poker face.”

You groaned one last time, and Aizawa smirked ever so slightly as you both headed back to class.

—

It was the next day and stared at Aizawa like he had just told you to fight a Nomu with your bare hands.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re assisting Yamada for the day,” Aizawa repeated, his tone flat as always. “He’s leading practical drills, and it’s good experience for you.”

Your stomach twisted. This is fine. This is totally fine. It was not fine. Because Present Mic. Hizashi Yamada was the one teacher you definitely didn’t trust yourself to be normal around.

It had been so much easier when you were a student, admiring from afar. But now? You had to work alongside him, one on one, for the entire day, and if yesterday’s conversation in the teachers’ lounge was anything to go by, you were one slip-up away from giving yourself away entirely.

Still, you swallowed your nerves and forced yourself to nod. “Got it.”

Aizawa gave you a slow, knowing look, because of course he did but didn’t comment. “Good. He’s in Gym Gamma. Try to keep up.”

You huffed. “I can keep up.”

Aizawa smirked slightly like he knew something you didn’t. That was never a good sign.

—

By the time you reached Gym Gamma, you could hear his voice from outside the doors.

“Alright, listeners! Today’s all about reflex training! You gotta be fast, ya gotta be alert, and ya gotta be ready to move at a moment’s notice!”

You took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The moment you did, Hizashi turned to face you, his signature grin in full force. “Ayooo! There’s my assistant for the day!”

You swore you felt your heart stutter for a second.

“Hope you’re ready!” he continued, jogging up to you. “’Cause today’s lesson is all about speed and adaptability!”

You forced yourself to nod, pretending you weren’t two seconds from combusting. “Right. Sounds good.”

He clapped a hand on your shoulder, and oh no he’s touching me—

“You ever seen my sound-based reflex drills in action before?” he asked, completely oblivious to the absolute crisis happening in your brain.

“uuuh not up close.”

He gasped, offended. “WHAT?!” He grabbed his chest like you’d personally wounded him. “Then today’s your lucky day, sidekick, ‘cause you’re not just assisting, you’re participating!”

You tilted your head. “oh? set the stage then”

The students murmured at that, sensing the challenge. Hizashi raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Ohooo, confidence! I like it!”

You just smirked. “Let’s get started.”

—

The second he fired off his first attack “HEY!!” your body reacted on instinct. In reality this was probably the worst person to fight against you for the demonstration against mic. Because with his quirk it basically didn’t work on you

Before the shockwave could hit, you shifted into light, letting the sound waves pass through you harmlessly before reforming on the other side.

The class gasped.

Even Hizashi blinked in surprise. “Well damn!!”

You shrugged, barely fazed. “Sound doesn’t hit photons the same way.”

Hizashi’s grin grew. “Ohhh, this just got interesting.”

What followed was an all out battle of speed.

Every time he tried to catch you off guard, you moved like light itself, phasing through attacks, blinking across the battlefield, even absorbing energy and redirecting it when necessary.

At one point, he fired off a rapid burst of sound—

“YEAHHHHH!!”

—and you split into pure photons, streaking through the air before reforming behind him.

The students went wild.

Kaminari practically screamed. “YO, THIS IS INSANE!”

Mina was jumping up and down. “OUR TEACHER ASSISTANT IS A BADASS!”

Meanwhile, Hizashi looked positively thrilled.

“You’re fast,” he admitted, pushing his shades up. “I like that.”

You smirked. “Told you I could handle myself.”

His grin widened. “Alright, alright, I see you.”

—

Training continued as you and Mic took turns guiding the students through drills. By the end of the session, they were still buzzing with excitement, practically vibrating with leftover energy. You, on the other hand? Barely broke a sweat.

Even after all that work, they were still hyped.

Mina came sprinting toward you, a crowd of students following close behind. “You are officially my favorite person now.”

“SO—ABOUT THAT MARRIAGE PROPOSAL—”

Before he could finish, Bakugo decked him straight into the ground. You barely had time to react before you were kneeling beside the poor guy, eyes wide in alarm.

Meanwhile, Shoto stood nearby, still deep in thought. “Can you move at the speed of light, or is it just partial?”

Midoriya, frantically flipping through his notebook, barely spared the scene a glance. “And if your body converts into photons, do you still feel force? Can you absorb soundwaves instead of dodging them?”

“Sensei, can you teach me how to be that fast?” Mina asked, practically bouncing.

“Yeah!” Kirishima grinned. “You gotta have some training tips, right?”

You chuckled. “It’s all about reflexes and learning how to read your opponent. I’d be happy to show you some drills.”

The class collectively cheered.

Even Bakugo gave a considering nod, though he still scowled. “Tch. I guess that was decent.”

Hizashi, standing beside you, elbowed you lightly. “Look at that, you’re already building a fan club.”

You felt your face heat up. Not now, heart. Not now

You sighed with a smile on your face, rubbing your temples before looking over at Hizashi, who was grinning like a proud parent.

“Man,” he said, shaking his head. “Didn’t expect you to steal the whole show!”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

Hizashi strolled over, hands on his hips, still beaming. “I gotta say, did not expect you to be this OP.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Guess I like surprises.”

He chuckled. “Well, consider me pleasantly surprised.”

Then, he winked. Damn it. You were this close to completely losing your composure.

—

The students were still hyped as they cleaned up, practically buzzing with leftover energy. Kaminari was full on re enacting the moment you dodged a sound blast, complete with dramatic slow-motion effects, while Mina hyped him up like a ringside announcer.

Meanwhile, you and Hizashi strolled toward the exit, letting them finish up.

“I gotta say,” he grinned, hands behind his head, “I knew you had skills, but damn! You didn’t even break a sweat!”

You smirked, keeping it cool. “Well our quirks kinda cancel each other put, I don’t know if i’m all that good”

He laughed, and damn it. why did it sound so nice up close?

“A bit of an advantage? You made dodging my attacks look like a warm up.”

You shrugged, playing it off. “Maybe I’m just really fast.”

He shot you a teasing look. “Ohhh, I see how it is, you’re humble about it, too.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, but something about this moment felt… surreal.

Because walking next to Hizashi like this, like equals, just chatting after sparring was something high school you never would’ve imagined.

You used to have a massive crush on him. And not just a little one. No, it was bad. He was your teacher, but also the funniest teacher in the school. You always looked forward to passing him in the halls, laughed at his corny jokes, and maybe, maybe daydreamed a little too much about him calling your name in attendance.

And now?

Now you were working with him. Now he was grinning at you like you were someone worth his attention.

You were so distracted by that realization that you nearly walked straight into a wall.

“Oi.” Hizashi nudged you before you could embarrass yourself further. “You still with me?”

You cleared your throat, trying to refocus. “Yeah! Yeah, just, thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oho? What about?”

How I used to have a hopelessly embarrassing crush on you, and now you’re standing next to me, smiling, and my brain is actively trying not to short circuit.

“…Lunch,” you blurted instead. “Thinking about lunch.”

Hizashi blinked. Then laughed, shaking his head. “Man, if that’s what’s on your mind after training, I must not’ve pushed ya hard enough!”

You grabbed onto the distraction like a lifeline. “Oh, please. I could do that all day.”

He shot you a grin. “Good. ‘Cause we’re definitely doing that again.”

Your brain short-circuited.

Oh.

But, no. You weren’t gonna let him have all the fun.

Summoning whatever ounce of courage you had left, you smirked. “Oh yeah? You sure you can keep up?”

The second the words left your mouth, you realized your mistake. Hizashi’s grin widened. Way too much.

“Ohhh,” he said dramatically, cupping his ear. “What was that?”

You instantly regretted everything.

“I—I said—” You hesitated. Why did he look so amused?

“You asking if I can keep up?” He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting. “Ohooo, you’re getting bold!”

Your face burned. “Never mind.”

“Nah nah, too late now!” He laughed, giving you a playful nudge. “I love this side of you!”

You turned away, internally screaming. Hizashi, completely unaware of your impending emotional crisis, just grinned. “Hope you’re ready for round two, Y/n!”

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to recover. “Looking forward to it,” you said, managing to sound almost confident.

Hizashi?

He just smiled that was the moment you knew, you were so screwed.

.

——-

It started off as a normal conversation in the common room. The class was unwinding, chatting about training, when Mina, of course, had to bring it up.

“Okay, but seriously,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the couch, “did anyone else notice the energy between Present Mic and our assistant today?”

Sero smirked. “Oh yeah. Flirt Central.”

“Flirt Central?!” Kaminari sputtered, nearly dropping his drink. “Nuh-uh. No way. I refuse to accept this!”

Mina blinked. “Uh… what?”

Kaminari crossed his arms, looking like a very pouty child. “They’re our teacher. They shouldn’t be flirting with some old dude!”

“Old dude?” Midoriya raised an eyebrow. “Hizashi-sensei is 30.”

“Yeah, and our TA is 22! That’s a huge gap!” Kaminari argued.

Yaoyorozu tilted her head. “eight years is maybe stretch for—”

“I don’t care! It’s not fair!” Kaminari whined, flopping over onto the couch.

Mineta, who had been unusually silent up until now, suddenly slammed his hands onto the coffee table.

“You’re all missing the point!” he cried dramatically. “This is a mentorship t-to-slow-burn romance unfolding right before our eyes! WOMEN WHEN THEYRE VULNERABLE MAKES THEIR BOOBS so-”

The room collectively groaned.

“Mineta, shut up,” jirou snapped from the corner.

Mineta ignored her, eyes sparkling with excitement. “We should be celebrating this! They have the perfect dynamic! The confidence! The power balance! The forbidden allure of—”

Jirou smacked him over the head. “You’re disgusting.”

“OW! You just don’t appreciate a good romance—”

“I appreciate not hearing you be a creep,” Jirou shot back.

Meanwhile, Kaminari was still sulking. “I don’t care what any of you say. Our assistant deserves someone their age. Like…like me!”

The room went silent.

Mina squinted. “Denki. You’re 16.”

Kaminari groaned, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “That’s not the point!”

“Yes, it is,” Sero said bluntly.

“But, like, imagine!” Kaminari sat up. “What if we had a thing going instead? They’d be so much happier with me!”

“Dude, you barely passed last week’s quiz focus on today first,” Sero deadpanned.

Kaminari gasped. “That has nothing to do with my marriage!”

Meanwhile, Midoriya, who had been furiously scribbling notes the whole time, looked up.

“You guys are focusing too much on how… conventionally pretty she is” he said nervously . “What we should be discussing is how their quirks could compliment each other in battle.”

Iida nodded. “Now that is a productive conversation.”

“Boooooring,” Mina said. “I wanna talk about how they’d be the coolest staff couple ever!”

Kirishima grinned. “Yeah! Imagine the interviews!”

Ochaco gasped. “Oh my gosh, the fan edits would be insane.”

“I know!” Mina grabbed her shoulders. “Someone has to start a ship name.”

Kaminari screamed into a pillow.

As the chaos unfolded, Bakugo groaned, standing up abruptly. “I swear if you extras don’t shut up about this, I’m blowing up the common room.”

“Aw, c’mon, man!” Kirishima laughed. “You gotta admit, they have good chemistry!”

Bakugo scowled.

—

Meanwhile, completely unaware of the discourse happening in the dorms, you were in the teacher’s lounge, where Hizashi was currently trying to convince you to join him for karaoke after work.

And if your face was a little too warm every time he winked at you…

Well.

Nobody needed to know.

You: i'll see a man with long hair and remember i'm not above temptations of the flesh

Just Between Us

- ☆ - Sanji x Reader

- ☆ - !WARNING OF EXPLICIT CONTENT- 18+!

- ☆ - 12k

- ☆ - a/n: ♧ reposting this fic because tumblr nuked it from the tags. if you ever happened to find the original two-parter floating somewhere lmk :3 ♧

- ☆ - tags: ♧ reader is a member of the straw-hats ♧ light!voyeurism ♧ teasing ♧ fem!reader ♧ some subby!sanji and dom!reader but Sanji-kun is a true switch :3 ♧ panty sniffing ♧ begging ♧ male!masturbation ♧ cum play-ish ♧ leg fetish(?) ♧ body worship ♧ humping ♧ Sanji gets a nose bleed so there will be mentions of blood ♧ idk how else to tag this but reader teases sanji and he's a lil desperate cunt-slut ♧ never had a beta, we die like fools ♧

“Bye, guys! Stay safe!”

 Seated on Franky’s mechanical shoulders, Chopper waved back at you. His adorable laughter drifted past the treelines along with their farewells and energetic chaos fleeing towards another mini adventure. One you would not be a part of this time.

 The rest of the crew left you on board with the promise to return soon as they scoured for supplies on an inhabited island, but with the way Luffy sped away— and Nami shouted after him— you knew there wouldn’t be much hope reigning in the Captain’s excitement.

 You could trust Luffy to disrupt a plan and completely derail a simple situation. His shouts and the crew’s calls for him to slow down faded faster than the dust he left behind.

 The seconds ticked.

 You held your breath.

Standing alone, you listened intently for the silence to shatter the way you have become accustomed to— only to hear nothing but the squawk of birds resting on the mast. Undisturbed and unthreatened. Without so much as a song or laughter to burst, the ship rocked against the crystal waters of the shallow shore as you stood on the massive boat.

 The world quiet, the view serene.

 “Yes!” You let out an excited squeal, stomping your feet on the grassy deck in a silly dance of freedom and peace. “It’s finally quiet!” You shouted, laughing to yourself when no one answered you but the flaps of the wind against the furled sails above you.

 There were no shouts other than your own, no arguments or explosions— no disturbances of other people. Finally! After five weeks of non-stop excitement and open sea, you twirled, jumped and danced your butt off with no one to interrupt or insult your ridiculous display of glee because you were alone!

 “They all left, yes, yes!”

 You sang merrily, taking up space with wide arms and a beaming smile.

 You loved the straw hats. Travelling with them has been the most thrilling adventure of your life. They were amazing! Incredible, free-spirited— but sometimes, when the songs turn repetitive, and the merriment mutates into mayhem, you just want time to yourself.

 Having grown up alone, you had become accustomed to the stillness of an empty room. It was comforting, the calmness of your own company and the hyper-independence it developed. A stark contrast to the life you started with your new makeshift family, and after so long of bumping and sharing space with colourful, loud personalities, you were thankful for the chance to stretch your arms and lay on the soft grass.

 A moment to unwind, relax, and hear nothing but the waves below and revel in the tranquillity of solitude.

 “Now, iced tea on the deck or a long bubble bath?” You mused out loud, whistling while making your way to the kitchen, “or both?” You paused up the stairs.

 You sought to utilise all the time you had with maximum relaxation — with the way Luffy screamed over the odd-looking animal that stole his fruit; reading a book in the bathtub right now would guarantee no disturbances or uncomfortable attention for a while. No long lines or perverted interferences. You could take your time soaking in the warm water, and if they arrived by late dinner, they would find you already sated, happy and relaxed in the kitchen.

  Right, decisions finally made, you went back down the stairs.

 First, you needed your book back from Usopp, who swore he would finish and return yet never did, so you made your way to the boy’s quarters. They have lockers with their names, so it wouldn’t be too difficult unless he stashed it somewhere else, hopefully, the room wasn’t too messy— “Damn,” you heard someone hiss, a low voice that stopped you in your tracks, followed by inaudible murmurs that most definitely belonged to a man.

  Fuck. Just like that, your good mood died, snatching your solitude away before you had the chance to indulge in it fully.

 There was someone else here wrecking your fantasy and all the excitement of relaxing alone. No one ever said you would be guarding the ship with another person, yet the sounds of shuffling filled you with instant disappointment as you stood outside the room with the door slightly ajar.

 You eyed them carefully through the crack, peeking in to seize a glimpse of who was ruining your day of fun, only to catch a wisp of blonde hair and a streak of smoke before you heard him hum something to himself as he shrugged off his suit jacket, clearly undressing.

 Oh.

 Swallowing your nerves, you spied from the slim gap through the door— watching smooth, slender hands loosen and tug on the tie around a pale neck until it slipped out and neatly folded on the dresser in front of him. 

 You paused, disappointment somehow melting as something else fluttered through your body. Something hot. Something wicked and indecent thumped an ache in your core as you watched him unbutton his top collar.

 Then the second.

 Third.

 Unwittingly, your thoughts began to drift. Obliviously slipping into a heated dream envisioning how his strong hands would feel on your hips, your waist, gripping your supple skin when he presses you into his chest. The hot wisps of smoke and spice fogging your perception when he tilts his head down to yours, lips soft and slightly parted…

 Sanji rolled his neck, popping the tension that released a low hiss from him, startling you out of the fantasy you unknowingly faded into before a sudden realisation rooted you to the spot— you were watching a man undress. 

  You were watching Sanji undress.

 You only needed your book— a simple noise or shuffle would make your presence known, but you watched Sanji rake his fingers through his hair instead and toe off his shoes, standing in the middle of the room.

 You weren’t all that sure about the layout of their quarters, considering you were usually respectful— but you could tell Sanji was closer to the beds and had a medium-sized dresser beside it with a sink and mirror in the corner. The room was spacious, bigger than the girl’s quarters, including a sofa and table in a sunken spot nestled in the middle of their room. It wasn’t as disorganised as you pictured. A lot of colourful knacks matching different aesthetics, but they all had a place that belonged to them. A piece of individuality.

 You leaned back, hoping you went unnoticed by the man who often sang for your attention— and Nami’s and Robin’s, and any pretty girl he laid his eyes on. He was shameless, obscene. Yet there you stood, watching him unwind and strip ever so slowly exposing a physique you never expected from the ship’s cook.

 The wavering sense of guilt drifted from your consciousness, fading into a vague afterthought with every second you spent gazing into the rift through the door as if it were luring you into depravity.

 You wondered why you held your breath when his humming stopped.

 Say something before—

 His tired groan flushed warmth on your cheeks as you ducked behind the frame, shamefully peering into the room and watching him finish unbuttoning his blue striped shirt with deft fingers. Gingerly unclasping the buttons one by one until the shirt hung loosely on his shoulders. Over soft skin and hardened muscle.

 It was almost elegant how he shifted his cigarette with his teeth to avoid the tiny trickles of ashes from falling on his suit, then gently placed his black jacket on the bed with grace you couldn’t fathom as he slid the shirt off his broad shoulders in the same motion.

 Brightening the room, hitching your breath.

Sanji... he was beautiful.

 In a gentle sort of way, with poise, strength and a style all his own. In an amorous way that kept you fixated on his toned back. His broad shoulders, smooth chest, and the cut of his well-defined abs. In the sense that had you admiring the grace of his movements and all the years he must have spent perfecting them.

 You have watched him work while travelling with the strawhats these last few weeks. For no other reason than admiration, at the time, because you respected his power and the regency of his fighting style. But now, in the absence of stubborn rivalry and heart-eyed temptations— to glimpse the softness of his smile for yourself was like witnessing the shimmer of undisturbed water shining in the light of a spring day.

 Peaceful.

 A smile all his own, no snarky comment or perverted leer to taint the innocence or sincerity of his expression— you could only describe it as pretty.

 It had you clutching the hem of your sundress, crouching down slightly when his lithe body sauntered from your sight. Was he preparing to take a shower? Did they have their own private facilities? Or is he about to walk out and catch you and your hidden decadence for unassuming men?

 Your mind raced with questions, mixing with a perverted sort of fascination you dared not to admit, leering behind the door that hinged on the stillness of your presence.

 Sanji turned back to your frame, humming another tune that was all too familiar when music played merrily on the deck. He sounded at ease, his voice carrying through the room softer than the smoke that swirled around him.

 You bit back a smile, unintentionally slanting into the door, craving more than a slim peek into the room. deeper than a glance, especially when his hand inched towards his pants.

 His movements were effortless— if it were not for the click of the buckle and the loud snap of leather, you would have missed how he unclasped his belt with one hand and yanked it fluidly with one rough tug out of the loops.

 Fuck, that should not have been as attractive as it was, yet heat flushed anyway like it was coursing through your blood vessels, pumping your heart into a sensual beat out of its control. As much as you wanted to deny it, and turn your guilt away, it forced you to realise how difficult it was becoming to justify your presence— and even tougher to care about the intrusion of Sanji’s privacy.

 He would have done the same, right? Though Sanji would have been less conspicuous and ten times more audacious, it was still innocent for you. For now.

  “Where’s?” He mumbled before a soft aha came right after, a blue towel appearing in your field of vision. Hard muscles and a lean torso shifted through the gap, his back to you as he fiddled with something you could not see.

 Your gaze lingered, slinking down every tight ridge and exposed skin you were blessed to witness.

 There was a beauty to him you had not seen before, a tenderness to his features you only noticed now through the sliver of light. The colour on his cheeks, the tilt of his lips, the little curl of his eyebrow most people teased him for. There was something feminine about it— a spark of gentility he may have inherited from his mother, not that you knew much about that, just a softness he seemed to be blessed with.

 It was admirable how he took excellent care of his things too. Rolling his belt, setting aside his cufflinks, buffing his shoes, even hanging his shirt over the chair to be later washed and pressed— you know he did after Brook thanked him for kindly ironing his shirts as well.

 Perhaps there is more to him than silly sexual deviances. More than hazy eyes over full tits and round ass-cheeks. Sanji was diligent. Thoughtful. Tender.

 Whereas you were the deviant leaning in a little too intently now, your perverted gaze following the veins on his forearms as he stretched them above his head, emitting low groans when his back pulled tautly and the muscles constricted tight.

  You squirmed, the sounds of his groans and sighs making you clench your thighs as you watched him stretch, then admired himself in the mirror, rubbing his chin over the dark hairs you wished he wasn’t thinking of shaving. You liked the facial hair— almost as much as his ass when he leaned forward to splash some water on his face. 

 “Wait..” you murmured out loud without thinking. When did he snuff the cigarette?

 Shame filled you instantly. Sanji’s ass distracted you for too long because now he was wiping his face with a clean blue towel, droplets of water rolling down his sturdy neck before they were selfishly wiped away just when you began imagining licking it off his skin.

 You huffed, your feet planted to the floorboards, unable to speak louder than a tortured gasp while your thighs cinched to ease an unpleasant ache when he ran his hand through his hair again, with pretty blonde strands falling wet over his face. Over sweet eyes and high cheekbones.

 It was exhilarating, intrusive, and extremely impolite, yet you could not turn away or apologise for the violation, too mesmerised by the physique usually clad in lavish suits. Only witnessing a faint glimmer of the man you had never known before— lurking behind the shadow of the door frame that separated you from him and spared him from your wandering stare.

 There was a clink and a small flame before the smell of smoke wafted through the door once again. A thick cloud of vapour swirled around Sanji as he tilted his head back, eyes closed and basking in the serenity of the surrounding silence. Much like you wanted to before you became lustfully distracted, spoiling his privacy. Invading his space. That guilt you previously estranged yourself from inched back into your consciousness as Sanji sighed softly, looking every bit of the peace you intended for yourself earlier. 

 Your teeth latched on your bottom lip, nervousness churning, desire twisting into a sick delusion— your prying had to end. Even Sanji deserved the politeness of privacy.

 So, you turned to leave, determined to ignore all you had seen, just for the floorboards to creak under your weight when your feet shuffled a little too loudly.

 Your body stilled, you felt your pulse explode, and excuses and apologies were ready to spill from your trembling lips as you whipped your head back to the door— only to freeze when you caught him unbuttoning his pants.

 He stood there, shirtless, hair damp and dark pants low on his hips as the zipper rang louder than the blood rushing in your head.

 A smothered gasp escaped behind your hand, an inaudible “Oh god,” choking out beneath the pleasured grunts you heard through the wall. Sweat beaded down your temple, somehow feeling hot and sticky despite the chilling wind that ruffled your hair, tickling the flushed skin of your chest as your breathing quickened.

 He was... touching himself— idly, lazily, using the heel of his palm to rub on his crotch as it steadily grew into a heavy bulge pressing into the teeth of the zipper.

 “Fuck... ”

 You squeaked, thankfully no louder than his own low grunt.

 His teeth peaked through his smile, chuckling at something past your sight. His smile was sultry, his laugh airy. Thank God, no one could ever see the creeping blush up your neck over Sanji. Or feel the stickiness that marred your panties over the sight of his erection lewdly shaped beneath the fabric of his dark pants. The man who needed blood transfusions whenever he saw a pretty girl.

 You would have felt humiliated if you weren’t so distracted. And breathless, lightheaded, and not to mention wet.

 His ridiculousness was why you never noticed these things before, like the slenderness of his long fingers, or how his sharp jaw clenched to keep the cigarette in place— or the elegance of his strides across the room to place his shoes in the locker and hang his suit jacket before stepping into the sunken sofa.

 A new light, a new Sanji to you— a voyeuristic secret you could never confess even through the stuttered breaths of your own arousal.

  Shit, shit, shit!

 He was right there, facing you— yet unaware of the glowering eyes and thundering pulse a few feet away from him. At least, that’s what you hoped as you watched him throw his head back over the couch and rub the back of his neck tiredly— teasing you with a view of his sculptured body and the heavy tent straining against the zip of his pants.

 Fuck… he was a vision. Perhaps if he had a fraction of this elegance towards women, he would have them falling at his feet, begging for his attention— panting his name— raking your nails down his smooth chest.

 Caressing him the way your fingers unconsciously mimicked on the door as you pressed yourself against it, tits hot and heavily squished into redwood, desperate for cool relief on your flushed skin while straining to see past the hem of his pants. He was so close, yet out of reach, as you watched his hand run down his neck, gliding it on his chest sensually before grasping the chubb that had him sighing lowly into his own touch.

 “Just a little,” he groaned, rubbing on his cock lazily, as if he was convincing himself to indulge in his own pleasure, “before they come back.”

 Oh god, oh god.

 You weren’t in the right state of mind to be making decisions when every grumble and low hum of his vibrated straight between your thighs. Pooling slick in your panties that had you chewing on your bottom lip to sanctify some sanity when heated arousal rushed through your body.

 “We have time,” he murmured, shifting in his seat to tug down his pants a little more, dark blonde tufts of hair peeking through, giving himself room to breathe with his underwear sliding just beneath it. His chubb was fat and still hidden, but you could see the tip twitch with every squeeze of his abdomen, teasing himself with the friction rubbing upon his dick. “uhh, yea, please.” He moaned a sweet sound seeped in desperation, his eyes closed and hips jerking, playing his fantasy out loud, his hands clenched by his sides. “Touch me, please, I’ll be good”, he whispered, smiling as he did, a flush colouring his cheeks. “Jus’ for you, yea? All you. Pretty girl, make me so hard.” He choked the last word, taking the cigarette out of his mouth for a steady breath of air before clenching it back in his teeth.

  You were a mess.

 You had to stop, turn away— breathe.

 Sanji was begging, whining to be touched as he bucked his hips, using his abs to move his cock in his pants. Edging himself in a fantasy you only hoped to be a part of— but you could never dare to interfere. Your chest heaved, nipples taut and stroking against the door, gripping the handle so it stayed put even as your legs shook from the pressure to keep you upright.

 Leave, you had to leave.

 Move your feet, release the grip on the door and shift your weight to the side.

 You manually counted your breaths, ripping your gaze from Sanji’s pleading stare.

 Leave, just leave.

 “Don't leave,” he whined, sitting upright. “at least let me watch you too, it’s only fair.”

  It was as if a wave of cold, salty, ocean water dunked on you from the way you shrieked at the sound of your own name.

 The door creaked, opening wide, betraying you by exposing the statue you had become and on the brink of collapsing from shame or even darting from his sights if you could have managed to work your knees.

 Though his eyes were free from shock or disgust, he looked almost excited. Eager. The cigarette clenched in his wide grin; hair pushed back— you could see how his eyes glowed.

 You gaped back at him, shock contorting into a dry wheeze you couldn’t control while his smile curled into a light chuckle, amused by your flustered expression.

 “Don’t leave,” he repeated, the invitation sounding almost kind coming from his lips, a charming smile hidden behind an obscene request while tugging on his pants when his hard cock pressed too tightly in its confines. “Watch me, please.”

 Sanji asked you not to leave.

 Sanji said your name while asking you not to leave— not to leave watching him masturbate.

 Your breath fell past your lips, frozen just outside the bedroom door, your blood still humming through your body. You were stuck. Mortified. No matter how many times you rephrased or repeated it in your head, you could not move or answer him in anything but a squeak. “Why?”

 “Why not?” He countered, striding towards you, bulge still prominent. “You’ve been watching me the whole time. Why stop now?”

  “No! I-I didn’t mean to—”

 He nodded teasingly, “you liked it.” Sanji snickered when you snapped your mouth shut, your denial ruined by the searing shame choking your words as he stalked closer. “I liked it too,” he said lowly, “made me so hard.”

 “I wasn’t—” you huffed, desperate to explain yourself despite the way your gaze flickered down at his chest with every pathetic stammer. “I just wanted- and then you- it’s only—”

 Sanji laughed, waving his hand dismissively with his cigarette pinched between his fingers, twirling a ring of smoke between you. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. No harm in a little peeking,” his teeth flashed prettily, excitement shining at your bashful glances towards his shapely crotch. “If you want, maybe you can make it up to me. I’d hate to tell the rest of the crew what you did.”

 “How?” You hated how timid you sounded, so you cleared your throat and stood straighter, only taking a small step back when he got closer, heart thundering and not at all bothered by his proximity. “It’s not like I’d let you watch me. I know what you’re like.”

 “Do you?”

 “Y-yes.”

 His curly brow quirked up, amusement glossing his tone, “You don’t sound so sure, dearie.”

 “I know you’ll just brag about me looking at you as if I’m some horny perv lurking around the boy’s room—”

 “But you are,” he interjected, taking a slow drag of smoke and blowing it downwind. “I wasn’t the one caught lurking—”

 “This time!” You bristled from the accusation, digging an accusatory finger at his firm, muscled chest, lingering a second too long before snapping. “You’re the one always butting in when the girls bathe. You’re the one trying to sneak a glance when we change! You’re the rude one!” You shouted, guilt clawing in your chest when all he did was smile. “I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry, okay? But don’t make me out to be a pervert like you.”

 Sanji rubbed his chest sadly, palming the exact spot you touched as if he were cherishing the contact with his big hand sprawled on his own skin. “Aw, darlin’,” he cooed with a cute pout on his lips, “do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No!” you shrieked a little too quickly, “I-I mean, yes! When you—”

 “When I undress?”

“God!—”

 “When I rub my cock?”

 Your cheeks burned, a strangled whine slipping before you could clamp your teeth on your bottom lip, “That’s not! You—”

 “I, what?” he purred, tilting his head down again, the simmering scent of smoke tickling your lips, “you can’t even look at me in the eye, but you had no trouble watching me stroke my cock to you. Did watching me make you wet, darlin’?”

 The lie spilled in an undignified splutter, the word no holding too many syllables when you tried to say it.

 His laughter chimed in your ears, a vibrant sound that brightened his face, and though he was laughing at you, a part of you softened from the sight. Mesmerised by it.

 Pretty. Shimmering waters.

 Somehow, it helped you release a steady breath, perhaps for the first time since you discovered him. Putting you at ease and in control.

 Taking another step back, it was easier to blurt out your next half-lie. “I wasn’t watching you, I came for something.”

  “Is there any chance that thing being me?”

“There is a better chance I slap you if you don’t back the fuck up.”

  “Promise?” Sanji chuckled, a rosy blush tinting his cheeks. He invaded your space again, smoke and soap stroking your senses while his hands stayed respectfully by his sides. “Wow, dirty words sound so pretty when you say it.” He tilted his chin, inching closer, lips inviting, “Say fuck again.”

 In your head, you slapped him. You pushed past his large, dominating frame, and went on your way to enjoy the bath you had planned and forget all that you have seen.

 In reality? In the sensuous bubble of arousal he encased you in— the curse tickled his lips in a low murmur. Like a pre-emptive kiss he savoured by swiping his tongue on his bottom lip just so he could taste the words you teased as an insult.

 “Again,” he pleaded, slanting you into the wooden railing. Gripping the beam. Almost chest to chest. Almost touching.

“Fuck,” you breathed, “you.”

 “Please…again..”

“Sanji—”

 “mmhh..”

“—fuck… you.”

 “Shit.” his laugh strained into a desperate husk.

 You could almost taste it. And you wanted to, to taste him that is, because you could tell he was cracking. In a singular moment, you turned the tides on him, taking the upper hand and the dominance he flexed exposing you. And like a switch, Sanji was pleading— his adams apple bobbed, lips parted, eyes blown. Not anything like the charm he exuded earlier. He sounded helpless. Distraught. Struggling against the invisible line you still held between you, yet honouring the boundary you have placed because he was still a gentleman.

 You admired that.

 Part of you— the wretched, drunk on lust part you shoved in a cage most nights to escape her fantasies— wished for him to push the waters and break the barrier. To feel the warmth of his skin pressed against yours. His hands, his lips.

 His eyes shined instead. Hooded and sparkling a desire you mimicked with your slow breaths.

 The birds squawked above, and Sanji finally found his voice.

“Can I masturbate to you?”

 “Huh?”

“You’re so pretty, so tempting,” he said. Flexing his grip on the beam as if it were a lifeline. “I loved it when you were watching me. If you don’t want me to touch you, that’s fine. I won’t push you. But please, watch me. And I promise it will be just between us, okay?”

 You squirmed. The words of rejection faded faster than they formed while you tried not to shrink under his pleading stare. You could feel your back pressed against the rail, digging into your skin as Sanji stood tall, shirtless and strong— caging you with his hand gripping the wooden beam right by your hip. Your bodies close, breaths hot and almost in sync, yours just a little shakier as you contemplated his invitation.

 To watch him. Openly.

 Why was it so daunting with his permission? With his lust blown eyes homed in on yours. Longing for something more than your stuttered breath to brush his skin.

 Even in the open air, all you could feel was the heat raying from his bare chest and the twinge of smoke fanning around you. His arousal straining yet inches away from contact with your thigh he keeps achingly out of reach. It was just him, you, and the birds sitting on the mast, but it felt like you were locked in a steel cage with hundreds of spectators waiting on your next move.

 You couldn’t hear them above the raging waves of your own thoughts. However, it was hard to stay objective when the currents that pulsed in your blood rushed between your thighs, dousing you with a tender ache that was becoming harder to ignore.

 When you took too long to respond, his smile faded. “I’ll leave you be—”

 “Sit back down,” you commanded, pushing on his chest and smiling when he shuddered beneath your palm.

 Sanji grinned. He took your hand, your name spoken softer than any ballad as he whispered it into your skin and placed a kiss to accompany the warmth it spread. “Yes, my lady.”

 In the depths of his eyes, you fell. The world blackened and you plunged deep into his domain. Into his desires.

 Tethered only by the delicate hold he kept of your hand, you stepped into the room behind him, keeping your head up despite the nervousness that swirled within.

 The anonymity you deluded yourself into believing snapped when the door closed behind you. Sanji was freakishly deceptive. Of course, he knew. Of course, he was teasing you. But the genuine plea that shined in his eyes made it impossible to walk away.

 He looked so cute. So masculine and vulnerable at the same time. You wanted to see more of him it drove you right into the lustful fog that blanketed the space in between.

 When he released your hand, you found yourself missing the contact of his large palm clasped in yours.

 Sanji took his place back on the sofa, thighs spread, and lips parted in breathless excitement. But before anything else happened, he snuffed his bud in the ashtray in front of him. “You can walk away any time you want, sweetheart. No hard feelings or awkwardness, okay?”

 Your shoulders visibly relaxed, unaware they were ever tense, but it made you smile anyway. Grateful for the reminder and the familiarity of his gentlemanly deference.

 “I know,” you give him a genuine smile, “just between us, yeah?”

“Of course, darlin’.” His smile mirrored yours like the glimmering waters they are modelled after. Putting you at ease and in control once again when he affirms; “Just between us.”

 With a deep breath— you cooled your expression, while his eyes shined as an air of apathy befell around you.

 There was no turning back from this, and as you stood there, shielded from the cooling wind and the anchoring weight of the door you once hid behind, you realised that you truly didn’t want to.

 You were inside.

 You had his attention. You could watch him— Sanji, undress, and pleasure himself without anything obstructing your view or fixate on the shame twisting in your gut this time because he invited you in. Led you by the hand while you pretended the contact didn’t ignite anything.

 That the warmth of his hand clasped in yours didn’t buckle your knees when you stepped over the threshold. Or that you could still feel the brush of his lips on your fingers.

 You could continue pretending none of it mattered because this was just a game, and you were good at playing games. You could play this one with him too.

 “Sit back,” you ordered after finally finding your voice, “—and show me what you were doing.”

 “Fuck,” his hands fumbled.

 His excitement forced you to chew on your bottom lip to surpass a snicker. It was endearing, but you held onto your indifference like a vice. You were looking forward to seeing him unravel.

 “Keep—” he swallowed thickly. “Keep talking to me like that.”

“Like what?” you watched him palm his cock through his pants again, his erection growing harder with the new stimulation beneath his hand. “Tell you how I like to watch pretty boys touch themselves?”

 “uhh-ha,” Sanji choked softly. “You think I’m pretty?”

 You crossed your arms, smirking when his attention locked on to the swell of your breasts curving over the top of the dress, flashing delectable skin that had him swiping his tongue hungrily. “I think you’re a little pathetic,” you shrugged, “and predictable.”

 His lip tilted. “I guess I just can’t help myself.”

“Hmm, well, you can have a little more decorum, though. Be a little less obvious too.”

 He chuckled airily. “Not when I’m stroking my cock to you, darlin.”

 Sanji shifted slightly, dragging his pants down lower and exposing more of the dark blonde trail that led past his waistband. Taunting you with a flash of skin you couldn’t turn away from. “Want to see how hard just looking at you makes me?”

 A smile peeked through despite your best efforts. “I can see well enough from here.”

 “That’s not what it looked like before,” he teased, cupping his balls through the fabric. “I thought you might fall through the door from how far you leaned in trying to sneak a peek.”

 “I wasn’t—”

“I thought we were passed the bashful lies, sweetheart?”

 You peered down at him through your lashes, ignoring the flush creeping up your neck from his sultry gaze.

 Neither of you said another word for a minute as the room filled with Sanji’s breathy sighs. He was using his abs again, clenching them and bucking his hips to rub his cock against his pants. The friction making him grip the sofa. His lips part.

 Your thighs cinched watching his reddened tip slip through when his pants slid further down. He looked wrecked already. Pearly dribbles of pre-cum smeared over his abs, trickling over the toned lines and ridges with every jerk of his hips, adding a lewd sheen to his skin as the rise and fall of his chest quickened.

 Just standing there stumbled whines from his throat, you wondered about the sort of sounds he would make into your neck.

 “Sanji”. His gaze snapped up. “Use your thumb for me,” you said softly. “Rub on your slit, I want to see your tip get sensitive.”

 “Sh-it, like this?”

“Good boy.”

 He moaned.

“Oh,” you grinned. “You like that, huh?”

 Sanji nodded timidly, his blush darkening when his control slipped. He didn’t mean to confess such a kink, but the way you purred the praise sent shockwaves up his spine. Made his cock twitch, hand tremble.

 “I like how you talk to me,” he confessed lowly. “Your voice, how it sounds when you say my name. How you lower your tone, or your breath catches when I groan— fuck. It drives me crazy.”

 You hummed playfully, nibbling on your bottom lip when he canted his hips into his hand rhythmically. Now completely free from the confines of his slacks, his cock stayed caged in his fist, his shaft long and slender throbbing with a hue that matched his cheeks as pre-cum slicked loudly, coating his fingers in its sticky mixture while you stood there ignoring the wetness soaking your own panties.

 “You look desperate already, Sanji-kun.” You teased lightly, hiding your hands behind your back so he couldn’t see you dig your nails into your palms. “Do you like being watched that much? I can see you leaking, your cock is so wet, and we’ve just started. Are you going to cum so soon? That’s sort of pathetic, don’t you think?”

 “I can’t help it,” he groaned, damp blond strands falling over high cheekbones. “It’s like your eyes set me on fire. Igniting everything that sits under my skin, burning me through, it feels so good, it almost hurts. Fuck, sweetheart, I can’t imagine what would happen if you touched me. Your hands on my chest, your sweet lips on my neck. If you so much as leaned into me, letting me breathe in your scent, uhh-shit- I’m ashamed to admit I might cum untouched.” His throat constricted, seizing his words into a tortured rasp. “Darlin’, for my sake, for my sanity, you have to stay back and let me just watch. Let me look at you and imagine all the ways you’d set me alight with just a kiss.”

“Would you let me?” you asked breathlessly. “Kiss you, I mean.”

 “Oh, in a heartbeat.”

“Even if you’d gush blood and pass out?” you couldn’t help the giggle.

 “Even if it were my last,” Sanji groaned desperately. “To kiss you would be the end of me, and I would pray they’d bring me back so I can do it again.”

 Your chest tightened hearing the affection hidden beneath his moans.

 There were deep crescent shapes in your palms now, the skin reddened and pinched from your efforts to maintain even an ounce of control, but the sting paled in comparison to the drum of your heartbeat slamming against your ribs. Rattling the bars of your sanity the longer you stood in his presence.

 Sanji looked at you as if— as if he would never see the light again.

 With awe, longing, and something close to anguish when the light shines further away from him. As something beyond his reach yet to be cherished and marvelled at all the same. To be revered. Desired. Loved but never possessed because it wasn’t his place to assert his will, but to bask in the warmth the light spread.

 It was intoxicating, and he was unravelling faster than you anticipated.

 You could tell from how he thumbed the thin veins forking along his length, how pre-cum spilled over his fingers, pooling at the base of his cock and how his chest heaved that he was chasing a fast-approaching release that had him stuttering your name past his lips— involuntarily rising heat all the way to the tips of your ears.

 Sanji was too erratic. Too frenetic.

 Moaning and thrusting and rolling his wrist over and over his shaft so fast, it was a wonder he remained conscious. He looked unbalanced. A sort of frantic that reminded you of all the times he over-excited himself and exploded into a fit leaving him comatose and bloodied.

 You had to slow him down, to set the pace for now only to have him moan in a melody of salacious cries later on, and then bend him into a rhythm only your pulse can match.

 At your mercy, your control.

 In a way that wouldn’t end with the rest of the crew returning to find Sanji dead on the floor seeped in his own cum and blood. This is exactly how this was heading if you let him continue down this path.

 Whining incessantly while fucking his tight fist in faster strokes, his teary gaze seared straight into your core, almost certain you could feel the warmth of his touch from across the room as you fought the urge to squirm and find the power to bark:

  “Stop.”

 The command shot straight through him. Snapping him at attention like a stinging whip on his back.

 His jaw ticked. Veins pulsed.

 Sanji’s rigid composure would have been comical if his erection hadn’t slapped against his stomach. Angry red and swollen with need, it looked almost painful, especially with the way his brows twisted miserably as he panted heavily glowing with sweat and desperation.

 “Breathe.”

 When he inhaled a wheezing, sharp breath— you shook your head, instructing him to go slower. Calmer. Until his shoulders laxed and his throat swallowed a decent gulp. “Good boy, just breathe for me.”

 Sanji nodded meekly, even managing a smile as he clenched and unclenched his hands on his knees, wiping off the gooey, sordid evidence of his arousal in quiet shame.

 You observed him critically, assessing his mental and physical state and deeming him a little untethered. As if he were floating, glassy-eyed and adrift in his own mind until enough deep breaths grounded him back to your focus. You watched him come to grips with things— his attention shifting to his pants bunched at his thighs, to his cock standing full mast, to the hot air suffocating the room.

 Sanji sighed wistfully, threading his trembling hand through his sweaty bangs and out of his face, a deep blush colouring his cheeks.

“Feeling better?” you asked gently. “I just can’t have you passing out on me before things really get started.”

 It took him a moment to find his voice again. His throat was dry despite the wetness clinging to his skin.

 “Sorry. I’m just— I’m so hard,” he chuckled weakly. “Can’t, uhh— I can’t imagine what you might think of me right now. How ridiculous and pathetic I might look being so— so enamoured by you.”

 You shrugged to lighten the mood. “I always assumed you were a two-minute man, but I won’t tell anyone.”

 The laughter didn’t quite reach his eyes as he flexed his fists, actively avoiding the erection pulsing against his stomach, or the truth of his blinding lust and the dizzying spell it held over him.

 “I thought I could— I thought I had more control, like when we were on the deck.” Sanji said sullenly, vaguely aware of the festering insecurities. “It was exciting being the one to tease you, to look down at a beautiful woman like you and make her flustered. Being so close to you was- it was so hot, electric even— but having you watch me right now in that commanding tone is ten times more intense. It’s addicting— it’s also humiliating and thrilling all at once. I feel so contorted and … I’m embarrassed to admit how far I’m willing to let you break me”. He confessed shyly.

 “Sanji…”

 “But that somehow turns me on even more. It’s just… you’re so beautiful”. Sanji whispered gravelly, “It’s just not fair what that does to me.”

 “It’s okay,” you released your own shaky inhibitions with a slow exhale and offered a tilted smile, warmth tickling your cheeks upon his conviction. “I like seeing you this way. It was fun on the deck, how dominating you were teasing me. But right now, your eyes shine and it’s really flattering.” You smirked playfully, “Pretty boys like you look best when they’re sweaty and desperate.”

 Sanji’s blush was much more obvious than yours, his fair complexion making every inner thought radiate through his skin, but he stayed quiet for a few seconds, his smile strained.

 “Be honest with me. If-if I hadn’t said anything, would you have walked away without a word afterwards?”

 You thought about it for a moment, stunning him with your impassive gaze towards his raw vulnerability.

 There was a touch of wistfulness in it— in the tenderness of his question making it clear that your answer would mean more to him than simply feeding his ego— he needed to feel desirable, worthy— so with a wicked idea, you took those steps forward to bridge the gap between you and relished when his chest hitched visibly as you stood planted between his open thighs.

 You pulled him back from the edge, only so you could push him down yourself.

 You were so close he could reach out and touch you now if he wanted, his leg could press against yours. His arm could brush your thigh and call it an accident, or he could even brazenly drag you into his lap to finally feel relief on his aching cock. It wouldn’t even take much strength on his part, to grab you by the arm and yank you into his awaiting heat. Your body warm and pressed against his. Flushed and tight.

 But as you peered down at him— his lashes wet, face burning, pre cum glistening. Hands stilted on his knees as he inhaled your scent so deep it filled his chest— you know Sanji would never cross that line, not without permission.

 You felt powerful in that fact. In the knowledge that you could break a man as powerful as him with a caress, a word. A kiss.

 “Yes. I would have walked away,” you confessed firmly. When his expression fell, you bent down at the waist, the words brushing on his lips. “But I would have paid extra close attention to you.”

 His mouth fell open, your name almost coherent in the pitiful whimper that escaped disguised as a breath. Yet he still managed to smile despite the blood rushing to his head. “Sweet God, you’re cruel.”

“And you’re shaking.”

 He was.

 Already unsteady and trembling to keep himself upright. To stay conscious and not let his vision completely glaze over as white spots danced across your face, sparkling you in a tantalising light he fought to keep in his sights even if it muffled his other senses when your scent enveloped him too. Erotically feminine and something so distinctly you his pulse ticked beneath his jaw.

 “More, please..”

“mhmm— you have to open your eyes and look at me, Sanji-kun. I might get sad and walk away if you don’t.”

When he finally opened them, you were blessed by the sight of shimmering tears glossing wide, love filled pupils.

 “y’know…” you sighed, fighting the warmth spreading between your thighs, “watching you made me realise something.”

 “What?”

 “That there are layers to you, and I liked discovering them.” The noise he made resembled a strangled animal when you brushed your thumb over his soft cheek. “Your patience, tenderness, diligence, I never paid it any special attention until today. How you take care of your things, how gentle your hands are— I never thought you would be so…” you swiped your tongue upon his bottom lip. “Beautiful.”

 “Fuck..” his eyes rolled. A full body shudder raked down his back this time, prickling every fibre etched in his being and ultimately triggering sensitive blood vessels in his nose to pop suddenly as spurts of cum pre-emptively dribbled out of his tip.

 You giggled. “Are you okay, Sanji-kun?”

you watched him shake his head inaudibly, hips humping the air for much needed relief as the blood trickled down his nose in slow drips. Almost mimicking how his cock drooled obscenely.

 He wouldn’t last much longer like this. Every muscle, nerve and vein burned to keep himself tethered to the seat. “More, I beg you. T-talk to me more, ‘m so close..”

 His plea sounded hoarse even to his own ears, but it made you smile all the same.

 “I think,” you trailed off, flickering your eyes to his lips, then wiping off the blood gently. “I would have paid attention to your laugh.”

 That sobered him a little bit, the confusion furrowed his brows.

 “You looked at ease, even though you were teasing me. I liked hearing you hum, chuckle, seeing you smile. You looked relaxed. There was something attractive about it, I can’t quite explain how much I enjoyed seeing that, even before you unzipped your pants. I think I was a little enamoured by you.”

 His expression glowed. “R-really?”

 You nodded earnestly. “You’re beautiful, Sanji. That’s why I was watching you, why I had to walk away cause it made me feel guilty to see you so … unguarded.”

 “I—”

“Do me a favour,” you cupped his jaw with a warm palm, “don’t pass out.”

 Before he could reply, Sanji tasted heaven.

 It was the slightest touch on his lips, barely a kiss, hardly a brushstroke, but it was enough to hear something akin to an angel’s song as he was bathed in a white light.

 Or …

 His eyes rolled so far back, his vision became discoloured, and the sound he heard was a high-pitch whine that tore through his own throat and reverberated in the room.

“On your knees.”

 Sanji collapsed, gasping and quaking on his hands and knees as if he’d been fighting for his life. Which, in a way, he really was. Fighting to keep some blood in his system that hadn’t already poured into his cock or down his nose when the heat coiling in his belly burned that much hotter from your kiss. Scorching him, blistering the goosebumps that prickled along his flesh making him hypersensitive and numb all at once— numb to the sounds outside this room, hypersensitive to your every move. And if anyone were to find him like this— no, he didn’t care. You were a dream he never wanted to wake up from, even if it ripped him apart, and he’d be damned if anyone came to ruin it now.

 Instead, he chewed on his bottom lip, savouring the taste of you, of your sweet gloss and plump lips and dizzying scent— but when he reached to fist his cock to the memory of you pressed against him— Sanji couldn’t stop himself from keening loudly when your foot pushed his hand away.

 “I didn’t say you could touch yourself, cutie’.”

 “What can I do?” Sanji quivered up at you pleadingly. “I’ll do anything, please. Oh please, please tell me what to do for you, darlin’.”

 “Take off my shoes.”

 You lifted your right leg for him, offering up your foot clad in the strappy sandal and watched him inhale sharply through his nose.

 “I—” his adams apple bobbed as he sat back on his heels, “I can touch you?”

 This was a test, a prank. You were only playing with him. the kiss was enough to kill him, and your smile was too sinful to be sincere, but he prayed, nonetheless. Pleaded and hoped and then choked on his own spit when you nodded firmly.

 “Yes, but only my legs. And if you’re a good boy, I’ll give you something better.”

 Sanji nodded heartily, murmuring his thanks and gratitude for the opportunity presented to him, his voice carrying a thick layer of emotion he didn’t have the sense to evaluate for this blessing. Only knowing the relief he felt when your bare skin pressed against his, whispering the praises into the cleft of your ankle— his lips brushed a chaste kiss, a sweet touch that could only be seeped with devotion.

 You wouldn’t have heard it at all if it weren’t breathed into your skin, ardently sincere like the last prayer whispered by the helpless. So, in an act of mercy, you brushed his hair back and tilted his head up towards you, holding him delicately as if he’d shatter by your hands. Which you were fully capable of doing— but you presented him the tenderness of your smile instead, verbalising your consent and letting it flow soothingly between you.

 He took a few seconds to stabilise himself, though even with your permission, Sanji’s touch felt shaky against your skin as if he was unsure about your words or his own strength to maintain consciousness, but he did anyway. Willed himself with the strength to harden his spine and indulge in his deepest desires. Just this once, while you still graced him with it.

 His hands were warm, soft, and gentle. Everything like the man they belonged to as Sanji stroked your leg sensually, starting from your knee all the way down to your ankle. His long fingers pressing and squeezing the supple skin beneath his palms, curving along your plump flesh pulling quiet sighs you didn’t bother to hide that he drank in greedily, relishing in your pleasure as if it was pierced straight into his vein.

 “y’so beautiful,” Sanji groaned into your leg. “I can’t believe—” he shook his head, ridding himself of the doubt that plagued him before dragging his lips along your calf as his fingers fiddled with the strap that wrapped around you. Achingly slow and deliberately unhurried. “You’re so soft, it’s incredible. Even your legs are gorgeous.” he spoke as if thorns were scraping his throat, every word coming out in a low rasp filled with need. “Every part of you sets me on edge,” he continued, his kisses following where the straps once curled, “— as if I’m holding on by my fingertips, and the only thing that keeps me from breaking— from plummeting and colliding into the ground is you.” He slipped your shoe off and placed it gently to the side, your foot now bare, then moved on to the other leg and gave it the exact same treatment. “But… its also like you’re waiting for me at the bottom, ready to unearth me and giggle as you dust off the dirt from my shattered bones.”

 You feel his kiss on your ankle again, a breathy sigh tickling your flesh as you swallowed your nerves. “What if I am? I like you beneath me.”

 “I don’t mind,” he replied easily. He held you up carefully, his grip firm yet tender as he kneaded the taut muscle, every caress and gentle stroke pooling desire deep in your core. “If it were anyone else, I would have done what I usually do by making a fool of myself as soon as the rest of the crew left.” The heat of his stare was almost unnerving. “But it was you, and I never felt more compelled to fall.”

 Fuck.

 You lost your resolve, and your expression softened with a laugh that fluttered out like the butterflies tickling your chest. “You shouldn’t look so attractive with your cock so wet, Sanji-kun. It’s unfair, and hard to remain impassive when you look so beautiful desperate for me.”

 “I’m sorry, darlin’.” He laid his cheek against your leg, exhaustion weighing him. “We can stop”, he offered sincerely. This momentary pause gave him the clarity he needed, the fog inhibiting his senses cleared enough to think. Though his cock still ached, there was a layer of calm settling too. Your comfort important to him above all else. “You’ve done more than enough for me,” Sanji pressed another kiss to your knee, your shoe accompanying its twin on the floor, “more than I could have hoped for already. It won’t take much for me to finish on my own. You were wonderful, darlin'.”

 “You would stop, just like that?”

 “Of course,” Sanji affirmed candidly, his eyes kind. “Like I said, I would do anything for you. My pleasure is secondary.”

The words hung in the air, but your plan was still in motion.

 “Tell me, then. What would happen if I touched right…here.”

“Ahh-uhh!”

 “Does it hurt?” you cooed sickeningly sweet. “hmm, from your expression it looks like you’re enjoying it a little too much.”

 He bobbed his head frantically, blonde hair flailing with the movement, your devious plan wrecking him immediately. “Ye-es, in the-uhh best way, angel. Fu-uuck, I-I can’t believe you’re tou-ching me like this.”

 “Yeah? y’like it that much?” you laughed airily. “Your balls feel soft on my foot, all rounded and heavy.” Lifting your leg up higher, you rubbed your leg on his length, sliding it up and down, skin to skin, until those salacious moans spilt from his mouth in loud cries. “wow, it’s’warm and wet from all the pre you were leaking earlier, too. How gross.”

 “Oh-oh, god, pl-ease, sweet darlin’. Fuck-ngh!”

 You hummed delightedly, watching his cheeks blossom into another sweet blush, his eyes glazing over immediately as Sanji shuddered and keened beneath you with the familiar scent of desperation clouding the room in a thicker layer. A potent, charged atmosphere that had you panting as you watched Sanji unravel once again in the short time you had him under your command— your plan a success.

 “You’re dripping all over again.” you teased with another slow drag of your foot, his balls resting on top while his shaft twitched upon your shin. “Look at how your pretty cock leaks! All red and cute! So much cum, I’m surprised you haven’t squirted.”

  “ohh-ahh, sw-sweetheart don’t be me-eean!”

 “I’m not!” you insisted through unfiltered giggles. “Look at you, humping my leg! Gettin’ yourself all worked up from just touching me, you’re so cute, Sanji-kun.” Your laughter seized as you clicked your tongue, faux disgust colouring your tone as you rolled your foot over his long shaft, collecting the stringy wetness that drooled from his tip on your toes. “Tsk, your cock is makin’ a dirty mess all over my leg, though. Could you be anymore pathetic?”

 “’m so’rry,” he squirmed. “Ca-an I clean it uhh-up?”

  You leered down at him, “only if you use your mouth, pretty.”

 Sanji licked long strokes along your leg, collecting the sticky essence that spit from his tip the harder he rolled his hips. Swallowing his own dirty arousal while fervently grinding his cock along the curve of your leg with no sense or rhythm, only following the lust you stoked within him, stumbling moans, hitching his whines. Begging and squeezing his eyes shut to prevent the tears from falling, but you saw them anyway.

 You saw everything. How his chest concaved with every breath he took, how his balls pulled tight on your foot, how deeply and utterly he was at your mercy.

 It filled you with pride. Along with a dark sense of satisfaction you couldn’t quite place to have Black-leg Sanji— bounty over a billion berries, the left wing of the future king of the pirates— whinging and coating your skin with his arousal.

 And you had one more trick up your sleeve. One that could possibly kill him, but you wanted to push the boundaries.

  See how far you could bend him before he snapped.

 “You can’t cum yet,” you sang cheerily, weaving your fingers through his hair again. “You have to be good for me, okay?”

 “Fuu-uk, ‘m tryin’!” Sanji cried out, his last threads of control almost slipping from his grasp, stitch by stitch, seam by seam, but he gripped them tighter in his fists, and fiercely blinked away the fog misting his vision just to have the chance to gaze upon your smile for a little while longer. “I wo-on’t, jus’ for you. Cause you-you asked.”

 “Good boy. Now, tell me you like it.” you gave his hair a firm tug, directing focus to his bucking hips. “Tell me how much your cock aches, how hard it is, how much you love touching me.”

 Sanji shuddered, another frantic nod dizzying his vision as he jerked his hips harder. “I do! So-so much”, he hiccupped. “I lo- ohhh, uhh, yes!— I love you touch-in’ me. Teasin’ me, makin’ a mess of me-eee— ahh, shit! Tou-uch me, please, fuck! Please, I love it— love your eyes, your voice, your touch. I’ll die, ohh, god-oh god, lemme jus’ die like this, it’s oka-ay if it’s you. For you, all you, fuck-fuck!”

 “I think you deserve your reward now, Sanji-kun.”

 Sanji snapped his head up, his hips stilting. “This-this isn’t the reward?” how could it not be? He was touching you, kissing your body, smearing his cock all over your pretty leg. What could be better than this?

 You pulled back from him, and slowly, painfully slow, deathly slow, you lifted the hem of your dress.

 He first saw your thighs, thick and supple, making him swipe his tongue along his bottom lip just imagining the taste of your sweat, of the grooves of your cellulite.

  your dress lifted higher, and his hands flexed, picturing squeezing on the squishy flesh and feeling it fill his palms and pudge out against his fingers where he couldn't quite grasp.

 This was the reward, yes? Pretty, coloured thick thighs he’d be happy to touch, to worship with hips he could sink his teeth into, full and curved and beautifully rounded.

 But your hand lifted higher. Higher. Until he ascended so high he heard the angel’s song again, welcoming him to paradise.

 “Sanji, you’re shaking an’ whining loudly.”

 Was he?

“Wipe the blood first… good boy. Come here, it’s’okay,” you tugged him closer, his face inches away from your panties. “You’ve been so good, I thought you might like to ...” your cheeks burned, “To touch.”

  He could smell it now, the wetness that made your thighs clench earlier. That had you sighing and chewing on your bottom lip as he chased his own pleasure. The arousal that allowed him this far with you, coating your pink panties and, fuuck.

 You-your panties… they— they had the cutest bow on it. right above your mound and the lewd wet patch he ached to… “Did-did you say touch?”

 You nodded, tugging him closer by his hair. “I won’t take off my panties, but I don’t see why you can’t use them to get yourself off, just this once. It’s what you always wanted, right?”

 What he always wanted.

 “Are… are you sure?”

 What he always wanted and prayed and dreamed and lusted after— but he had to make sure. To know this is what you wanted. Sanji couldn’t— he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if it weren’t your desire too. Even if he was seeing double and the room tilted on its axis or his blood pooled on the floorboards more than his own body, he wouldn’t be able to stand again without hearing you say—

  “Sanji-kun, touch me.”

 You tugged him closer, cooing your affirmations, stroking his hair. Going slow and speaking so softly, he wondered if you were talking to him at all.

 “It’s okay,” you purred, your eyes gentle. “You can use me to cum. I want to see you cum for me.”

Use you?

His brows knitted. That didn’t sound right.

Use.

 Use.

Use?

 That word felt wrong, dirty. Even in his inebriated, lust-filled fog, Sanji knew that it wasn’t right. That it was tactless. That you deserved better than that.

 “I don’t— I don’t want to ever use you.” he husked. Just saying the word made his stomach churn, and though his limbs felt heavy, he lifted himself a little taller on his knees. “Don’t ever say that to me again.”

 Sanji’s sudden coherency surprised you when he was trembling moments before, but there was no mistaking the sincerity in his tone, and you could only stare— awed, heated and incredibly wrecked with the emotions he stirred. Yet rather than replying, your grip on him tightened, a challenge tilting your brow, waiting to see what move he’d make with the offer you raised.

 “Okay… oh-okay, ‘m gonna touch you now, darlin’.”

 With all the strength he could muster, Sanji pushed forward and inhaled deeply, pressing his nose in your crotch, and filling his lungs until the only air that could possibly flow through him was you. “Ohh, fuck.” Sanji groaned, the sound vibrating on your most intimate parts, pulling deep from his throat, and sounding nothing short of sinful that had you keening lowly in response.

 “Oh, fuck- oh fuck, darlin’ you’re a dream.” He murmured into your cunt, his words bleeding back to babble as he breathed in long and deep. It was intoxicating, the heady scent of your pussy. Driving him mad, sick, practically delirious by the slick that marred your panties, creating the most dazzling patch of arousal right in the middle. Oh fuck, his tongue immediately began lapping at the damp fabric caging your plump lips. “Fuck!”

 You choked on a moan. “Is that all you can say?”

 Sanji shook his head, his hands finding your full-figured hips and squeezing, eliciting a low mewl with the fat filling his palms and bulging out at the sides just how he pictured it. “Fuck!” he grunted again into your cunt; his mouth muffled but his shouts reverberated from the intensity that shook him at the core. “Fuck-fuck!”

 You huffed out a chuckle. “Sweetie, if it’s too much for you—”

 He couldn’t hear you. Sanji held you tighter, drew you closer into his open mouth, his jaw slack, muscles taut, cock aching— but it was a sensation he could ignore while his tongue messaged and rolled and lapped at your clothed cunt. Dragging along your labia over and over until it wettened enough to slip his tongue down the seam of your pussy, spreading it to finally circle your pulsing clit and suck, the fabric damp with a lewd mixture of slick and saliva as your whimpers rang loud.

 “Fu-uhh, shit, you taste so goo’ fo’me”, his words were gruff, his mind addled— Sanji couldn’t focus past your cunt, your scent, not when it wafted through him and settled deep in his abdomen— twisting lust straight down to his neglected cock drooling on the floor.

 “Sa-anji! Fuck, hmm, keep-keep going!”

 He groaned, digging his fingers into your hips and shoving you harder into his mouth. “Su’ch a pretty cunt, shit-fuck.” He held you firmly, his strength unrelenting even as you swayed, letting you writhe on his face. “Darlin’, sweet girl, sweet sweet cunt, uhh, y’make my cock hurt so-so much. Make me so hard, so dizzy. All you, shit-shit. Uhh-uhh, s’wet fo’me. Tha’ank you. thank y-you, than-k you.”

 You moaned for him, and the sound of it tingled his spine, acutely aware of the sharp tugging on his scalp, but Sanji paid the rest of it no mind. He was touching you, licking your pussy through your pretty panties, inhaling your arousal, making you moan.

 Making you cry his name, making you wet.

 And he answered it all with low hums and deep grunts of praises, thanking you fiercely, his devotion syphoning from every breath as if you poured into him yourself.

 Sanji flickered his tongue on your clit, alternating between soft and hard strokes that had you grinding your hips on his tongue, and he revelled in it while your pussy rewarded him by staining your panties with sticky fluids he drank greedily. Devouring your cunt with his whole face, bumping his nose into your clit, his chin wet, cheeks flushed.

 “Imma cum!” you tried to warn him, to stave off the flutter in your belly and not embarrass yourself by cumming so soon, but his touch, his tongue— even with the panties in the way it only added to the friction. To the burn flooding over your body from the moment you discovered him. You squirmed, rocked, and sighed as the coil tightened in your belly— a sensation so intense you attempted to cinch your thighs, but Sanji pinched your hips, pulling you apart for him, ignoring your pleas.

 Holding you closer, grunting praises, flattening his tongue, pressing hard until you came with a loud cry.

 “Su’ch a goo’girl, so good for me. that’s it, lemme clean that up for you, darlin’.”

 Sanji lapped at your cunt, your panties ruined and almost dripping from your release that he swallowed as best he could before you ripped him off with a harsh tug.

 “Stand,” you panted harshly. Your balance was shoddy, but you stood firm, yanking the man to his full height, and wrapped your fist around his cock. Gently tugging on his flushed sex in quick strokes. “Cum for me.”

 Sanji curled into your touch, white-hot and just barely keeping himself standing with a hard grip on your hips— he slumped into your chest, fucking into your hand chaotically. “I-I didn’t— y-you. Uhh, fuck!”

 “What is it?”

 Tears stung his waterline. “I di-idn’t clean u-uhh, ahh, mmm, I wanted— wanted to clean you u-uhp.” He cried out, fidgeting in your grasp, his cock overly sensitive and shamefully drooling all over your wrist. He wanted to be strong, to make you cum and slump on his chest, but Sanji could hardly keep his eyes open at this point. He felt airy, foggy, every sensation felt like it was dolled up to ten and he couldn’t find the strength to keep standing.

 And it hurt, fuck, his cock hurt. His balls hurt, his chest hurt, breathing hurt— it ended up as short gasps and high-pitch whines into your neck until you brushed your thumb over his slit and Sanji saw stars.

 “ahh! Im-imma cum! ‘mma cu-uuh, fuck-fuck!”

 “It’s okay, sweet boy,” you jerked him firmly with one hand and pulled down the bow of your panties, exposing your plump mound. “Cum right here, I wan’ feel you cum on me.” you slipped his tip between your pussy lips, a low, wet, squelching noise added to his moans now.

 To yours and the raunchy sounds that swirled in between.

 “Sweet-sweetheart!” Sanji squeaked, bucking his hips widely, your pussy smearing wet kisses all over his cock. Hot and squishy and so so delicious his orgasm crashed through him like a tidal wave, surging and pulsing and dousing him with a pleasure that raked a voiceless cry— splatting his cum in your panties and slathering your slit with gooey, icky glops of his release. Your panties filled with both stains of arousal.

“Good boy.” your kisses feathered over his rapid pulse, the praises almost as gentle as your lips. “Such a good boy, shh. I got you, hun.”

 Sanji held you close, shivering through his climax, pitifully cowering his face into the warm crook of your neck until his cries settled into cute whimpers and the spots misting the corners blended into colours he could actually see.

 “Shh, you did so well, cutie.” You stroked his back, unbothered by the sweat clinging to his skin or the sticky, hot mush that was caged to your cunt. the latter tingling the nerves of your spine in an addictive way. “That felt amazing.”

 “Ye-yea?”

“Yes, hun.”

 There were a few seconds of heavy breathing, then shuffling of clothes, and suddenly, Sanji was seated back on the sofa, but the comforting weight of your plush body sat on top of him too. He liked it, it was grounding. Safe.

 Sanji held you tight, his strong arms locking you in place over his lap. Your bodies hot and tempering down ever so slowly in each other’s embrace.

 There’s was a gentle hum in the room, or maybe it was your voice, tenderly washing over him as Sanji came to grips with his body again. With the heat, the sweat and throb of arousal cooling into a low ebb in his abdomen. With the reality that you both stood in and your roles in it. But he couldn’t bring himself to care of anything else but you curling in his lap.

 You smelt nice, you played with his hair and hummed in his ear, and you felt so… so good in his arms.

 “Thank you.” he croaked after a while. Feeling satiated and satisfied sinking into your embrace, Sanji could do nothing else but whisper his thanks into your lips over and over, his kiss filled with all the gratitude of an answered prayer. “Thank you for this, for holding me. I don’t know when it got so out of hand.”

You smirked, patting his chest playfully, hoping he did not notice how your heart soared as you attempted to joke. “probably as soon as I agreed to this little game.”

 This time, Sanji’s smile beaned wide, pretty teeth shining bright. “I just can’t help myself, darlin.” he nuzzled into your cheek, savouring the intimacy. “I told you what would happen if you got too close.”

 You laughed softly, “I suppose I was warned.” You shifted in his lap, straddling him now instead with the gooey mixture flushed hot in your panties, squishing against your achy clit, it made you breathless. Eager. “If you’re a good boy—”

His stomach flipped excitedly.

 “—Maybe we’ll play again.”

 Sanji shuddered, his smile waning as his lips parted cutely. “Don’t tease me. I—”

 “SANJI! OI! I GOT THIS BIG FISH! IT HAS TWO HEADS CAN WE EAT IT?!”

“Oi, Shitty-brow! I found this buried sword, lemme cut you with it!”

 You stifled the laughter behind your hand, the cutest frown scrunching his face from their untimely interruption. Even so, you began moving to crawl off his lap before the other straw hats walked in with their treasures, but Sanji gripped your wrist, his pleading stare shooting familiar sparks in your core.

 “Promise we’ll do this again?”

You smiled warmly, leaning in for a kiss only to swipe your tongue upon his bottom lip, “Yes, and it will stay just between us.”

 Sanji blushed, savouring the taste of you on his own tongue. “Yea, of course. Just between us, darlin’.”

 This time, you stood up to leave, but not without one final look over your shoulder, “just like your cum soaking my panties right now.”

 You quickly slipped out of the room before anyone could notice, twirling your shoe as the sound of a heavy thud crashed behind you and the boys shouts followed shortly after.

 “WOW! So much blood! Was there a fight?! Are they still here?! I wanna fight!”

 “LUFFY N-NO THAT—”

 “EW SHITTY BROW! WAKE UP AND CLEAN THIS SHIT YOU PERV—”

// - tysm for the support! hopefully the tags will hold up this time:333 please do not repost or translate my stories.

um… i wrote some spicy headcannons… I uhhh 🙉

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!!

i genuinely think one of the things that contributed to the rise of anti-intellectualism is when leftists started conflating characters in a book being sexist, racist etc. with the book itself, or the author, being sexist or racist or possessing any other type of prejudice that they wrote into the book. and then one step further, accusing anyone who reads such a book of having those opinions as well lol. toddler-level media criticism

𓇢𓆸☾☼ Let me be your wings

Keigo Takami X Reader

This is based on my isekai story, and since I’m having such a hard time writing the chapters (I didn’t plan…I just started writing), HAVE THIS FOR NOW! This might be used for the story later, but for now, it’s just to show how their dynamic will be.

𓇢𓆸☾☼ Hawks had been teasing you for years.

It wasn’t just the usual banter, oh no, he had perfected the art of getting under your skin in ways no one else could. The perfectly timed winks, the way he’d drawl out, “Aww, you miss me?” whenever you texted him for mission details, the relentless nicknames that ranged from “Featherweight” to “Speed Bump” (the latter because, as he put it, you were “always in his way but never slowing him down”). He lived for it.

The mission had been a success, but it left you winded. You stood on the rooftop of a high rise, still catching your breath, while Hawks looked as unbothered as ever, stretching his arms behind his head like he’d just woken up from a nap. His feathers rustled in the evening breeze, the city lights below casting an amber glow on his face.

“You good there, champ?” he asked, smirking as he tilted his head at you.

You shot him a glare, still breathing heavily. “I just ran five blocks at full speed chasing that guy while you took a scenic flight over the skyline.”

He grinned. “Perks of having wings. Maybe you should invest in a jetpack.”

“Maybe you should do more than just provide aerial commentary next time.”

“Ohhh, attitude. Someone’s feisty when they’re exhausted,” he teased. “Tell you what, I’ll carry you next time. if you ask nicely.”

You groaned, pushing your hair out of your face. “If you ever carry me, I’m taking a pair of scissors to your wings.”

“Ouch. That’s attempted murder, y’know.”

Before you could fire back, you caught a flash of something in his hand too quick to react in time.

Your stomach dropped. “Hawks… did you just—”

Hawks flipped his phone around, displaying the screen for you to see. There it was a perfectly timed, completely unflattering shot of you mid wheeze, hair sticking to your forehead, looking like you’d just been through hell and back.

“Oh, I absolutely did,” he confirmed, his golden eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, for posterity. Gotta capture these special moments.”

Your jaw clenched. “Delete it.”

He locked his phone with a dramatic flick of his wrist and tucked it into his jacket. “Nah, I think I’ll keep it. Maybe I’ll use it as your contact photo.”

You took a threatening step forward, but he was already floating just out of reach, laughing.

“Keigo Takami, I swear—”

“Whoa, full name? I really hit a nerve, huh?” He shot you a wink before launching himself into the sky. “See you around, Speed Bump!”

You watched him disappear into the night, fists clenched. Of course working with him was always so fun but god does it make you want to scream. Hawks had just taken off, disappearing into the sky like the show off he was. You watched until he was just a dot in the distance, then sighed, shaking your head.

This whole thing was still weird. Being here, seeing all of them in real life talking, breathing, making stupid jokes at your expense. You had spent years watching them from the other side of a screen, and now you were smack in the middle of it. It was like stepping into a show you used to binge watch, except now the characters had opinions on your coffee order and occasionally stole your fries.

Your eyes drifted back to where Hawks had just been, and you huffed out a laugh. Keigo Takami. You still remembered the first time you saw him in the anime all smug grins, lazy charm, and way too cool for his own good. You also remembered groaning because, of course, he had to be attractive. And a blonde.

You sighed dramatically. “God, my type is so predictable.”

First, it had been fictional blondes. Now? Now it was very real, very smug blondes who took pictures of you at your worst and made everything look effortless. Some things never changed.

Shaking your head, you turned on your heel and headed toward the next rooftop. You had your own agency to get back to top ten heroes didn’t have time to stand around having existential crises about their anime crushes coming to life.

Still, as you leapt off the edge, you couldn’t help but mutter, “At least I have good taste.”

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

The sun dipped below the Musutafu skyline, casting streaks of gold and crimson across the sky. The city hummed beneath you and Hawks, the distant sounds of traffic and chatter blending into the cool evening breeze. Perched on the edge of a rooftop, the two of you were supposed to be on patrol, but the quiet lull of the city made it feel more like an excuse to loiter.

Hawks stretched his arms behind his head, wings twitching slightly as he scanned the streets below. “Man, it’s almost too peaceful tonight. I was hoping for at least one car chase to spice things up.”

You smirked, leaning back on your elbows. “You say that now, but the second some villain starts monologuing, you’re gonna be complaining.”

“Pfft, that’s fair.” He shot you a sideways glance, amber eyes glinting with mischief. “Though, I gotta say, spending an evening with you is its own kind of excitement.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “Flattery won’t make me buy you dinner after this, bird boy.”

He gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “Getting chicken together would be such a good idea though, here I thought we had something special.”

“Oh, we do,” you said, pulling out your phone. “And I have just the thing to prove it.”

Without another word, you tapped the screen, and soft, whimsical music began to play. The opening notes of “Let Me Be Your Wings” from Thumbelina drifted into the air, delicate and romantic.

Hawks stiffened immediately.

His feathers ruffled as he slowly turned his head to you, an expression of pure, dawning horror washing over his face.

No. No way. He knew this song. Scratch that, he really knew this song.

It had been stuck in his head more times than he cared to admit. And, worse, he had definitely imagined you singing it to him at least once. Or twice. Maybe five times. But that was beside the point.

“Let me be your wings… let me be your only love~”

You grinned at him like the devil incarnate. “C’mon, Hawks. This is our song now.”

His eye twitched. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, I’m deadly serious,” you said, placing a hand over your chest in mock sincerity. “It just fits you so perfectly. The majestic wings, the whole ‘sweeping people off their feet’ thing—”

“—I don’t sweep people off their feet—”

“—and of course, your deep, burning desire to be someone’s tiny fairy prince.”

Hawks groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You suck.”

“is this you asking?” you teased, raising the volume. “Let me take you far beyond the stars~”

His wings twitched violently. He was sweating. You can’t let them know you’ve actually thought about this, Keigo. Play it cool. Play it—

“I hate that I know every lyric to this song.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Your jaw dropped, eyes widening with glee. “Oh my god.”

“Forget I said that.”

“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” You leaned in, voice full of mock realization. “You’ve imagined yourself singing this to someone.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You so have.”

“I haven’t.”

You gasped theatrically. “Wait… have you imagined someone specifically?”

Hawks shot up so fast he nearly lost his footing on the ledge. “ALRIGHT, THAT’S ENOUGH OUT OF YOU.”

Before you could react, he grabbed the back of your collar and launched into the sky.

“WAIT—WAIT, KEIGO, I DIDN’T MEAN LITERALLY—!”

“TOO LATE, YOU’RE GETTING THE FULL THUMBELINA EXPERIENCE.”

The city blurred beneath you as he ascended, the wind whipping past as he effortlessly carried you into the night. You kicked your legs in protest, but his grip was firm, his wings beating steadily as he soared higher.

Below, your phone now abandoned on the rooftop continued playing the song, the tiny speaker projecting “We’ll see the universe and dance on Saturn’s rings~”

A civilian walking down the street paused, glancing up as your distant scream echoed overhead

“KEIGOOOOOO, PUT ME DOWNNNN—!”

As Hawks soared higher, you flailed in his grasp, wind whipping past as the city blurred below. “I WAS JUST TEASING YOU” you shouted.

“Oh, but you started this,” Hawks shot back, smirking down at you. “C’mon, you started this! You played our new song, and now I’m just giving you the full fantasy.”

“The fantasy doesn’t include me plummeting to my death, KEIGO!”

He gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “Plummeting? Please. You’re in the safest hands in Musutafu.” Then, without warning, he spun you midair.Your stomach flipped.

“KEIGO—!”

“Shhh, Thumbelina, just enjoy the moment,” he teased, effortlessly twirling you again like you weighed nothing. His golden eyes gleamed as he grinned. “Isn’t this romantic? The stars, the city lights, me your dashing, winged rescuer?”

“You’re so lucky I can’t hit you from this angle.”

Hawks only laughed, catching you with ease before adjusting his grip one arm under your legs, the other supporting your back.

“Oh wow, holding me like a bride?” you deadpanned. “Really committing to the bit, huh?”

He smirked, wings shifting as he hovered smoothly above the rooftops. “I’m just staying in character. Besides, Y/n or should I say Thumbelina, in this situation, it’s you. Small, feisty, getting swept off their feet by a very handsome flying man”

“I am not small—”

“—and tragically falling for his irresistible charm.”

You let out the longest, most exasperated sigh of your life. “I hate you.”

Hawks gasped. “You love me.”

Then he twirled you again, and this time, it was slow and dramatic, like he was dancing with you midair, like you really were some fairytale princess in his arms.

“I swear, Takami” you breathed out a little more gently.

“You’re adorable when you’re mad.”

You groaned. “I’m going to fight you when we land.”

“Aw, you wanna spend more time with me?” You smacked his shoulder, and he laughed, finally descending back toward the rooftop.

As soon as your feet hit the ground, you staggered, trying to shake off the dizziness. Hawks landed beside you, grinning like he hadn’t just been the most unbearable person alive.

“Whew, what a rush, huh?” He stretched, wings twitching. “I really think we captured the essence of the song.”

You glared. “You twirled me like a ballerina.”

“Yeah, well, you fit in my arms so nicely, what was I supposed to do?”

You inhaled sharply, pointing a warning finger at him. “If you don’t shut up, i’m telling your fans their favorite pro kidnaps people when he likes them”

Hawks gasped, “That’s so gross, you wouldn’t.”

You sighed dramatically, brushing the wind tangled hair out of your face. “Yeah, yeah. Now c’mon, bird boy, let’s get food before I report you for kidnapping.”

His feathers ruffled in amusement. “Dinner and a song?”

You side-eyed him as you picked up your phone. “Keep dreaming, fairy prince.”

“‘You know, you should make make ‘Let Me Be Your Wings’ your new ringtone for me.” he smiles from across you

You smirked. “I would.”

His eyes narrowed. “…Damn. That’s hot.”

You groaned and turned away. “I’m leaving.”

He fell into step beside you as you made your way back toward the edge of the building, still grinning like an idiot.

Blondes, man. They were gonna be the death of you.

~~~

⋆˚✿˖° ❝𝗜𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗱𝗲𝗱❞ ⋆˚✿˖°

────୨ৎ────

Gojo Satoru X reader

Geto Suguru X reader

────୨ৎ────

3. Men who listen to mitski

The way this took so much effort because i wanted a funny chronically online scene for the reader but then remembered it was 2006 and had re write like half of it

if you missed the last chapters —>masterlist

₍^. .^₎⟆ The next day, you found yourself training with Gojo, as usual. The air was thick with the sound of shuriken slicing through the air, but something was off. Gojo’s movements weren’t as fluid as usual, his energy wasn’t as contagious.

“You’re a little off today,” you commented, narrowly dodging a sudden flurry of shuriken that came your way. You grinned, trying to keep the atmosphere light, but it was clear something wasn’t right.

He flashed you a grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Am I? Maybe you’re just slow today,” he replied, his voice teasing, but there was a strange sharpness to it that made you furrow your brow.

You took a step back, studying him carefully. This wasn’t the usual Gojo. The playful tone that usually had you laughing was gone, replaced by something more… tense. But you didn’t want to focus on it. You were here to train, not to try and read his mood.

“Hey, are you okay?” you asked, trying to keep things casual.

Gojo didn’t answer. Instead, his grin morphed into something more teasing, his eyes glinting with a strange intensity. “So, last night… you had fun with Geto, huh?” he asked, voice casual, but the words cut sharper than they should’ve.

You blinked, surprised. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gojo shrugged, his expression light, but there was a tension in the air that you couldn’t ignore. “Oh, nothing,” he said. “Just noticed the jacket. You two seemed… cozy.” His grin was still in place, but there was something more biting about it now.

Your stomach tightened. That was the second time he’d mentioned Geto today. You didn’t know what was going on, but it didn’t sit right with you. “It’s just a jacket,” you said, trying to laugh it off.

His eyes narrowed, and the playful façade slipped for just a moment, revealing a flash of something deeper something that made you uncomfortable. “Hmm. Sure. But you know, you could’ve asked for my jacket. I thought we were closer. Guess I was wrong,” he muttered, almost to himself.

You felt a knot form in your chest. What was this? Why was Gojo acting like this? You weren’t even sure what was going on between you and Geto, but it didn’t feel like you’d done anything wrong. Yet, Gojo was making you feel like you had.

The next barrage of shuriken came at you, and you barely dodged in time. One grazed your shoulder, and you winced, irritation bubbling up. You tried to shake it off and focus on the fight. “Are you gonna keep throwing these until you get it out of your system?” you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady despite the unease creeping up your spine.

Gojo tilted his head, his eyes sharp. “What, are you mad?” His tone was light, but there was an edge to it now. “I just didn’t expect you to be all… buddy-buddy with him. It’s cute though, you two matching. Really sweet.”

You gritted your teeth, frustration flooding in. “What’s your problem, Gojo?”

“My problem?” He threw another shuriken at you, sharper, faster than the others. “You’re my problem. You—” He stopped himself, clearly realizing too late he’d said something more than he’d meant to. “You know what? Never mind. Just keep dodging.”

Another barrage came at you, but you avoided them with ease, though your patience was starting to wear thin. You weren’t going to let him throw you off track, but you could feel the growing tension between you.

“Gojo,” you began again, trying to force some calm into your voice, “What’s going on with you today?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he just stood there, his usual nonchalance slowly returning, but it was forced, like he was trying too hard to keep up the front. “Nothing,” he muttered, his tone flat. “I’m just messing with you. Nothing’s going on.”

You narrowed your eyes, seeing through the cracks in his mask. There was something he wasn’t saying, and it was frustrating the hell out of you. “Look,” you said, taking a deep breath, “If you’ve got an issue with me or with Geto, just say it. I’m not gonna guess at what you’re thinking.”

Gojo flashed you that signature grin, the one that always made you feel like everything was fine, like nothing was too serious, but this time it felt like he wasn’t trying to comfort you “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m just here to make you sweat. Keep up.”

But there was no real challenge in his voice anymore. His movements were slow, almost lazy, and you could tell he wasn’t really pushing you anymore. He was holding back, but you had no idea why.

The frustration was bubbling up inside you, a sense of unease you couldn’t shake. “Don’t give me that. You’ve never acted like this before.” You stepped forward, trying to keep your tone steady, but it was hard with the emotions swirling. “So, what’s going on, Gojo? Why are you acting like this?”

For a moment, Gojo’s grin faltered, just barely, before he quickly masked it with another casual shrug. “Nothing,” he repeated. “I’m just messing with you.”

You stood there for a moment, unsure whether to push further or to drop it. The problem was, you couldn’t drop it, not when you could see something shifting beneath the surface. You had no idea if it was jealousy, frustration, or something else entirely, but something was off, and it wasn’t just with him.

You bit your lip, trying to push the sinking feeling down. Maybe today wasn’t the day for answers, but you knew Gojo had something on his mind.

Then, just as you were about to take another step, you felt the sharp sting from your shoulder, the spot where the shuriken had grazed you earlier. You winced, holding your arm as you glanced at Gojo. He noticed, immediately dropping his teasing demeanor and stepping forward.

“Hey,” he said, his tone suddenly soft, all traces of the previous tension gone. “Let me see.” His voice was unexpectedly gentle, and you could hear the concern, even though he was trying to hide it.

You hesitated for a second before pulling your hand away, letting him check the cut. Gojo gently ran his fingers over the wound, his touch surprisingly careful. His usual cocky grin had disappeared, replaced by a quiet intensity as he inspected it.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his brow furrowed slightly.

You shook your head, a little stunned by the sudden shift. “It’s fine, Gojo. It’s just a scratch.”

He didn’t seem convinced, still looking at the injury like it was more serious than it was. “Still,” he muttered, “don’t want you hurt, okay?” he lets out a small sigh “especially by me.”

You watched him, confused by the sudden change in mood. A second ago, he’d been throwing jabs at you, both literal and verbal and now here he was, tending to you like it was nothing.

You tried to read him, but Gojo’s face was a mask again, the playful grin returning even if it didn’t quite match his eyes. “cmon let’s get it wrapped up,” he said, his tone returning to its usual cocky cadence.

You stayed silent for a moment, trying to piece everything together. But Gojo didn’t seem to want to dive any deeper. He gave you one last look, and you could almost hear the unsaid words in the air between you, but he turned away quickly, dragging you without another word.

You followed, still holding your shoulder, the weight of everything left unsaid hanging heavily in the air.

—

a few years previously

It was a warm summer afternoon, the sun casting a golden glow over the playground where you and Gojo had spent countless hours together since childhood. The two of you were sprawled out on the grass, the faint smell of fresh cut grass mixing with the summer air. You lay side by side, heads tilted back, eyes staring up at the sky, watching the clouds drift lazily by.

“Hey, remember when we used to pretend we were superheroes?” Gojo asked, his voice light, as if it was just yesterday that you both had made up all kinds of ridiculous adventures.

You chuckled, turning your head to look at him. “Yeah, and you always insisted on being the most powerful one, even when I was clearly the more strategic one.”

He shot you a teasing grin, his white hair falling messily across his forehead. “Well I am the most powerful so I had to be the strong one. You needed someone to protect you.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Please, I was always the one saving you. You had no idea how to plan. I was the brains of the operation.”

Gojo laughed, the sound carefree, like it always was when the two of you were together. “Fine, fine. You were the brains, and I was the muscle.”

“Yeah, I can’t fight you on that one,” you agreed, smiling softly.

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence, the memories of childhood games and adventures playing in your mind like a movie you couldn’t stop watching. It felt strange to think about how things were about to change, how high school would be the next step for both of you, separating you from the simplicity of these carefree days.

“Hey, you think we’ll still hang out after we start high school?” Gojo asked suddenly, his voice quieter now, like he was considering something a little more serious than usual.

You shifted, propping yourself up on one elbow to look at him more closely. “Of course we will,” you said with confidence, though part of you was unsure, a little nervous. “We’ve been close since we were little. That’s not going to change just because we go to high school.”

Gojo turned his head to face you, his blue eyes unusually soft. “Yeah, but what if everyone else is… different? What if we’re not as close as we were?”

You smiled, giving him a small, reassuring nudge. “Gojo, we’ve always been close. No matter what happens, that’s not going to change. We’re always going to be us.”

He smiled back, a little brighter this time, though there was a flicker of uncertainty behind his eyes that only you seemed to catch. “Yeah. You’re right.”

You both lay back down, your fingers brushing for a moment before you settled into the grass again, the sound of the wind in the trees the only noise filling the space between you. It was moments like these that made you feel like time would never move forward, like nothing could ever pull the two of you apart.

As you both lay there, it was clear, no matter what high school would bring, you and Gojo would always be close. That bond was unshakable. And even as life would change, as it always did, you knew that it would never quite change the way you felt when you were together.

—

After practice, the tension that had settled between you and Gojo still lingered, but it was quieter now, more subdued. The usual spark in his eyes was a little dimmer, his usual cocky grin tucked away. “Hey,” Gojo finally spoke, breaking the quiet, though his voice wasn’t as playful as usual. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “You’re apologizing now?”

He shrugged, running a hand through his messy white hair. “I don’t know. Just… being a little much today, I guess. Got in my own head for no reason.”

You glanced at him, still unsure what was going on. “You’ve been weird since practice. What happened?”

Gojo sighed, glancing ahead as if unsure how to explain himself. “I don’t know. Maybe I just didn’t like how things were last night. With Geto, I mean. I wasn’t mad, but… I guess I felt a little weird about it.”

You blinked, trying to piece it together. “Weird how? You think I did something wrong?”

“No, no, not that,” Gojo said quickly, shaking his head. “It’s just that you two seemed so… comfortable. It’s like I wasn’t part of the picture, y’know?” He stopped walking for a second, looking at the ground like he was thinking it over. “I guess I just got a little insecure about it, but that’s on me, not you.”

The confession hung in the air, and for a moment, you were silent, letting it sink in. “You don’t need to worry about that. I mean, we’re all friends, right? Geto and I… we were just talking. Nothing more.”

Gojo’s eyes softened slightly, and he nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know. It was dumb. But sometimes I get caught up in my own head, and things just get weird. I don’t want to make things uncomfortable.”

You smiled gently, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s fine. Just don’t go making assumptions, okay? If something’s bothering you, just talk to me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Gojo flashed a small smile at that, but it wasn’t his usual smirk. It was quieter, more thoughtful. “Yeah. I guess I need to stop overthinking stuff.”

You both continued walking, the silence between you now more comfortable. “So, are we good now?” you asked, breaking the quiet again.

Gojo nodded. “Yeah, we’re good. I’ll try not to be such a pain in the ass next time.”

You laughed softly, nudging him with your elbow. “Just don’t be a jerk. That’s all I ask.”

He grinned then, the familiar playful glint returning to his eyes, though it was tempered with something more sincere now. “Deal. But you know you love me anyway.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Sure, sure. You’re my idiot.”

Gojo chuckled, the tension between you now feeling like a distant memory. “Yeah, and I’m fine with that.”

The two of you continued walking, The day had just started and nobody like gojo could make you feel so much in such little time.

—————

Shoko Ieiri never asked to be the unwilling audience to whatever tragic, slow burn, one sided romantic drama her two idiot best friends were trying to pull off. But alas, here she was in the front row seat to the disaster. So let’s present a four part mini opera of watching a dumpster fire puke out babies.

Act One:

It was another regular morning at Jujutsu High. The classroom was quiet, everyone minding their business, trying to get through the day without anything too ridiculous happening. Wishful thinking. Because on the other side of the room, Y/n was drumming their pencil against the desk, humming a tune.

Gojo leaned in, ever so smooth, flashing his usual grin. “Hey, Y/n, what do you say we grab lunch together? Just the two of us?”

Ah, there it was. The daily delusion. Shoko sighed, resting her chin in her palm, waiting for the inevitable crash and burn.

Y/n turned, their face with confusion, not with realization, but pure, innocent excitement. “Gojo, don’t we all eat lunch together everyday? that’s like a no brainer.”

Gojo’s grin faltered for half a second before he recovered. “…Yeah… sure, whatever. You’re just so fun to be around, Y/n. It’s never a harm to ask” He threw in a wink, as if that was going to help.

Shoko took a slow sip from her water bottle . Pathetic. Then looking at her bottle, the stickers all plastered were from you every time you go out to the city in tokyo. You always bring back one for her

Looking back up you were already turning away to her direction. “Hey, Shoko, did you watch that episode of Nana I was telling you about? It was so good!”

Gojo blinked. Shoko stared.

Amazing. That was a direct hit. Instant death. No jujutsu technique needed.

Gojo slumped over his desk, muttering something about how he was right there and you could talk about that show with him while Shoko just smirked. This was getting entertaining.

Act Two:

Between classes, everyone filtered through the hallways, chatting, stretching, or plotting how to sneak past Yaga’s next lecture. But Shoko? She was once again a reluctant bystander to whatever foolishness Geto was about to attempt.

Geto, the smooth talker, slid in with an almost dramatic tone. “So, there’s this new café that opened up downtown. Maybe we could check it out later today? I’m know you’d love the desserts.”

Now, a normal person would recognize this for what it was, an invitation, a clear attempt at spending time together, possibly even a date.

Y/n was not a normal person.

“Oh! I love desserts! But—” They suddenly stopped, looking deep in thought. “Oh! I still have some cookies left from last week’s batch. I should probably finish those before they get stale.”

Geto blinked, his calculated charm thrown completely off course. “Uh, yeah. I guess that would be a smart thing to do.”

Shoko stifled a laugh. Geto, you absolute fool. You thought you were different?

He tried again, nudging them slightly. “But if you do decide to ditch the cookies, I’ll happily accompany you”

Y/n grinned. “That sounds fun, but I really do love my cookies.”

And there it is. Another fatality.

Geto sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Right, right…”

Act Three:

By the afternoon, the four of them had gathered in the courtyard, basking in the rare moment of peace before things inevitably went to hell again. Shoko, once again, sat back to enjoy the train wreck unfold.

Gojo tried first. “So, I was thinking… We could go out for ice cream later. Just the two of us.”

A good attempt. Direct, casual. Maybe this time?

“Ice cream? Oh, that sounds fun!” Y/n nodded, and for a brief moment, hope glimmered in Gojo’s eyes. But then.

“Though I should probably focus on dinner first. Maybe I should stop by the store later for ingredients.”

Gojo smiled, but it was strained. “Yeah… sure, ingredients for dinner.” He shot Geto a please, I’m dying here look, but Geto only shrugged.

Geto leaned in, voice smooth as always. “Honestly, you should just let me take you out to dinner instead. We know by now I know all the best spots. No need to worry about cooking.”

Y/n blinked before smiling. “Oh! That’s so sweet of you, Geto! But, I swear, I’m so bad at picking good places”

Here it comes, Shoko thought, already knowing where this was headed.

“—Like, I thought that noodle place last week was a great idea, and then it was super salty, and—”

Geto chuckled, exasperated. “Yeah, well, that’s why I said i’ll just take you to the best places. No more bad decisions.”

“Wow, you’re are so thoughtful!” Y/n beamed. “Maybe we should all go together, huh? That would be fun!”

Gojo and Geto exchanged a silent look.

They’re not gonna make it.

Shoko sighed, tossing her cigarette away.

Act Four:

Later that afternoon, everyone was gathered at the training grounds, but the real battle had nothing to do with cursed techniques. It was the ongoing war of Will she ever take a hint?

Spoiler: No.

Gojo leaned toward Geto, whispering, “This is getting ridiculous. I should just straight up ask.”

Geto sighed. “Nah. If she’s not getting it now, she never will. just need to wait for the perfect moment.”

Meanwhile, Y/n practically skipped past them, grinning. “Hey, Gojo, Geto! After training, you wanna come watch me try this new recipe I found? I bet it’ll be fun!”

Gojo and Geto exchanged yet another defeated glance before sighing in unison.

Shoko exhaled, flicking her lighter open and shut. Idiots. All of them. But at least it was entertaining.

Maybe one day they’d figure it out.

…Probably not.

—-

The sun beginning to set as you and Geto found yourselves finishing up with the day’s training. Most of the students had already scattered, and Gojo had disappeared to God knows where, leaving just you and Geto alone in the training grounds.

You were still bouncing around with that same vibrant energy, talking about all sorts of things, mostly food, as usual. Geto watched you for a moment, a smirk on his lips. He had tried so many times to ask you out subtly, to flirt here and there, but you were always too distracted by something else, too bubbly to catch the hints.

He sighed softly, running a hand through his black hair. It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying your company, it was exactly the opposite. You were easy to be around, your endless energy infectious, and his patience had reached its limit.

You turned to him, noticing the way he was looking at you. “What’s up, Geto? You look like you’re thinking hard about something.”

He took a step closer, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made you blink in surprise. “Alright, enough of this.” He said it bluntly, no more jokes or subtle hints. “Listen, you and I are making ramen tonight. Just us. No Gojo, no distractions. We’re doing this.”

You tilted your head, completely oblivious to the seriousness in his voice. “Ramen? Ooh, sounds fun! Wait, do you mean like, together together?” You asked, your enthusiasm growing.

Geto felt a small chuckle bubble up. “Yeah, together together.” He mimicked your tone, feeling a little ridiculous at how long he’d been trying to get you to notice the actual intentions behind his words. “Just the two of us. We’re cooking. No interruptions.”

It finally clicked. He could see the sparkle in your eyes as your face lit up. “Oh! That sounds amazing! I love making ramen! We can make it super spicy, and I’ll bring the snacks!!”

He paused, staring at you for a moment as the realization hit him: Maybe he had been going about it all wrong. You weren’t the kind of person who needed subtlety or flirty comments to catch on. No, you needed directness.

“Exactly,” Geto said, a little more softly, his usual teasing smile playing on his lips. “Just you and me. No distractions. We’ll make the perfect ramen.”

You bounced on your heels, the excitement in your voice palpable. “Yes! I’m so down. Let’s make it a fun night! I promise I’ll keep the kitchen mess to a minimum… well, mostly.” You laughed, already imagining how the night would go.

Geto shook his head fondly, a warm smile finally tugging at his lips. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

As the two of you walked off together to gather ingredients, he couldn’t help but feel a bit lighter. Maybe it wasn’t about trying so hard to get your attention. Maybe it was just about spending time together, letting things unfold naturally. Tonight was a start, at least.

And as you skipped ahead, chattering excitedly about ramen, Geto’s heart did something strange, something he hadn’t quite expected. Maybe this was the way to get closer to you after all.

—-

The quiet hum of the city outside was drowned out by the bubbling broth on the stove and your excited rambling about spice levels.

Suguru found himself watching you more than actually cooking. You were fully in your element, tossing ingredients into the pot with reckless confidence, tasting as you went, adjusting flavors with an enthusiasm that made him smile.

He wasn’t sure when it had started, this thing where he always tried to pull your attention toward him. maybe it was when he first laid his eye on you. He could never tell. Being around you warped his sense of composure Maybe it was back when Gojo first took an interest in you loud, obnoxious, and always draped over your shoulder, demanding your attention.

Suguru had done the same, in his own way. Casual compliments, lingering glances, even slipping little jokes into conversations that only you would catch. But no matter what, you never seemed to pick up on it. If Gojo did the exact same thing, you just laughed, played along, as if it was all part of the game.

Had you ever noticed that Suguru was trying just as hard? That he had been fighting for your attention this whole time?

“Suguru,” your voice cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. You were holding a ladle out to him, expectantly. “Taste test.”

He blinked, then leaned down, taking a careful sip. The broth was rich, spicy, just a little too much heat but that was exactly how you liked it.

You grinned at him. “Good, right?”

He licked his lips, letting the flavor settle before nodding. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

Your grin widened as you turned back to the stove, humming to yourself.

Suguru exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. Maybe all this time, he had been making things too complicated. Maybe it wasn’t about trying to win your attention over Gojo’s, or proving something to himself. Maybe it was just about moments like this standing next to you, cooking together, existing in a space that was just yours.

He reached over, plucking a noodle from the pot before you could swat his hand away.

“Hey!” You huffed, glaring playfully. “Patience, Geto.”

He smirked, chewing as he leaned against the counter. “I’ve been patient for a long time.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was warmth in your expression. “Well, it’s paying off now, isn’t it?”

Suguru paused. Then, a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. Yeah. Maybe it was.

—

Suguru smirked as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed as he watched you fuss over the ramen. The way you were talking fast paced, slightly dramatic, and full of over the top confidence reminded him of someone else.

“You know,” he said casually, “I’m starting to think that when Gojo isn’t around, you just turn into a mini version of him.”

You froze mid-stir, turning to face him with an exaggerated gasp. “Excuse me?”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “Think about it. You get loud, overly confident, and act like you’re the star of the show. Sound familiar?”

You pointed the ladle at him, scandalized. “I do not act like Satoru.”

Suguru chuckled. “You literally just did the dramatic gasp he does whenever someone insults him.”

Your mouth opened to argue, but then you paused, replaying your own reaction in your head. A look of horror crossed your face. “Oh my God.”

“There it is,” Suguru teased, laughing. “Acceptance is the first step.”

You groaned, dramatically slumping against the counter. “This is terrible. I can’t be like him! I have dignity!”

“Uh huh.” Suguru rolled his eyes. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You grumbled under your breath as you went back to stirring the ramen. “I don’t even wear ugly sunglasses like he does.”

“Yet.”

You whipped around and flicked a droplet of broth at him, making him dodge back with a laugh.

“This is slander,” you huffed, but there was amusement in your eyes. “I’m way cooler than Satoru.”

Suguru hummed, pretending to think. “Eh. Debatable.”

You scoffed, shoving him lightly. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here I am, spending my night with you instead of doing literally anything else.”

You paused at that, blinking up at him. Suguru realized a second too late how genuine that had sounded.

You tilted your head. “Is that your way of saying you like spending time with me?”

Suguru clicked his tongue, turning back to the counter to hide his face. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, mini Satoru.”

You snorted, bumping his shoulder before going back to the ramen. “Whatever you say. Regular boring sized Suguru”

He sighed, shaking his head but he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips.

He wasn’t sure why, but something about this moment felt… different. The usual teasing from Gojo was absent, no one else was around to interrupt, and for once, he had your attention all to himself.

“You keep staring,” you said suddenly, not looking up from the pot.

Suguru blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah? Maybe I just like watching you cook.”

You snorted, finally glancing at him. “You’re just waiting for me to mess something up, aren’t you?”

“Now why would I do that?” He grinned, but the truth was, he hadn’t even thought about the mess you were inevitably going to make. His mind had been too preoccupied with something else something he hadn’t quite figured out how to say yet.

You waved a hand at him. “Okay, okay, taste test round two.” You scooped up a bit of broth and held the spoon out. “Be honest.”

Suguru leaned in, lips brushing the spoon as he took a slow sip. Your eyes were locked on him, waiting expectantly.

“…It’s good.”

“That’s it?” You frowned, tilting your head. “Just ‘good’?”

Suguru held back a chuckle. “It’s really good.”

You beamed. “That’s better.”

Silence settled for a moment, broken only by the occasional bubbling of the pot. Suguru knew he should say something should bring up the fact that he wasn’t here just because of the ramen, that he wasn’t just tagging along for fun. But the words felt… stuck.

He’d spent so long trying to get you to notice him, to see him the way he saw you. But Gojo was always there, taking up space, making everything a competition. Suguru had been competing without even realizing it.

Maybe it wasn’t a competition at all. Maybe it was just this.

“You’re thinking really hard about something again,” you pointed out, nudging him with your elbow. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Suguru scoffed. “Very funny.”

“I am funny,” you shot back before turning back to the stove, humming to yourself.

Suguru hesitated, then reached out, lightly tugging at the sleeve of your uniform.

You blinked, looking up at him in confusion. “What?”

For once, Suguru didn’t try to be subtle.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

You tilted your head. “thank you? what do you mean”

He chuckled. “for… being yourself. with me, I’m glad it’s just us.”

Your expression softened, and for a moment, Suguru thought just maybe you finally understood what he meant.

You smiled. “Me too.”

And for now, that was enough.

You and Geto leaned back in your chairs, full and satisfied after your surprisingly successful attempt at making ramen. The kitchen was a complete disaster, a few stray noodles on the floor, and broth splashed in places you definitely didn’t remember spilling it

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you grinned. “Okay, I’m not gonna lie… that might’ve been one of the best meals I’ve had in a while.”

Geto stretched his arms behind his head, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. “I’ll admit, I’m impressed. This turned out better than I expected. Though… I’m still not sure how I feel about all the weird internet jokes you kept throwing in.”

You gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? Those are top tier. Don’t act like you didn’t laugh when I said, ‘I like turtles.’”

“I laughed because it was random,” he said, shaking his head, though amusement flickered in his eyes. “Honestly, I’m starting to think you spend too much time online.”

You scoffed. “Hey, just because you don’t appreciate the beauty of Charlie the Unicorn doesn’t mean I have a problem.”

Geto groaned. “That was disturbing. You made me watch a video about a unicorn getting its kidney stolen.”

“It’s iconic,” you corrected. “If you don’t know about Charlie, You don’t deserve the internet at all”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s kinda the goal.”

You shook your head in mock disappointment. “Wow. So you’re telling me you don’t even check MySpace every day?”

“Nope.”

You gasped again. “You don’t even… wait, do you even have a MySpace?”

Geto smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Oh my God. You don’t, do you?” You pointed at him. “You’re a MySpace hater.”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t say I hate it. I just don’t see the point of telling the whole world my favorite song and ranking my friends.”

“You are so lucky we made good ramen, or else I’d be rethinking this friendship.”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “I’ll live.”

You slumped dramatically in your chair. “This is honestly tragic. You probably don’t even know about ‘Peanut Butter Jelly Time.’”

Geto rolled his eyes, but he was clearly holding back a laugh. “I know about it. And I regret knowing about it.”

“You just have no taste,” you said with a grin, finishing off the last bit of broth in your bowl. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to educate you properly. By the end of this year, you’ll be quoting ‘The End of the World’ without even realizing it.”

He gave you a side glance. “If that happens, I need you to know that it’s entirely your fault.”

“Obviously,” you said proudly.

Geto shook his head, his smirk softening. “Still, I gotta admit… all this internet nonsense? It makes you you.”

You paused, stomach flipping slightly at the unexpected sincerity in his tone.

“Wow,” you teased, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. “You’re getting all sentimental on me now?”

He shrugged. “Just telling the truth.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re still insufferable.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning a little softer. “You love it.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh. “If you say so. But I’m still not forgiving you for all that slander against early internet culture.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find some way to get back at me,” Geto said, moving to clear the dishes like it was no big deal. “But for now, I’ll give you the win. The ramen was good.”

You leaned back in your chair, watching him. “You’re not half bad yourself, you know.”

He met your gaze, smiling in that quiet, knowing way of his. “Maybe next time, I’ll teach you how to cook something special. Not just ramen.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You just wanna flex your superior cooking skills.”

“Maybe,” he said with a wink as he rinsed his bowl. “Or maybe I just like spending time with you.”

Your heart did a weird little flip. He didn’t even seem to realize what he’d just said, but it hit you harder than you expected.

You blinked, covering it up with an easy smirk. “Oh? And here I thought I was the one keeping things interesting.”

He shot you a teasing look over his shoulder. “You do. That’s why I keep coming back.”

But then, with a final chuckle, Geto turned back to the sink, and the moment passed. You exhaled, pushing yourself up to help him clean. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you have this one.”

“Good,” he said with that infuriatingly smug smile. “You know I don’t like to lose.”

You rolled your eyes, but your grin stayed put. now busy packing away the leftovers from your ramen experiment, the kitchen finally settling into some semblance of order after the chaos of cooking. Humming to yourself, you scraped the last of the broth into a container, already thinking about what to do next.

“Hey,” you called over your shoulder, “we should have a movie night. You, me, Gojo, and Shoko. It’ll be fun.”

At the sink, Geto let out a small, barely audible sigh as he wiped down the counter. It was so subtle you almost missed it, but something about the way his shoulders tensed made you glance over at him. He didn’t say anything, just kept scrubbing at an already clean spot like it had personally offended him.

“Movie night?” you repeated, a little softer now. “It’s been a while since we all hung out. We can watch something dumb like She’s the Man or Napoleon Dynamite, just eat snacks and chill.”

Another pause. This time, you caught the way his jaw tensed before he exhaled.

“You in?” you asked, tilting your head, trying to read him.

“Yeah, sounds great,” he replied, but his voice was flat, and when he put the dishcloth down, he did it with way too much care like he was making an effort not to be rough with it.

Something was definitely off.

You smiled at him anyway, hoping to lighten the mood. “Awesome! I’ll text everyone and see what they wanna watch.”

Grabbing your phone, you started typing, but you kept sneaking glances at Geto. He had moved to the fridge now, but instead of grabbing anything, he just stared inside like it would tell him what to do next. His fingers tapped idly against the door, and his expression was distant, like he wasn’t really present.

You hesitated before speaking again. “Hey,” you said gently, “are you okay?”

He blinked, snapping out of whatever thought had him distracted. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Just tired.”

You didn’t entirely believe him, but you also didn’t want to push. Instead, you softened your approach. “too much ramen?”

He gave a small shrug. “Something like that.”

You hummed in understanding. “Well, no pressure. If you don’t feel up for a movie night, I can make up some excuse to cancel. Ill say gojos ego gave me a headache or something.”

That got a small chuckle out of him brief, but there. “Tempting,” he admitted, closing the fridge without taking anything. “But it’s fine. I don’t mind hanging out.”

You smiled. “Good. But if you do want to dip early or just chill instead of watching some dumb comedy, just say the word, okay?”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for the first time that evening, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a little. “Alright,” he said, softer this time. “Thanks.”

Feeling like you’d at least chipped away at whatever was bothering him, you turned back to your phone. “Cool. Everyone’s in. We’ll start at eight.”

He nodded, walking over to lean against the counter, watching as you set your phone down. He seemed calmer now, but there was still something unreadable in his expression.

“You want me to pick up snacks?” you asked, glancing at him.

“No need,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve got it covered.”

You studied him for a second, then decided to let it go. Instead, you grinned. “Alright, cool. Then I’ll focus on setting up the couch. You know how Gojo is about his pillow arrangements.”

That actually got another small smirk out of him, and he shook his head in mild exasperation. “Yeah. He acts like he needs a throne to watch a movie.”

You laughed. “Exactly! Which is why I will be taking the best spot before he gets here.”

Geto just shook his head again, but there was warmth behind his usual sarcasm this time.

You grabbed a blanket from the corner and started draping it over the couch. “Okay, so what do you wanna watch?”

He shrugged. “I’m fine with whatever.”

You gave him a pointed look. “Come on. You always have opinions about movies. What’s your guilty pleasure pick?”

He rolled his eyes but smirked slightly. “I don’t have one.”

You gasped dramatically. “Not even The Lizzie McGuire Movie?”

“Not a chance.”

“Alright, what about High School Musical?”

“Still no.”

You huffed. “You hate joy.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t hate joy. I just don’t need to watch a bunch of teenagers dramatically singing about basketball.”

“Fine,” you said, dramatically flopping onto the couch. “Then you pick something.”

He thought for a second, then finally said, “How about Pirates of the Caribbean?”

You perked up. “Okay, solid choice. Jack Sparrow is iconic.”

Geto smirked. “Exactly.”

—

You were digging through your closet, feeling content now that the tension from earlier had faded a little. “This is gonna be fun,” you murmured, pulling a blanket out and throwing it on the bed.

From across the room, Geto hesitated, watching you. The frustration that had been lingering in his expression all night seemed to finally fade, replaced by something quieter something softer.

He didn’t say anything, just shook his head to himself before heading to grab the dishes. “Yeah,” he muttered, almost too quiet for you to hear. “It will be.”

—

adjusting the TV, making sure everything was perfect for the upcoming movie night. The room was cozy, blankets spread across the floor, pillows carefully arranged on the couch. You had even set up a snack station chips, candy, and, of course, a bowl of ramen (leftovers from earlier). Satisfied, you were just about to sit down and relax when

BAM!

Gojo burst through the door like a human hurricane, his usual cocky grin stretched across his face, eyes alight with excitement.

Before you could react

WHAM!

He scooped you up effortlessly, lifting you clean off the ground like some kind of overexcited golden retriever in human form.

“Movie night!” he shouted, his voice way too loud for the small space. “It’s starting! Let’s gooooo!”

You let out a surprised squeal, kicking your legs as you tried to break free. “Gojo! What the hell? Put me down!”

But he only laughed, spinning you around like a ragdoll. “You were taking too long! We gotta get in the zone mentally, physically, spiritually—”

“You’re gonna break my back, you psycho!”

From the couch, Geto watched the scene unfold with mild amusement, lazily popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. His expression was unreadable, but the way he leaned back with an arm draped over the back of the couch told you he was thoroughly entertained.

“Gojo, let her breathe,” Geto finally said, though his voice held no real urgency. “We do still need her conscious for the movie.”

Gojo scoffed but finally let you go, dropping you onto a pile of pillows with exaggerated care. “There. Safe and sound!”

You huffed, pushing your hair out of your face as you shot him a glare. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you keep inviting me back,” he teased, plopping down beside you like he hadn’t just thrown you around like a wrestling dummy.

Shaking your head, you turned to Geto. “Can you believe him?”

Geto smirked. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Gojo gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like he’d been wounded. “Betrayed. By my own best friends.”

“Shoko’s not even here yet,” you pointed out, looking at the clock. “She’s late as always.”

Geto hummed. “Classic Shoko.”

“Alright, alright, what are we watching?” Gojo said, grabbing the remote and scrolling aimlessly through the DVD menu. “Because I vote Shrek. A classic. Iconic. Timeless.”

Geto groaned. “We watched that last time and we already decided a movie.”

“Yeah, because it’s good,” Gojo argued. “What else are we gonna watch? The Notebook?” He made an exaggerated gagging sound.

You rolled your eyes. “like something with actual adventure? Like Pirates of the Caribbean?”

At that, both Gojo and Geto perked up slightly.

“Oh,” Gojo said, considering it. “You know what? That is a solid choice.”

Geto nodded.

You grinned. “Great, then it’s settled. Captain Jack Sparrow it is.”

As you pressed play, the usual chaos settled into a comfortable stillness. The glow of the TV flickered across the room, casting warm shadows on the walls. The energy from earlier had finally evened out, leaving only the familiar quiet of good company.

Gojo, predictably, ended up sprawled next to you, his head resting against your shoulder like he’d done it a thousand times before. He hadn’t even asked, just flopped down with a content sigh, making himself at home.

Meanwhile, Geto had claimed his usual spot infront of you, his posture relaxed but still composed, his eyes half lidded as he absently ate from the bowl of popcorn in his lap.

Shoko, having arrived late as usual, was already half asleep, curled up on the floor in a pile of pillows. The quiet rise and fall of her breathing mixed with the sounds of the movie playing in the background.

Gojo shifted slightly, pressing closer, his arm draping lazily over your side. “You make a great headrests,” he murmured, half awake.

You huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t move away. “You’re lucky I tolerate you.”

“I know,” he sighed, fully content.

Geto, looking back from his spot, shook his head in mild exasperation, As the movie played on, the world outside seemed to fade. You, Gojo, Geto, and Shoko just the four of you, tangled in blankets, sharing warmth and quiet moments that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

In the soft silence of the room, you felt the small, intimate moments that made this all feel so right. Gojo’s head, warm and heavy against your shoulder, the gentle movement of his hand as it brushed against your side occasionally, a reminder that even in his antics, he still found peace in being close to you. Geto’s calm presence, so steady, grounding The feeling of being wrapped in their presence was quiet, comforting.

Gojo shifted again, scooting just a little closer, his body curling into you with an ease that made you smile despite yourself. You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there, but you realized the movie was mostly a background noise now, the quiet comfort of their presence making everything else fade away.

You absentmindedly ran your fingers through gojo’s hair, the softness of it a comforting distraction. His bright strands slipped through your fingers, each motion slow and deliberate. It was soothing his hair, the steady sound of the movie in the background, the rhythmic rise and fall of Gojo’s breathing as he laid next to you, perfectly at ease. It felt like the world outside had disappeared for a while.

You glanced at Shoko, who had sprawled herself out on the floor in a nest of pillows. Her usual indifference was replaced with a rare, unbothered expression, her eyes closed as she softly snored, blissfully unaware of the world. You couldn’t help but smile inwardly. Of course, she’s asleep already.

——

Geto’s footsteps were silent as he made his way to the door, but even in the quiet, he couldn’t quite escape the feeling that settled in his chest. He paused for a moment, glancing back at the scene in front of him. The room was still, save for the soft rise and fall of your breathing as you lay peacefully between Gojo’s arms. Gojo had shifted so that he was fully curled around you, his head resting gently on top of yours, as if you were always meant to be this close. Your soft breaths were a contrast to the rhythmic rise and fall of Gojo’s chest, which seemed impossibly calm despite the chaos of their lives.

For a moment, Geto stood there, just watching. There was something so comforting about the image of you nestled in Gojo’s arms. It was peaceful. It was perfect. But it made something twist inside him something old, something familiar. Something that had always been there, lurking, every time he let his heart wander too far into thoughts of you.

You had always been Gojo’s, whether you’d known it or not. The bond they shared had always been clear, too strong to ignore. Geto wasn’t foolish enough to pretend it wasn’t. They’d always been together friends, partners in everything from training to missions and while Geto knew his place, he couldn’t help but want more. He wanted more than just being the second person in the room. More than always being the one to stand in Gojo’s shadow, even when he told himself it was fine, it was enough.

And yet, despite the ache, despite the pull of his emotions that made his chest tight, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. Not from you. Not from this.

His eyes softened, his gaze lingering on you as you lay between Gojo’s arms, still unaware of his presence. He wished, for just a moment, that things were different. That you could see it the way he did see him the way he wanted you to. But it was easier to be the one in the background. It was safer, less complicated.

You were happy like this, with Gojo, and Geto could never bring himself to take that away from you.

But there was always that gnawing feeling, that silent, quiet resentment that clung to him. The bitter realization that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he might want it, he was always going to be the one left behind. The second option. The one who watched from the sidelines as Gojo took what he wanted what you wanted.

He swallowed hard, turning his back to the room, his fingers brushing lightly against the doorframe. He let out a soft, almost inaudible exhale. “Maybe next time,” he whispered to himself, his voice barely a murmur.

He didn’t give up. Not on you, not on his feelings, not on his place in your life.

But tonight, as he watched Gojo protectively curl around you, the ache in his chest was a little more difficult to ignore. And for a moment, just a moment, Geto let himself feel it let himself feel the weight of being the one who always stood at the edge of the frame, never truly part of the picture.

He pushed the door open quietly, slipping out into the hallway with a final glance at the scene. And then, he let it go for now.

He would wait.

Just like he always had.

—

The early morning light filtered through your window, casting a soft, hazy glow across the room. The sound of steady breathing filled the space, the comforting rhythm of Gojo and Shoko still deep in sleep beside you. But something felt off. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. You had been half awake for a while, the warmth of Gojo’s arm around you, the soft rustling of Shoko in her sleep, but your mind kept wandering back to Geto.

He hadn’t been with you all morning.

You slid carefully from your bed, trying not to disturb Gojo or Shoko, and crept out into the hallway, padding softly toward Geto’s room. The floorboards creaked lightly underfoot, but the house was still and quiet in the early hours. When you reached the door, you hesitated for just a moment before gently pushing it open.

Geto was there. He stood near the window, his back to you, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. His figure was a silhouette against the light, bathed in the soft golden light of dawn. His posture was still, almost too still, like he was lost in his own thoughts.

You stepped closer, careful not to disturb him, and gently knocked on the doorframe.

“Geto?”

He didn’t turn right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the view outside, but there was a slight shift in his shoulders that told you he’d heard you.

“…You’re up early,” he finally said, his voice soft, almost quieter than usual.

“I could say the same for you,” you replied, your words light but carrying a weight of concern.

He let out a slow breath, but still, he didn’t turn to face you. His gaze remained focused on the outside world.

You walked into the room, closing the door behind you gently, your bare feet making soft taps on the wooden floor as you moved to sit beside him. There was an unspoken quiet between the two of you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The room felt calm, almost sacred in the stillness of the morning.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. It was just the quiet sounds of the world outside and the soft rhythm of your breaths as you sat next to him, a companion in the silence. You wanted to ask what was on his mind, but you knew better than to push. Sometimes, silence was the only answer that made sense between you two.

Your gaze shifted to his hair, messy from sleep and the weight of his thoughts. It wasn’t the first time you’d noticed the strands falling in a way that looked far too tangled for someone who always had their life so meticulously in order. Without thinking, your fingers reached up, brushing a few strands away from his face. His hair was softer than you remembered, even with the small tangles, and it felt calming to be this close to him.

You didn’t speak just continued brushing through his hair, your fingers moving delicately through the strands. You didn’t need to say anything; the act itself was enough. You could feel the tension in his body start to loosen under your touch, the sharp edges of whatever burden he’d been carrying softening with each stroke.

After a while, Geto finally let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing. He didn’t turn toward you, but you could feel his presence shift, becoming more grounded, more at peace. His fingers twitched slightly, but they stayed resting on his lap, not yet reaching for yours, but you felt the quiet acknowledgment between you.

“You don’t have to do that,” Geto said, his voice still soft, though it wasn’t as distant as before. “You could just ask me what’s wrong.”

You paused for a moment, letting your hand hover for a second before continuing to brush through his hair, the light click of your fingers in his strands the only sound in the room.

“I don’t need to ask,” you murmured. “I can tell. You’re always so quiet when something’s bothering you.”

Geto chuckled, a soft sound, and finally, his gaze shifted. He looked at you, his eyes soft and almost tired, but there was something there something vulnerable. “You know me too well,” he said with a slight smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You smiled back at him, your fingers still combing through his hair. “I don’t need to know everything to see when you’re carrying something heavy.”

There was another long silence. The kind that wasn’t awkward but felt like the two of you had somehow always understood each other without needing to say it out loud. The quiet hum of the outside world filtered into the room, the chirping of birds, the faint rustle of the morning breeze. It was the kind of peace that felt infinite, as if the world outside was perfectly content to wait for you two to find your calm before it continued on.

You continued to brush through his hair, and Geto’s breath evened out. There was no need for words only the comfort of this small, private moment between the two of you. You didn’t need to ask him what was on his mind, and he didn’t need to tell you. Not right now, anyway.

For a brief moment, Geto closed his eyes, his head tipping slightly toward you as he let himself be present in the peace you’d created. Your touch was grounding, like a steady rhythm that pulled him back from whatever distant thoughts had been pulling at him.

Geto rn after this chapter:

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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.”

no one:

me: reading my own fic over and over again

Dick Grayson | Nightwing X Reader

ᨒ ོ ☼ Voice on the Line ᨒ ོ ☼

I feel hes a munch. I feel hes a woman lover. He loves women. Him when women. Also did i think about Garcia and Morgan when writing this? yeah…. and what about it?

masterlist

You’re the newest addition to the Batsquad. Cant help if you’re basically forced to talk to eye candy all night. Though what if the eye candy wants you back.

ᨒ ོ ☼ The hum of servers filled the air like a lullaby, soft and steady behind the clack of your manicured fingers dancing across the keyboard. Multiple monitors cast a warm glow against your skin as codes flickered by, surveillance cams blinked into motion, and the Gotham skyline lit up under your careful watch. You chewed on a pink pen cap thoughtfully, then leaned into the mic on your headset.

“Alright, Bat Team, eyes up. Cameras just caught movement on the east perimeter. Looks like our guy’s not late to his own robbery party.” Static.

“Copy that,” came a deep voice laced with just enough sarcasm to make your lips twitch. “And here I was hoping for a quiet night.”

The soft glow of neon lights from Gotham’s skyline bled into the Watchtower’s tech room, giving everything a purple blue hue. The glow reflected off your screens, lighting up your face as your fingers flew across the keyboard. Surveillance cams, thermal feeds, encrypted audio all of it filtered through your custom built comms system. You leaned back in your chair, twirling said pink pen through your fingers. Your voice came through sweet as sugar, laced with a barely hidden smirk.

“Watch yourself Nightwing, I hope you’re wearing something cute under all that kevlar. You’re live on all my cams tonight.”

A low chuckle filtered through your headset, rough around the edges in the way that always made your stomach flip.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite guardian angel,” Nightwing drawled, voice dipped in charm he wore like a second skin. “What would I do without your voice whispering sweet nothings into my ear?”

“You’d probably walk into a wall,” you said sweetly. “Or into that very large man standing behind the dumpster on 5th and Main.”

There was a beat of silence, then a soft thwack through the mic.

“You mean that wasn’t a trash can?” he teased, slightly breathless. “How dare you underestimate my night vision, sugar.”

You grinned, propping your cheek in your palm as you tracked his movement across the rooftops. “Sugar now, huh? Is that your new nickname for me?”

“Unless you prefer ‘Sweetheart.’ Or ‘Hot Stuff.’ I’m flexible.”

You let out a melodic laugh, not even trying to hide it. “Wow, your flirting game is tragic tonight. You okay out there, Nightwing? Hit your head on a chimney?”

“I’m just warming up,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Wait ‘til I meet you in person. Then I’m turning the charm up to eleven.”

You opened your mouth to volley back but Barbara’s voice cut in like a whip.

“Alright, you two cut it.”

You both froze.

“Lock in,” Barbara said, her voice firm and dry as dust. “This isn’t a late night radio show. We’ve got multiple armed targets on the ground and a hostage situation developing five blocks south. Thermal (your hero name), patch the thermal overlay to Nightwing’s HUD.”

You straightened in your chair, fingers flying. “Yes, ma’am. Thermal incoming.”

“Nightwing,” Barbara added with the tone of a fed up older sister, “try keeping your tongue in your mouth for five minutes. You’re on mission, not a date.”

“Harsh, Babs,” he muttered.

“I’m just saying,” she continued, “if I had a dollar for every time I had to listen to the two of you flirt in the middle of a crisis, I could afford a better coffee maker.”

You bit your lip to hold back a laugh, then cleared your throat. “Aww, c’mon, Babs. Can’t a girl multitask? I can route power to Nightwings grappling line and boost morale at the same time.”

“I don’t need morale,” Nightwing interjected. “I need a distraction. Preferably wearing those glasses you mentioned last week.”

“You remember that?” you teased.

“I remember everything you say, Sweetheart.”

Barbara groaned audibly. “I’m leaving this room before I’m forced to bleach my ears.”

“I mean,” you added sweetly, “he’s just mad he can’t picture me behind this desk, legs crossed, looking very professional while saving his butt.”

Nightwing whistled. “If I didn’t have to stop a robbery, I’d be scaling that tower right now.”

Barbara’s voice snapped back over the channel like a rubber band. “Focus, both of you.”

“Copy that,” you said, suddenly all business again as you leaned forward and zoomed in on the warehouse entrance. “Three guards posted up. One pacing, one smoking, one with a submachine gun. Interior layout uploaded to your HUD. Entry through the southeast vent is clear. You’re greenlit, Nightwing.”

“See? She flirts, but she gets it done,” he muttered fondly.

You grinned. “I always stand on business, baby.”

“Then I better bring my A game. Wouldn’t want to disappoint my favorite tech goddess.”

You laughed quietly, adjusting your headset as you pulled up the emergency response grid. “Just don’t get shot, Nightwing.”

Barbara let out one final sigh before muttering, “I swear, I should’ve let Batman take this shift.”

But despite her grumbling, you swore you saw a smile tug at the corners of her lips as she turned away.

He grunted, and you could tell it was the kind of laugh he didn’t want you to hear.

“Let’s make a deal,” he said suddenly. “You keep me alive tonight, and I’ll finally let you buy me a coffee.”

You blinked. That was new. “You mean you buy me a coffee? Bold of you to assume you’re that charming.”

“You do call me every night.”

“Because it’s my job, Nightwing.”

Your own heart beat just a little faster as Nightwing’s icon approached the rendezvous point. It was almost always like this. Take the next day where you were thrown completely out of your own loop You were sprawled comfortably in the comms chair, pink converse kicked up on the desk, a bag of sour candy at your side, and at least three drinks within reach because hydration and caffeination were essential for optimal management.

Tonight’s mission? Barely a blip on the Bat Radar. A stakeout near the docks. Zero hostiles so far. Minimal risk. Maximal boredom.

“Nightwing,” you poured into your mic, stretching dramatically, “how’s the air up there on your boring little rooftop? You see anything exciting? UFOs? Pirates? A raccoon that looks like Bruce?”

“Negative on the Bruce raccoon,” Nightwing said through the comms, voice thick with amusement. “But thanks for the nightmare fuel, Sweetheart.”

“I try,” you chirped, popping another piece of candy into your mouth. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“You keep me somewhere, alright,” he murmured, just low enough to think you wouldn’t catch it.

You did. You always did. Before you could respond with another flirty jab, a new voice crackled in gruffer, sharper. Dry as sandpaper and twice as moody.

“Are you always like this?” Jason Todd’s voice cut in like a knife through silk. “I’ve been listening for ten minutes and I already want to uninstall my ears.”

You beamed, leaning closer to the mic like he could see your grin. “Red Hood! My favorite grump. Took you long enough to say hi.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he deadpanned.

“Oh, please. You love it,” you teased, swiveling in your chair like it helped transmit your energy. “I’m your emotional support chatterbox. You’d cry without me.”

“Unlikely.”

“Then why are you still listening?” you asked sweetly, tapping into his drone cam and watching as he crouched in the shadows near an old shipping container. “I see you didn’t even mute me. That’s gotta mean something.”

Jason sighed. The tiniest sigh. A truce in breath form.

“…You’re ridiculous.”

“And adorable, don’t forget that part.”

“Why does she talk to you like that?” Nightwing asked suddenly, cutting in with playful suspicion. “She doesn’t call me ‘adorable.’”

“I like to flirt with people who pretend to hate it,” you replied easily. “Keeps ‘em humble.”

Jason made a quiet scoffing noise. “You think I’m humble?”

“No,” you said, smirking. “But I do think you blush when I call you sweetheart.”

There was a long pause.

“…I’m turning off my comm.”

“You won’t,” you sang.

Before Jason could craft a dry comeback or fake a signal cut out, Nightwing returned this time with a tone that could only be described as smug older brother meets possessive flirt.

“Alright, alright,” Dick said, and you could hear his smirk. “Let’s not get carried away, Sweetheart. You do have a date coming up. With me, remember?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Oh yeah,” he continued smoothly, “you promised me coffee after our last op. Pretty sure that counts.”

“That was a tactical bribe to keep you alive,” you said quickly, cheeks burning despite your best effort. “Totally not binding.”

Jason actually chuckled at that chuckled. A small miracle.

“Well,” Dick said, clearly enjoying himself, “binding or not, I’ll be at that new café on 7th tomorrow at ten. You’re welcome to back out, but I do know where your candy stash is hidden in the Watchtower fridge.”

Your jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“You absolute menace.”

“See you then, Sweetheart.”

Jason exhaled like he was regretting all of his life choices.

“God, you’re both exhausting.”

You smiled, sweet and unbothered. “Don’t be jealous, Jay. I can pencil you in for brunch on Sunday.”

He groaned but didn’t mute you. Which, in your book, meant you weren’t the loser here .

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The room was quiet now.

The static from the comms had faded, the mics had all gone cold, and the buzz of conversation that had filled the Watchtower’s tech room just minutes ago had slipped into silence. You were alone, save for the hum of machines and the low, rhythmic click of a monitor blinking back to standby.

You leaned back in your chair slowly, arms folding over your chest as you stared blankly at the screens. Your bubbly persona so easy to slip into when surrounded by voices, teasing banter, and fast flying intel started to crack beneath the weight of the quiet.

It always did, when the room emptied.

He wanted coffee. Dick Grayson wanted to meet you. A date.

The thought hit you again, more real now than when he first said it in that casual, cocky tone of his. You’d brushed it off, played along, tossed flirtation back like you always did but now? Sitting alone, no distraction, no one listening?

You felt it. That creeping, slow turning anxiety curling in your stomach.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about what he looked like before. Sure, you’d heard his voice, shared late night chatter across missions, and even made him laugh more than once. But imagining him? That was easy. Everyone in the Bat Family was objectively hot. Like, annoyingly so.

And you? You swallowed hard, curling your knees up into your chair and hugging them gently.

You weren’t anything like them. Not tall or sleek or scarred from combat. Not graceful in a catsuit or strong enough to throw a punch through a wall. You weren’t stick thin, but you weren’t curvy in a dramatic way either. You existed somewhere in the middle comfortable in hoodies, always in glasses, a bit awkward when the spotlight came too close. Your brain was your strongest muscle, and it sometimes felt like that was all you had.

Would he be disappointed?

You let out a slow breath, eyes flicking to your reflection in the dark screen across from you. No makeup, hair pulled back, sweater two sizes too big. You looked like someone who blended into a crowd. Like someone no one would stop for a second glance. What if you showed up and he just… didn’t see you the way he did over comms? What if the mystery was the only thing that made you interesting?

Your hand reached out instinctively, pressing your fingers to the edge of the console like you were grounding yourself.

You wanted to meet him. Of course you did. He was charming, and kind beneath all the jokes, and smart in the ways only someone who’d been through hell could be. But a date? That felt like something other people did. People who didn’t feel the need to hide behind tech and sarcasm to feel confident.

You sat there in silence, chewing your lip, wondering if he even knew what he was asking when he said, “see you then.”

Maybe it wasn’t a real date. Maybe he didn’t think of it like that.

But deep down, you knew you wanted it to be. You wanted to be seen. And you were scared of what would happen if you really were.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

Dick Grayson stood in front of the mirror of his Blüdhaven apartment, tugging at the hem of his sweatshirt like it was a tux. Casual. Chill. Low key. That was the goal.

So why the hell did he feel like he was prepping for a mission?

He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it for the third no, fourth time. Dark jeans, clean white sneakers, a navy hoodie that fit just right not too fitted, not too loose. He changed shirts three times before this one finally felt like the right one. He hadn’t been this particular about his outfit since prom.

“It’s not a date,” he told his reflection. “It’s just coffee.”

A pause.

“…With the girl who knows all your safe houses, your secret patrol routes, and who once talked you through stitching your own shoulder at 3 a.m. without flinching.”

Okay. Maybe a little more than just coffee.

He reached for his phone on the counter. One unread text waited at the top of the screen.

Comms girl <3: You sure about this?

Comms girl <3:You don’t have to meet me.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he typed back quickly.

bluebird: I’m very sure. You owe me that coffee, remember? I risked my life for that latte.

Your reply came within seconds.

Comms girl <3: You were five feet from the guy. I stalled him with a fake 911 ping. YOU’RE WELCOME.

He chuckled, thumbs flying across the screen.

blurbird : Still counts. Heroics were involved. You agreed to a reward. No backing out now.

Comms girl <3: Still time to change your mind. Could just keep this mystery thing going. It’s fun. Less risky.

He stared at that message a moment longer than he wanted to admit. There was a strange comfort in the way things were. The comms. The banter. The way your voice softened when his breathing grew strained after a tough fight. How you’d scold him for reckless moves and then follow up with, “But also… that flip you did? Sick as hell.”

You were part of the job no, more than that. You were part of him. But only in fragments.

He’d seen the pieces you gave: your voice, your wit, your ridiculous caffeine addiction, the hum of music sometimes playing faintly in the background when you were on shift. But he’d never seen you.

Meanwhile, you’d seen everything.

bluebird: You’ve seen my file, haven’t you?

he typed.

bluebird: I know what color your eyes are. I haven’t even seen yours.

Comms girl <3: Don’t worry. They’re not laser eyes or anything.

Comms girl <3: Still time to run. I won’t be mad.

Dick stared at the screen, thumb resting over the keyboard again. A few moments passed. Then he typed back:

bluebird: I don’t want to run. I want to meet you. For real.

Read. But no reply. He locked his phone, shoved it into the pocket of his hoodie, and grabbed his keys and helmet. Outside, the early evening had begun to spill across the Blüdhaven skyline. Fading light. Long shadows.

For once, he wasn’t slipping into the shadows himself. He was stepping into the sun.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The café on 7th was a small, tucked away place with mismatched chairs and the smell of cinnamon and roasted espresso clinging to every wooden beam. A warm corner of the city where life slowed down just a little. He arrived ten minutes early. Too early.

The bell above the door jingled, and instinct kicked in. He scanned. Two older women by the window, a guy with earbuds tapping at a laptop, a bored barista pulling espresso shots with dead eyes. No sign of you.

He ordered her drink extra sweet, extra foamy, “liquid sunshine,” you once called it and a black coffee for himself. Settled into a table by the window. Full view of the door. He texted you again.

bluebird: I’m here. No pressure. But I brought your order. It’s waiting patiently.

Nothing.

He flicked the lid of the cup. Checked the time. Tapped his knee beneath the table. Every chime of the bell had him sitting up straighter, breath held in quiet anticipation.

Not her.Not yet.

And that was the thing he didn’t even know what she looked like. No name. No face. Just a voice in his ear, a rhythm in his nights, a lifeline during the chaos. But even without a face, even without a name, he knew you.

He leaned back and watched the doorway like it held all the answers. Maybe it did.

His phone buzzed again.

Comms girl <3: I’m close. Just… taking a second.

He stared at that message. His heart did a quiet, hopeful jump.

bluebird: You nervous?l

Comms Girl: Maybe. You?

He smiled.

bluebird: I’ve fought Killer Croc, Deathstroke, and Jason with a crowbar. This is worse.

You didn’t text back right away. He waited. Sipped his coffee. Looked at your untouched drink and wondered if you’d ever actually take a sip from it. Maybe you’d just show up, apologize, and walk away. Maybe you’d turn around before even walking through the door.

You were already on the sidewalk. One breath away from stepping inside. He turned his eyes to the window, scanning every person who passed. Wondering if one of them might look in, catch his eye, smile.

Waiting. he hoped that mask off, no gadgets, no grappling hooks, no safety net that was enough. So he waited. For you.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The drink was starting to sweat on the table.

Dick’s thumb spun slow, lazy circles around the lid of the cup you still hadn’t claimed. The café wasn’t busy only a few people trickled in here and there. His eyes lifted every time the door jingled, hopeful… and then dropped just as quickly.

He wasn’t used to feeling this unsteady. With the mask on, he could take a punch. Leap off a roof. Throw himself into chaos without blinking. But right now, sitting at a table with a slowly cooling cup of coffee for someone he’d never even seen before?

He was sweating more than the damn drink. The bell above the door jingled again.

And he looked.

She stepped in like she was trying not to be noticed shoulders drawn slightly inward, a quick glance around the room before her eyes dropped to the floor. She didn’t look out of place, not really. She looked… normal.

Pink Converse. Faded denim jorts hugging her hips. A plain black tank top tucked in just right to show her figure, casual and effortless. Hair pulled back loosely like she’d tried to fix it three times before giving up.

Dick’s eyes lingered…. respectfully. He wasn’t a jerk. But he was a man. And the way she looked, with nervous energy practically rolling off her in waves, had his chest tightening just a little.

Cute. Definitely cute. Attractive, sure. She was cute. Soft around the edges. Eyes wide like she wasn’t used to being looked at too long.

Dick’s gaze flicked down, then back up not lingering too long. A polite once over. Curious. Gentle. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he looked away.

He didn’t know what to expect. For all the times he’d imagined this moment, all the late night banter and daydreams of what she might look like, he’d never settled on a face.

Still watching her from the corner of his eye, Dick slowly reached for his phone and typed out a message.

bluebird: “I’m by the window. Got your sugar bomb of a drink already. You close?”

The girl the maybe you girl jumped slightly when her phone buzzed. Fumbled it out of her pocket. She smiled. Just a little.

Her hand went to her phone. Dick’s screen lit up.

Comms girl <3: Already here. Just… not sure where to go.

His heart stopped. Slowly, his gaze lifted again this time with full awareness. He watched as she read his message, fingers still hovering near the screen.

Like she was laughing at herself and suddenly, everything clicked.

Dick’s breath caught for a beat. His lips tugged upward in a crooked smile as he texted again. Dick forgot how to breathe.

bluebird: Black tank. Pink shoes. You really do own those Converse.

You didn’t even look up from your phone. You were already typing.

Comms girl <3: Ok stalker, stop checking me out

He huffed a quiet laugh.

bluebird: Respectfully. Thoroughly. Definitely.

You lifted your head then, eyes meeting his across the room. Nervous. Hopeful. Your lips curved into something soft and self deprecating.

He stood before he could overthink it, heart thudding as he crossed the short space between your hesitant stillness and his table.

“You’re late,” he said, voice light, teasing.

“Fashionably,” you replied, walking with him as he guided you toward the window seat. “Also, very nearly didn’t come in. I walked past the window twice. You didn’t notice.”

“I noticed,” he said, pulling your chair out like the gentleman he rarely remembered to be. “I just didn’t know it was you. But then you looked at your phone like it offended you.”

You sat, cheeks flushed with something caught between embarrassment and amusement. “That was me realizing I sent three different versions of ‘I’m almost there’ and still sat in my car for ten minutes.”

Dick slid your coffee toward you. “Well i guess in a way you were.”

You took the cup, curling your fingers around it like it might steady you. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I still might run.”

“Do I need to stop you? I’ve got grappling hooks.”

That made you laugh. Really laugh. He liked that sound more than he expected. It wasn’t tinny over the comm. It was full, alive, right in front of him.

“God,” you groaned, lowering your head for a second. “This is so weird.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But good weird.”

You peeked up at him. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Better or worse?”

You grinned, shy but cheeky. “You’re taller than I thought. That’s not fair. I have no defense against tall and charming.”

“Charming, huh?” He took a sip of his coffee, raising a brow over the lid. “You haven’t even heard my best lines yet.”

You rolled your eyes, the way you always did when he flirted too hard through the mic. But now it was real. Now, he could see the way you bit back a smile, the flush that crept to your ears.

“I’m not used to being looked at,” you admitted after a quiet beat. “I’m used to watching. Behind the screens. Behind the noise. I’ve seen your face a hundred times. This is… lopsided.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, gaze steady and warm.

“Then let’s even it out.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Let me learn you,” he said, voice low, honest. “No comms. No mission. No static. Just… you.”

You looked away, biting your lip, your fingers tracing the lid of your cup now like he had earlier. “You’re a lot more intense in person.”

“I’m a lot of things in person,” he said, smiling. “Most of them good. Some of them bad. All of them me.”

A silence passed. Not awkward contemplative. Like both of you were quietly adjusting to the weight of seeing each other. Really seeing each other.

“I always see you in your outfit, this feels a little weird” you murmured eventually.

He grinned. “You’ll be happy to know I left the spandex at home.”

“Tragic.”

Another moment of quiet, then

“I’m glad you showed up,” he said.

You smiled down into your drink. “Yeah. Me too.”

Outside, the city moved in its usual rhythm cars, footsteps, noise. But here, at this little table by the window, something new was starting. Not a mission. Not an assignment. Just Dick and you.

𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓

The coffee was long gone, but neither of them had made a move to go their separate ways.

Instead, they strolled the streets of Blüdhaven, their pace slow, like time had bent around them just for a little while. The sun had started to dip behind the buildings, casting soft golden light on the sidewalks, and the breeze stirred the trees enough to make the leaves flutter like lazy applause.

You walked beside him with your now empty cup in hand, straw still between your lips despite it having been dry for the last ten minutes. Nerves still clung to your skin, thin but persistent. You had no idea where to put your hands or how to keep your voice steady. You weren’t usually like this. Over comms, you were bold, loud, sarcastic, and playful.

But out here, in the open, without a headset and with Nightwing walking beside you in casual clothes that hugged him way too well for your nerves to take? It was different. He was real. And you were suddenly aware of every flaw you’d been trying not to think about since this morning.

“You know,” you said with a light chuckle, trying to keep your voice in that easy, familiar tone, “I honestly expected you to cancel last minute. Or like, show up but wear the mask the whole time and pretend to be mysterious.”

Dick looked over at you, one brow raised, and a smile playing at his lips. “You really thought I’d ghost you after all our late night flirting?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but your eyes darted away. “I mean… I dunno. Maybe.”

“You ruined that for you because i would never,” he said dramatically, then bumped his shoulder gently against yours. “I told you I was coming. I meant it.”

His voice was warm, not teasing this time. Just honest. He watched you as you gave a small smile, eyes still scanning the sidewalk like you were searching for something to say. He saw the way you carried yourself. Not shy, exactly just… cautious. Though he saw you and wanted too. All of you.

Not just the confident voice in his ear or the tech genius who could break into encrypted systems like they were open windows. He saw the little things: the nervous hand fidgeting with your cup sleeve, the way you pulled at the hem of your shorts when you thought he wasn’t looking, the practiced jokes you used to deflect any compliments.

So he gave you more of them.

“I like your shoes,” he said casually, glancing down at the worn pink Converse. “its a very you thing, reflective of your personality”

You laughed an actual laugh, not a polite one. “I don’t know if footwear can tell you my life story?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, nodding with mock seriousness. “Pink shoes? Total power move. I love when women.”

You shook your head, trying to hide your grin. “you love when women?”

“And the shorts?” he added. “Perfect length. Shows off those legs that have been sitting behind a computer for, what? Ninety percent of your adult life?”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, covering your face with your free hand. “You’re a menace.”

“I’ve been told worse,” he said with a wink.

You both fell into a comfortable rhythm after that. Step for step, laugh for laugh. The tension slowly ebbed away the longer he stayed near you like he was peeling back the nervous layers without ever drawing attention to them.

After a few quiet moments, you nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Okay, so serious question.”

“Hit me.”

“How the hell does this team work? I started hacking stuff and suddenly im here? ”

He laughed, raising both brows. “You tell me. You’ve got this adorable, good vibe going for you, but I’ve read some of those logs. You were wrecking firewalls like they owed you money.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” you defended with a smirk. “Okay, maybe the satellite thing was a little over the line.”

He turned to face you mid step. “Wait. What satellite thing?”

You winced, cheeks flushing. “I… might’ve accidentally hacked into a WayneTech orbital system when I thought it was an old NASA server.”

He stared at you, stunned. “You hacked WayneTech?”

“Allegedly,” you said, grinning now. “And two days later, Babs showed up in my basement. No warning, no badge, just… bam, red hair and righteous fury.”

“She must’ve been so mad.”

“She told me I was wasting potential and recruited me on the spot.”

Dick laughed again, and this time, it was full bodied, the kind that lit up his whole face. “Classic Babs.”

“Honestly? She’s the first person who ever looked at me and didn’t just see a mouthy hacker. She actually saw… me.”

His smile softened. “She does that. Did the same for me once.”

You glanced at him curiously. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. “Back when I was still figuring things out after leaving Bruce. I needed distance from the Bat stuff needed to figure out who I was when I wasn’t under the cape. Babs helped me get there. Helped me want to be more than just Robin.”

“I think you’re doing alright,” you said, bumping his shoulder this time.

“I’m trying,” he said with a shrug. “Still check in on the family though. Bruce, my brothers, Grandpa.”

You blinked. “Grandpa?”

“Alfred,” he clarified with a mischievous grin. “I started calling him that just to piss him off, but I know he secretly loves it.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “That’s so weirdly wholesome. ‘Nightwing has emotional depth and a soft spot for butlers,’ coming to theaters this fall.”

“Hey, he’s not just a butler. He’s the butler.”

“I stand corrected.”

The sky was blushing now, soft shades of purple and orange painting the horizon. The city buzzed around you, but for once, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt like a quiet pocket of something special.

Dick glanced sideways at you, the wind tugging gently at your hair, and felt that same flicker in his chest again. The one that started when your voice used to crackle in his earpiece during midnight stakeouts. The one that grew stronger every time you made him laugh, or saved his ass from another security lockdown, or stayed on the line with him just so he wouldn’t be alone.

“I’m really glad we did this,” he said softly.

You looked at him, caught a sincerity in his eyes that left no room for doubt.

“Yeah,” you said, voice just as soft. “Me too.”

The air had taken on that evening crispness the kind that whispered promises of something new. The two of you were still walking, slowly now, like neither wanted to reach wherever the sidewalk might end.

Dick glanced at you again, longer this time. Not just quick, playful side glances, but a longing look. One that lingered as the fading sun touched your skin. He could see the way your lashes caught the light, the slight smile tugging at your lips as you sipped from your empty straw out of habit. The way your eyes moved when you were thinking.

You caught him staring.

“What?” you asked, arching a brow.

He shrugged with an easy, boyish grin. “Nothing. Just… you’ve got a good laugh.”

You blinked. “What, like a ‘haha’ laugh or a ‘joker is getting off’ laugh?”

He chuckled. “The kind that’s been in my ear for months, but somehow sounds better in person.”

Your stomach fluttered. You covered it with a sarcastic smile. “Are you flirting with me again, Grayson?”

“Only mildly,” he teased, then glanced ahead. “I mean, I’ve gotta pace myself. You’re kind of… addictive.”

You didn’t answer for a moment. You didn’t know how. And honestly, you were worried your voice would betray how warm your chest suddenly felt.

He didn’t press it. Just kept walking with you in step. But then he said, a little more softly:

“I never really thought about it before… how different things feel when you’re not just a voice in my ear.”

You looked over at him, curious. “Better or worse?”

He gave you a look, deadpan. “What kind of question is that?”

You tried to laugh, to brush it off, but he turned toward you fully now, walking backward a few steps so he could face you as you moved.

“You have this… energy. When we’re on comms, it’s like… controlled chaos in the best way. Keeps me grounded, keeps me alert. But now? Seeing you like, actually seeing you your expressions, your body language, your weird obsession with pink…”

“I do not!”

He smirked. “You do. It’s very cute.”

You shoved his arm lightly, heat rushing to your face. But the smile was genuine now. You were relaxing, piece by piece.

“I guess I just didn’t realize how much I’d been missing until now,” he added, turning back around to walk forward again. “Hearing you’s great. But… seeing you talk? Watching your eyes move when you go on your little tech rants or when you start teasing me? It hits different.”

Your heart thudded hard.

He wasn’t saying “I want to see your face more.” But he was.

You swallowed around the growing smile and said, “Well… good thing I’m not going anywhere.”

He shot you a glance then, something soft and full of unspoken words.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That is a good thing.”