ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Gotham Socialite ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ
Bruce Wayne | Batman X Reader
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Gotham Socialite ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ
masterlist
I want to make some batman themed oneshots where it explores a relationship between you and him.
EDITED- changed a bit of dialogue and description because I want the reader to be super cool and amazing
High society, meet the reporter reader. Reporter reader, meet Bruce Wayne
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Gotham’s elite are as gaudy as the chandeliers hanging above them. expensive, bright, and utterly useless. The grand ballroom of the Gotham City Opera House is filled with them, men and women draped in designer gowns and tailored suits, sipping champagne as if their wealth isn’t built on the backs of the people suffering outside these marble walls.
You move through the crowd like a ghost, unseen despite being one of the few people here actually worth listening to. They invited you because of your work because your name is attached to articles Gotham’s wealthy pretend not to read but secretly obsess over. You don’t write puff pieces about Gotham’s heroes; you write about its monsters. You dig into their minds, their motivations. Why does Edward Nygma need to prove he’s the smartest man in the room? Why does the Joker turn his suffering into a performance? What makes a villain tick? That’s what you care about.
Not this.
Not the empty smiles. Not the soulless small talk. Not the way these people clutch their designer purses like they contain anything of real value.
You exhale sharply through your nose, taking another sip of your drink just to give yourself something to do. It tastes expensive but meaningless, like everything else here.
As you turn to leave, you accidentally bump into someone a woman in a tight, sequined dress that probably costs more than you’ve made in the last six months.
“Oh, my God,” she snaps, stepping back as if you just assaulted her. “Are you serious?”
Your brows lift. “Oh, relax. You’ll live.”
Her expression twists in outrage, but before she can respond, a man approaches tall, broad shouldered, with a perfectly practiced smile. And just like that, she flips a switch.
“Oh my God, Bruce!” she gasps, laughing like she wasn’t just seconds away from throwing a fit. She rests a hand on his arm the same arm she previously flung up in disgust when you bumped into her. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up tonight! You never come to these things anymore.” You watch with mild disgust as she transforms in real time. It’s like watching an AI desperately try to mimic human emotion.
“Yeah,” you mutter, just loud enough to be heard. “hmmm I might see myself out”
Bruce Wayne glances at you then, his interest piqued. You don’t fawn over him. Don’t preen or attempt to charm your way into his good graces. No, you just look at him like you’re wholly unimpressed. Its not that he wasn’t appealing. Of course you found him attractive. Though finding him attractive felt a little like betraying the people you grew up around. Just because you escaped the extremely poor doesn’t mean you want to abide by it.
“You know,” you say, tilting your head, “for a guy whose while company is built on working with the community , you don’t seem to have much of a grip on reality.”
The woman beside him gasps in horror, clutching Bruce’s arm even tighter, but you’re not done.
“This whole act,” you gesture vaguely at him, “isn’t cute. I mean no disrespect though, go party and go crazy.” Your eyes lock onto his with something sharper than hatred indifference. “I don’t know how you stomach it. It’s honestly an insult to humans.” Silence settles over you like a fog. The woman looks scandalized, staring at you as if you just spit in her drink.
Bruce, on the other hand, just looks intrigued. His usual mask of carefree billionaire playboy falters just for a second. His blue eyes search yours, something thoughtful flickering behind them. Then, just as quickly as it had cracked, the mask slides back into place. He lets out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck in feigned sheepishness. “Well,” he says, flashing that same easygoing smile he always wears in public, “can’t please everyone, I guess.”
The woman beside him giggles like an idiot, but you just roll your eyes. Bruce Wayne is a good actor, you’ll give him that and judging by the look in his eye, he looks a little off put.
You don’t give Bruce another glance as you turn on your heel, moving toward the exit with the same single minded determination as a prisoner inching toward an open cell door. You’ve had enough of this place enough of the fake smiles, the rehearsed laughter, the suffocating air of money and ego pressing in on you from all sides.
Bruce watches you go.
He should just let you leave. He should turn his attention back to whatever mindless conversation he was meant to be entertaining tonight. But he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze follows you, his interest snaring on something he hadn’t expected.
You very evidently don’t belong here. Not in the way these people do, with their polished exteriors and empty souls. He mentally jokes that press training might be on a to do list for your manager.
No, you move like someone who doesn’t care to belong. Which from his relationship woth selina, Its definitely evident that women from the narrows dont care. You weave through the room with an awkwardness that’s both endearing and painfully obvious dodging trays of champagne like they’re landmines, sidestepping small talk with barely concealed irritation. Your distaste is written all over you, from the way your fingers tighten around your glass to the way your shoulders hunch slightly, as if trying to make yourself smaller, less noticeable.
But that’s the thing. You are noticeable. More than anyone here. Bruce takes in the way you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the way you mutter something under your breath when a socialite nearly clips you with a careless turn. He watches as you catch your footing after bumping into a server, your apology quick and sincere so different from the sneering entitlement of the rest of the room.
A quiet chuckle leaves his mouth as he watches you finally get to a corner. Bruce’s lips press together, something flickering in his chest that he doesn’t have time to name.
He should let you go. Instead, he steps forward, slipping through the crowd with the kind of practiced ease that only someone used to wearing masks can manage. You don’t notice him until he’s beside you, his voice cutting through the noise of the room like a knife.
“You’re not very good at this,” he says, amusement lacing his words.
You glance up at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “At what?”
Bruce gestures vaguely to the room. “Blending in.”
A scoff leaves your lips as you finally reach the exit, one hand already pushing against the heavy door. “Yeah, well,” you say, sparing him one last glance, “I’m used to this kind of thing.” And then you’re gone.
Bruce watches the door swing shut behind you, his reflection staring back at him in the glass. For the first time all night, he finds himself smiling.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Bruce barely makes it through the front doors of Wayne Manor before he’s pulling at his bow tie, loosening the suffocating knot that had been pressing against his throat all evening. The moment the silk slides free, he exhales, rolling his shoulders as if shedding the weight of the night along with it.
The grand doors swing shut behind him, the quiet of the manor swallowing the distant hum of Gotham’s high society. The transition is immediate, like stepping out of a suffocatingly bright stage and into the cool embrace of shadow. The mask the one made of careless grins and charmingly vague conversation falls away as effortlessly as the jacket he shrugs off, tossing it onto the nearest chair without care.
From the hall, Alfred watches the display with an arched brow, ever the picture of poised amusement. “Welcome home, Master Wayne. I see the evening was as eventful as anticipated.”
Bruce sighs, running a hand down his face. “That might be an understatement.”
Alfred steps forward, hands clasped neatly behind his back. “I assume you spent the night ok though master wayne?”
“Something like that.” Bruce rolls his neck, loosening the last remnants of his socialite persona. “A lot of people talking without actually saying anything. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”
“The inevitable I hear,” Alfred muses, “you always seem equally miserable every time you return.”
Bruce lets out a humorless chuckle, unbuttoning the top of his dress shirt. “That’s because it never gets any less exhausting.”
Alfred gives him a knowing look before stepping toward the chair where Bruce had carelessly discarded his jacket. He picks it up with practiced ease, shaking his head. “One of these days, you might consider hanging these properly.”
“I consider it every time,” Bruce remarks, already making his way toward the hidden entrance to the Batcave. “Just never quite get around to it.”
Alfred merely sighs, following him with a well worn patience. “Shall I prepare something for you to eat? Or will you be brooding on an empty stomach this evening?”
“Not brooding,” Bruce corrects as he reaches the hidden panel in the wall. The mechanism clicks, revealing the passage leading down into the cave. “Just… following a curiosity.”
Alfred hums, ever perceptive. “Would this curiosity have anything to do with the young woman who managed to offend half the room tonight?”
Bruce pauses mid step, glancing back at him. “You heard about that?”
Alfred gives him a pointed look. “Master Wayne, the moment someone dares to tell off a socialite at an event like that, it becomes the only thing worth discussing. I’d be surprised if her picture isn’t already pinned on some poor soul’s dartboard.”
Bruce huffs out a short laugh before shaking his head. “I’ll be in the cave.”
Alfred merely nods, already knowing there will be no convincing him otherwise.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ The Batcave hums softly with the sounds of running water and flickering monitors, a stark contrast to the suffocating luxury of the ballroom he had left behind. Here, Bruce is no longer Gotham’s golden boy. No longer the playboy billionaire.
Here, he is himself.
He settles into the chair before the Batcomputer, fingers swiftly typing as he pulls up a search. He hadn’t planned on looking you up. At least, that’s what he tells himself. But there was something about you something about the way you moved through that room, awkward yet unyielding. You didn’t belong there, and you didn’t care to. The way you had looked at him, unimpressed and disinterested, had been a rarity in a world where everyone was either too enamored by his wealth or too busy trying to figure out what game he was playing.
His fingers move with purpose, bringing up your name, your records. The first thing he finds is that, unlike many of the people who had surrounded you that night, your life had been anything but privileged.
You were born and raised in the Narrows Gotham’s forgotten underbelly. A place where opportunities were scarce, and survival was a skill honed from childhood. Your record is clean remarkably so, for someone who grew up in the part of Gotham where crime wasn’t a choice but a necessity. No arrests, no notable scandals. You had gone to school, worked through college, and carved out a place for yourself in a city that did everything it could to swallow people whole.
But what catches his attention the most are your writings. Articles. Interviews. Pieces dissecting the minds of Gotham’s most notorious criminals. Not in the sensationalized way tabloids did, but with an analytical depth that spoke of genuine understanding. You weren’t interested in painting them as mere villains or glorifying their crimes you wanted to understand them.
Your work focused not on the spectacle of their actions, but on the why. The motivations. The cracks in Gotham’s system that had allowed them to exist in the first place. You had interviewed ex gang members, street level criminals, and even those who had managed to escape Gotham’s cycle of violence. You wrote about the lives that high society ignored the people who lived in the shadows cast by the city’s towering skyscrapers.
You gave them voices.
Bruce leans back in his chair, studying the screen. You had lived a normal life at least, as normal as someone from the Narrows could. You had no connections to the criminal underworld beyond your work. No secret vendettas, no affiliations.
And yet, your writing showed a perspective that very few people in Gotham ever took the time to understand. You weren’t just observing Gotham’s worst. You were showing that they had stories worth telling.
Bruce’s eyes flicker over the last article on the screen, the words settling in his mind.
“Society has already decided who deserves redemption and who doesn’t. But if you never listen to someone’s story, how do you know they weren’t doomed from the start?”
His fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before he finally leans forward again, exiting the search.
Curiosity, he tells himself. That’s all this is and yet, as the screen fades back to black, he can’t shake the feeling that you might be someone worth paying attention to.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ If you wanted your stories to be heard, you had to be seen. That’s what your publicist told you. That’s what you repeated to yourself as you stepped through the towering entrance of yet another Gotham high society event, where old money mingled with new power, and influence dripped from every word spoken between sips of champagne.
You didn’t belong here. You never did. But belonging wasn’t the point.
This was the price of being heard. If you wanted your work to matter if you wanted people to actually read what you wrote, to listen to the stories Gotham’s forgotten had to tell you had to stand in rooms like this. Not because you cared about these people or their whispered scandals, but because they had the power to shape the city’s narrative, whether they deserved that power or not.
And so, despite the suffocating air of wealth and self importance, you showed up.
The ballroom was an exhibition of excess. A long, lavish table stretched the length of the room, set with gold rimmed plates, crystal glasses, and floral centerpieces so elaborate they could have easily funded an entire year’s worth of rent for a struggling Gotham family. Conversations bubbled up around you hollow laughter, polite murmurs, the occasional hushed gossip passed between sculpted lips.
You found your seat. And nearly laughed. Right beside Bruce Wayne. Of course.
You weren’t sure if this was some kind of twisted joke or if the hosts had simply thrown darts at a seating chart, but there it was your name card placed neatly next to Gotham’s most beloved. Maybe they thought you were more important than you actually were. Maybe they thought Bruce had the patience of a saint. Though you have a feeling after your last stunt, they were trying to see if another PR disaster would come from this. Maybe more publicity for them. Any publicity is good publicity you guess.
Either way, it was too late to change it now. Sighing, you pulled out your chair and sat down, reveling in the last few moments of solitude before the night officially began.
And then, the atmosphere shifted. Even before you turned your head, you knew. Gothams golden boy had arrived.
The energy in the room changed, as if the very air had been pulled toward him. Conversations faltered just slightly, eyes flickered in his direction, and there was a quiet ripple of interest that passed through the gathering like an unspoken current. It was always like this.
The city’s most eligible bachelor. The name that sent tabloids into a frenzy and made socialites tilt their heads just so, hoping to catch his attention. He was power wrapped in effortless charm, an untouchable figure who played the role of the careless heir so well that even the most cynical couldn’t help but watch him.
You risked a glance. Of course, he looked perfect. Dressed in a dark, tailored suit that cost more than your entire apartment’s worth of furniture, he moved through the crowd with the kind of casual grace that made it seem like he belonged everywhere. A relaxed smile curved his lips, and the people surrounding him whether they were whispering behind their glasses or outright gushing were captivated.
It was almost infuriating, how easy it was for him. Why can’t beautiful people feel more im reach?
When then he reached his seat and saw you. For the briefest moment, the mask slipped. Not much just a flicker of something sharp in his eyes before it smoothed over, replaced with something unreadable.
He barely acknowledged the lingering hands on his arm, the voices vying for just another second of his time. His attention had already shifted. To you. You on the other hand are practically clutching your pearls to remain calm. Your publicist told you to absolutely DO NOT fuck up again.
Bruce had been willing to chalk that first encounter up to chance. A passing curiosity. Now he was beginning to think fate had a sense of humor.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he murmured as he sank into his chair, his voice carrying the warmth of amusement.
You exhaled through your nose, already bracing yourself. “Yeah, well. maybe i won the lottery to be seated next to Gotham’s golden boy.”
His lips twitched. “I doubt im anything that special”
You gave him a dry look. “Didn’t take you for a masochist, Wayne.”
He chuckled, low and quiet. “Only selectively.”
You sighed, picking up your menu just to give yourself something to do. “I do want to apologize for last time, I swear im more civilized. I guess that I kinda got thrown off a bit?” Bruce leaned in slightly, his voice dipping just enough that only you could hear.
“Acting all fancy? Where’s the fun in that?”
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ If you had to endure one more second of this sanctimonious drivel, you were going to jam your fork into the back of your hand just to feel something.
The dinner had been dragging on for what felt like an eternity, and the conversation at the table was as unbearable as expected. The hosts, a couple who clearly thought themselves Gotham’s greatest benefactors, were speaking at length about their so called “generosity” and the many ways they had given back to the community. It was all so painfully rehearsed.
“We simply couldn’t sit idly by while Gotham suffered,” the woman declared, holding her glass delicately between her fingers. “Which is why we’ve dedicated ourselves to philanthropy.”
Her husband gave a solemn nod. “Yes. Our foundation has put millions into rehabilitating Gotham’s most… unfortunate areas.”
Unfortunate areas. You took a slow sip of your wine, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from blurting something you’d regret. They were talking about the Narrows. Where you had grown up. Where people still fought to survive every single day, no thanks to the people in this very room.
They spoke as if their generosity was some grand solution to the city’s suffering. As if they had single handedly saved Gotham. You exhaled through your nose, already feeling your patience fraying. It was then that you felt someone shift beside you.
“Did you hear that?”
The words were spoken so casually, so smoothly, that at first, you weren’t sure you had heard them at all. You turned your head slightly, finding Bruce Wayne sitting beside you, his face the perfect picture of polite interest. His voice was quiet, just low enough that only you could hear him.
“Hear what?” you muttered, confused.
He took a sip of his drink, his expression unreadable. “The sound of Gotham being saved.”
You blinked. “what?”
Bruce gestured subtly toward the hosts. “Between the Restoration Project and last week’s fundraiser, I think we can safely say Gotham’s problems have been solved.”
For a moment, you just stared at him. Then, before you could stop yourself, you let out a sharp, amused breath. “Oh, absolutely,” you whispered back. “Crime? Poverty? Completely eradicated. I bet even the Joker is rethinking his entire life’s work.”
Bruce tilted his head, considering it. “Maybe he’ll go into finance. Become a hedge fund manager.”
You snorted. “I’d pay to see that.”
Bruce hummed, pretending to ponder it. “Or accounting. Something low risk. Maybe he’d be great at tax fraud.”
You bit your lip, forcing yourself not to laugh.
“Honestly?” you whispered, leaning slightly closer. “A few more dinner parties and we might even get Two Face to start a nonprofit.”
Bruce’s mouth twitched. “And I hear Penguin’s investing in an animal conservation project.”
You covered your mouth with your hand, shaking your head. How had this happened?You had been so close to losing your mind just minutes ago, and now here you were, whispering snide remarks with Bruce Wayne of all people. The absurdity of it hit you all at once.
You scoffed, shaking your head. “This is ridiculous.”
Bruce arched a brow. “What is?”
You glanced at him, lips twitching. “Didn’t think you were so much of a hater.”
Bruce leaned slightly closer, his voice amused. “Isnt that your job? you haven’t stopped being one.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smirk. “I think it’s a little more nuanced than that. Guess I’m a glutton for punishment.”
He chuckled, his blue eyes sharp with something unreadable. “Funny. Me too.”
Bruce wasn’t sure when it happened. When the night had gone from something exhausting to something… bearable. Enjoyable, even.
He had sat down at this table expecting the usual the same empty conversations, the same mindless flattery, the same performance he had perfected over the years.
You, who had spent the first half of the evening looking like you wanted to crawl out of your skin. You, who had made no attempt to charm him, who had barely acknowledged his presence at all until he had decided to push you just a little. when you had responded, it had been effortless. Natural.
He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had felt that. Since he had been able to talk to someone like this without posturing, without pretending. It reminded him of something. Something old. Something familiar. A woman in a black catsuit, teasing him from the edge of a rooftop. Bruce’s fingers curled slightly against his knee.
Selina had been one of the first people to remind him what it felt like to be real. To be alive and now, somehow, you were doing the exact same thing and you didn’t even realize it.
Bruce glanced at you from the corner of his eye. You were still trying to suppress a smile, still glancing around the table like you couldn’t believe you were actually enjoying yourself. He found himself studying you really studying you. You didn’t belong here, that much was obvious. The way you sat stiffly in your chair, the way your fingers tapped lightly against your wine glass when you were irritated, the way you watched the room rather than participated in it.
You were observing. Just like him. Just like he had been doing since he was a boy, since he had first learned how to read a room, how to pick apart every detail, every lie. for all your sharp observations, you had completely missed the fact that you had captivated him.
Bruce Wayne was staring at you like you were a puzzle he needed to solve.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Your voice cut through the air softly, and Bruce blinked, pulled from his thoughts. You had caught him looking. For a brief moment, he considered deflecting, playing it off with a practiced joke. But he didn’t want to.
So instead, he simply shrugged. “I was just thinking,” he said, voice low, “that this might be the first time I’ve actually enjoyed one of these things.”
You frowned, clearly skeptical. “Bullshit. You go to these all the time.”
Bruce smirked. “Doesn’t mean I like them.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, still not quite believing him. “And I’m supposed to believe this dinner is different?”
His smirk deepened. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”
You blinked, and Bruce almost laughed at the way you processed his words, as if you weren’t quite sure what to do with them. But then, slowly, you shook your head, exhaling a quiet laugh.
“You’re so full of shit, Wayne.”
Bruce grinned. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”
For the first time that night, he didn’t feel like the billionaire playboy. Didn’t feel like Batman. He just felt like Bruce. Which wouldn’t that feel weird? He always believed that Batman was the real him. Right now feeling like a teenage boy meeting a girl.
&&&&
The second the speeches ended, you were on your feet. Not rudely just quickly. The second round of self congratulation had begun, and if you had to listen to one more person pat themselves on the back for “saving” Gotham, you were going to lose your mind.
You made your way toward one of the grand patios, slipping past gilded columns and chandeliers that cost more than your entire apartment complex. The doors were open, the cool night air seeping in just enough to make you crave the quiet outside. The moment you stepped onto the patio, you exhaled.
It was massive of course it was. Probably bigger than some of the city blocks you had grown up on. A perfect marble terrace with pristine railings, overlooking the twinkling skyline of Gotham. You leaned against the stone railing, closing your eyes for a moment. Peace. Finally. But, of course, peace never lasted long in Gotham.
“You know, for someone who doesn’t like high society events, you sure end up at a lot of them.”
You opened your eyes, lips already twitching into a smirk before you even turned around. Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking at you with that same insufferably amused expression. A short, incredulous laugh escaped you. “stalking me now rich boy?”
Bruce stepped further onto the patio, shaking his head. “Just wanted the air, cant blame me”
You rolled your eyes, turning back to the skyline. “Mhm. Right. Sure. Just a coincidence you keep popping up wherever I am.”
Bruce leaned against the railing beside you, his voice casual. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll be sure to keep a three foot distance from now on.”
You smirked. “Six, just to be safe.”
“Ten, and I might start getting offended.”
You shook your head, biting back a grin. There was something so easy about talking to him. Too easy. The thought was unsettling. “I have to admit,” Bruce mused, tilting his head slightly. “I didn’t expect you to show up tonight.”
You sighed, toying with the rim of your glass. “Believe me, if I could have avoided it, I would have.”
“you can say that again”
You exhaled through your nose, staring out over the city. “Yeah, well. If I want my stories to actually matter, I have to be seen.”
Bruce was silent for a moment, watching you. Then, his voice softened. “Is that why you do it?”
You turned to him, brow furrowing. “Do what?”
“Write the stories you do.” His blue eyes searched yours, something unreadable flickering behind them. “Why villains? Why not the heroes? You’d probably get a lot more recognition if you did.”
You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Because the heroes don’t need me.”
Bruce’s gaze didn’t waver. “And the villains do?”
Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. “The people who get thrown into Arkham, who are labeled as ‘monsters’ and ‘freaks’ and just written off most of them have stories no one ever hears.” You exhaled. “I want people to understand them. Or at least see them. Even if they don’t deserve sympathy, they at least deserve to be known.”
Bruce didn’t say anything right away. He just stared at you. Not in an uncomfortable way, not in the way men at these events usually did. No, Bruce was really looking at you. And for some reason, it made you shift under his gaze.
“…What?” you muttered.
Bruce just smiled slightly, shaking his head. “Nothing. I just didn’t expect that answer.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, well. Sorry to disappoint. I know the usual arm candy around here doesn’t have thoughts.”
Bruce snorted. “You really think that’s all I see you as?”
You arched a brow. “What else would I be?”
His expression turned thoughtful. “I dont really know”
You scoffed, shaking your head. “Well, if you’re looking for something interesting, you should probably set your sights somewhere else. I have no interest in being one of the people you “help” from the sidelines”
Bruce’s lips quirked. “help from the sidelines?”
You gestured vaguely. “I want to respect the people in there. the ones who have influence. Though when you’re on the other side of the spectrum its a little rough. The rich like to be seen and not heard.” You turned to him, meeting his gaze directly. “I have no intention of being a footnote in the pretend of gotham.”
Bruce watched you for a long moment, his smirk slowly fading into something softer. Then, finally, he spoke. “I have no intention of making you just a fling or to discard your work.”
The words were said so smoothly, so matter of factly, that they took a second to register. You blinked. Your mind blanked. Your entire brain shut down for a solid five seconds. Because what…what did he mean by that? You weren’t sure what part of the sentence flustered you more.
The fact that he wasn’t denying wanting you, or the fact that he had just so casually implied that you are going to be something more than a just a thought. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Bruce just smirked, watching you flounder. Then, slowly, he leaned in just a fraction.
“Speechless?” he murmured, voice low.
You snapped out of it, your pride kicking back in. “Please.” You scoffed, turning away. “You wish.”
Bruce chuckled, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
And as much as you hated to admit it… You kind of loved that he had caught you off guard.
The soft breeze ruffled your hair as you leaned back against the stone railing, trying to gather your thoughts. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had left you this disoriented. Bruce’s smirk only deepened as he studied your reaction, clearly enjoying the fact that he had thrown you off balance. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, and no amount of cool air could wipe the warmth from your face.
“So…” he began, his voice far too smooth for your liking. “I take it that wasn’t exactly the response you were expecting?”
You forced yourself to look at him, swallowing back the knot in your throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” His gaze darkened just a little, and for a moment, there was no teasing, just something more genuine. “I think you do.”
The way he said it made your stomach flutter uncomfortably. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to laugh or slap him so you did neither. Instead, you stepped back from the railing, trying to put some distance between you and the overwhelming presence that was Bruce Wayne.
“fucking rich people,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest as if to shield yourself from him.
Bruce didn’t move, his eyes still locked on yours, his lips slightly curled. “Is that a no?”
Your heart skipped a beat. You blinked at him, dumbfounded. “A no?” you echoed, unsure if you had heard him right.
Bruce gave you that damnable, knowing look again. “You know, you don’t have to act all tough. You’re not fooling anyone.”
“I’m not acting tough,” you shot back, despite your nerves. “I just I don’t even know what you’re asking me.”
Bruce tilted his head slightly. “I’m asking you if you’d like to go out with me.”
Your jaw dropped. “Wait. What?”
He chuckled, clearly amused by your reaction. “Yes. That.”
You stared at him, utterly baffled, before glancing at the ground as if it might have the answers to everything you had just heard. You couldn’t tell if you were about to burst out laughing, slap him, or just walk away and pretend none of this happened.
“…You’re serious?” you managed to croak out after what felt like an eternity.
Bruce simply gave you a shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Dead serious.”
For a long, torturous moment, all you could do was blink at him, trying to make sense of the situation. Bruce Wayne Gotham’s richest, most infamous playboy was asking you, the rebellious daughter of the shadows, on a date and you couldn’t even think of a single coherent response.
Finally, you let out a frustrated breath and turned your head away. “You’re insane.”
Bruce’s smirk softened into a more genuine smile. “I try.”
You shook your head, not knowing whether to feel mortified or weirdly elated. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Well, you could say yes,” Bruce offered casually, his voice now a little more sincere.
You looked back at him, your heart still racing from the unexpected turn of events. “…I’m going to need a lot more time to process this.”
Bruce raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough. I’ll give you time. But just so you know… I’m not going anywhere.”
The tension between you two was still there, thick in the air. But for some reason, it didn’t feel uncomfortable anymore. More like the beginning of something unexpected. Something that might change everything. And just like that, you were thrown back into the whirlwind that was Bruce Wayne.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ It was a quiet night as you walked home, the cool breeze against your face, your mind lost in thought. It had been a long day at work reporting, editing, and finalizing a piece about Gotham’s growing underbelly, a story that seemed to sink deeper with every layer you uncovered. You were used to it. You thrived on it. The truth was your domain, and you’d learned how to swim in the darkness long ago. It was something that made you feel connected to your roots, to the people you came from.
The streets of Gotham felt familiar, in a way. No matter how much money flowed into this city or how many pretty buildings sprang up in the skyline, you couldn’t forget the parts of it you grew up in. The darker corners, the alleys, the people who had nothing but each other to survive. They were your people, the ones you understood more than you ever could the high society types you’d been forced to mingle with.
You rounded the corner onto a familiar street, just a few more blocks before you were home. Then, without warning, the atmosphere shifted. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you slowed your pace. Gotham had a way of making you hyper aware, and tonight was no exception.
You felt it before you saw them. The footfalls behind you, too quiet, too steady. Your pulse quickened.
Before you could even react, two men emerged from the shadows, blocking your path. The dark shapes loomed over you, the threat in their eyes clear. One was holding a sharp looking knife, the other a crowbar. The older, taller man grinned, a twisted, unsettling look that made your stomach churn.
“Give us your bag, sweetheart,” he sneered, a rough, gravelly voice edging the threat. “We don’t want any trouble, but we will make it happen if you don’t cooperate.”
You didn’t flinch. You didn’t back down.
“Sorry, I don’t have time for this,” you muttered, trying to side step the bigger man, but he was quick, grabbing your arm with a vice like grip.
“Not so fast,” he growled. “You’re not going anywhere until we get what we want.”
You spun around quickly, your elbow connecting with his ribs in a sharp strike. He grunted, but it didn’t stop him from tightening his grip. The other man stepped forward, the crowbar raised as if to swing.
That was when you knew you were in trouble. But only for a second. You kicked back, slamming your foot into the first man’s knee, hearing the sickening crack as he stumbled backward. He swore, holding his leg in pain. You used the opening to break free, turning to face both men. The one with the crowbar swung at you wildly, but you ducked under his reach and used his momentum against him, redirecting his strike into the side of the nearby wall. Your movements were quick, practiced clean, precise. You didn’t need to fight dirty. You didn’t need to be anything other than efficient. All you needed was enough of an excuse to escape. Within seconds, the two men were on the ground, groaning in pain, incapacitated by your calculated strikes.
Breathing hard, you exhaled slowly, dusting yourself off. That was easy. But when you looked up to check for any more threats, the air around you grew heavy.
Batman was standing at the edge of the alley, his towering form almost blending with the shadows. His cape fluttered slightly in the wind, the symbol of the bat glaring on his chest, and those piercing eyes those damn eyes locked onto yours.
You froze. For a moment, it felt like time slowed down. It was him. Batman. The dark vigilante, the city’s protector, who had always hovered over Gotham’s criminal world like a myth, now staring at you with an unreadable expression.
His eyes narrowed. Recognition flashed across his face, though his expression remained carefully controlled.
You stared at him, blinking rapidly, confusion clouding your mind. You knew him. But how? But you hadn’t had you really? You were too caught up in your own world to truly pay attention to the rumors and gossip. He was, after all, just the Batman to you. That was all you cared about. But in that moment, you realized with an unsettling clarity: He knew who you were.
You laughed awkwardly, feeling a rush of heat to your face. “Oh great, just what I needed tonight,” you muttered under your breath. You quickly brushed a hand through your hair, trying to act like this wasn’t the most bizarre encounter you’d had in a while. “Listen, don’t worry about me. I appreciate what you do for the community though.”
Batman didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His posture remained rigid, intimidating, but his eyes… his eyes seemed to soften for a split second. There was something in them something that spoke volumes. You couldn’t place it, but it felt like something more than just the bat.
“No,” he said, his voice low, gravelly. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.” His words were firm, but there was a thread of concern beneath it. “Gotham isn’t safe.”
“Yeah, well, Gotham doesn’t care about safe,” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s just me out here. If I want to get home, I’ll get home.” You didn’t want to admit it, but there was something about the way he said that it made you feel smaller. But you didn’t let it show. You lifted your chin, defiant. “I can take care of myself. Just like I did with them.”
You gestured to the two men still groaning on the ground, the earlier tension dissipating into the night air. But Batman didn’t reply. His eyes swept over you in a way that sent a chill down your spine. His body language shifted just slightly, enough for you to notice, but before you could say anything more, he was moving.
“Get inside,” he said abruptly, his voice unwavering. “I’m not letting you walk home like this.”
There it was again. The command in his voice. You narrowed your eyes, a little defiant but feeling a strange pull toward the urgency in his tone. “It’s very courteous of you but please. I told you, I’ve got it. I’m fine.”
Batman didn’t even blink, his tone now sharpened. “Get inside, now.”
His words left no room for argument. You were tempted to push back tempted to keep up your independence. But there was something about the way he said it, the way his gaze hardened, that made you swallow your pride. With a small, frustrated sigh, you turned and started walking towards the street, heading home. You could feel his presence lingering behind you, watching, making sure you weren’t followed.
For a split second, you almost wanted to ask him more. But you stopped yourself. You didn’t need him. Not really. He was just Batman, after all. You shook your head. No need to think about it. Sometimes you want to find and interview him for why he punches first and asks later. Though the bias for your work might be interfering with those thoughts.
But somehow, you couldn’t ignore the tight knot in your chest. The tension in the air between you and him felt like more than just a confrontation. It felt like something else. And that something else… well, it lingered.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Bruce Wayne stood in the Batcave, his back pressed against the cool stone wall, his fingers lightly grazing the edge of the Batcomputer. His cape hung loosely behind him, still damp from the rain soaked night. The adrenaline of his patrol had long since faded, but an odd unease lingered in the pit of his stomach, something he couldn’t quite shake.
He’d spent countless hours in this cave, fighting Gotham’s worst and dealing with the city’s many challenges. His mission had always been clear: protect the innocent, bring justice, and make Gotham a better place. But tonight, something was different. Something about the encounter with you had stayed with him in a way he hadn’t expected. He couldn’t stop thinking about how you had handled yourself, standing tall despite the danger.
He had seen countless people fight back, but there was something unique about the way you did it. You weren’t just trying to survive you were alive in the moment, every move deliberate, confident, and unapologetic. You weren’t waiting for someone to come save you; you were saving yourself. It was rare in Gotham, a city where people often needed help just to make it through the day.
And yet, there was a sadness to it all.
Bruce knew that the city had a way of wearing people down, turning them into something else something bitter or broken. People like you, who had grown up in the shadows, had learned to fend for themselves because Gotham didn’t make it easy. He couldn’t help but wish that you hadn’t had to be so strong. You shouldn’t have had to fight alone.
His thoughts wandered back to the moment he’d seen you in the slums. Despite your strength, despite the control you’d taken of the situation, Bruce felt a pang of sympathy. The city had failed you, just as it had failed so many others. Gotham had a way of demanding too much from its people, and it had never been kind to those who were already struggling.
It was clear you weren’t someone who needed saving. You had made your own way, fought for your own space in a world that hadn’t always welcomed you. Bruce couldn’t help but admire that. It was something he understood well carving out a place for yourself in a city that tried to break you. But it still frustrated him that Gotham had forced you into a corner like that.
He pushed away from the computer, rubbing his eyes as he tried to clear his thoughts. He had a duty to the city, a duty that didn’t leave room for distractions or feelings. Yet, something about the way you carried yourself, how you didn’t let Gotham’s grime get the best of you, lingered in his mind. You were a reminder of the resilience he’d always admired in this city, but also a stark reminder of how much still needed to be done.
Bruce had always seen Gotham as a city to fix, a place in desperate need of change. He’d dedicated himself to that cause, but seeing you, standing strong in the face of everything this city threw at you, made him think what if there were more people like you?
But you shouldn’t have to be like that. You shouldn’t have to fight for your survival in a city that was supposed to be your home. And yet, you had.
Bruce exhaled deeply, leaning back against the stone wall again. It was moments like these that reminded him of how complex Gotham truly was. People like you weren’t just victims or criminals. They were the heart of the city, the ones who kept going even when the world seemed determined to make them quit.
He didn’t have the answers, but seeing you hold your own, standing up to those men like it was just another day, reminded him why he kept doing this. Gotham wasn’t just about fighting crime it was about protecting the people who refused to be broken. People like you.
Bruce let out a slow breath, turning back toward the Batcomputer, but his thoughts were still on you. He wasn’t sure where this would lead, or if it would lead anywhere at all. But for the first time in a long while, he found himself hoping that, somehow, Gotham would be a little less lonely for you.
For all of them.
Alfred: So, how did the gala go, Master Wayne?
Bruce: I think it went well. There was a very pretty woman. She didn’t say no when I asked her out
Alfred: Fascinating. Like watching a car crash in slow motion and calling it a graceful landing.
Bruce: …I’m sensing sarcasm.
Alfred: No, no. I’m very impressed. You managed to express interest without brooding in a corner or vanishing mid conversation. Progress.
Bruce: I hate it when you bully me.
Alfred: And yet, I persist.
More Posts from Sirxaibs and Others
Hizashi Yamada X Reader
𓇢𓆸☾☼ Fighting the Pro 𓇢𓆸☾☼
This one is very angsty. SLIGHT DEBRIEF. The reader is a bit of an ass. Not for having unwarranted emotions but taking it out on him is very unwarranted. Being a pro at such a young age willllllll have an effect on you. It’s always when you’re young you feel like you’re running out of time.
masterlist
SYNOPSIS: You both are very grotesquely in love. Though early relationship there was definitely over compensation. A desperate cling for any type of normalcy. Though when you’re a pro in the top 10 and it becomes too much?
The room was filled with the heat of your bodies moving against each other, the air still thick with the remnants of heavy breathing and whispered praises. Hizashi lay sprawled beneath you, his chest rising and falling rapidly, golden locks fanned out over the pillow in a complete mess. His clothes had been discarded somewhere on the floor, long forgotten in the heat of the moment, and right now you’re watching the reveal to the fresh, angry red marks you had left on his skin.
His fingers lazily traced over your hip, drawing mindless patterns as he hummed in satisfaction. “Damn, babe,” he murmured, voice rough and pleased. “You make me want to do so many things to you.”
You smirked, stretching like a cat leaning closer to his face “You’re still talking, aren’t you? start doing”
He let out a breathy laugh before rolling over to press a lingering kiss against your jaw. “Okay, okay, you ask and shall receive.”
In a moment youre grinding down onto him. Feeling him beneath you so hard and ready for you. A low groan left his mouth as he pulls you close and kisses you roughly. The two of you wrapped into each other, Who knows how many rounds this has been? neither of you in any hurry to move. You want each other and need each other. But then, just as you were gripping your fingers through his hair, Hizashi stiffened.
“Oh, shit.”
You raised an eyebrow. “What?”
He shot up so fast he nearly rolled off the bed. “I was supposed to meet Shouta and Nemuri like” He grabbed his phone, eyes widening. “Twenty minutes ago! Oh my God.”
You snorted as he picked you off of him and scrambled to find his clothes, nearly face planting in the process. “zashi, be careful ”
“Babe,” he groaned, tugging on his pants with the coordination of a newborn deer, “you were literally sucking my soul out of my body of course I forgot!”
You only grinned. “I dont know if this is my fault, I had no idea you were seeing them today”
Hizashi groaned dramatically. “You’re unreal.”
But despite his rush, he still took a second to lean down and kiss you, lingering just long enough to make it clear he was reluctant to go. Then, shaking off the daze you had put him in, he throws you down to lay and puts a blanket over you. he threw on his jacket, grabbed his sunglasses, and bolted for the door. only to stop midway and run a hand through his already wrecked hair.
“Shit. I dont look too messy?”
You gave him a once over, eyes trailing over the mess of his clothes, his still kissed bruised lips, and the unmistakable marks you’d left on his neck. His golden hair was an absolute mess, his signature sunglasses were askew, and the high collar of his jacket barely concealed the array of fresh, bright, unapologetically placed hickeys decorating his neck like a victory banner. He moved in slow, stumbling motions, haphazardly fastening his belt with shaky fingers while still catching his breath. The man looked absolutely wrecked in the most smugly satisfied way possible.
You, on the other hand, lounged on the bed, completely unbothered, watching him trip over his own boots in a daze.
“Zashi, you’re late,” you reminded lazily, watching his half panicked, half pussy drunken movements as he tried to sober himself up.
“I knowwww holy shit I can still feel you on my everywhere” he groaned, shuddering dramatically as he ran a hand through his already ruined hair. “Babe, you don’t understand I think you rewired my brain with how much you were moaning. Like, I straight up can’t function.”
“You functioned just fine earlier,” you teased.
Hizashi let out a choked laugh, looking absolutely done as he threw on his sunglasses and stumbled out the door.
He groaned. “I love you really but my gooooood”
And with that, he stumbled out the door, muttering curses under his breath as he rushed to meet his very unimpressed friends.
Hizashi Yamada was struggling.
𓇢𓆸☾☼
By the time he arrived at the bar, he was quiet, an absolute rarity. He just slid into the booth across from Aizawa, shoulders slumped, nursing his drink like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
Aizawa squinted at him, immediately clocking the very obvious “I got busy before coming here or I was coming before coming here” energy radiating off of him. “The hell is wrong with you?”
Hizashi blinked at him slowly before bringing a hand up to rub his ear.
“Sorry, what?”
Aizawa’s eye twitched. “I said—”
“Yeah, yeah, no, no, can you say it again? Sorry, I can’t hear properly right now” Hizashi paused for dramatic effect, tilting his head and flashing a smug, self satisfied grin, “cause my baby kept moaning in my ear.”
Aizawa looked like he was actively regretting his life choices. Yamada had never been quiet a day in his life, and now he shows up to their long awaited catch up night looking like he’d been personally delivered into the hands of God??
“Don’t bring that nasty shit here,” Aizawa muttered, immediately reaching for his drink as if he could drown out the mental image.
Across the table, Midnight snorted into her glass while Mic just sighed, swirling his drink, utterly unbothered.
“Hey, man,” he added, smirking, “I’m just sayin’ if I ask you to repeat stuff tonight, it’s ’cause of that.” He pointed vaguely to his ear. “Just wrecked. Completely shattered. I got, like, post orgasmic tinnitus.”
Aizawa gagged.
“Leave,” he deadpanned.
“I’m already sitting, dude, what do you—”
“Leave.”
The three of them had been doing this for years this easy back and forth, this relentless teasing, this balance between Midnight’s playful mischief, Mic’s boundless energy, and Aizawa’s gruff exhaustion. It was the kind of friendship that had been built in the trenches of late night patrols, shared exhaustion, and an unshakable loyalty that had long since turned into family.
They were opposites in so many ways. Hizashi was loud, vibrant, the type to light up a room just by existing. Kayama was playful, charming, always knowing exactly how to push buttons and make people flustered just for fun. And Aizawa? Aizawa was the anchor whether he realized it or not, the long suffering soul who sighed, groaned, and rolled his eyes through every ridiculous conversation but never actually left because at the end of the day, these were his people.
And right now? His people were absolutely insufferable.
“Shouta,” Midnight gasped between giggles, still reeling over the absolute state of Mic’s neck. “Look at him again. Just one more time. I promise it’s worth it.”
Hizashi just smirked, unfazed, sipping his drink. The smugness radiating off of him was so dense it could be measured in metric tons.
Aizawa, meanwhile, looked like he was one more ridiculous comment away from throwing his entire drink in Mic’s face and walking out. “I’m this close to never seeing you again,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. Though everyone ag that table knew he’d kneel over and die first before abandoning his friends.
Across the table, Midnight was watching.
And grinning.
“Y’know,” she mused, swirling her glass, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people this in love before and it not be for show.”
Mic perked up immediately, cocking his head like a golden retriever that had just been called a good boy. “Aww, Kayamaaa,” he drawled, resting his chin in his palm with the dopiest lovestruck grin. “That’s so sweet”
“Yeah they’ve been obsessed with each other since she interned at the school” Aizawa cut in dryly.
“No, no, let her cook!” Mic shot back, waving him off before turning back to Midnight with stars in his eyes. “Go on, tell me how in love I am!”
Midnight snorted, glancing at Aizawa, who looked like he was contemplating his life choices. “I’m serious, though,” she continued. “Most couples? You can tell when it’s for show, or when it’s a phase, or when it’s gonna burn out in a year. But you?” She pointed at Hizashi with the utmost conviction, looking a little proud.
“You act like a damn lovesick idiot all the time. It’s gross but in, like, a good way.”
Mic beamed, looking stupidly proud. “I am a lovesick idiot! And it’s so good!”
Aizawa groaned, rubbing his temples harder, already regretting showing up. “have you guys always been this way?.”
“No, no, shou, listen,” Hizashi said, grabbing his arm. “She’s spittin’ facts! Spittin’! Like, I am so in love, man. So incredibly”
“Drink your damn whiskey and shut up,” Aizawa interrupted, yanking his arm away.
Hizashi chuckled, leaning back in his seat, his expression still drunkenly soft despite the teasing.
“Can’t help it,” he said, grinning like an idiot. “When you’re this happy, it kinda just… leaks out.”
Midnight just smirked, taking another sip of her drink. “Though How did you get to this point? Lord knows momma cant keep a relationship”
Hizashi paused, his goofy grin faltering for just a second. He took a deep swig of his drink, letting the sharp burn settle in his throat before speaking.
“It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows at first,” he admitted, leaning back with a sigh. His gaze softened, a rare, unguarded vulnerability creeping into his eyes as he stared at the table in front of him. “We were kinda, uh… figuring things out for a while. You know how I am. Always too loud, too impulsive, a little… well, a lot chaotic.” He shot a pointed look at Aizawa, who grunted in response, clearly trying to keep a neutral face.
“And she’s… different,” Hizashi continued, his voice lowering to something more serious. “She’s got this calm, steady presence about her. Makes me want to be better, do better, you know?”
Midnight raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but not surprised. “You two are opposites, huh?”
Hizashi chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. It took us some time to get there, but eventually, we realized that maybe we did have something. Not just some casual fling or whatever, but… real feelings, y’know? And I was scared at first scared I was gonna mess it up, scared it wouldn’t be enough for her, that I’d let her down. But the moment I made that decision when I finally decided to stop running and put in the work? I could feel it click. Everything just made sense.”
Aizawa, who had been nursing his drink quietly, looked over at him with a narrowed gaze. “So you put in the effort? Actually put in the effort?”
Hizashi’s face softened even more as he nodded, eyes glimmering with sincerity. “Yeah. I did. We both did. And I think… that’s what it’s all about, right? Real love isn’t just the butterflies and passion. It’s the messy stuff, the growth, the parts where you have to put in effort, even when you’re exhausted or scared.”
𓇢𓆸☾☼
The apartment smelled like vanilla candles and takeout.
You barely had time to drop your bag before you saw it the table set, dimmed lights, another date night waiting for you. Like you hadn’t just gotten back from another mission, exhausted, bruised, and barely able to think straight. Like you weren’t still standing in the doorway, wearing the same uniform you’d been in for the last 48 hours, while Hizashi stood in the kitchen, grinning, oblivious to the storm building behind your eyes.
“Welcome home, babe!” His voice was bright, too bright, like he hadn’t noticed the tension in your shoulders, the exhaustion dragging you down like lead weights. And then he walked over, brushing a kiss to your temple before leading you further inside. “I got us reservations at that new place downtown! Figured we could get dressed up, have a nice night”
Something inside you snapped. It wasn’t just tonight. It wasn’t just this date. It was all of it. Every carefully planned dinner. Every perfect night out. Every photo ready, scripted moment that felt less like your life and more like some magazine romance article.
Every time you came home, and instead of letting you breathe, he tried to fill the space, like he was terrified of what would happen if he didn’t. And suddenly, you hated it. Hated all of it.
“Hizashi, stop.”
The words came out sharp, harsher than you meant. But you meant them.
Hizashi froze, blinking. “What?”
You exhaled hard, shaking your head, dropping your bag onto the floor with a thud. “This. The dates. The perfect little nights out every time I come back.”
You finally turned to him, voice sharp, cutting. “Can you just stop acting like we have to make up for lost time?”
His expression faltered. Just a flicker. But you saw it.
“…Babe, I just”
“You just what?” you snapped. “Try to force us into some picture perfect couple routine every time I walk through the door? Like it’s some checklist you have to complete?”
His brow furrowed, mouth pressing into a thin line. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Then what the hell are you doing?”
He let out a breath, stepping closer, but you stepped back, and that that’s when his face changed. That’s when his expression shuttered, something wounded flashing in his golden eyes.
“I’m trying,” he said, voice lower now. Softer. “I’m trying to make this work.” that that only made the anger burn hotter.
“By doing things that don’t even feel like us?” You gestured around, at the perfectly set table, at the candlelight, at the expectation hanging in the air. “Hizashi, when did we ever need to be like this?”
He flinched, just slightly. “I just thought—”
“You thought you had to prove something ,” you cut in, voice biting. “You thought we had to act like some stupid, perfect couple every time I came home so it felt like things were normal.”
“Because things aren’t normal!” His voice spiked, frustration cracking through now. “Because I never know when you’re coming back! I never know when it’s the last time I’m gonna see you when it’s the last time we get to do this!” His chest rose and fell, breath unsteady, fingers twitching at his sides.
It felt like the walls were closing in, trapping the anger between them, thick and suffocating. The air was hot, heavy with the weight of words that had been building for too long, now finally crashing down all at once.
Hizashi stood in the middle of the room, breathing hard, hands curled into fists like he was holding himself together. His sunglasses were gone, thrown onto the coffee table in the heat of the argument, leaving his golden eyes bare, raw with frustration, with something wounded underneath.
“You don’t even try to make time for us!” he had yelled first, voice too loud, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Do you even care anymore, or are we just gonna keep treating this like some long distance fling?”
The accusation hit hard, knocking the air from your lungs. Because it wasn’t true. yet the way he said it like he truly, honestly believed it made something in you snap.
“Don’t put this all on me, Mic!” you shot back, stepping forward, voice sharp, biting. “I’m doing everything I can! You think I like being away all the time? You think I like coming back just to feel like a stranger in my own relationship?”
His face darkened, jaw clenching. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It sure as hell feels like it!”
That stopped him.Hizashi had been trying too hard to make up for lost time. Too many perfect dates, too many candlelit dinners, too many picture-perfect moments that felt scripted, forced.
None of it felt real.
Not because you didn’t love him. But because it made you feel like he was holding onto an idea of you, rather than the person you actually were.
So you finally said it.
“These idealistic Pinterest romance novel date? Its fake. What happened to us doing stuff we’re passionate about? What happened to real life things. It feels like you don’t love me, Hizashi. You love the idea of me.”
The second the words left your mouth, you saw the exact moment they landed saw the way his breath caught, saw the flicker of real, genuine hurt cross his face. Then, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head, his voice lower now, strained.
“…That’s not fair.”
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t angry. It was broken. And that was worse.
“You think I don’t love you?” he muttered, running a hand over his face, his voice shaking. “You think I’m just… what? Holding onto some fantasy version of you? That all of this doesn’t mean anything to me?”
You didn’t answer.
Because you didn’t know how.
Because you didn’t know if you were wrong.
Hizashi let out a bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it. Just something exhausted, something tired of fighting for you to see him.
“Yeah, maybe I’ve been trying too hard,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping. “Maybe I don’t know how to make this work. But do you know what it feels like to wait for you? To go to bed every night not knowing? To feel like I have to fight just to get a piece of you before you’re gone again?”
His voice cracked on the last word.
And suddenly, you saw it. The fear. Not just frustration. Not just exhaustion. He was afraid. Afraid that one day, you wouldn’t come back. That one day, there wouldn’t be anything left to come back to.
And that realization hit you harder than anything else.
“Don’t you dare act like you don’t understand where I’m coming from,” you snapped, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. “You’ve been a pro hero much longer than I have. You were just like this when you were my age.”
His brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his gaze. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb, Hizashi!” The words came out sharp, louder than you intended. “You did the exact same thing when you were first starting out.”
Hizashi flinched, his mouth opening like he was about to argue, but you weren’t done.
“I care about you so much,” you said, your voice quiet now, more vulnerable than you wanted it to sound. “But right now? I can’t. I can’t pretend like everything’s fine when I’m always on the go, running from one mission to the next. I don’t have the luxury of playing house or acting like I’m some domestic goddess. I’m just trying to stay alive out there.”
His expression softened for a brief moment, but you could feel the distance growing between you. The things you were saying weren’t just about him anymore they were about you. And the pain in your chest deepened as you spoke the next words.
“I’m not like you, Hizashi. I don’t have time to pretend like everything’s okay, because out there, it’s not. I need to focus. I need to figure out how to be the best damn hero I can be. And when I come back, I don’t want to be distracted by a fake reality. I just want to see you .”
Hizashi stood silent, his hands hanging by his sides. You could feel him pulling away not physically, but in his heart, somewhere deep down.
“Do you understand?” you asked softly, though your words came out barely a whisper. “I need you to understand. I don’t want to lose you, but I have to be who I am. I need to help people. But i need you”
For a long moment, there was nothing but silence between you both. Then, finally, he took a step back, rubbing his face, and the hurt on his face was so palpable it made your chest ache.
“You used to be this guy,” you said, stepping closer, your voice softer now but still intense. “The guy I fell in love with the weird guy, the one who spoke before he thought, who couldn’t hold back his excitement for the smallest things. The guy who dragged me to concerts, the one who’d make me laugh until my stomach hurt, and we didn’t care what anyone thought. We didn’t need all this,” you gestured to the dinner table, the candles, the perfect setup. “We didn’t need these fake, picture perfect nights. Why can’t it just be like it used to be? Why can’t it be the concerts and the lighthearted silliness? The way we used to be?”
His eyes softened, but there was a flicker of something else in his gaze frustration, and it broke you.
“You don’t want me anymore?” he asked, his voice cracking with the words.
“No!” You shook your head, feeling the anger slip away, only to be replaced by something much more painful. “I don’t want the version of you that’s trying so hard to be something you’re not. I don’t want this perfect idea of us, this… this facade.” You took a step closer, now within arm’s reach, and your voice softened. “I want the guy I fell in love with, the one who didn’t care what anyone thought, the one who made everything fun, even when things weren’t perfect. I want that guy, Hizashi.”
He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze never leaving you, as if he was trying to piece together everything you’d said.
“But I’m trying,” he murmured finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m trying to give us the life we never had, a chance to be normal, to have what other people have. You deserve that.”
The pain in his voice was almost enough to make your heart shatter.
“I don’t want what other people have,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper now, full of raw honesty. “I just want us. The way we used to be. No facades. No pretending. I just want to come home to you, Hizashi. The real you.”
He didn’t speak for a while, but the silence wasn’t cold anymore. It was heavy, fragile, like the two of you were standing on the edge of something, waiting for it to break.
Finally, he took a step closer, his hand reaching out slowly, unsure. When his fingers brushed yours, there was an undeniable connection a silent understanding that wasn’t about perfection, but about the truth.
The silence between you and Hizashi was heavy, thick with emotions that neither of you knew how to untangle. The space between you felt like it was closing in, suffocating and full of unspoken words. You both stood there, neither moving, just staring at each other, a tension building that you couldn’t shake.
Your heart was pounding in your chest, each beat a reminder of everything you were trying to say but couldn’t. You wanted to scream, to demand understanding, but it was like you were trapped in your own mind. Hizashi stood there, his golden eyes not leaving yours, his face tense, unsure of what to do next. He looked at you for a long moment, his breath shaky, but he didn’t say anything, just continued to watch you, his chest rising and falling. You could feel the pain in the air between you, and it made your throat tighten. He swallowed, his eyes darkened with some emotion you couldn’t read, but you could feel the intensity of it. Then, slowly, almost like he was unsure if you’d let him, he stepped forward.
“Can I” he started, his voice raw.
You couldn’t answer, your chest tightening with the emotions you’d been holding in, and before you knew it, he was close, pulling you into his arms. You didn’t resist, not even a little. You melted into him, your body shaking slightly with the rawness of the moment. He held you tight, his arms wrapped around you, the warmth of him filling you up.
And that’s when it hit.
The dam inside you broke. The tears came suddenly, hot and fast, as if your body had been holding them back for so long, and now it couldn’t stop. You didn’t even try to control it, didn’t even care if he saw the hurt on your face. It was all coming out, everything you had buried for so long, all the pain and frustration, the weight of your choices, your fear of losing him.
You sobbed against his chest, the sound raw and jagged, as if the very act of crying was too much, too overwhelming. Hizashi’s grip tightened around you, his hand smoothing over your back in soft, reassuring strokes. You could feel his breath on your skin, his heart beating in time with yours.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to do anymore.”
He didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he just held you tighter, as if he was anchoring you to him, keeping you grounded in that moment, in the safety of his arms. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice low and full of gentle emotion.
“All I’ve ever wanted,” he said softly, his voice cracking just a little, “was to love you.”
The words hit you like a wave, crashing into the storm of emotions inside you, and you cried harder, the weight of them finally sinking in. You pulled him closer, your hands gripping his shirt, as if you were afraid he might slip away, like you were losing everything.
“I want to be the one who’s there for you,” he whispered into your hair, his voice trembling slightly. “I know this was probably too much it felt weird even for me, but all I’ve ever wanted is to love you. To be the guy who’s here for you, even when things are tough. I never wanted to hurt you.”
You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your face streaked with tears, your eyes red. But you saw it then the tenderness in his gaze, the raw sincerity in his expression. It was like he was showing you a side of himself that he’d been hiding, afraid you wouldn’t accept.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered again, the words coming from deep inside. “I just… I just don’t know how to make it all work. Everything is so hard and I ruined the best thing I had”
Hizashi wiped away a tear that had slipped down your cheek, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “We don’t have to have it all figured out. We just need to be real with each other. Unconditionally.”
You nodded, your chest still tight with emotion, but the tears had slowed, the weight in your heart lightened just a little by the sincerity in his words.
“I just love you,” you said, your voice thick with emotion, but steady. “Even when I don’t know what I’m doing. Even when it gets messy.”
He smiled, the smile that always made you feel like you were home. “Always,” he whispered. “I will always love you.”
𓇢𓆸☾☼
“Damn,” Midnight hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward. “That’s some real shit, Mic. But I get it. You two are a damn team.”
Hizashi looked back up at her, a genuine smile stretching across his face as he thought about you. “Exactly. It’s not just about the good times, yeah, it’s a little messy, but that’s what makes it worth it.”
Aizawa snorted, shaking his head but still smirking. “I’ll believe it when I see it last. You’re not exactly known for your ‘long term commitment’ skills.”
“Well, you’ll be seeing it, Shou,” Hizashi grinned, crossing his arms. “I’m gonna make sure of it.” He took another sip of his drink, his usual energetic self returning, albeit with a soft, fond gleam in his eyes. “I guess the real lesson here is that when you find someone worth it, you fight for it. You don’t just let it slip away because it’s hard. And hell, I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
Midnight leaned back, tapping her glass thoughtfully. “You really do love her, Mic. Who knew you had it in you?”
He smirked, now more like his usual self. “I’ve always had it in me. Just needed the right person to bring it out.”
Aizawa just sighed again, rubbing his eyes, but there was a slight, almost imperceptible hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’m still not hearing about this again, right?”
“Of course not,” Hizashi teased, raising his glass with a wink. “But maybe next time, I’ll bring her along so you can see what I’m talking about.”
“Yeah, right,” Aizawa muttered, reaching for his drink. “Just don’t bring any more of those details with you.”
Hizashi winked again, fully aware of the teasing but secretly grateful for his friends’ support, in their own way. He wasn’t just in love he was building something that mattered. And that meant everything.
Mic turned to him, utterly radiating joy. “Oh, babe, c’mon, don’t be jealous.”
Aizawa turned slowly, his exhausted, soul deep stare locking onto Mic like a curse.
“…What?”
Mic just smirked. “If you want me to kiss you on the ear too, all you gotta do is ask, babe.”
Aizawa physically recoiled, looking betrayed, while Midnight shrieked with laughter, grabbing Aizawa’s sleeve like she needed him for support.
“This is the worst night of my life,” Aizawa muttered.
“You say that every time we go out,” Midnight teased.
“Because it’s true every time.”
And yet he was still here. Because as much as he liked to complain, as much as they actively tested his patience, these were the people he’d risked his life beside. The people who knew him too well, who had been there through every high and low, and who, despite their insufferable antics, would have his back without question.
Even if they were giggling like teenagers at Mic’s hickey covered neck.
Mirio Togata X Reader
°❀.ೃ࿔Sunshine boy °❀.ೃ࿔
synopsis: the optimist always gets to the pessimistic
this drabble took so long… i haven’t the faintest idea why but i kept on having to come back to it. Also of course hawks is in it because this man will slip into here all the time.
If someone had told you years ago that you’d end up working closely with Sir Nighteye, you would’ve laughed in their face. It wasn’t that you didn’t respect him, he was a brilliant tactician, a respected pro hero, and had an impeccable track record. But you? You were the type to fight with instinct, to make decisions on the ball, to trust in your power and your gut rather than detailed predictions and meticulous planning….So why the hell were you here, standing across from the man himself in his office, flipping through yet another thick case file while he watched you with that unreadable expression?
“You’re still not much of a strategist,” Nighteye remarked, adjusting his glasses as he scanned the aftermath report of your latest joint mission.
You smirked, leaning back in your chair. “And you’re still not much of a field agent.”
He sighed. “That’s exactly why this partnership works.”
/////////
“YEAHHH! IT’S LUMINE! Alright, listeners, it’s time for another Pro Hero Spotlight! And today, we’re talkin’ about someone who SHINES!! LITERALLY!
!!!!
Name: Lumine!
Quirk: Photon!
!!!!!
“This top ten hero is all about brightening it up, baby! She can absorb and manipulate photons to move at the speed ofwell, light! That means energy blasts, insane reflexes, and even phasing through attacks when she shifts into pure energy! How cool is that?!”
//////
The streets were in chaos. Smoke curled into the air, glass crunched underfoot, and a massive villain with reinforced armor was tearing through the city like a wrecking ball.
Sir Nighteye stood in a secluded location watching every movement below with razor sharp focus. And then
FWOOOOSH!
A streak of golden light SHOT through the sky, illuminating the battlefield in a flash before re forming into Y/n! You landed in front of the villain, body still pulsing with residual light. “You’re making a mess,” you quipped, cracking your knuckles. “How about we clean it up?”
The villain roared, lunging at you. But before he could land a hit “DODGE! NOW!” Nighteye’s voice cut through your earpiece. You didn’t hesitate. Your body shimmered as you phased into photons, the villain’s massive fist passing right through you. Reforming at his side, you unleashed a concentrated beam of energy, sending him skidding back.
“Shut up, i’m the one doing the fighting”
“Four seconds,” Nighteye said through the comm completely ignoring your statement. “His armor is weakest at the joints. Hit the right knee now.”
You grinned. “Got it.” just like that, you MOVED lightning fast, reappearing just in time to drive a photon charged kick straight into the villain’s knee joint. The armor CRACKED, and the villain staggered. “this is so lame, why does this feel so boring” The villain reeled back, dazed, and You exhaled, rolling your shoulders. “Well, as fuuuuun as that was, we still have to find the missing cargo.” Nighteye adjusted his glasses. “Hmph. ” You groaned. “ugh this is such a pain”
——-
Below, the warehouse bustled with activity villains moving in and out, unloading crates from a truck into the building. Whatever they were smuggling, it wasn’t legal, and it was your job to put a stop to it.
“This should be a straightforward operation,” Nighteye murmured, sharp eyes calculating every movement below. “We take out the guards, secure the cargo, and apprehend the ringleader before they realize what’s happening.”
You nodded, scanning the scene. “And what about the new guy you were telling me about?”
“He’ll be assisting,” Nighteye replied, his voice as unreadable as ever.
Right on cue, the rooftop door creaked open behind you. “Sorry for the wait!” The voice was bright, confident, and unmistakably full of energy. Turning, you saw a broad shouldered blonde stepping onto the roof, adjusting his gloves. Even through his mask, his beaming smile was obvious.
Mirio Togata.
Even if you hadn’t known his name, you would’ve recognized him by reputation one of U.A.’s most promising students, currently interning under Nighteye. But what caught you off guard was his presence. He wasn’t just strong; he radiated warmth, like the human embodiment of sunshine. “Lumine, right?” he asked, walking up to you with an easy confidence. “Sir’s told me a lot about you! It’s really cool to finally meet you.”
You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Nighteye. “Didn’t know you were such a fan of my work, Sir.”
Nighteye adjusted his glasses. “I made a passing mention of you. He was relentless in asking for details.” Mirio laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “Guilty! But can you blame me? You’re a top pro! It’s not every day I get to work with someone like you.”
You smirked. “are you kissing ass your way to the top?.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it!” he grinned.
Nighteye cleared his throat. “Lumine, you’ll take the east entrance. I’ll enter from the west. lemillion, infiltrate the main warehouse and secure the interior. Stay alert for reinforcements.”
“Yes, Sir!” Mirio saluted, then turned to you. “Stay safe out there!” You gave him a nod before vanishing into a stream of light, dashing toward your position.
———
The mission went smoothly at first. You dismantled the outer guards with ease, your photon based quirk making it simple to blind and disarm them. Inside, Mirio weaved through walls and floors, taking down enemies before they could react. Nighteye, as always, operated with precision, his foresight ensuring every move was calculated. Then, as you were securing the last of the cargo, a villain lunged at you from the shadows.
You barely had time to react before an arm wrapped around your waist and yanked you back just as a blade slashed through the air where you had been standing. A blur of blue and gold moved past you as Mirio landed between you and the villain, his usual cheer replaced by sharp focus.
“Whoa, that was close!” he said, keeping an easy stance but never taking his eyes off the attacker.
You let out a breath. “Did you just—”
“Pull you out of danger? Yup!” he grinned over his shoulder. “Figured you wouldn’t mind.”
Before you could respond, the villain lunged again. Mirio immediately let himself phase, the blade passing through his chest like mist. The attacker barely had time to register what had happened before Mirio resolidified behind him, delivering a precise, forceful punch that sent the villain sprawling.
You crossed your arms, smirking. “Not bad, lemillion.”
“Thanks! But, uh, if I could phase other people, I probably would’ve just pulled you underground instead of doing it the old fashioned way.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his head.
“I’m glad you can’t,” you shot back. “I’d rather not find out what being buried alive feels like.”
Mirio laughed. “Fair point!”
You both turned as Nighteye approached, his usual unreadable expression in place. “I assume everything is under control?”
“All good!” Mirio said with a thumbs up. “Teamwork makes the dream work!”
You shook your head, amused. “Not a bad first mission together.”
Mirio beamed. “Hopefully the first of many!” as you’d later find out, it was.
—-
You learnt very fast that it was not just a one time thing. He came barrelling into the next big mission that you were working on. As the battle was over, the villains secured, and the dust had finally settled. The tension that had filled the air minutes ago had been replaced by the steady hum of cleanup efforts. You stood off to the side, rolling your shoulder as you surveyed the scene. Another mission completed. Another long night.
“Lumine!”
The familiar voice cut through the chaos, warm and unmistakably bright.
You turned just in time to see Mirio jogging toward you, weaving effortlessly through the debris and uniformed officers. His blue cape fluttered behind him, and despite the scuffs on his costume and the streaks of dust across his face, his grin was as radiant as ever.
He skidded to a stop just in front of you, hands on his hips as he looked you over. “You okay?”
You smirked. “I should be asking you that. Pretty sure you took on half the villains yourself.”
Mirio laughed, but there was a softness in his gaze that hadn’t been there the last time you’d worked together. “Eh, nothing I can’t handle. You, though, you were amazing out there.”
You rolled your eyes. “You always a charmer?”
“Because it’s always true.” He grinned, leaning forward just slightly, voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of pro heroes in action, but you? You’re on another level.” Your smirk wavered for half a second, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t teasing or joking he meant it. Mirio, for all his strength and confidence, never acted like he was above admiration. He gave it freely, effortlessly, like it was second nature.
“…Not bad yourself, Togata.” You nudged his arm, trying to shake off the warmth creeping into your chest.
His eyes lit up. “togata? I haven’t given you my name yet, second meeting and is this a good thing or a bad thing?”
“oh my.” Warmth spread from your face. Respect was a huge thing in your book. But you’d be lying to yourself if his name didn’t reply in your head after your last encounter. you crossed your arms. “i’m so sorry lemilion! we haven’t even left the battlefield and you don’t even know me-”
Mirio’s laughter was bright, like sunlight breaking through the remnants of the night. “Don’t worry about it!! just a silly little slip”
Before you could answer, Nighteye approached, his usual composed expression in place as he took in the two of you. “You did well today,” he said simply.
your daze slightly disappears looking up to him “High praise, coming from you.”
Nighteye adjusted his glasses. “Don’t get used to it.”
Mirio chuckled, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Sir’s just being modest. We both know he’s impressed.” Nighteye sighed but didn’t argue, which only made Mirio’s grin widen.
You shook your head, glancing at Mirio. “i’m starting to think in the inside you’re a bright shiny ball puppies and rainbows in there” “you surround yourself with smiley blondes and people with a very bright outfits.
Nighteye’s expression barely flickered, but you swore you saw the tiniest twitch of his eye at your words. You smirked, pressing your advantage.
“I mean, really,” you continued, crossing your arms. “Mirio? All Might? Bubble Girl? Myself? What is it with you and people who radiate pure sunshine? Do you just absorb their energy like some kind of grumpy solar panel?”
Mirio snorted, clearly trying to hold back laughter, while Bubble Girl who had just arrived on the scene blinked in confusion. Nighteye sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if you were giving him a migraine.
“I surround myself with competent heroes,” he corrected, but there was a hint of exasperation in his tone.
You raised an eyebrow. “Right, and it just so happens that all those ‘competent heroes’ have the same golden retriever energy? Be honest, do you break out in hives when you’re around pessimistic people?”
Mirio was straight up laughing now, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the exchange like it was the best thing he’d seen all night.
Nighteye merely adjusted his glasses again, as if recalibrating his patience. “Y/n,” he said evenly, “perhaps you should spend less time making baseless observations and more time debriefing the mission.”
“Oh, so you’re avoiding the question? Interesting.” You tilted your head. “That means I’m right.”
He gave you a long, flat stare before turning on his heel and walking away. You caught Mirio covering his mouth, trying and failing to stifle his amusement.
“You’re awful,” he whispered between chuckles.
You grinned. “He makes it too easy.”
——-
The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as you leaned against one of the agency’s desks, arms crossed, watching Mirio dig through a cabinet with the focus of someone searching for the meaning of life. His uniform was slightly rumpled from the day, his tie loosened, the top button undone. Without his hero costume without the grand, larger than life energy he carried in battle he looked more like a regular student, just a little tired, a little more human. But still, somehow, undeniably bright.
“You lose something, Togata?” you asked, voice dry as ever.
Mirio, undeterred by your deadpan tone, straightened with a triumphant grin, holding up a can of juice like it was a legendary artifact. “Victory!” he declared before cracking it open with an exaggerated flourish.
You raised an eyebrow. “That felt high stress for such little reason.”
“Hey, sometimes it’s the little things,” he said, taking a sip. He sighed contentedly, as if this really was the highlight of his day. Then, as if just noticing, he tilted his head at you, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “You’re here a lot, huh?”
You shrugged. “Guess so.”
Mirio hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against the can. “Shouldn’t you be at your own agency? Not that I’m complaining, it’s always nice to see you.”
There was something in the way he said it casual but genuine, like he meant it. Like HE liked having you around. It threw you off for just a second.
You smirked, shaking off the feeling. “Oh, I got kicked out.”
Mirio blinked, his whole body pausing mid sip. “…Wait, really?”
“Yeah.” You sighed dramatically, crossing your arms. “Turns out, if you glare at one too many people, they start thinking you ‘disrupt workplace morale.’”
For a second, his face flickered with concern, his brows furrowing just slightly. But then you saw it the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, the telltale sign that he was just now getting the message. there it was. His laughter erupted, full and unrestrained. “No way! You had me for a second!”
You grinned. “I have my moments.”
Mirio shook his head, still chuckling. “Man, you’re something else.”
“I try.”
Silence settled between you, but it wasn’t awkward just a lull, comfortable and easy. Mirio leaned against the desk beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. He always carried this… presence. Like standing next to him meant standing in a patch of sunlight. It was disarming.
Mirio, apparently, wasn’t one for silence. “So, if you’re not actually exiled from your agency, why do you spend so much time here?”
You hesitated for a beat before answering. “…I guess it’s not bad here.” You nodded toward the space around you. “Nighteye’s strict, but I can respect him. The work is solid. And the company’s… not terrible.”
Mirio’s lips curled into a playful grin. “Wow, your compliments feel kinda lackluster.”
“Hush now,” you said smoothly. “Don’t tell me you’re tired of me being here.”
“Never!” His response was immediate, like he’d been waiting for you to ask. His smile softened a little. “Actually, I think it’s nice. I was gonna say you’re kinda like an honorary member at this point. But, y’know…” He glanced at you, an easy warmth in his gaze. “That makes it sound like we don’t want you here when we do.”
Something about the way he said it lighthearted, but undeniably sincere made you pause.
“…Huh,” you said, for lack of anything better.
Mirio leaned in a little, grinning. “Huh?” he mimicked playfully.
You rolled your eyes. “I’m just not used to people being that direct, is all.”
He hummed thoughtfully. “That direct, or that nice?”
You gave him a look, but he just smiled wider, like he knew he had a point.
“You’re not bad company either, y’know,” he said after a moment, his voice a little softer now, like he was just saying it to you and not to the room. “I mean, you’re cool, and you’re strong, but you’re also… kinda funny. Even when you don’t mean to be.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying I’m accidentally entertaining?”
“I’m saying you’re interesting,” he said easily. “And that I’d rather have you around than not.”
Your chest tightened, just slightly. It wasn’t often that people just… said things like that. At least, not to you.
Mirio, as if sensing he might’ve thrown you off, nudged your shoulder. “Guess I’ll just have to stick around more,” he said, grinning again. “Y’know, in case you get actually exiled one day.”
For once, you didn’t have a sharp reply. You just shook your head, looking away to hide the small, involuntary twitch at the corner of your mouth. “…Yeah, yeah. We’ll see.”
His laughter was softer this time, but the way he looked at you like he genuinely wanted to know you, like he already considered you a friend made something in you settle.
———
The walk to U.A. was calm, the late morning sun casting a warm glow over the city as you and Hawks strolled along the familiar path. The school loomed in the distance, its towering gates just visible beyond the trees lining the sidewalk.
After a moment of quiet, you sighed. “You know… I feel like we’re getting the short end of the stick here.”
Hawks glanced at you, amusement flickering in his golden eyes. “Oh? How so?”
You gestured vaguely ahead. “Nezu gets free labor, the kids get their little motivational speeches, and what do we get? A pat on the back?”
Hawks let out a light chuckle, his wings shifting slightly. “You mean to tell me the honor of inspiring the next generation isn’t enough?”
You gave him a dry look. “I’m sure they’ll be fine without our wisdom.”
He hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe, but a little guidance never hurts.”
You exhaled, watching as a breeze rustled through the trees. “I guess.”
A comfortable silence stretched between you as you walked, the steady rhythm of your footsteps filling the space.
“At least we get a good meal out of it,” Hawks remarked after a moment, stretching his arms behind his head.
“If Lunch Rush is cooking, sure,” you said. “If not, I’m leaving early.”
He laughed. “I respect the standards.”
You smirked. “You should. I refuse to sit through a whole day of talking if the food isn’t worth it.”
Hawks tilted his head, as if considering something. “Y’know… spending the day at U.A. like this almost feels nostalgic.”
You glanced at him. “You think you would’ve been good in school?”
“Not really,” he admitted. “But sometimes I with for the simplicity of it. Having a schedule, training, learning new things every day.”
You hummed in agreement. “Yeah. It was… different.”
“Different’s a good word for it,” he mused. “We didn’t have a normal school experience, but it had its moments.”
You nodded, a small, knowing smile forming. “Like sneaking out past curfew?”
“Or convincing commission teachers we were just ‘exploring alternative training methods,’” he added, smirking.
You chuckled. “We got away with too much.”
“Eh,” Hawks said with a shrug. “Guess they figured we’d be fine in the end.”
You didn’t respond right away, but there was an understanding in the quiet between you. The path ahead felt familiar, but the two of you had changed since your own school days.
Hawks nudged your arm lightly. “Alright, be honest, what kind of student do you think is gonna annoy you the most?”
You sighed. “The overly eager one. From what i’m hearing about 1A i feel i need a Xanax. The one with too much energy, too many questions, and zero sense of personal space.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, there’s always one of those.”
“If we get stuck with a kid who talks back, you’re handling them,” you added.
“Deal,” he said easily. “As long as you grab me some extra food on the way out.”
You shook your head, amused. “Unbelievable.”
And with that, the two of you stepped inside, ready to face whatever the day had in store. It wasn’t often that you found yourself back here not as a guest, anyway. But after Nezu had oh so politely requested (read: roped) you and Hawks into speaking to the students about what it was like to become a pro hero so young, you hadn’t exactly had a choice. It made sense, you supposed. You and Hawks were among the youngest top ranking heroes, and Nezu likely figured your experiences would be valuable to the next generation.
Walking through the towering gates, you let out a quiet sigh. “Alright, if we leave now what consequences would we really have?”
Beside you, Hawks stretched, wings ruffling slightly. “Nezu said guest speakers. I heard free food.”
You gave him a flat look. “We’re not getting paid for this.”
He grinned. “Yeah, but we are getting exposure. And what’s better than exposure?”
You groaned. “Literally anything else.”
Before Hawks could tease you more, the school doors swung open, and there stood Nezu, looking far too pleased with himself. “Ah! Lumine, Hawks! Welcome to U.A.!”
Hawks gave a lazy salute. “Hey, little boss.”
Nezu chuckled. “Now, now, Hawks, I prefer ‘Principal.’”
You crossed your arms. “I prefer to not be scammed into free labor.”
Nezu simply smiled, ever unbothered. “Oh, but this is a wonderful opportunity! You’ll be inspiring the next generation!”
Hawks and you exchanged a knowing glance before he sighed dramatically. “Oh, what an honor.”
Nezu, unfazed, continued, “Before your talk, I thought it would be nice for you to get a tour of the school. And I’ve arranged for some of our top students to lead it.”
Before you could respond, a familiar voice rang out “Lumine!”
You turned to see Mirio, his wide grin already on display as he jogged up to you. “Yo! You finally came to visit us!”
You grinned back, stepping forward to meet him. Before you could say anything, he pulled you into a hug, squeezing you tightly. “It’s been too long! You’re looking good out here, away from the chaos of missions!”
You laughed, half surprised by the bear hug. “Calm down, Mirio. I’m just here for a quick talk.”
Hawks grinned. “Careful, Mirio she’s not used to being this popular.”
You elbowed Hawks lightly, but Mirio only laughed, undeterred. “It’s just cool! We usually only work together in high-stakes situations. Now you’re here!”
Hawks raised an eyebrow, walking over with a smirk. “Should we be worried that you’re this excited to see her? I feel like I’m being replaced.”
Mirio stepped back and smiled at you, his enthusiasm unwavering. “Of course not! I’m just happy to see my friend.” He then glanced at Hawks, before pointing at him playfully. “And definitely not because of him.”
You rolled your eyes, nudging Hawks. “Look at that, he’s already here to steal my spotlight.”
Mirio laughed, pulling away just as Neijire bounded over, her bright energy almost contagious. “Lumine!” She looked at you with wide eyes, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “You’re even more amazing than I thought! And you’re here with Hawks!”
“Yep, unfortunately,” you said dryly, though a small smile tugged at your lips.
Nejire suddenly appeared beside him, practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh wow, you and Hawks are so close, right? You work together all the time, and you both got into the Top 10 super young! Wait, wait…. are you dating?”
Tamaki, standing slightly behind them, visibly tensed.
You and Hawks exchanged a glance, the kind that spelled trouble. “Oh, absolutely,” you said smoothly, nodding.
Hawks let out a dramatic sigh, draping an arm around your shoulders. “Nejire, you caught us. Our secret romance, exposed.”
You shook your head. “We had a plan, too. Big reveal, dramatic photoshoot, matching hero costumes…”
“Matching hero costumes?” Hawks repeated, amused.
You shrugged. “Might as well commit to the bit.”
Nejire gasped, eyes sparkling. “Oh my gosh, really?! That’s so cute!” Tamaki looked like he wanted to teleport away.
“No, they’re not.”
You and Hawks immediately stopped, mid tease, and turned to Mirio.
Hawks raised an eyebrow. “Wow. That was fast.”
You and Hawks immediately shared a look, both of you smirking as you were about to go on your teasing tangent again.
“Oh, Neijire, sweetie,” Hawks started, voice oozing with sarcasm. “If you knew the kind of annoying this one brings into my life—”
“annoying ?” You cut in, laughing. “You are the annoying one, bird brain.”
“I’m just saying,” Hawks said, dramatically holding a hand to his chest, “that being with you is like being surrounded by a storm of bad decisions and caffeine.”
You grinned. “And don’t forget the occasional midnight chicken emotional breakdown because you can’t stop talking.”
Neijire’s face lit up with curiosity. “Wait, but are you sure?” She leaned toward you both, wide eyed. “You guys aren’t a thing? You’re so close like, a sibling vibe. But siblings wouldn’t…”
“You’re making this way worse than it is,” you interrupted, barely containing your laughter.
Hawks shot you a look, his own grin widening. “I’d like to see you try to keep up with all of her sass. Wouldn’t recommend it.”
Just as you and Hawks were about to double down on the teasing, Mirio suddenly interjected. “Nope! They aren’t dating.” Both of you stopped in your tracks, blinking. You stared at Mirio for a moment, then looked at Hawks.
“Uh… okay,” you said, a little thrown off by how fast Mirio had spoken.
“Yeah, we’re not,” Hawks confirmed, but he raised an eyebrow, glancing at Mirio.
Mirio, still peppy, shook his head. “I mean, you could be dating, but you’re not. You two are way more like siblings. Plus, Hawks would never stop bragging about it if it were true.”
Hawks gasped. “The little nugget is fighting back!”
You smirked. “No, no, he’s right. You would be unbearable.”
Mirio grinned. “Exactly! So, no, you’re not dating.”
Neijire smirked, her eyes practically sparkling with mischief. “Ohhh, Mirio, I see. You’re relieved, huh?”
Mirio looked momentarily flustered. “What? No, I—I’m just making sure everyone knows the truth!”
Neijire’s smile grew wider as she wagged her finger at him. “So, you like older women, then?” she teased, glancing between the two of you.
Tamaki, who had been standing quietly off to the side, suddenly spoke up, his face flushed. “Wait—no, no! That’s not what—” He nervously glanced at you. “I mean, you’re not old… right?”
You raised an eyebrow, mildly amused. “Tamaki, I’m only twenty. I think I’m safe from the ‘older woman’ label for now.”
Neijire blinked, realizing her slip-up. “Ah! Right! Sorry! I just got carried away…” She quickly backpedaled, practically bubbling with apologies.
Meanwhile, Mirio, still the image of cheerfulness, blinked in surprise. “Huh?”
Nejire leaned in eagerly to mario’s ear. “Well? Do yoooou? Do you like older women?”
For the first time, Mirio hesitated, opening and closing his mouth before laughing sheepishly. “That’s… not really the point here.”
Hawks lost it. He practically collapsed onto Mirio’s shoulder, wheezing. “Oh my god”
You smirked. “So, Mirio, should I be expecting a confession letter soon, or do you need someone middle aged…?”
Mirio let out a goodnatured chuckle. “Nope! But hey, if you do get one, I promise I’ll deliver it personally.”
Nejire mouth dropped all the way to the center of the earth. “PAUSE WHAT”
Hawks sighed trying to segue. “I’m stuck with her as my honorary sibling instead.” You shook your heads in ignorance to the bubbly blue haired girl.
“And I’m stuck with him making chicken nugget jokes at my expense,” you added.
Mirio laughed. “Chicken nugget jokes?”
Hawks smirked. “The students are like chicken nuggets tiny, but still good.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. U.A.’s finest. A box of premium nuggets.”
Mirio grinned. “Well, I hope we’re at least the good kind.”
Hawks clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, buddy. You’re definitely a top tier nugget.”
Nejire giggled, Tamaki sighed in relief, and Mirio just shook his head, still smiling.
Hawks stretched. “Alright, let’s get this tour over with before Lumine escapes”
You scoffed. “Please. U.A. doesn’t scare me.”
Mirio grinned. “Well, in that case, welcome to U.A.! Let’s go!”
And with that, the tour began—
with you and Hawks following behind, still laughing.
REMEMBER: You’re 20. Then when you get to the school, you’re immediately thrown into a tour by the big three. Mirio being excited to see you. Neijire being bubbly as ever asking questions like if you and hawks are together and all that. Tamaki looks so nervous as if he hasn’t been fighting with fat gum. You and hawks having such a close friendship bully all of them from the question. Then mirio comes in and says you and hawks aren’t dating. interrupting you and hawks mid teasing. Both of you stop really fast, laughing and agreeing that you aren’t. Then pause to think about how fast mirio said it. Other than the missions he knew nothing about you. neijire joking after that mirio liking older women. Tamaki immediately defending you and not calling you not old. then neijire bubbly backtracking. meanwhile mirio is looking flustered and Hawks falling on mirio laughing. Then telling you that your fans are so cute.
——
The day had stretched long, but now, with the sun dipping below the horizon, U.A. had finally settled into a peaceful quiet. The tour, the teasing, the guest lecture it was all behind you now. You leaned against the railing of one of the school’s outdoor walkways, watching as the last bits of golden light painted the sky.
You heard footsteps behind you before you saw him.
“I was hoping I’d find you before you left,” Mirio’s voice was softer than usual still bright, still him, but lacking the usual boundless energy.
You glanced at him as he leaned against the railing beside you, arms resting against the cool metal. His school uniform was slightly ruffled, hair still tousled from the day’s events. But his usual grin was missing, replaced by something more thoughtful.
“Here to give me a final tour of the sunset?” you quipped lightly.
Mirio chuckled. “Something like that.” A pause. Then, “I wanted to apologize.”
You frowned, turning to face him fully. “For what?”
“For earlier.” He didn’t hesitate. “For interrupting when Nejire asked if you and Hawks were together. I just.” He exhaled, looking down at his hands before meeting your eyes again. “I had no right to say anything. I don’t really know you, not outside of missions. I shouldn’t have acted like I did.”
You blinked. Of all the things Mirio Togata had to apologize for today, this was not what you expected.
“You really don’t have to apologize for that.”
He gave you a small, almost sheepish smile. “I do.” Then, quieter, “Because when I thought even for a second that you weren’t available, it made me sad.”
Your breath caught.
Mirio looked back at the horizon, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it’s kind of silly. We’ve barely spent time together outside of work. But I like seeing you. You’re always so bright even when you’re not fighting. It’s not just about battle, or power, or anything like that. You just are.”
You swallowed. “That’s just the reflection from your own sunshine, Togata.”
He laughed at that, and the warmth of it settled deep in your chest. Then he tilted his head. “You know what else I like?” You raised an eyebrow.
“You’re unflashy in the media.”
You blinked. “…Wow. Thanks?”
Mirio went blank then immediately, shaking his head. “I mean—you don’t put on a show for anyone. You don’t chase the cameras, or try to be something you’re not. You just do the work. You help people. You’re genuine.” His voice was softer now. “You’re a good person.”
Something in your chest tightened, a slow warmth creeping in before you could shove it down. You had been called a lot of things in your career. Powerful. Smart. Even intimidating. But good? That was rarer.
For the first time in a long while, you didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched between you. Mirio, ever patient, just smiled, waiting. And you feeling an unfamiliar heat rise to your face did the only thing you could do.
You turned on your heel and walked away.
“Hey wait!” Mirio called, laughter in his voice.
But you didn’t look back. Because if you did, you weren’t sure you’d be able to leave at all.
Present Mic / Hizashi Yamada x Reader
⋆˚✿˖°Irresistible ⋆˚✿˖°
BACK TO HIM DATING A YOUNGER READER!! hes just so lovely, we are married actually.
Being back at U.A. always felt a little surreal. No matter how many years had passed since your time as a student, the halls still carried the same energy, the same excitement, the same faint scent of ink and sweat, the same distant shouts of students causing trouble. It was nostalgic, sure, but today, you weren’t here as a student.
You’d agreed to be a guest speaker at U.A. today, mainly to share your experience as a Pro Hero with the students. It was a bit of a casual visit, with no intense expectations, just a way to inspire the next generation of heroes. Of course, Hizashi, Present Mic was assigned to show you around for the day.
Today, you were here as Pro Hero: Lumine, a guest for the day. Still, that didn’t mean you couldn’t steal a moment for yourself.
As you walked the halls, Hizashi right beside you, you kept up the act, casual, professional. You were here to speak to a few classes, answer some questions, maybe help out with some training. But right now, with no students or teachers in sight, you saw an opportunity.
You grabbed Hizashi’s wrist and pulled him around a quiet corner, just out of sight.
“Whoa babe?” he blinked, confused for a second, before a slow, knowing grin spread across his face. “Miss me already?”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. “You know I don’t get to see you much when I’m busy with work.”
His grin softened. “Yeah… I know.”
You let your hands rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was rare for the two of you to have moments like this. where the world outside didn’t demand your attention, where you weren’t constantly on duty, where you weren’t Pro Hero Lumine and Present Mic but just… y/n and hizashi.
Hizashi leaned in, resting his forehead against yours, his voice quieter than usual. “You sure we got time for this?”
“Barely,” you admitted. “But I’ll take what I can get.”
He chuckled, sliding his arms around your waist. “Y’know, you’re gettin’ real bold. Pullin’ me into a corner like some kinda secret rendezvous.”
You smirked. “What can I say? I see a tall blonde guy and my mind goes dumb”
“Really now, huh?” His voice dropped just a little, teasing. “So if I kissed you right now, would that be too exciting?”
You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Hmm… depends. Are you gonna be able to keep your voice down?”
“Oh, babe,” he grinned, leaning in just enough that his breath brushed against your lips. “That’s a real big ask.”
You huffed a laugh before finally closing the distance, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against his lips. Hizashi hummed in contentment, pulling you closer as if he could somehow make the moment last longer.
But the sound of voices approaching had you both reluctantly pulling apart. He sighed dramatically. “Duty calls, huh?”
“Duty calls,” you echoed, straightening his tie playfully. “Try not to look too lovestruck, yeah?”
“Pfft—too late for that, babe.” He winked before stepping back, adjusting his glasses like nothing had happened. But you caught the way his fingers brushed his lips, as if memorizing the feeling.
With one last glance, you turned the corner together back to being professionals, back to your roles, back to the world outside of this stolen moment. But as you stepped into the light, you knew you’d both be thinking about it all day. Though Hizashi kept up his usual energy as he led you through the halls, chatting away as he pointed out minor changes to the school since your time as a student. The occasional student would recognize you, whispering excitedly to their friends, but no one interrupted. Not yet, anyway.
Eventually, you both reached Class 1-A’s door. Hizashi grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Ready to meet the little hero’s ?”
You huffed a small laugh. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He clapped a hand on your shoulder. “That’s the spirit!” Then, without missing a beat, he flung the door open and practically bounced into the room. “YEAHHHH! WHAT’S UP, CLASS 1-A?! GUESS WHO I BROUGHT?” a collective gasp followed.
“Wait! that’s Pro Hero Lumine!”
“No way! They’re here?”
“Whoa, they’re so cool in person!”
Hizashi gestured toward you with a dramatic flourish. “That’s riiiiight! The one and only Lumine!” He shot you a look, and you barely held back a smirk.
Aizawa, standing at the front of the class, gave you both a blank stare, then sighed. “I assume you’re not just here to disrupt my class?”
“Aw, c’mon, Eraser, you know we had a guest today!!” Hizashi had a tragic frown on his face. “Lumine here is our guest speaker, remember?”
Aizawa raised a brow at you, and you simply shrugged. “I’m just along for the ride at this point.”
As you stepped forward, Hizashi continued, “Now, listen up, kiddos! Not only is Lumine one of the youngest Top 10 heroes—”
“—he’s really over explaining right now,” you interjected.
“—BUT!” Hizashi continued dramatically, ignoring your interruption, “they also happen to be my—”
You stiffened. Your what?
Luckily (or unluckily), Aizawa cut in smoothly, “Your former student. Yes, we’re aware.”
Hizashi blinked, then coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, yeah, my former student. That’s what I was gonna say.”
The students exchanged looks. Some, like Kaminari and Mina, were eyeing you both very suspiciously.
Mina leaned forward, grinning. “Ooooh, that pause was kinda weird, wasn’t it?”
Kaminari elbowed her. “Right? Like, what was he actually gonna say?”
“Probably something embarrassing,” Jirou muttered, smirking.
You shot Hizashi a look. Really? He gave you a sheepish smile in return. Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we move on?”
You cleared your throat, stepping in to refocus the room. “Right! Anyway, I’m here to answer any questions you have about being a pro hero. So—”
But before you could finish, Kaminari blurted, “How do you know Present Mic so well?”
The whole class leaned in, clearly interested. You deadpanned. “We go way back.”
“How far back?” Mina grinned.
Aizawa sighed. “This isn’t relevant.”
“But it’s interesting!” Mina shot back.
Hizashi, bless him, was absolutely not helping, just standing there grinning like an idiot. You exhaled through your nose, crossing your arms. “Far enough that I have plenty of embarrassing stories about him, but not enough time to share them all.”
The class erupted.
“Oh, we need to hear those!”
“Please tell us at least one!”
You shot Hizashi a look, and he gave you an exaggerated shrug, eyes sparkling with joy.
—-
After the class, as the students trickled out, you turned to Hizashi with a pointed look. “You’re doing a terrible job at hiding our relationship.”
He grinned, entirely unapologetic. “Oh c’mon, babe. You look real cute when you’re flustered.”
You rolled your eyes, but before you could leave, he caught your wrist, fingers warm against your skin.
“Hey.” His voice was quieter now, softer, missing its usual booming energy. He glanced at the empty classroom, then back at you. There was something unreadable in his expression, something almost hesitant. “Got a sec?”
You hesitated, Nezu had mentioned stopping by to check in on you, and you really should be heading to the next class but the way Hizashi’s fingers brushed over yours made it hard to say no.
“…Fine. But just a sec.”
Hizashi wasted no time, tugging you toward the classroom’s small storage area, pulling the door shut behind you. The space was tight, barely enough room for the two of you, and the moment you were alone, his hands found your waist, pulling you in close.
His voice dropped lower, rougher. “You drive me crazy, y’know that?” His thumb brushed over the fabric of your uniform, slow, deliberate. “Havin’ to watch you all day and not kiss you?”
You smirked, fingers slipping up his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt. “Must be so hard for you.”
“You have no idea.”
Then his lips were on yours urgent and deep, like he was making up for lost time. You barely had a second to react before you were melting into it, tilting your head to let him kiss you deeper. His hands slid up your back, one trailing to cup the back of your neck while the other stayed firm on your waist, keeping you pressed against him.
The kiss started slow, teasing, but it didn’t stay that way. The pent up energy from the entire day the lingering touches, the stolen glances, the way he had to hold back in front of the students spilled over into something more intense. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he let out a quiet groan against your lips, the sound vibrating in his chest.
“Babe,” he murmured between kisses, “you’re killin’ me here.”
You smirked against his lips. “You started it.”
Hizashi let out a breathy chuckle, then dipped his head lower, lips trailing down your jaw, then to your neck. The scrape of his teeth against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and your grip on him tightened.
“This is such a bad idea,” you whispered, tilting your head back to give him better access.
“Yeah?” His breath was warm against your throat. “Then why aren’t you stoppin’ me?”
You swallowed hard, knowing he had a point. “Because,” you admitted, fingers slipping up to to the back of his neck, “I missed you.”
That made him pause. Just for a second. Then he let out a quiet sigh, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder before leaning back just enough to look at you.
“I missed you too,” he murmured, voice softer now, more serious. His fingers brushed against your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip. “You’re always runnin’ around, savin’ the world, bein’ a top hero and all. Feels like I barely get time with you anymore.”
You exhaled, hands resting against his chest. “I know. I feel it too.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stood there, in that small, dimly lit space, his arms around you, your bodies still close, the world outside feeling miles away.
Hizashi’s fingers slid down your arms, his grip tightening around your hands. “Maybe after this, we ditch early. Get some real time together.”
You smiled. “You suggesting we cut class, Yamada?”
He grinned, pressing another kiss to the corner of your lips. “A little. Say you had to go save someone and take me with you”
You hummed, pretending to consider it. “Tempting.”
Before either of you could decide, a voice shattered the quiet. “You do realize this school has cameras, right?”
You both froze. Slowly, you turned to see Aizawa standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking utterly unimpressed.
Hizashi, ever the professional, cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, casually stepping away from you like that would somehow erase what just happened. “Hey, Eraser! How long you been standin’ there, buddy?”
“Long enough.”
You exhaled sharply. “Fantastic.”
Aizawa gave you both a long, pointed look, then sighed, rubbing his temples. “Just… keep it out of the classrooms.” Then, shaking his head, he walked away.
As soon as he was gone, Hizashi turned to you with a grin. “Welp. Busted.”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I told you we’d get caught.”
Hizashi just laughed, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Worth it.”
:0
⋆˚✿˖° ❝𝗜𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗱𝗲𝗱❞ ⋆˚✿˖°
────୨ৎ────
gojo satoru x reader
geto suguru x reader
────୨ৎ────
5. what kind of woman are you attracted too?
masterlist
I felt I wasnt nurturing the bond between gojo and geto. like they are close friends and I feel the bond that they have would still remain though strained in this trope. Geto and Gojo support each other but are each other’s downfall. Like you know how in the show its the jujutusu kaisen world that was hurting each other. Make it you.
You had barely sat down with your breakfast when Gojo appeared out of nowhere, plopping into the seat across from you with a grin that immediately put you on edge.
“…What?” you asked, eyeing him warily.
Gojo leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “So.” You sighed. “So?”
He wiggled his fingers in your direction. “Tell me.”
You blinked. “Tell you what?”
Gojo tilted his head. “What kind of person you’d date.”
You froze mid bite. “…Huh?”
He tapped his fingers on the table impatiently. “Your type. Preferences. Ideal boyfriend.” He leaned in further, grinning. “Or girlfriend, I don’t judge.”
Your face heated slightly, but you quickly masked it with a deadpan look. “Why do you care?”
Gojo gasped, placing a hand over his heart as if deeply offended. “Excuse me? As your best friend, I need to know these things.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”
Gojo waved a hand dismissively. “Since always.”
You sighed, going back to your food. “And what are you going to do with this information?”
“Oh, you know.” He twirled his chopsticks between his fingers. “Just… make sure you don’t end up with someone lame.”
You snorted. “Lame?”
“Yes, lame.” He jabbed his chopsticks toward you. “Like some guy who doesn’t get your jokes, or can’t keep up with you in a fight, or, God forbid is boring.”
You gave him a look. “You realize you’re sounding like you’re hinting at something”
Gojo grinned. “Wow. Can’t believe you’d just admit your feelings like that.”
You groaned, rubbing your temples. “That’s not what I said.” “But it’s what you meant.” “Absolutely not.”
He watched you for a moment, unreadable behind his ever present sunglasses. Then, his smirk softened just a fraction, his voice taking on a more casual tone. “I just think you deserve someone great, y’know? Not some broody guy who thinks too much, or someone who carries the weight of the world like it’s his personal burden. Definitely not someone who overcomplicates things when they could just… I don’t know, be happy.”
Your stomach twisted, and you suddenly you had a feeling you understood exactly who he was talking about. Suguru.
Your throat tightened slightly, but you masked it with an eye roll. “Uh huh. And you’re saying you don’t overcomplicate things?”
Gojo’s grin was immediate. “Please, I’m a simple man. Good food, good company, and looking absolutely amazing at all times? That’s all I need.”
You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Of course.”
Gojo propped his chin in his palm, watching you with something suspiciously close to fondness.
Your stomach flipped slightly, but you quickly masked it. “Why do you care?”
“Because I have to care. What if you end up with a loser?”
You snorted. “I think I can handle myself.”
“Sure, sure, but like…” He gestured vaguely. “I have standards for you, y’know?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Your standards?” He nodded sagely. “Yep. And obviously, only the best will do.”
You rolled your eyes, deciding to humor him. “Alright, then. What are your standards?”
Gojo smirked. “Glad you asked.” He held up a finger. “One, they have to be funny because if they’re boring, I’ll have to personally intervene.” Another finger. “Two, they have to be cool but, like, not cooler than me because that’s just unrealistic.” A third finger. “Three, they have to be strong because if they’re not, then I’ll have to protect both of you, and that’s just exhausting.”
You gave him a deadpan look. “So basically, you just described yourself again.”
Gojo gasped, “Are you saying I would be your perfect match?”
You groaned, shoving his shoulder. “That’s not what I said.”
Gojo grinned, sitting back up. “No, no, I totally get it now.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You’ve just been too shy to admit you’re into me.”
You scoffed. “I promise you, that is not the case.”
He pouted. “Deny it all you want, but the evidence is right there.”
“What evidence?!”
“The fact that you haven’t answered my question!” Gojo leaned forward again, grinning. “Come onnn, what’s your type? Tall? Handsome? White haired?” You picked up your toast and took a pointedly long bite, refusing to answer.
Gojo gasped dramatically. “Silence? That means I’m right.” You chewed slowly, making direct eye contact. “I just don’t feel like feeding your already enormous ego.”
He leaned back, frowning. “C’mon, just tell me. Do you like the cool, broody type? The serious, stoic kind? Or are you more into, like, hilarious, handsome, and incredibly talented men?”
You shot him a flat look. “Gojo.”
“Hmm?”
“Eat your breakfast.”
He pouted. “You’re dodging the question.”
You sighed, standing up with your tray. “That’s because I don’t have to answer it.”
Gojo hummed, watching you go. Then, just as you reached the door, he called out. “You do like me, though, right?” You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response and that was definitely not the reason you left the cafeteria so quickly.
—
You walked down the hall, gripping your tray a little tighter than necessary. What was that? Gojo was always like this annoying, teasing, insufferable. Maybe it was the way he kept pressing the issue, like he needed an answer. Like it mattered to him.
You sighed, setting your tray down at the dish return. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just being Gojo. That was what he did: push buttons, crack jokes, demand attention. But then there was that last question.
“You do like me, though, right?”
You frowned, rubbing your temples. He’d said it so casually, like he was asking if you liked a new snack from the vending machine. But there had been something else beneath it something just a little too expectant, like he cared what you would say. that was the problem. Because if it was just a joke, you could roll your eyes and move on. But if there was even a chance that Gojo was being serious…
You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. Nope. Not going down that road. Gojo was your best friend. He was ridiculous and loud and overwhelming, but he was Gojo. Thinking about him like that would just cause problems. You felt heat rise to your cheeks and groaned. Shoko and Utahime have ruined my brain. Because now, instead of just brushing it off like usual, their teasing from last night lingered. “Geto’s got the slow burn, weird emo thing going for him.”
“Gojo? Oh, he’s a mess over them.” You bit your lip, glancing toward the cafeteria doors as if expecting Gojo to come waltzing through them at any moment. You needed to not overthink this. Maybe Gojo was just being dramatic. Maybe he was just teasing. You shook your head, turning on your heel. Nope. Still not thinking about it. Gojo was just being Gojo. That’s what you kept telling yourself. He teased, he poked, he demanded attention nothing new. But the way he’d said it… the way he looked at you… There was something different about it, something that lingered in the back of your mind like a stray thread you couldn’t stop tugging at. You sighed, pressing your fingers to your temples. Nope. Not doing this. Not overthinking.
You turned a corner, passing by one of the common rooms, when a familiar voice made you pause. Geto.
You hadn’t meant to stop, but something about the way he was talking held you in place. His voice was quieter than usual, thoughtful. Curiosity prickled at you, and before you could think better of it, you took a step closer, peeking around the corner to stay out of sight. Geto stood near the vending machines, his usual relaxed posture leaning slightly against the wall. His expression was softer than usual, absent of the teasing smirks you were used to. Across from him stood a second year student, who was listening intently with a playful grin.
“Yeah, she always forgets to bring water, so I figured I’d keep an extra bottle for her,” Geto was saying, his tone almost casual but laced with something gentler You blinked, confusion stirring in your chest. Who was he talking about? “She never remembers to eat in between training either,” Geto continued, a fond, almost exasperated smile tugging at his lips. “Always running around, taking care of everyone else first.” He let out a small chuckle that sounded far too tender. “So, I just make sure to bring extra snacks. Nothing big. Just enough so she won’t notice I’m looking out for her.”
The second year grinned, nudging his shoulder. “Sounds like you’re practically her caretaker at this point.”
Geto laughed softly, a sound that warmed your chest and left your heart aching. “Nah. She’s plenty capable on her own. But, y’know…” His gaze shifted away, his fingers rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nice. Making sure she’s okay.”
Your mind whirled, trying to piece together what you were hearing. Geto had always been reliable, steady a calming presence when things got too overwhelming. But this… this felt different. It felt deliberate. Personal. You should have stepped out. Made a joke, teased him about his “caretaker” status, anything. Instead, you stayed rooted in place, eyes wide and heart thumping.
“Come on, Suguru,” the second year teased, their tone light. “Sounds to me like you’re a little more invested than just looking out for her.”
Geto rolled his eyes, but the flush on his cheeks betrayed him. “It’s not like that. I just… care about her, okay?” Your breath caught, your chest tightening. Was he really talking about someone like that? Like that?
“Uh-huh,” the second year hummed. “I think you care a little more than you’re letting on.”
Geto hesitated, his gaze lowering. “You’re really that surprised? She’s incredible. How could I not like her?” Your heart stuttered, the air catching in your throat.
The second year laughed, nudging him again. “Wow, you’re seriously gone, huh?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Geto chuckled, a sound that was quieter and self deprecating. “Go ahead and say it. I know I’m obvious.” A beat. “Not like it matters.” The lightness in his voice faltered, and there was a heaviness that weighed the air down. You stared, caught between wanting to stay and needing to leave before your presence was discovered.
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?” the second year asked, a little more serious now.
Geto sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just bad timing. Or maybe it’s just… not meant to be like that.”
Your chest tightened painfully, a confusing mix of emotions crashing over you. Disbelief, confusion, curiosity something deeper, something raw. The second year seemed to sense the weight of his words, and they shifted awkwardly. “I think you’re overthinking it, Suguru. Maybe it’s simpler than that.”
Geto offered a small, wry smile. “Or it’s just… complicated.”
Your breath was too shallow, your skin too warm. You had no idea what to make of any of this of Geto’s tone, his words, the vulnerability in his voice. Before you could make sense of it all, the sound of approaching footsteps snapped you back to reality. Your heart lurched, panic flooding your veins. You turned on your heel and walked away quickly, leaving Geto’s quiet confession behind. The echoes of his voice lingered in your mind, heavy and impossible to ignore. Who was he talking about? Was it someone you knew? Someone close to him? The questions followed you down the hall, unrelenting and insistent.
—
The library was quiet except for the occasional rustle of pages and the faint scratching of a pen against paper. You sat across from Geto at a secluded table, textbooks and notes sprawled between you. The plan had been to actually study, but as usual, things weren’t going according to plan. “Are you even listening?” you asked, tapping your pen against the open textbook in front of you.
Geto smirked, not looking up from where he was casually spinning his own pen between his fingers. “Hmm? Oh, of course. Every single word.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Okay. Then tell me what I just said.”
Geto finally glanced up, resting his chin on his hand. “Something about… the properties of cursed energy reinforcement?”
You deadpanned. “That was twenty minutes ago.”
He chuckled, stretching his arms over his head. “Alright, you caught me. Maybe I got a little distracted.”
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Geto, we actually need to study.”
“I am studying,” he said smoothly, tilting his head. “I’m studying you.”
You blinked. “What?”
His lips twitched into a smirk. “I mean, it’s more entertaining than cursed energy formulas, don’t you think?”
You rolled your eyes. “dont be weird, I kinda would like to pass and never have to be here again.”
He placed a hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “I would never. I’m just making an observation.”
You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Fine, if you’re not going to take this seriously, I’ll just—”
Before you could finish, Geto leaned forward, smoothly plucking your pen from your fingers and twirling it between his own. “Relax,” he said, voice softer now, less teasing. “You’re always so focused on making sure we don’t fall behind, but when’s the last time you took a break?” You opened your mouth, then hesitated. “…That’s what I thought,” he said, giving you a knowing look. “It’s okay to slow down, y’know?”
You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I just don’t want to fail.”
Geto’s smirk softened into something almost fond. “You won’t. You’re way too stubborn for that.”
You snorted despite yourself. “That supposed to be a compliment?”
“Absolutely.” He twirled the pen once more before handing it back to you, fingers brushing yours for just a second too long. “Now, if it’ll help, I promise to actually focus.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
He placed a hand over his heart again. “Scouts honor.” You gave him a skeptical look, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Alright… but im not helping you again if you dont focus”
“Deal,” Geto said, grinning.
And for the next hour, he actually did focus though, every now and then, you caught him watching you with that same quiet, thoughtful look. You chose not to question it. For the next hour, Geto actually kept his promise mostly. He worked through the material, asked the right questions, and even managed to answer a few on his own. But every so often, when he thought you weren’t looking, you’d catch him watching you instead of his notes. You tried to ignore it. Tried. But after the fifth time, you finally sighed and set your pen down. “Okay. What?”
Geto blinked, caught red handed. “What?”
“You keep looking at me,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “And not in the ‘I’m paying attention’ kind of way.”
A slow, amused smile crept onto his face. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”
You rolled your eyes. “. Sure. And maybe I’ll start flunking on purpose just to see if you actually take notes for once.”
He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, alright. No need for extreme measures.” He rested his cheek against his palm, watching you with something unreadable in his expression. “It’s just… nice. Studying like this. Just us.”
You hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “…Yeah,” you admitted, twirling your pen between your fingers. “It is.”
Geto smirked. “See? You do like hanging out with me.”
You scoffed, pushing his book toward him. “I never said that i dont. Now, focus.”
He laughed but finally turned back to his notes. “Yes, yes. Diligent as always.”
But then, as you flipped to the next page of your textbook, Geto suddenly spoke again. “Hey.”
You looked up. “Yeah?”
He hesitated for half a second, like he was debating something, before offering you a small, genuine smile. “Thanks. For always making sure I don’t fall behind.”
Your grip on your pen tightened slightly, not expecting the warmth that spread through your chest at the simple words. You cleared your throat. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta keep you in check.”
Geto chuckled, but there was something softer in his eyes now. “Guess I’m lucky it’s you, then.”
Your breath hitched slightly, but you quickly covered it with a scoff. “Alright, now you’re just trying to distract me again.”
He held his hands up in mock innocence. “Not at all. That was just a bonus.”
You shook your head, trying (and failing) to fight the small smile threatening to break through. “Just focus, Geto.”
And, surprisingly, he actually did. The library had mostly emptied by now, leaving only the faint hum of the lights and the occasional rustle of paper breaking the silence. You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a small groan as you leaned back in your chair.
“We’ve been at this for hours,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes.
Geto smirked, resting his chin in his hand. “Tired already?”
“You say that like you aren’t exhausted, too.”
He hummed noncommittally, flipping his pen between his fingers. “Maybe. But I don’t mind it. This is still better than being out there.”
You glanced at him. “Out where?”
His smirk faded into something quieter, more thoughtful. “With them,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Normal people. Civilians.”
You frowned slightly, sitting up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”
Geto leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “It’s just… I don’t know. Every time we go out on missions, I see it. The way people look at us. Like we’re freaks. Like they can’t decide if they’re grateful or terrified.” His fingers tightened slightly around his pen. “Even when we save them, they still flinch when we get too close.”
You stayed quiet, watching the tension in his shoulders.
“They don’t get it,” he continued, voice softer now. “What it means to live like this. To always have to fight. To put our lives on the line for people who don’t even want to understand us.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Sometimes I wonder if they even deserve us.”
His words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken for a moment. “…I get it,” you finally murmured.
Geto glanced at you, eyes flickering with curiosity. “You do?”
You nodded, running a finger along the edge of your notebook. “I’ve felt it, too. The distance. The way they look at us. Sometimes it’s admiration, but most of the time it’s fear.” You exhaled slowly. “And yeah, it’s frustrating. Knowing we go through so much for people who will never truly see us.”
He watched you carefully, a hint of surprise flashing across his face like he hadn’t expected you to understand, not really. “…But,” you added, meeting his gaze, “I don’t think that means we should stop protecting them.”
His brows lifted slightly, waiting for you to continue.
“They may never understand us,” you admitted, “but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to live their lives in peace. I don’t think it has to be us versus them, it’s just… the way the world is.”
Geto studied you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, slowly, he sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. “You really are too good for this world,” he murmured, almost to himself.
You snorted, nudging his foot under the table. “And you sound like you’re going to start some rebellion.”
He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “Nah. Not today.”
You rolled your eyes. “if you do, make me your right hand man so I keep you in check. Dont want you to become an evil cult leader.”
And though the conversation moved on, the words lingered between you. Somewhere, deep down, you both knew this wasn’t the last time you’d talk about this.
—
The gym smelled like polished wood and sweat, the faint echo of sneakers squeaking against the floor bouncing off the high ceilings. Gojo and Geto were caught up in an intense one on one basketball match, both far too competitive for a game that wasn’t supposed to mean anything. You, on the other hand, were seated comfortably on the bleachers next to Shoko, sipping on a sports drink and watching them with mild amusement.
“You know,” you said, stretching your legs out in front of you as you lazily sipped your drink, “you’re actually the coolest person I know.”
Shoko, who had been half watching the game and half scrolling through her phone, let out a soft snort. “That so?”
“Mhm.” You nodded, turning to her with a grin. “You’re smart, you’re strong, you don’t take shit from anyone plus, you’ve got this whole ‘mysterious but effortlessly hot’ thing going on. It’s really unfair, honestly.”
Shoko raised an eyebrow, finally glancing up at you. “You flirting with me?”
You gasped, hand over your heart. “Would it work?”
She laughed, a real, genuine one, shaking her head. “Careful. You keep this up, and I might start thinking you actually like women.”
You shrugged. “What can I say? I have good taste.”
Shoko smirked, tilting her head slightly. “Y’know, at this rate, I might just win the bet.”
You blinked, confused. “…What bet?”
Shoko’s smirk widened. “Oh, nothing.”
You narrowed your eyes. “No, not nothing. What bet?”
Before she could answer, Gojo suddenly shouted from across the gym, “DID YOU SEE THAT?! I JUST BROKE GETO’S ANKLES!”
“You tripped me, you bastard!” Geto yelled back.
Shoko took a slow sip of her drink, looking entirely unbothered. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.” You stared at her, completely lost, while she just laughed to herself, enjoying your confusion.
“I don’t even know why they take this so seriously,” you muttered, shaking your head. “It’s just a pickup game.”
Shoko snorted, stretching her legs out in front of her. “It’s them. They can make breathing a competition.”
You both watched as Geto smoothly dribbled past Gojo, dodging his outstretched arms with an easy grace before sinking a three pointer without even looking fazed. Gojo groaned loudly. “UGH, come on!”
Geto smirked, spinning the ball in his hands. “What’s wrong, Satoru? Thought you were the strongest?”
Gojo huffed, jogging to retrieve the ball. “Oh, please. I’m just getting started.”
Shoko turned to you, deadpan. “This game is never going to end.”
You sighed. “Nope.”
She took a sip from her water bottle before giving you a side glance. “So, which one are you rooting for?”
You blinked. “Huh?”
She smirked. “Oh, don’t play dumb. I know they’re both trying to show off for you.”
Your face warmed. “They are not.”
Shoko gave you a look. “Mmm, sure. Gojo has been throwing over the top passes this entire time, and Geto? He never plays basketball this seriously. Tell me I’m wrong.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but at that exact moment, Gojo attempted some ridiculous, unnecessary trick shot spinning mid air before launching the ball at the hoop. He completely missed. Shoko burst into laughter, clapping her hands. “Oh my god, did you see that?” You stifled a laugh as Gojo landed, immediately turning to look in your direction as if to check whether you saw his attempt. You quickly averted your gaze.
Shoko leaned in, whispering, “Yeah, totally not trying to impress you.”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Shoko, please.”
She grinned. “I’m just saying. You’ve got two of the strongest sorcerers wrapped around your finger, and you’re over here acting like it’s nothing.” Before you could respond, Geto casually walked over, spinning the ball on his fingertips. “Shoko, you wanna play next? Might give me more of a challenge.”
Gojo scowled. “Hey!”
Shoko waved him off. “Nah, I’m good. I like watching you two embarrass yourselves.”
You smirked. “It is pretty entertaining.”
Geto arched a brow at you. “Oh? Would it be more entertaining if you played?”
You rolled your eyes. “Absolutely not. I refuse to get caught up in whatever this is.”
Gojo, now recovered from his earlier failure, grinned. “Aw, c’mon, I’ll go easy on you~.”
You deadpanned. “gojo youll still be mean to me” Geto chuckled, spinning the ball once more before tossing it to Gojo. “Alright, alright. We’ll finish this first.”
Gojo smirked. “Good. Because I refuse to lose in front of my favorite person.”
You blinked. “Who?”
Gojo winked. “Guess.”
Shoko gagged. “I’m leaving.”
You laughed, shaking your head as the game resumed, Gojo and Geto both seemingly more fired up than before. Shoko nudged you with her elbow. “So, really, who are you rooting for?” You sighed, watching as Geto smoothly stole the ball from Gojo.
“…I plead the fifth.”
“hoe we’re not in america”
—
Gojo wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t. He was just… mildly aware that this was not going as smoothly as he’d hoped. That was fine. He was Gojo Satoru. He could recover. He could be charming. The problem was, you were making it really difficult. You were just walking next to him after the little game, completely oblivious to the fact that he was actively trying to flirt with you. And sure, maybe that was on him for being bad at it today, but also how were you not picking up on any of this? He had practically draped himself over your chair at lunch the other day. He had called you cool super amazing (which, okay, maybe wasn’t the best line, but he’d panicked). He had literally just suggested hanging out in a way that was clearly date coded. And still, you weren’t getting it.
“Are you okay?” you asked suddenly, shooting him a look.
Gojo immediately straightened up. “Me? Oh, I’m fantastic.” No, he wasn’t. He was fighting for his life.
You narrowed your eyes. “You sure? You look like you’re buffering.”
Gojo felt his eye twitch. Great. Incredible. I am exuding peak attractiveness right now. “Rude.” He tried to sound playful, but even he could hear the strain in his voice. “I was actually gonna ask if you wanted to hang out later.”
You blinked at him. “We always do”
Gojo resisted the urge to grab you by the shoulders. “Yeah, but like, something different. Maybe, I dunno, date adjacent?”
You actually tilted your head at that, confused. “Date adjacent?”
Oh my god, I’m going to die.Gojo groaned. This was so not how he pictured this going. He had imagined you blushing, maybe teasing him back, at least acknowledging what he was doing. Instead, you were just standing there, looking at him like he had two heads.
“…Are you flirting with me?” you asked suddenly.
Gojo froze. His brain short circuited. Oh. Oh no. This is it. This is my moment. Say something cool. Say something.
“…No?” he blurted.
The second the word left his mouth, he wanted to throw himself into traffic. You, meanwhile, burst out laughing. And just like that, he lost to the plot again Gojo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god.”
“I knew something was up with you!” you cackled, nudging him with your elbow. “You’ve been acting so weird.”
Gojo flailed slightly. “I was not acting weird—”
“You totally were.”
Gojo huffed. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was being a little weird—”
“Painfully weird.”
“Rude,” he muttered. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. This was not how he wanted this to go, but at this point, it was so obvious he was trying, so he might as well just go for it.
“Look, all I’m saying is,” he started, glancing at you, “if I was flirting, which I’m not saying I was” You raised an eyebrow. He ignored you. “hypothetically, if I was flirting, would that be, like… a bad thing?”
You tilted your head, considering. Gojo felt his heart actually skip a beat. He hadn’t meant to phrase it like that, hadn’t meant to actually sound like he cared about the answer (But he did. Of course, he did.) You smirked. “I dunno,” you said, starting to walk again. “Guess you’ll have to try harder if you want an answer.” Gojo blinked. Then he processed what you had just said.
Oh. Oh, you little—
A slow grin spread across his face as he easily fell into step beside you. “So there’s a chance?” he asked, voice light.
You just shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to find out.” Gojo chuckled, shaking his head.
—-
You hesitated, debating whether to keep walking or turn back. Geto’s voice was always smooth, steady like a calm river. But there was something else in it now, something amused yet careful, that made you pause. Curiosity got the better of you, and you leaned subtly against the doorway, just out of sight.
“…and then she just left the cafeteria,” Gojo’s voice came through, animated and exasperated. “Didn’t even answer me!”
Geto chuckled, warm and low. “Maybe she didn’t want to.”
Gojo huffed. “No, no, she was blushing, Suguru. I saw it.” You exhaled slowly. Blushing? Was it really that obvious?
“Maybe you pushed too far,” Geto mused. “You do that a lot.”
“I wasn’t pushing!” Gojo shot back, then hesitated. “Okay, maybe I was, but I had to! They never answer me seriously.”
“Ever wonder why?” Geto asked smoothly.
There was a pause. You could hear Gojo thinking, and for some reason, that made your chest feel tight. “…No?” Gojo finally admitted, and Geto sighed, almost fondly.
“Satoru,” Geto said patiently, “not everything is a game. You joke about everything. Everything. Why would she think this is any different?”
“Because I mean it!” Gojo argued, his voice rising in frustration. “I’m always flirting with her, always giving her chances to say something back”
“And maybe she doesn’t know if you’re being serious,” Geto interrupted, firm but calm. “Maybe they think it’s just a game to you, and she doesnt want to be played.”
Gojo scoffed. “That’s stupid. Why would I waste my time playing games with her?”
“Because that’s what you do,” Geto said simply. “It’s how you are. You make everything lighthearted, everything funny. But it also means that sometimes, people don’t know when you actually mean something.”
Gojo was quiet for a moment before muttering, “I… I don’t know how to not do that.”
Something in your chest twisted. Gojo, struggling with sincerity? it wasn't something that isn't real. It's painfully obvious to anyone who meets him Though if you're assuming right that this is about you, it feels weird. “Well,” Geto said, voice softer now, “maybe it’s time you figured it out.”
Gojo let out a dramatic groan. “Oh, sure, easy. Just suddenly stop being me. That’ll work.”
Geto huffed a laugh. “No one’s asking you to stop being you, Satoru. Just… maybe start showing them that they deserve more than a joke.”
A pause. “…More?” Gojo repeated, like the word didn’t quite make sense. “Yeah,” Geto said, and there was something final about the way he said it. “More. She deserve more, Satoru.” Your breath stilled in your throat. Gojo was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “You really think that’s what she wants?”
Geto exhaled, something thoughtful in his tone. “I think that if you really want to mean it, you should start acting like it.” Then, after a brief pause, he added, “And I think you’re not the only one who’s going to be trying harder.” The weight behind his words made your stomach flip. Gojo let out a low hum, considering. “Huh. That sounds like you mean something too, Suguru.”
There was no teasing in Geto’s response, only certainty. “I do.” Your mind raced. You shouldn’t have been listening, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it not when it felt like you had just witnessed something you weren’t supposed to.
Before you could process it all, a presence settled at your side. You turned sharply, heart hammering, only to find Geto standing there, watching you. His gaze was steady, knowing. A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Eavesdropping, huh?” The smooth timbre of Geto’s voice sent a shiver down your spine before you could even turn to face him. When you did, he was already watching you with that lazy, knowing smirk, the kind that made it clear he had caught you red handed.
Your heart lurched. “I absolutely wasnt, me walking down the hall and loud voices means inevitably someone wi—”
Geto chuckled, warm and low, like he had all the time in the world. “Relax. I won’t tell.” Your shoulders slumped slightly, though your mind was still spinning. “I didn’t mean to listen”
“Wanted to hear what everyone really thought?” Geto supplied smoothly, his voice quieter now. Your mouth opened, but the words tangled on your tongue. He wasn’t wrong. After a moment of struggle feeling strangely exposed under his gaze.
Geto hummed, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “Satoru can be… a lot,” he said, lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. “But he means well.”
You exhaled slowly, still processing everything. “Yeah, I know.” His gaze lingered, a beat too long. That easy amusement was still there, but there was something else beneath it, something thoughtful, something intent.
“He’s not the only one who cares about what you think, you know.”
Your heart skipped. The air between you shifted, suddenly heavier, like the conversation had turned into something delicate. Something that had to be handled carefully.
“What do you mean?” you asked, though you weren’t sure you were ready for the answer. Geto tilted his head slightly, watching you with that same unreadable expression. “Just that… it’s not always easy, liking someone like you.”
The way he said it sent a rush of heat to your face. You swallowed. “Geto…” His smirk softened into something smaller, “What?”
You didn’t know how to respond. Your mind was still tangled in the weight of his words, the quiet but unmistakable way he had just said it like it was already fact. Geto’s eyes traced over your face like he was memorizing something, his amusement dimming into something quieter. “You’re always looking at him,” he murmured. “But do you ever think about who’s looking at you?”
Your breath caught. “You deserve more than teasing, you know.” His voice was almost casual, but the weight behind it was anything but. “More than jokes and empty flirting.” You stared at him, feeling like you had suddenly stepped into unknown territory. He let out a soft chuckle, almost as if he could hear your thoughts. “I won’t push,” he said easily. “I know you don’t like that.” His fingers brushed against your shoulder a fleeting touch, too light to be an accident. “But just… think about it.”
You couldn’t find your voice. Geto held your gaze for a moment longer before stepping back, hands slipping into his pockets. “Give yourself a chance,” he murmured again but lower, tilting his head slightly. “But don’t forget there are other people who care about you, too.” And then he was gone, walking away without waiting for an answer, leaving you standing there mind reeling, heart racing.
It was complicated. Messy. But as you finally stepped away from the doorway, you found yourself thinking not just about Gojo’s teasing or the way he had fumbled for sincerity, but about Geto’s steady warmth, his quiet certainty. And for the first time, you weren’t just thinking about them. You were wondering what it was you wanted.
——
It had been years since you first walked through the gates of Jujutsu High, and looking back now, it almost felt like another lifetime. The first time you met Geto was a memory etched in the back of your mind, one you revisited often, though it was a little more distant now.
You’d been a first year, fresh and wide eyed, filled with excitement and nerves as you navigated the complex world of Jujutsu sorcery. You’d barely even known what to expect from your fellow students, let alone the upperclassmen. But when you first saw Geto, it was impossible not to be struck by him. Tall, calm, and exuding an effortless coolness, he had a kind of quiet magnetism that seemed to draw people in.
You remembered the first day you saw him, sitting alone in the classroom during the the morning. His dark hair fell just the right way, framing his face, and his eyes those intense eyes never seemed to miss anything. The world seemed to gravitate toward him without a second thought. there was something about the way he carried himself that made it feel like he belonged in the spotlight. You couldn’t help but be a little starstruck. It wasn’t just his looks, though. His demeanor, the way he spoke with such effortless confidence, made you feel like you were standing in the presence of someone who had everything figured out. Even back then, as a shy first year, you found yourself drawn to him. You’d always been a little shy when it came to those kinds of feelings, so you never dared to express how you felt.
You had a crush on him, without a doubt. It was something you didn’t admit easily not to anyone, least of all to yourself. You were just starting to adjust to the world outside of you and gojo, let alone figure out how you fit in it, and trying to sort out your feelings for someone like Geto only made things more complicated. But as time went on, as you became more familiar with him, the crush slowly turned into something else. You began to see the layers beneath the surface. Geto wasn’t just the cool guy who could command attention with a single glance. he was thoughtful, intelligent, and surprisingly perceptive in ways that weren’t immediately obvious. He didn’t just notice people; he understood them, in a way that made you feel like you were more than just another face in the crowd.
You remembered the first time you really spoke to him like REALLY spoke to him. , after a mission where you both ended up working together. You’d been struggling with something either your technique or just how to focus under pressure and Geto had come up to you, casual as always, and offered a few words of advice. It wasn’t anything grand or life changing, just a small adjustment, but the way he said it, the way he made you feel like he truly believed in your potential, had stuck with you.
“Don’t overthink it,” he had said, offering a slight smile. “It’s simple. Just focus on the moment.”
You were surprised by how much that simple comment helped you how much it made you feel seen. From then on, every interaction with him felt different. Instead of a distant rando, Geto became someone you could rely on someone you could talk to about anything, whether it was missions, school, or just life in general. His presence, while still commanding, became comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.
Now, when you looked at him, it wasn’t with the same starry eyed admiration of that first day. He was one of your closer friends, someone you’d come to trust deeply. The crush, though it had remained a part of you in the back of your mind, had shifted into something else, something more meaningful. You appreciate him not for the image of him you had built in your head, but for the person he truly was. The calm, steady support he offered, the way he never judged, and how he always seemed to know when to challenge you and when to step back.
You found yourself often smiling a little as you watched him, lost in thought. He was standing off to the side, talking with some of the others, his usual easygoing demeanor present even now. He had become someone you could confide in, someone who genuinely cared about the people around him. The ease of your friendship, of the way he accepted you, made you realize just how far you had come from those first days of high school.
The crush was a distant memory now, but you couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of gratitude when you thought back to that first meeting. What you had with Geto now was something far more valuable, something real. He was your friend, and in many ways, you had grown together. And as you watched him, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he had always known exactly what you needed before you even realized it yourself.
—
The halls of Jujutsu High were quieter at this hour, bathed in the deep oranges and purples of the setting sun. Most of the students had turned in for the night, and even the teachers had begun to retreat to their rooms. But Gojo sat on the training field, staring up at the sky like it might hold the answers to the thoughts swarming in his head.
Shoko plopped down next to him, stretching her legs out with a quiet sigh. “You look like you’re thinking too hard,” she remarked, tilting her head to look at him.
Gojo huffed a laugh but didn’t turn to face her. “I am the strongest, y’know. That means my brain’s gotta be strong, too.”
Shoko snorted. “That’s not how that works.” A comfortable silence settled between them. Gojo let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. The usual brightness in his voice dimmed slightly when he finally spoke again.
“Shoko…” he started, hesitating in a way that was unlike him. “What does it mean when someone makes your brain feel all… messy?”
Shoko raised a brow. “Are you asking me about feelings, Satoru?”
He groaned, tipping his head back. “Ugh, don’t make it weird.”
“You’re the one making it weird,” she shot back, amused. “What’s going on?”
Gojo was silent for a beat before his fingers dug into his hair. “I really like her, Shoko.” His voice was quieter now, like saying it too loudly might make it real in a way he wasn’t ready for. Shoko blinked, before an easy smirk tugged at her lips. “Yeah, no shit.”
He groaned again. “Come on, be helpful.”
She chuckled but softened a little. “Okay, okay. What about them is making your brain all ‘messy’?”
Gojo exhaled, shoulders slumping slightly. “It’s just… I flirt with them all the time, right? But I don’t think they ever really believe me. Like it’s just some game or whatever.”
Shoko hummed thoughtfully. “You do treat everything like a joke.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Gojo muttered, rubbing his temple. “And then there’s Suguru.”
Shoko frowned slightly. “What about him?”
Gojo hesitated before sighing. “He likes her too.”
Shoko’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes sharpened. Shes heard both sides of her best friends complain about their love for you “And?”
Gojo hesitated again, and that alone was enough to tell her how much this was really messing with him. “It’s Suguru,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.
And in a way, it did. Suguru Geto was his oldest friend, the one who had always been by his side, the one who understood him in ways no one else did. But now, suddenly, there was this… rift. Not spoken, not fought over just there, quietly growing between them.
Shoko let the words settle between them before speaking. “So, what? Are you gonna back off?”
Gojo snapped his gaze to her, eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Of course not.”
Shoko gave a small, knowing smile. “Didn’t think so.”
Gojo exhaled sharply. “But it’s weird, okay? It’s weird because… because he’s Suguru, and he’s never really wanted the same things as me before.” He ruffled his hair, frustration evident. “It’s like I don’t know how to feel about it. He’s my best friend, Shoko.”
“And so is [Y/N],” Shoko pointed out.
Gojo faltered. She sighed, nudging him lightly. “Look, you like her, right? I think it naive to think suguru has never wanted the same as you”
“Yeah,” Gojo muttered, quieter this time.
“And Suguru likes her too,” she continued.
Gojo clenched his jaw but nodded. Shoko studied him for a moment before shrugging. “Then stop thinking so much.”
Gojo stared at her. “That’s your advice?”
She gave a lazy grin. “Yup.”
He scoffed. “Gee, thanks, that helps so much.”
Shoko chuckled, then let her expression turn more serious. “Listen, Satoru. I get it. You don’t like dealing with feelings yours or anyone else’s. But this isn’t about Suguru. And it’s not about some stupid competition.” She held his gaze. “It’s about you and how you feel about them.”
Gojo pressed his lips together. “Yeah,” he murmured, like he was finally letting himself admit it. “I really, really like her.”
Shoko patted his back, standing up with a stretch. “Then do something about it.”
Gojo tilted his head back to look up at her, lips tugged in a lopsided smirk. “You’re really bad at comforting people”
She rolled her eyes. “And you’re a pain in my ass. Just because i chose to be a doctor doesn’t mean psycologist.”
Gojo chuckled, but as she walked away, he let his head drop back, staring up at the sky again.
no one:
Y/n this chapter:
taglist : @pandabiene5115 @inthedarkshadows000
Batfamily X Batmom! Reader
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Someone Thought Of Meཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ
I feel like Tim has very little love. So how does he feel in a family thats so weird?
masterlist
Timmy timothy tim likes to journal his problems
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Journal entry- Shes always there. Written from the point of view of Tim Drake. In Tim Drakes Journal. Which Is my journal… Tim Drake… because it’s my journal?
When people think of Bruce Wayne, they think of Gotham’s crowned prince brooding, rich, charming in a suit. Maybe they even think of Batman if you’re one of the few people that actually know him, the knight in Kevlar, Gotham’s relentless protector. They forget, more often than not, that behind the cowl is just a guy made of jagged edges. The kind that can cut even the people he cares about most.
But her?
She was warmth. A reporter with fire in her blood and sharp questions at her lips. That’s how Bruce met her chasing down a story she didn’t know he was part of yet. She wasn’t intimidated by his name or the shadows that followed him. And when she found out he was Batman, she didn’t run. She pivoted. She didn’t want to be used by the Gotham Gazette to milk a headline about their relationship. So she left. Started something new. Told the stories of villains not to glorify them, but to show their truth. The people they used to be. The cracks that made them break. That was her power.
I didn’t meet her until later, of course. But I always knew of her. I still stayed with my parents at the time and since she stayed at the mansion i never really saw her. she was the one everyone talked about. Not just in passing, but with reverence. Even Bruce, in his own quiet way, would drop her name like it meant safety. And to Dick and Jason? She wasn’t just a stepmom, or “Bruce’s wife.” She was Mom.
Dick talks about her like she’s the sun. When he visits he always visits, at least once a week no matter where he is you can see it. How his whole face lights up just stepping into the manor and hearing her voice from the kitchen. You’d think he was back in the circus and just found his net again.
“She used to stay up for me, no matter what time patrol ended,” he told me once. “I’d come in through the balcony, boots muddy, bruised up, sometimes bleeding and she’d be in the kitchen heating soup. Always that look on her face like I’d just come back from war. Never lectured me like Bruce. Never told me to be more careful. Just… held me. Like that fixed everything.”
Dick never stopped calling her “Mom.” Not even during the rough years when Bruce pushed him too hard. Not when he moved out. Not when the Batcave felt colder than the Gotham River in winter. If anything, she was the reason he kept coming back.
When she got that small publishing deal to write about Harvey Dent’s past, Dick flew back from Blüdhaven just to take her out to dinner. No press, no big celebration. Just a booth by the window at her favorite Thai place and a bouquet that barely fit through the door. He said he owed her everything. “I don’t care if I’m not hers by blood,” he told me once. “That woman taught me how to hold on to who I am, even when everything else was falling apart.”
Then theres my other older brother. Jason’s love is different. It’s quieter.
Harder to see unless you’re looking close. He’s not good at the soft stuff. Not anymore. But with her, he tries. He never says “I love you.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard the words leave his mouth. But he’s always fixing stuff around her house. Not the manor her place, the little brownstone Bruce bought her because she hated the echo of the mansion. The place with the bookshelf she filled herself, the mismatched mugs, the heavy desk where she does her interviews. Jason comes by when she’s out running errands. Patches the leaky sink. Replaces the light in the hallway. Leaves a bag of her favorite tea on the counter. No note. No credit. But she always knows it’s him.
“She used to sit on the fire escape with me,” he told me once, when we were staking out some arms deal in the Narrows. “I’d be pissed off at Bruce, just raging. And she’d just sit there. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t talk me out of it. Just sat and sometimes smoked a cigarette. One time I cried. Don’t remember why. But she didn’t flinch. Just put her hand on my back. Stayed until I fell asleep.”
He’d die before saying it out loud, but I think in a way… he’s more hers than he ever was Bruce’s. And when he came back when he was the Red Hood and he was full of grief and rage and bullets she was the only one who hugged him. Everyone else flinched. Even Bruce. But she opened the door, saw what he’d become, and said, “You look like hell, baby. Come inside.” And he did.
I remember the first time I met her. Bruce had just taken me in. I was still flinching every time he walked into the room, still unsure if I belonged in this broken, stitched up family. And then she walked in breezy and fierce, like she’d just come off a battlefield with coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. “You must be Tim,” she said, giving me a once over like she could see right through to my spine. “You eat?”
I hadn’t. She fixed a plate, sat with me, asked me about everything except my parents. I had just lost them at the time and that’s when I got it. Why Dick lights up around her. Why Jason will move heaven and earth to fix her sink. She’s home. Not the kind with walls and Wi-Fi. The kind with presence. With knowing how to say just the right thing without ever saying too much. With safety, and warmth, and late night soup and hair ruffles and sitting on fire escapes even when the kid next to you’s got blood on his boots. I think that’s why even Bruce… softens around her. She’s the one person who makes him feel safe.
When she got her first daughter, you can tell something changed in her. Cass didn’t talk much. Not in the early days. She was quiet in the way shadows were quiet always there, always watching, always slipping through cracks without a sound. Most people assumed she just didn’t want to talk. Or couldn’t. But I saw it different.
Cass spoke just not with her mouth. She spoke with her hands, her eyes, the way she’d tense or soften when you entered a room. But with her? With Mom?
Cass bloomed.
She’d lean on her shoulder when they sat on the couch. She’d grab her hand subtle, small, but full of meaning and lead her to the garden out back just to sit in the sun. I watched Cass laugh once, like actually laugh, cheeks lifted and eyes crinkled. I didn’t even know she could laugh like that. But it was because Mom had made some dumb joke about a rogue penguin at the zoo stealing someone’s purse. Cas used to flinch at affection. Now, she hugged her. Without hesitation. Leaned into her side. Signed things with soft smiles and the rare, quiet “Love you,” if no one else was around. She didn’t even say that to Bruce. Not really. But Mom? Mom got everything.
She knew how to talk to her. Never pressed. Never coddled. Just existed beside her with a kind of understanding that didn’t require words. I think Cass clung to that someone who didn’t need her to be anything but herself. Someone who didn’t treat her like a porcelain weapon. I’d never seen Cass so… safe. So full.
Then there was Damian. God. When Bruce brought him to the manor, I thought maybe we’d finally seen the worst of it. Turns out a ten year old assassin with an ego the size of Arkham was the cherry on top.
From the minute Damian showed up, he was a walking migraine. Arrogant. Condescending. Entitled in the way only someone born and bred to believe they were superior could be. But the worst part? He was cruel to her.
Not in the loud, tantrum way kids can be cruel. No. Damian was sharp. Precise. Calculated. His insults were surgical targeted and clean like a blade to the gut. “I don’t see the point in you,” he said once, arms crossed in the foyer, looking her dead in the eye. “You’re not my mother. You’ll never be her. Father had real women in his life before you.”
It wasn’t the first time he said it. Wouldn’t be the last. she….God, she just took it. Not because she agreed. Not because she was weak. But because that’s who she is. She let him be angry. Let him lash out. Let him burn himself on her because she knew what was underneath it all. But I saw it. I saw the way her shoulders slumped when she turned away. The way she stirred her tea a little too long in the kitchen. The way she lingered in front of Bruce’s old pictures of Talia that he put up for Damien. didn’t touch them, didn’t say anything, but looked like someone standing in a war zone, wondering if the ruins were prettier than she’d ever be. She never said it aloud. Never asked if she measured up. But we all knew the weight she carried. Bruce’s past wasn’t just shadows it was legacies. Legacies she was never meant to compete with. And Damian made sure she felt that.
I don’t know when that started to change. Maybe when she helped patch him up after his first solo patrol and didn’t say a word about the busted ribs. Maybe when she sat in the library and helped him with his handwriting because even deadly assassins have messy cursive. Or maybe it was when she found his sketchbook. hid it from everyone else, never mentioned it, just left him new pencils on his desk with a quiet, “You’re very talented.”
He stopped being so sharp after that. Still rude. Still Damian. But less… venomous. Like the poison had burned itself out and he was left kind of confused by the fact that she was still there. Because she always was. For all of us.
And then there’s me. The extra. The late one. I was never brought in because Bruce wanted to be a father. I was brought in because I figured out his secrets and then wormed my way into the cave, into the suit, into the family. I don’t know if I was ever really meant to be here. Not the way the others were. Me? I had parents. Not great ones. But they were there… until they weren’t. I didn’t grow up in an alley, or a pit, or the League. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I feel so… replaceable. But she never made me feel that way. She saw me. She knew I overworked myself. Knew I never slept. Knew I spiraled when I wasn’t useful. And instead of pushing me to be better or telling me to slow down, she just… met me where I was. Once, I found a note in my backpack. Folded between mission plans.
“Youre the most amazing boy that i know, You my boy are going to do amazing things. I love you so much!!”
I never told her I found it. But I kept it. Still have it, tucked into my journal like armor.
I don’t know if any of us would’ve survived this family without her. Bruce taught us how to fight. How to fall and get back up. But she taught us how to rest. How to breathe. How to love without blood and history binding us. She fixed all of us. Bit by bit. Even when we didn’t know we were breaking. I don’t feel broken enough to deserve that kind of care. But she gave it anyway. Because that’s who she is. Because she was always there.
I heard her once, talking on the phone to someone. Maybe a friend. Maybe a source. “They’re not mine by blood,” she said. “But God help the world if they ever needed me. I’d burn down Gotham to protect any one of them.” That’s when I knew she meant me, too. if I had to tell this story about the Batfamily, about the ones who wear masks and hide pain and throw themselves into the fire night after night I’d start with her. Because Batman might have saved Gotham but she saved us.
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ
Tim closes the journal with a soft thump, fingers lingering on the worn leather cover. His hand hovers just a second longer before pulling away. The room feels too quiet now like his thoughts are echoing louder without the scratch of his pen to distract him.
He pushes the chair back, the legs creaking on the old hardwood floors, and stands. His back cracks. How long had he been writing? Hours maybe. It’s dark out, the kind of heavy Gotham dark that presses against the windows like it wants in. The manor groans quietly in the silence, pipes murmuring and the wind brushing tree branches against the windows like fingers tapping to be let inside.
He walks out of his room, bare feet soft on the carpet as he pads through the hallway. The air feels heavier at night in the manor. Like all the ghosts that live in the walls are finally breathing.
I turned the corner after walking mindlessly and stared. There you were.
Back facing towards me, wearing one of those oversized, faded shirts Bruce always swore he didn’t miss. Standing in front of the stove, hair pulled up, humming something under your breath as you stirred with a wooden spoon like you were crafting alchemy and not just soup. And beside you, leaning against the counter, arms folded but eyes softer than I’d seen in weeks. Jason. He wasn’t wearing his jacket. Which was rare. His boots were off. Rarer. And he was smiling. Not the cocky half grin he used when he was about to pick a fight, but something quieter. Warmer. Something like a son sitting in the only place in the world where he felt safe.
You said something to him I couldn’t hear what but you reached up on your toes and smoothed his hair out of his eyes like he was five. He rolled his eyes, said something sarcastic, but didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into it. that was when Alfred walked by, hands behind his back, chin tilted slightly in amusement as he passed me. “You know the rule, Master Timothy,” he said, low enough not to disturb the moment in the kitchen. “She is the only one allowed in there. The rest of you have forfeited that right after the last… incident.”
I groaned.
“That was Damian’s fault,” I hissed back.
He raised a brow. “Was it Damian’s idea to flambé a Pop Tart?”
“Okay. Fine. That part might’ve been me.”
It was one of our dumbest ideas maybe not the dumbest, but it’s a crowded race. It started with a challenge. Damian, fresh off a smug streak and newly obsessed with culinary documentaries, claimed that my “American palate” had “eroded my taste and motor skills.” I told him I could cook circles around him. Neither of us could cook.
It escalated quickly. An Iron Chef style duel. Secret ingredient: eggs. Only, I dropped mine. Three times. Damian misread the baking powder as flour. Then I panicked and tried to “smoke” the scrambled eggs for flavor using a packet of incense from the guest room and a lighter.
Within ten minutes, the fire alarm was going off, Alfred had activated the emergency sprinklers, and the kitchen looked like something between a crime scene and a culinary apocalypse. Mom was the one to find us.
Standing soaked, flour covered, blinking through smoke. Damian holding a spatula like a sword. Me covered in what I hoped was yolk. You didn’t yell. That’s the worst part. You just… looked at us. Long and hard. Then let out a breath, pinched the bridge of your nose, and said, “Alfred, I assume this is why you told me to ban them from the kitchen.”
“Indeed, madam,” he replied grimly.
And that was that. Kitchen rights revoked. Except for you. Always you.
Now I stood there in the hallway, watching you and Jason from the doorway, unseen. He was telling you about something he saw on patrol a gang trying to smuggle rare books, of all things. You were laughing, that full body laugh that makes your shoulders shake and your eyes close, like the world could still be beautiful if you just tried hard enough. And Jason?
He was drinking it in. Like he’d been starved of this kind of love for years. Ever since he came back, you were different around him. Not overly careful like Bruce. Not tense like some of us had been. You just loved him. Loudly. Freely. kisses to the temple, touching his shoulders like you had to convince yourself he was still solid. Like you had to remind him that he was still wanted. Jason never said it but he melted under it. His edges dulled. His anger slipped. When you held him, when you gave him that smile that said “you’re home,” he softened. He belonged.
I swallowed hard. Stepped back, just a bit. Let the shadows take me. Because I’d never had that. Not in the same way. You loved me I knew that. But it wasn’t the same kind of fierce, smothering love. And maybe that was fair. I wasn’t broken in the way Jason was. Not born in blood like Damian. Not carved out of grief like Dick. Not silenced like Cass.
I was just… me. Smart. Quiet. Stable, mostly. I’d always felt like a thread sewn into someone else’s tapestry. Useful. Strong, even. But not the reason anyone stayed warm. in moments like this seeing Jason melt under your hands, seeing you pour every ounce of your soul into making him feel alive I couldn’t help but wonder if I was ever going to fit here. So I stepped away from the kitchen door.
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ
The house was quiet again. The kind of quiet that only happens after everyone’s gone to bed or pretended to. I was curled up in the corner of the library, one leg slung over the arm of the chair, a thick old book cracked open across my lap. It wasn’t for patrol or mission planning. Just something to read. Something to fill the quiet so I didn’t have to think too much.
It was peaceful, until muffled voices filled the room. I blinked, tilting my head just enough to catch the low murmur threading in from the hallway. At first, I thought maybe Bruce had wandered into the Batcave again, but then I heard my moms voice. Whispering like someone trying not to wake a sleeping baby. Bruce responded, and you both laughed, low and secretive. I rolled my eyes and went back to my page.
I stopped caring about that kind of thing a long time ago. You and Bruce were always, in a word, gross about each other. Not the clingy, PDA gross… well yes the clingy PDA way but the kind where he’d brush your cheek mid conversation like it was instinct. Or the way you’d make him coffee without asking, and he’d pass you reports to look at because he trusted your opinion more than the board’s. It was… sincere. Intimate. Kind of annoying, honestly, when you were trying to eat cereal and Bruce kissed your temple like it was some kind of reflex.
But it was comforting too. Something solid. I was just starting to lose myself in the book again when
“Boo.”
“GAH!”
I launched the book about a foot into the air and nearly twisted my entire spine trying to figure out what demon had possessed the room. My heart rocketed into my throat as I whipped around, hand halfway to a batarang that wasn’t even on me. You stood there, grinning ear to ear.
“Tim,” you cooed, covering your mouth to stifle a laugh, “you should’ve seen your face oh my god, I think you levitated.”
“I almost hit you with Tolstoy!” I hissed, breath still catching up to my body. “Don’t sneak up on a guy in this house! I was ready to throw hands with a ghost.”
“Well,” you teased, “if it was a ghost, you’d be the only one I’d trust to outsmart it.”
I gave you a flat look, still massaging my neck. You sobered a little, stepping forward and tapping the top of my head gently. “Come on, kiddo. There’s something we want to show you. In the dining room.”
I blinked. “We?”
“I’m here too,” came Bruce’s voice from the hallway, in that terrible deep gravel whisper he clearly thought was somehow sneaky. You and I both turned to look at him as he peeked around the corner, trying very hard and failing to look inconspicuous.
I squinted at him. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he said too quickly.
You sighed and gently smacked his chest. “Why are you like this?”
“I’m building intrigue,” Bruce said with what I assumed was supposed to be a straight face. “It’s part of the plan”
“You’re ruining the surprise,” you whispered, dragging a hand down your face.
“There’s a surprise?” I asked slowly, eyes darting between the two of you.
Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but I could see the micro tension in his brow. He was lying. For the world’s greatest detective, the man couldn’t lie to his children to save his life. Every time he tried, he got this weird stiffness, like someone who’d never used human emotions before. You groaned again and took my wrist gently. “Come on. Just come to the dining room. Please?”
I stood up slowly, abandoning my book on the chair. “What’s going on?” I asked again, warier now. “Is this, like… an intervention? Did Damian break into the Tower again?”
“Nope.”
“Did Jason get arrested for vigilante loitering?”
“Not this week.”
“Are you going to make me touch grass?”
You snorted. “God, no.”
I sighed. “Alright. But if this is a trap, I want it on record that i died saying my parents were weird.”
Bruce just grunted. So I followed them. These two weird, overly affectionate, semi cryptic parents of mine one with crows’ feet from smiling too much and the other still pretending he didn’t smile at all. Down the hallway. Toward the dining room. Still completely, utterly confused.
The hallway to the dining room wasn’t long. It just felt long. Partially because Bruce was still trying to act like this wasn’t suspicious at all, and you kept elbowing him in the ribs every few steps. Partially because my nerves were starting to twitch under my skin. mostly because I could hear whisper yelling coming from the dining room.
“I said put the banner up, not strangle the chandelier with it!”
“That wasn’t me! It was Damian! He climbed up there!”
“I was fixing your poor attempt at symmetry, Grayson!”
“Why is the pie we made lopsided Jason what did you do to the pie?”
“It’s good. Shut up.”
“You burned it.”
“I call it caramelized flavor.”
“…It smells like regret.”
“Can someone…. Cass, what are you doing with the glitter glue?!”
“Decoration.”
I paused just outside the door and looked up at Bruce and you with raised eyebrows. You just smiled softly and gave a little shrug, while Bruce tried to maintain whatever shred of dignity he had left. It wasn’t working.
You both looked so stupidly in love standing like that his arm around your waist, yours looped casually around his. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this was normal. Like this whatever chaos was waiting behind the doors was ours.
Bruce leaned in toward the doorframe like he was assessing a mission room, and I swear I saw his eye twitch.
“I gave them very simple instructions,” he muttered.
You patted his chest. “Your children are as smart and emotionally constipated as their dad”
The door swung open before anyone could knock. Dick stood there with his usual too big grin and remnants of glitter on his cheek like war paint. “Timmy! You’re late to your own surprise party!”
“It’s not my birthday?”
“Not that kind of surprise party!” he said, reaching out to drag me in with too much enthusiasm. “It’s Appreciation Day!”
“That’s… not a real holiday.”
“Sure it is,” said Jason, appearing from behind a mess of mismatched plates and aluminum foil wrapped disasters. “We just made it real. Sit down, Nerd Boy.”
Cass waved from the head of the table with a little toothy smile. Damian was on a chair next to her, arms crossed, already pouting like he hadn’t been helping just ten minutes ago.
The table was atrocious like someone had thrown a home economics final exam and a kindergarten arts and crafts project into a blender. The centerpiece was a crooked sign that said “WE APPRECIATE YOU” in bold, messy handwriting (clearly Dick’s). There was glitter on everything. The cups didn’t match. The pie looked like it’d been in a fight. it was perfect. All of it.
Dishes were stacked, uneven and mismatched. Cookies were slightly burnt on one side. Jason’s so called “caramelized” pie was visibly cracked. Cass had made what looked like finger sandwiches shaped into little bats. Even Damian had contributed begrudgingly with a plate of sliced fruit that had been carved into vaguely threatening shapes.
And in the middle of it all was a small card in your handwriting.
Tim,
We know things have been hard.
We know it sometimes feels like you’re overlooked.
But you’re not. Not here.
You’re brilliant. You’re loved. You’re ours.
Love,
Your Family (a bunch of idiots, but yours)
I couldn’t speak. Not really. Because what was there to say? This… this wasn’t some big show. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. it was for me. I glanced down the table.
Dick was beaming and already scooting over to make room for me. Jason was pretending not to look at me too hard, but his expression was softer than usual. Cass gave me a small nod, the kind that said more than words. Damian looked away when our eyes met but I could see the tiniest hint of awkward approval in the way he pushed a napkin toward the empty seat beside him. I took it. Quietly. Still blinking a little too fast. I didn’t cry. I didn’t. But I felt it thick in my chest. That weight. That feeling. Because my biological parents had never done anything like this. They didn’t see me, not really. I was a project. A prodigy. An obligation. But you and Bruce, in his awkward gruff way you saw me. You made this happen. I looked up once more and saw you and Bruce still standing near the door. Arms still around each other. Watching. Bruce’s eyes met mine. He gave the smallest nod. You just smiled. I mattered here. not always loudly. not in the same way the others did. But I mattered. And this this was home.
so like i saw this prompt somewhere on here about a reader reaching…. completion and the other saying “i know baby” and im currently longing for the time when I used to play this game all the time
Kaeya Alberich
The night air in Mondstadt is crisp, carrying the faint scent of dandelions and the distant hum of revelry from the city below. But here, within the quiet sanctuary of Kaeya’s room, the only sound that matters is the soft cadence of his voice.
It had started with a drink, just one. A quiet escape from the noise of the tavern, from the ever watchful eyes of the city. Kaeya had offered, his smirk playful, his voice dripping with charm.
“Stay a little longer tonight, won’t you?”
And you’d said yes, because how could you ever say no to him?
Now, the candlelight flickers, casting warm shadows along the walls, bathing the room in a golden glow. Kaeya leans against the edge of his bed, a glass of wine resting in his palm, swirling lazily as he watches you from beneath heavy lashes. His coat had long since been discarded, leaving him in that deep blue shirt, the top buttons undone, exposing of his collarbone.
“You always look so tense,” he murmurs, tilting his head. His voice is smooth, teasing, but there’s something else beneath it something softer. Something meant only for you. “You let everyone else see you so strong, so put together… but I wonder,” he sets the glass down with a soft clink, his gaze locking onto yours, “who do you fall apart for?”
The weight of his words settles deep in your chest, warm and heavy. Your fingers twitch against the fabric of your clothes, a quiet tell you know he doesn’t miss. There’s something thick in the air between you, something unspoken but understood.
Kaeya rises from his seat, slow and deliberate, his movements fluid like the wine in his glass. He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the coolness of his body against the warmth of your own. His gloved fingers reach up, ghosting over your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to meet his gaze.
“Let me, just this once,” he breathes, his voice a whisper between you. His fingers brush against your skin, featherlight, as if testing, waiting for permission. “Let me see you unravel.”
And you do.
—
The room is warm, the scent of candle wax and wine lingering in the air. The flickering light casts shadows over Kaeya’s face as he hovers above you, his body flush against yours, pressing you into the soft mattress beneath him. The usual playfulness in his expression has melted into something deeper something raw.
His breath is uneven, his usual composure slipping with every desperate movement. His lips trace slow, open mouthed kisses down the curve of your neck, his gloved hands roaming over your body, mapping you like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough, hoarse with need.
Your breath hitches, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. He exhales a soft curse against your throat, his forehead pressing into the crook of your neck as he tries to steady himself, to hold on just a little longer. But the way you move beneath him, the way you whisper his name it’s undoing him.
Kaeya groans, a deep, broken sound, his grip tightening around you as he presses you impossibly closer. His body shudders, his breath ragged, his voice barely a whisper as he murmurs against your lips, “It’s okay… Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”
And when you do, when pleasure overtakes you, leaving you trembling beneath him, Kaeya follows soon after. His breath stutters, his arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go, his entire body shuddering against yours as he loses himself completely.
Even when the waves of pleasure fade, he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. He stays pressed against you, his heart hammering against your own, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin. His lips ghost over your temple, pressing soft, lingering kisses against your heated skin.
“I know, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion and something softer something more vulnerable. “I know.”
The night is quiet save for the sound of your breathing, the distant hum of Mondstadt beyond the window. And in that moment, wrapped in Kaeya’s arms, you know neither of you is ready to let go just yet.
VERY SHORT VERY SELF INDULGENT
ANIME
JUJUTSU KAISEN
Yuta Okkotsu
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Pure Love
Jjk Various
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ It Feels Crowded
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Matching Pyjamas
ONE PIECE
Sanji
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Oh Bet
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ All too well
Shanks
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Red Tides and Restless Hearts
BLACK BUTLER IDEA!!!
I still will probably write this but I want to know if there is a demand at all for black butler content. Please like and reply if you’re up for a new fic!!!! here is a sample of what I was thinking
݁ᛪ༙The clock ticked steadily in the dim sitting room. Moonlight spilled through the large windows, catching the sharp gleam of Y/n’s eyes as she stood by the fireplace, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Sebastian entered soundlessly, like a shadow come to life. He bowed with his usual mockery of politeness.
“You wished to speak with me, Lady Y/n?”
Y/n said nothing at first, letting the silence stretch and coil between them.
She studied him the impeccable suit, the flawless manners, the thin smile that never reached his eyes. Everything about him felt wrong.
Finally, she spoke, voice low and edged with steel.
“I know what you are,” she said. “Maybe not the name for it, but I know you are not human.”
Sebastian’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew.
“How very observant,” he mused, clasping his hands neatly behind his back. “And what, may I ask, do you intend to do with this knowledge?”
Y/n stepped closer, her boots whispering against the rug. She tilted her head slightly, the fire casting half her face in shadow.
“Nothing,” she said. “Because Ciel trusts you. For now.”
Her eyes hardened.
“But know this, Sebastian Michaelis: if you harm him if you let him slip further into whatever darkness is trying to swallow him I will tear you apart myself. Piece by piece.”
Sebastian chuckled, the sound low and amused, like a cat toying with a mouse.
“You are quite ferocious for someone so…fragile.”
Y/n didn’t flinch. She stepped even closer, close enough to smell the unnatural, cold clean scent of him.
“You think I’m fragile?” she whispered. “Try me. You’ll find out exactly how far a sister will go for her brother.”
For the first time, something flickered in Sebastian’s gaze interest, perhaps. Amusement tinged with a thread of caution.
“Noted,” he said smoothly, bowing his head slightly. “I shall continue to serve the Young Master with the utmost…care.”
Y/n stared him down a moment longer before turning away, her heart pounding.
“See that you do,” she said coldly. “Because if you don’t hell won’t be the only place you’ll answer to.”
As she left the room, Sebastian stood still, a gloved hand resting lightly on his chest where, for a brief, strange moment, he thought he might have felt something almost human: respect.
݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙݁ᛪ༙ The hem of your dress swirled around your ankles as you hurried through the entrance hall, the air thick with the scent of polished wood and new paint.
The rebuilt Phantomhive Manor loomed above you, so pristine it almost mocked the memory of ashes and ruin still seared into your heart.
You clutched the sides of your gown an elegant deep navy silk dress with delicate lace sleeves, a gift from Aunt Angelina. But you hardly noticed its weight now.
All you could hear was the hammering of your heart.
Ciel.
Your little brother your baby was alive.
You had been staying with Aunt Angelina ever since the fire, trapped in a haze of grief and guilt, believing there was nothing left. When the letter arrived, hastily penned with shaking hands by your aunt herself, you thought it a cruel dream. But now standing here the heavy doors of the manor open, the world spinning in your ears he was truly here.
A butler you didn’t recognize bowed you inside. His voice was smooth.
“Welcome home, Lady Y/n. The Young Master is awaiting you in the drawing room.”
You barely heard him. Your body moved of its own accord, feet flying across the marble, ignoring decorum, ignoring appearances. You needed to see him.The door to the drawing room creaked as you pushed it open.
And there he was. Ciel stood by the window, framed in silver light. He was wearing a black velvet suit, a rich blue eye staring outward only one eye. The other hidden behind a black eyepatch.
His posture was perfect, his chin tilted up in practiced nobility.
But he was still so small.
Still just a boy.
Your throat closed. A sob broke free before you could contain it. He turned at the sound and his eye widened, just barely.
“Y/n,” he said, voice smooth and measured, as if tasting the word for the first time in years.
Your vision blurred with tears.
Before you knew it, your knees buckled beneath you. You fell. Not out of weakness out of relief. You crashed to the carpeted floor, arms flinging around him, dragging his tiny, stiff body against yours. You pressed your forehead to his stomach, clutching him as if he might vanish again if you let go.
“My Ciel,” you gasped out, voice cracking. “My sweet boy, my precious ”
For a long, breathless moment, he said nothing. You felt the way he tensed, the way he hesitated awkward, uncertain, like a child who no longer knew how to receive love. Then slowly one small, gloved hand touched your head. Not like he used to not with the easy affection of the boy you remembered.
It was a stiff, careful gesture.
“…You’re wrinkling your dress,” he muttered, trying for irritation but failing miserably. His voice shook ever so slightly.
You let out a watery laugh, pulling back just enough to look up at him. He was trying so hard to be composed. To be grown. But you could see it the glimmer of your little brother beneath the armor. The scared, exhausted boy who had come home. You reached up, cupping his cheek gently with your gloved hand.
“You’re home,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You’re home, and I will never, ever leave you again.”
His eye softened so quick, you might have missed it if you hadn’t known him so well.
“You’re being dramatic,” he said, brushing a hand down his jacket, pretending indifference.
You smiled through your tears, standing finally and straightening your dress. You took a deep, trembling breath, smoothing his hair back with motherly care.
“You’ll have to get used to it,” you said, voice steadying. “Because I plan to be dramatic for the rest of your life, Ciel Phantomhive.”
The corners of his mouth twitched just slightly. A ghost of a smile. And you felt it you knew that somewhere deep inside, he was still your brother. you would love him with every fiber of your soul, no matter how cold he tried to be.
You linked your arm through his before he could protest, guiding him further into the room like you used to when he was a shy toddler hiding behind your skirts.
“Now,” you said brightly, “you’re going to sit with me and tell me everything.”
He sighed, a sound of long suffering patience far too old for his little body.
“…I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” he said.
You smiled, squeezing his arm gently.
“Not when it comes to me, dear heart. Never.”
You hadn’t felt this complete in so long.
But then a presence. You felt it like a prickle at the back of your neck, a gentle tug in the air, a ripple where everything should have been still. Your eyes drifted, pulled by instinct toward the doorway.
There he stood. The butler. Tall, impossibly composed, crimson eyes gleaming like molten garnets in the low light. His hands were folded neatly behind his back, posture perfect, expression unreadable.
The sight of him sent a strange chill along your spine not fear exactly, but something close to wrongness.
And something else, too something painfully familiar. For just a moment, your heart squeezed. He looks like Father.
Not exactly your father’s features had been warmer, his smiles real. there was something in the way this man carried himself, the precise way he tilted his head, the quiet strength wrapped in civility.
You tore your gaze away and turned to Ciel, lowering your voice.
“Who is that?” you asked, smoothing your skirts with trembling hands to hide your nerves.
Ciel followed your gaze casually, as if he hadn’t noticed the butler lingering nearby until now.
“Sebastian Michaelis,” Ciel said. His tone was clipped but neutral. “My butler. He’s been serving me since… I returned.”
You nodded slowly, lips pressing together.
You wanted to ask more but Ciel’s body language warned you off.
The stiff shoulders, the slight narrowing of his eye. He trusted this man. you had just gotten your brother back. You would not push. Not yet. You turned back toward the butler, offering a polite, practiced smile that didn’t reach your eyes.
“Thank you,” you said softly, inclining your head just slightly, as a lady should. “For taking care of my brother.”
Sebastian’s crimson gaze flickered briefly curiosity, perhaps but his bow was perfect.
“It is my duty and my pleasure, Lady Y/n,” he said smoothly.
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