ᨒ ོ ☼ Voice On The Line ᨒ ོ ☼
Dick Grayson | Nightwing X Reader
ᨒ ོ ☼ Voice on the Line ᨒ ོ ☼
I feel hes a munch. I feel hes a woman lover. He loves women. Him when women. Also did i think about Garcia and Morgan when writing this? yeah…. and what about it?
masterlist
You’re the newest addition to the Batsquad. Cant help if you’re basically forced to talk to eye candy all night. Though what if the eye candy wants you back.
ᨒ ོ ☼ The hum of servers filled the air like a lullaby, soft and steady behind the clack of your manicured fingers dancing across the keyboard. Multiple monitors cast a warm glow against your skin as codes flickered by, surveillance cams blinked into motion, and the Gotham skyline lit up under your careful watch. You chewed on a pink pen cap thoughtfully, then leaned into the mic on your headset.
“Alright, Bat Team, eyes up. Cameras just caught movement on the east perimeter. Looks like our guy’s not late to his own robbery party.” Static.
“Copy that,” came a deep voice laced with just enough sarcasm to make your lips twitch. “And here I was hoping for a quiet night.”
The soft glow of neon lights from Gotham’s skyline bled into the Watchtower’s tech room, giving everything a purple blue hue. The glow reflected off your screens, lighting up your face as your fingers flew across the keyboard. Surveillance cams, thermal feeds, encrypted audio all of it filtered through your custom built comms system. You leaned back in your chair, twirling said pink pen through your fingers. Your voice came through sweet as sugar, laced with a barely hidden smirk.
“Watch yourself Nightwing, I hope you’re wearing something cute under all that kevlar. You’re live on all my cams tonight.”
A low chuckle filtered through your headset, rough around the edges in the way that always made your stomach flip.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite guardian angel,” Nightwing drawled, voice dipped in charm he wore like a second skin. “What would I do without your voice whispering sweet nothings into my ear?”
“You’d probably walk into a wall,” you said sweetly. “Or into that very large man standing behind the dumpster on 5th and Main.”
There was a beat of silence, then a soft thwack through the mic.
“You mean that wasn’t a trash can?” he teased, slightly breathless. “How dare you underestimate my night vision, sugar.”
You grinned, propping your cheek in your palm as you tracked his movement across the rooftops. “Sugar now, huh? Is that your new nickname for me?”
“Unless you prefer ‘Sweetheart.’ Or ‘Hot Stuff.’ I’m flexible.”
You let out a melodic laugh, not even trying to hide it. “Wow, your flirting game is tragic tonight. You okay out there, Nightwing? Hit your head on a chimney?”
“I’m just warming up,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Wait ‘til I meet you in person. Then I’m turning the charm up to eleven.”
You opened your mouth to volley back but Barbara’s voice cut in like a whip.
“Alright, you two cut it.”
You both froze.
“Lock in,” Barbara said, her voice firm and dry as dust. “This isn’t a late night radio show. We’ve got multiple armed targets on the ground and a hostage situation developing five blocks south. Thermal (your hero name), patch the thermal overlay to Nightwing’s HUD.”
You straightened in your chair, fingers flying. “Yes, ma’am. Thermal incoming.”
“Nightwing,” Barbara added with the tone of a fed up older sister, “try keeping your tongue in your mouth for five minutes. You’re on mission, not a date.”
“Harsh, Babs,” he muttered.
“I’m just saying,” she continued, “if I had a dollar for every time I had to listen to the two of you flirt in the middle of a crisis, I could afford a better coffee maker.”
You bit your lip to hold back a laugh, then cleared your throat. “Aww, c’mon, Babs. Can’t a girl multitask? I can route power to Nightwings grappling line and boost morale at the same time.”
“I don’t need morale,” Nightwing interjected. “I need a distraction. Preferably wearing those glasses you mentioned last week.”
“You remember that?” you teased.
“I remember everything you say, Sweetheart.”
Barbara groaned audibly. “I’m leaving this room before I’m forced to bleach my ears.”
“I mean,” you added sweetly, “he’s just mad he can’t picture me behind this desk, legs crossed, looking very professional while saving his butt.”
Nightwing whistled. “If I didn’t have to stop a robbery, I’d be scaling that tower right now.”
Barbara’s voice snapped back over the channel like a rubber band. “Focus, both of you.”
“Copy that,” you said, suddenly all business again as you leaned forward and zoomed in on the warehouse entrance. “Three guards posted up. One pacing, one smoking, one with a submachine gun. Interior layout uploaded to your HUD. Entry through the southeast vent is clear. You’re greenlit, Nightwing.”
“See? She flirts, but she gets it done,” he muttered fondly.
You grinned. “I always stand on business, baby.”
“Then I better bring my A game. Wouldn’t want to disappoint my favorite tech goddess.”
You laughed quietly, adjusting your headset as you pulled up the emergency response grid. “Just don’t get shot, Nightwing.”
Barbara let out one final sigh before muttering, “I swear, I should’ve let Batman take this shift.”
But despite her grumbling, you swore you saw a smile tug at the corners of her lips as she turned away.
He grunted, and you could tell it was the kind of laugh he didn’t want you to hear.
“Let’s make a deal,” he said suddenly. “You keep me alive tonight, and I’ll finally let you buy me a coffee.”
You blinked. That was new. “You mean you buy me a coffee? Bold of you to assume you’re that charming.”
“You do call me every night.”
“Because it’s my job, Nightwing.”
Your own heart beat just a little faster as Nightwing’s icon approached the rendezvous point. It was almost always like this. Take the next day where you were thrown completely out of your own loop You were sprawled comfortably in the comms chair, pink converse kicked up on the desk, a bag of sour candy at your side, and at least three drinks within reach because hydration and caffeination were essential for optimal management.
Tonight’s mission? Barely a blip on the Bat Radar. A stakeout near the docks. Zero hostiles so far. Minimal risk. Maximal boredom.
“Nightwing,” you poured into your mic, stretching dramatically, “how’s the air up there on your boring little rooftop? You see anything exciting? UFOs? Pirates? A raccoon that looks like Bruce?”
“Negative on the Bruce raccoon,” Nightwing said through the comms, voice thick with amusement. “But thanks for the nightmare fuel, Sweetheart.”
“I try,” you chirped, popping another piece of candy into your mouth. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”
“You keep me somewhere, alright,” he murmured, just low enough to think you wouldn’t catch it.
You did. You always did. Before you could respond with another flirty jab, a new voice crackled in gruffer, sharper. Dry as sandpaper and twice as moody.
“Are you always like this?” Jason Todd’s voice cut in like a knife through silk. “I’ve been listening for ten minutes and I already want to uninstall my ears.”
You beamed, leaning closer to the mic like he could see your grin. “Red Hood! My favorite grump. Took you long enough to say hi.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he deadpanned.
“Oh, please. You love it,” you teased, swiveling in your chair like it helped transmit your energy. “I’m your emotional support chatterbox. You’d cry without me.”
“Unlikely.”
“Then why are you still listening?” you asked sweetly, tapping into his drone cam and watching as he crouched in the shadows near an old shipping container. “I see you didn’t even mute me. That’s gotta mean something.”
Jason sighed. The tiniest sigh. A truce in breath form.
“…You’re ridiculous.”
“And adorable, don’t forget that part.”
“Why does she talk to you like that?” Nightwing asked suddenly, cutting in with playful suspicion. “She doesn’t call me ‘adorable.’”
“I like to flirt with people who pretend to hate it,” you replied easily. “Keeps ‘em humble.”
Jason made a quiet scoffing noise. “You think I’m humble?”
“No,” you said, smirking. “But I do think you blush when I call you sweetheart.”
There was a long pause.
“…I’m turning off my comm.”
“You won’t,” you sang.
Before Jason could craft a dry comeback or fake a signal cut out, Nightwing returned this time with a tone that could only be described as smug older brother meets possessive flirt.
“Alright, alright,” Dick said, and you could hear his smirk. “Let’s not get carried away, Sweetheart. You do have a date coming up. With me, remember?”
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Oh yeah,” he continued smoothly, “you promised me coffee after our last op. Pretty sure that counts.”
“That was a tactical bribe to keep you alive,” you said quickly, cheeks burning despite your best effort. “Totally not binding.”
Jason actually chuckled at that chuckled. A small miracle.
“Well,” Dick said, clearly enjoying himself, “binding or not, I’ll be at that new café on 7th tomorrow at ten. You’re welcome to back out, but I do know where your candy stash is hidden in the Watchtower fridge.”
Your jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You absolute menace.”
“See you then, Sweetheart.”
Jason exhaled like he was regretting all of his life choices.
“God, you’re both exhausting.”
You smiled, sweet and unbothered. “Don’t be jealous, Jay. I can pencil you in for brunch on Sunday.”
He groaned but didn’t mute you. Which, in your book, meant you weren’t the loser here .
𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓
The room was quiet now.
The static from the comms had faded, the mics had all gone cold, and the buzz of conversation that had filled the Watchtower’s tech room just minutes ago had slipped into silence. You were alone, save for the hum of machines and the low, rhythmic click of a monitor blinking back to standby.
You leaned back in your chair slowly, arms folding over your chest as you stared blankly at the screens. Your bubbly persona so easy to slip into when surrounded by voices, teasing banter, and fast flying intel started to crack beneath the weight of the quiet.
It always did, when the room emptied.
He wanted coffee. Dick Grayson wanted to meet you. A date.
The thought hit you again, more real now than when he first said it in that casual, cocky tone of his. You’d brushed it off, played along, tossed flirtation back like you always did but now? Sitting alone, no distraction, no one listening?
You felt it. That creeping, slow turning anxiety curling in your stomach.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about what he looked like before. Sure, you’d heard his voice, shared late night chatter across missions, and even made him laugh more than once. But imagining him? That was easy. Everyone in the Bat Family was objectively hot. Like, annoyingly so.
And you? You swallowed hard, curling your knees up into your chair and hugging them gently.
You weren’t anything like them. Not tall or sleek or scarred from combat. Not graceful in a catsuit or strong enough to throw a punch through a wall. You weren’t stick thin, but you weren’t curvy in a dramatic way either. You existed somewhere in the middle comfortable in hoodies, always in glasses, a bit awkward when the spotlight came too close. Your brain was your strongest muscle, and it sometimes felt like that was all you had.
Would he be disappointed?
You let out a slow breath, eyes flicking to your reflection in the dark screen across from you. No makeup, hair pulled back, sweater two sizes too big. You looked like someone who blended into a crowd. Like someone no one would stop for a second glance. What if you showed up and he just… didn’t see you the way he did over comms? What if the mystery was the only thing that made you interesting?
Your hand reached out instinctively, pressing your fingers to the edge of the console like you were grounding yourself.
You wanted to meet him. Of course you did. He was charming, and kind beneath all the jokes, and smart in the ways only someone who’d been through hell could be. But a date? That felt like something other people did. People who didn’t feel the need to hide behind tech and sarcasm to feel confident.
You sat there in silence, chewing your lip, wondering if he even knew what he was asking when he said, “see you then.”
Maybe it wasn’t a real date. Maybe he didn’t think of it like that.
But deep down, you knew you wanted it to be. You wanted to be seen. And you were scared of what would happen if you really were.
𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓
Dick Grayson stood in front of the mirror of his Blüdhaven apartment, tugging at the hem of his sweatshirt like it was a tux. Casual. Chill. Low key. That was the goal.
So why the hell did he feel like he was prepping for a mission?
He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it for the third no, fourth time. Dark jeans, clean white sneakers, a navy hoodie that fit just right not too fitted, not too loose. He changed shirts three times before this one finally felt like the right one. He hadn’t been this particular about his outfit since prom.
“It’s not a date,” he told his reflection. “It’s just coffee.”
A pause.
“…With the girl who knows all your safe houses, your secret patrol routes, and who once talked you through stitching your own shoulder at 3 a.m. without flinching.”
Okay. Maybe a little more than just coffee.
He reached for his phone on the counter. One unread text waited at the top of the screen.
Comms girl <3: You sure about this?
Comms girl <3:You don’t have to meet me.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he typed back quickly.
bluebird: I’m very sure. You owe me that coffee, remember? I risked my life for that latte.
Your reply came within seconds.
Comms girl <3: You were five feet from the guy. I stalled him with a fake 911 ping. YOU’RE WELCOME.
He chuckled, thumbs flying across the screen.
blurbird : Still counts. Heroics were involved. You agreed to a reward. No backing out now.
Comms girl <3: Still time to change your mind. Could just keep this mystery thing going. It’s fun. Less risky.
He stared at that message a moment longer than he wanted to admit. There was a strange comfort in the way things were. The comms. The banter. The way your voice softened when his breathing grew strained after a tough fight. How you’d scold him for reckless moves and then follow up with, “But also… that flip you did? Sick as hell.”
You were part of the job no, more than that. You were part of him. But only in fragments.
He’d seen the pieces you gave: your voice, your wit, your ridiculous caffeine addiction, the hum of music sometimes playing faintly in the background when you were on shift. But he’d never seen you.
Meanwhile, you’d seen everything.
bluebird: You’ve seen my file, haven’t you?
he typed.
bluebird: I know what color your eyes are. I haven’t even seen yours.
Comms girl <3: Don’t worry. They’re not laser eyes or anything.
Comms girl <3: Still time to run. I won’t be mad.
Dick stared at the screen, thumb resting over the keyboard again. A few moments passed. Then he typed back:
bluebird: I don’t want to run. I want to meet you. For real.
Read. But no reply. He locked his phone, shoved it into the pocket of his hoodie, and grabbed his keys and helmet. Outside, the early evening had begun to spill across the Blüdhaven skyline. Fading light. Long shadows.
For once, he wasn’t slipping into the shadows himself. He was stepping into the sun.
𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓
The café on 7th was a small, tucked away place with mismatched chairs and the smell of cinnamon and roasted espresso clinging to every wooden beam. A warm corner of the city where life slowed down just a little. He arrived ten minutes early. Too early.
The bell above the door jingled, and instinct kicked in. He scanned. Two older women by the window, a guy with earbuds tapping at a laptop, a bored barista pulling espresso shots with dead eyes. No sign of you.
He ordered her drink extra sweet, extra foamy, “liquid sunshine,” you once called it and a black coffee for himself. Settled into a table by the window. Full view of the door. He texted you again.
bluebird: I’m here. No pressure. But I brought your order. It’s waiting patiently.
Nothing.
He flicked the lid of the cup. Checked the time. Tapped his knee beneath the table. Every chime of the bell had him sitting up straighter, breath held in quiet anticipation.
Not her.Not yet.
And that was the thing he didn’t even know what she looked like. No name. No face. Just a voice in his ear, a rhythm in his nights, a lifeline during the chaos. But even without a face, even without a name, he knew you.
He leaned back and watched the doorway like it held all the answers. Maybe it did.
His phone buzzed again.
Comms girl <3: I’m close. Just… taking a second.
He stared at that message. His heart did a quiet, hopeful jump.
bluebird: You nervous?l
Comms Girl: Maybe. You?
He smiled.
bluebird: I’ve fought Killer Croc, Deathstroke, and Jason with a crowbar. This is worse.
You didn’t text back right away. He waited. Sipped his coffee. Looked at your untouched drink and wondered if you’d ever actually take a sip from it. Maybe you’d just show up, apologize, and walk away. Maybe you’d turn around before even walking through the door.
You were already on the sidewalk. One breath away from stepping inside. He turned his eyes to the window, scanning every person who passed. Wondering if one of them might look in, catch his eye, smile.
Waiting. he hoped that mask off, no gadgets, no grappling hooks, no safety net that was enough. So he waited. For you.
𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓
The drink was starting to sweat on the table.
Dick’s thumb spun slow, lazy circles around the lid of the cup you still hadn’t claimed. The café wasn’t busy only a few people trickled in here and there. His eyes lifted every time the door jingled, hopeful… and then dropped just as quickly.
He wasn’t used to feeling this unsteady. With the mask on, he could take a punch. Leap off a roof. Throw himself into chaos without blinking. But right now, sitting at a table with a slowly cooling cup of coffee for someone he’d never even seen before?
He was sweating more than the damn drink. The bell above the door jingled again.
And he looked.
She stepped in like she was trying not to be noticed shoulders drawn slightly inward, a quick glance around the room before her eyes dropped to the floor. She didn’t look out of place, not really. She looked… normal.
Pink Converse. Faded denim jorts hugging her hips. A plain black tank top tucked in just right to show her figure, casual and effortless. Hair pulled back loosely like she’d tried to fix it three times before giving up.
Dick’s eyes lingered…. respectfully. He wasn’t a jerk. But he was a man. And the way she looked, with nervous energy practically rolling off her in waves, had his chest tightening just a little.
Cute. Definitely cute. Attractive, sure. She was cute. Soft around the edges. Eyes wide like she wasn’t used to being looked at too long.
Dick’s gaze flicked down, then back up not lingering too long. A polite once over. Curious. Gentle. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he looked away.
He didn’t know what to expect. For all the times he’d imagined this moment, all the late night banter and daydreams of what she might look like, he’d never settled on a face.
Still watching her from the corner of his eye, Dick slowly reached for his phone and typed out a message.
bluebird: “I’m by the window. Got your sugar bomb of a drink already. You close?”
The girl the maybe you girl jumped slightly when her phone buzzed. Fumbled it out of her pocket. She smiled. Just a little.
Her hand went to her phone. Dick’s screen lit up.
Comms girl <3: Already here. Just… not sure where to go.
His heart stopped. Slowly, his gaze lifted again this time with full awareness. He watched as she read his message, fingers still hovering near the screen.
Like she was laughing at herself and suddenly, everything clicked.
Dick’s breath caught for a beat. His lips tugged upward in a crooked smile as he texted again. Dick forgot how to breathe.
bluebird: Black tank. Pink shoes. You really do own those Converse.
You didn’t even look up from your phone. You were already typing.
Comms girl <3: Ok stalker, stop checking me out
He huffed a quiet laugh.
bluebird: Respectfully. Thoroughly. Definitely.
You lifted your head then, eyes meeting his across the room. Nervous. Hopeful. Your lips curved into something soft and self deprecating.
He stood before he could overthink it, heart thudding as he crossed the short space between your hesitant stillness and his table.
“You’re late,” he said, voice light, teasing.
“Fashionably,” you replied, walking with him as he guided you toward the window seat. “Also, very nearly didn’t come in. I walked past the window twice. You didn’t notice.”
“I noticed,” he said, pulling your chair out like the gentleman he rarely remembered to be. “I just didn’t know it was you. But then you looked at your phone like it offended you.”
You sat, cheeks flushed with something caught between embarrassment and amusement. “That was me realizing I sent three different versions of ‘I’m almost there’ and still sat in my car for ten minutes.”
Dick slid your coffee toward you. “Well i guess in a way you were.”
You took the cup, curling your fingers around it like it might steady you. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I still might run.”
“Do I need to stop you? I’ve got grappling hooks.”
That made you laugh. Really laugh. He liked that sound more than he expected. It wasn’t tinny over the comm. It was full, alive, right in front of him.
“God,” you groaned, lowering your head for a second. “This is so weird.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But good weird.”
You peeked up at him. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Better or worse?”
You grinned, shy but cheeky. “You’re taller than I thought. That’s not fair. I have no defense against tall and charming.”
“Charming, huh?” He took a sip of his coffee, raising a brow over the lid. “You haven’t even heard my best lines yet.”
You rolled your eyes, the way you always did when he flirted too hard through the mic. But now it was real. Now, he could see the way you bit back a smile, the flush that crept to your ears.
“I’m not used to being looked at,” you admitted after a quiet beat. “I’m used to watching. Behind the screens. Behind the noise. I’ve seen your face a hundred times. This is… lopsided.”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, gaze steady and warm.
“Then let’s even it out.”
You blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Let me learn you,” he said, voice low, honest. “No comms. No mission. No static. Just… you.”
You looked away, biting your lip, your fingers tracing the lid of your cup now like he had earlier. “You’re a lot more intense in person.”
“I’m a lot of things in person,” he said, smiling. “Most of them good. Some of them bad. All of them me.”
A silence passed. Not awkward contemplative. Like both of you were quietly adjusting to the weight of seeing each other. Really seeing each other.
“I always see you in your outfit, this feels a little weird” you murmured eventually.
He grinned. “You’ll be happy to know I left the spandex at home.”
“Tragic.”
Another moment of quiet, then
“I’m glad you showed up,” he said.
You smiled down into your drink. “Yeah. Me too.”
Outside, the city moved in its usual rhythm cars, footsteps, noise. But here, at this little table by the window, something new was starting. Not a mission. Not an assignment. Just Dick and you.
𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓
The coffee was long gone, but neither of them had made a move to go their separate ways.
Instead, they strolled the streets of Blüdhaven, their pace slow, like time had bent around them just for a little while. The sun had started to dip behind the buildings, casting soft golden light on the sidewalks, and the breeze stirred the trees enough to make the leaves flutter like lazy applause.
You walked beside him with your now empty cup in hand, straw still between your lips despite it having been dry for the last ten minutes. Nerves still clung to your skin, thin but persistent. You had no idea where to put your hands or how to keep your voice steady. You weren’t usually like this. Over comms, you were bold, loud, sarcastic, and playful.
But out here, in the open, without a headset and with Nightwing walking beside you in casual clothes that hugged him way too well for your nerves to take? It was different. He was real. And you were suddenly aware of every flaw you’d been trying not to think about since this morning.
“You know,” you said with a light chuckle, trying to keep your voice in that easy, familiar tone, “I honestly expected you to cancel last minute. Or like, show up but wear the mask the whole time and pretend to be mysterious.”
Dick looked over at you, one brow raised, and a smile playing at his lips. “You really thought I’d ghost you after all our late night flirting?”
You shrugged, trying to play it off, but your eyes darted away. “I mean… I dunno. Maybe.”
“You ruined that for you because i would never,” he said dramatically, then bumped his shoulder gently against yours. “I told you I was coming. I meant it.”
His voice was warm, not teasing this time. Just honest. He watched you as you gave a small smile, eyes still scanning the sidewalk like you were searching for something to say. He saw the way you carried yourself. Not shy, exactly just… cautious. Though he saw you and wanted too. All of you.
Not just the confident voice in his ear or the tech genius who could break into encrypted systems like they were open windows. He saw the little things: the nervous hand fidgeting with your cup sleeve, the way you pulled at the hem of your shorts when you thought he wasn’t looking, the practiced jokes you used to deflect any compliments.
So he gave you more of them.
“I like your shoes,” he said casually, glancing down at the worn pink Converse. “its a very you thing, reflective of your personality”
You laughed an actual laugh, not a polite one. “I don’t know if footwear can tell you my life story?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he said, nodding with mock seriousness. “Pink shoes? Total power move. I love when women.”
You shook your head, trying to hide your grin. “you love when women?”
“And the shorts?” he added. “Perfect length. Shows off those legs that have been sitting behind a computer for, what? Ninety percent of your adult life?”
“Oh my God,” you groaned, covering your face with your free hand. “You’re a menace.”
“I’ve been told worse,” he said with a wink.
You both fell into a comfortable rhythm after that. Step for step, laugh for laugh. The tension slowly ebbed away the longer he stayed near you like he was peeling back the nervous layers without ever drawing attention to them.
After a few quiet moments, you nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Okay, so serious question.”
“Hit me.”
“How the hell does this team work? I started hacking stuff and suddenly im here? ”
He laughed, raising both brows. “You tell me. You’ve got this adorable, good vibe going for you, but I’ve read some of those logs. You were wrecking firewalls like they owed you money.”
“I wasn’t that bad,” you defended with a smirk. “Okay, maybe the satellite thing was a little over the line.”
He turned to face you mid step. “Wait. What satellite thing?”
You winced, cheeks flushing. “I… might’ve accidentally hacked into a WayneTech orbital system when I thought it was an old NASA server.”
He stared at you, stunned. “You hacked WayneTech?”
“Allegedly,” you said, grinning now. “And two days later, Babs showed up in my basement. No warning, no badge, just… bam, red hair and righteous fury.”
“She must’ve been so mad.”
“She told me I was wasting potential and recruited me on the spot.”
Dick laughed again, and this time, it was full bodied, the kind that lit up his whole face. “Classic Babs.”
“Honestly? She’s the first person who ever looked at me and didn’t just see a mouthy hacker. She actually saw… me.”
His smile softened. “She does that. Did the same for me once.”
You glanced at him curiously. “Oh yeah?”
He nodded, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. “Back when I was still figuring things out after leaving Bruce. I needed distance from the Bat stuff needed to figure out who I was when I wasn’t under the cape. Babs helped me get there. Helped me want to be more than just Robin.”
“I think you’re doing alright,” you said, bumping his shoulder this time.
“I’m trying,” he said with a shrug. “Still check in on the family though. Bruce, my brothers, Grandpa.”
You blinked. “Grandpa?”
“Alfred,” he clarified with a mischievous grin. “I started calling him that just to piss him off, but I know he secretly loves it.”
You laughed again, shaking your head. “That’s so weirdly wholesome. ‘Nightwing has emotional depth and a soft spot for butlers,’ coming to theaters this fall.”
“Hey, he’s not just a butler. He’s the butler.”
“I stand corrected.”
The sky was blushing now, soft shades of purple and orange painting the horizon. The city buzzed around you, but for once, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt like a quiet pocket of something special.
Dick glanced sideways at you, the wind tugging gently at your hair, and felt that same flicker in his chest again. The one that started when your voice used to crackle in his earpiece during midnight stakeouts. The one that grew stronger every time you made him laugh, or saved his ass from another security lockdown, or stayed on the line with him just so he wouldn’t be alone.
“I’m really glad we did this,” he said softly.
You looked at him, caught a sincerity in his eyes that left no room for doubt.
“Yeah,” you said, voice just as soft. “Me too.”
The air had taken on that evening crispness the kind that whispered promises of something new. The two of you were still walking, slowly now, like neither wanted to reach wherever the sidewalk might end.
Dick glanced at you again, longer this time. Not just quick, playful side glances, but a longing look. One that lingered as the fading sun touched your skin. He could see the way your lashes caught the light, the slight smile tugging at your lips as you sipped from your empty straw out of habit. The way your eyes moved when you were thinking.
You caught him staring.
“What?” you asked, arching a brow.
He shrugged with an easy, boyish grin. “Nothing. Just… you’ve got a good laugh.”
You blinked. “What, like a ‘haha’ laugh or a ‘joker is getting off’ laugh?”
He chuckled. “The kind that’s been in my ear for months, but somehow sounds better in person.”
Your stomach fluttered. You covered it with a sarcastic smile. “Are you flirting with me again, Grayson?”
“Only mildly,” he teased, then glanced ahead. “I mean, I’ve gotta pace myself. You’re kind of… addictive.”
You didn’t answer for a moment. You didn’t know how. And honestly, you were worried your voice would betray how warm your chest suddenly felt.
He didn’t press it. Just kept walking with you in step. But then he said, a little more softly:
“I never really thought about it before… how different things feel when you’re not just a voice in my ear.”
You looked over at him, curious. “Better or worse?”
He gave you a look, deadpan. “What kind of question is that?”
You tried to laugh, to brush it off, but he turned toward you fully now, walking backward a few steps so he could face you as you moved.
“You have this… energy. When we’re on comms, it’s like… controlled chaos in the best way. Keeps me grounded, keeps me alert. But now? Seeing you like, actually seeing you your expressions, your body language, your weird obsession with pink…”
“I do not!”
He smirked. “You do. It’s very cute.”
You shoved his arm lightly, heat rushing to your face. But the smile was genuine now. You were relaxing, piece by piece.
“I guess I just didn’t realize how much I’d been missing until now,” he added, turning back around to walk forward again. “Hearing you’s great. But… seeing you talk? Watching your eyes move when you go on your little tech rants or when you start teasing me? It hits different.”
Your heart thudded hard.
He wasn’t saying “I want to see your face more.” But he was.
You swallowed around the growing smile and said, “Well… good thing I’m not going anywhere.”
He shot you a glance then, something soft and full of unspoken words.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “That is a good thing.”
More Posts from Sirxaibs and Others
joost and appie in japan :-)
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.
me tweaking out trying to find that one good fanfic
Touya Todoroki / Dabi x reader
Summary: As you pick Touya up from rehab, you reflect on how you got here
WARNING: hurt/ barely comfort. It’s a Dabi fanfic so prepare for rude behaviour and a lot of self deprecation on his part.
word count : 9734
FOLLOW ME AND GIVE ME SOME IDEAS!!
RUN BOY RUN - Woodkid
₍^. .^₎⟆ You drum your fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the front doors of the rehab center like they might explode. The car hums softly beneath you, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the parking lot. You’ve been sitting here for a while, waiting. Thinking.
It’s been weeks since you last saw Touya. Weeks of wondering if he’d actually stay. Weeks of resisting the urge to show up just to check.
And now, finally, here he comes.
The doors push open, and there he is, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind. His hair’s a mess, probably hasn’t touched a comb in days and his scars catch the sunlight in a way that makes them stand out even more. He looks tired, in a way that’s more than just physical. But his eyes? Still sharp. Still him.
The second he spots you, he stops. Just stands there, staring, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually be here.
You push open the car door and step out before he can overthink it. “Hey,” you say, keeping it easy.
Touya scoffs, tilting his head. “Hey.” His voice is rough, like he hasn’t used it much.
You take him in, scanning for any sign of what? A breakthrough? A relapse? Hell if you know. He just looks… different. Not better, necessarily. But different.
“How was it?” you ask.
Touya rolls his eyes. “Awful.” Classic. “Same boring speeches, same awkward group sessions. Food was shit.”
You smirk. “No shock there.”
He exhales sharply, something like amusement, but you don’t miss the tension in his shoulders.
“But you stayed,” you say, watching him closely.
Something flickers across his face quick, almost undetectable. He looks away, shifting his weight. “…Yeah,” he mutters. “Guess I did.”
For a moment, neither of you say anything. It’s not awkward, just… heavy. The weight of everything unsaid sits between you, pressing at the edges. You had spent weeks wondering if he’d bail, if you’d get some shitty phone call, if you’d ever see him again. And now he’s here. Whole.
Touya clears his throat and jerks his chin toward the car. “You just gonna make me stand here, or what?”
You blink, shaking off your thoughts. “Right.” You open the passenger door. “Get in.”
He hesitates for half a second before slumping into the seat with a quiet sigh. As you settle into the driver’s side, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s staring out the window, absently picking at the frayed edge of his sleeve.
You grip the wheel. “You hungry?”
Touya snorts. “Depends. You taking me somewhere that serves actual food?”
“Yeah, yeah. No more rehab cafeteria mystery meat, I swear.”
For the first time, he smirks just barely, but it’s there. Then, after a beat, he mutters, “…Thanks for picking me up.”
Something tightens in your chest, but it’s not worry this time.
“Yeah yeah,” you say, pulling out of the parking lot. “now don’t get emotional on me.”
Touya leans his head against the window, exhaling as the car rolls forward, the sun sinking lower in the sky. And for now, that’s enough.
—-
When you met him, no one could have guessed that he’d be in your car sharing an intimate bond to intimate so fast.
The first time you and Dabi met, he tried to kill you.
No, really he actually tried. None of that lazy, half-assed, villain posturing. He sent a fucking wall of blue fire straight at you, no warning, no witty one liner. And when you barely managed to dodge, he clicked his tongue like he was annoyed you had the audacity to survive.
“Should’ve just stood still,” he’d said, tilting his head, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and boredom. “Would’ve saved us both a lot of time.”
“You always this much of an asshole, or am I just special?” you shot back, already bracing for the next attack.
Dabi had smirked, rolling his shoulders. “Dunno. Guess we’ll find out.”
That was how it started.
And somehow, for reasons neither of you ever addressed, your run-ins turned into something else. You fought, sure. But over time, it stopped feeling like an actual battle and more like… a routine. A bad habit. A game. He never went for the kill. You never hit him hard enough to stop him. And when the fights ended, more often than not, you’d end up talking.
Which led to nights like this.
Tonight, it was an abandoned lot. He’d set some shit on fire, you’d put it out, and now he was perched on the edge of a rusted-out shipping container, cigarette between his fingers, watching you like he was waiting to be entertained.
“You’re getting slow,” he remarked, exhaling a curl of smoke.
You shot him a look as you stomped out the last few embers. “Or maybe you’re just getting predictable.”
Dabi snorted. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
You climbed up onto the container, ignoring the way he barely shifted to make room for you. He always did that sat like he dared you to invade his space, then acted all put out when you actually did.
“Real ambitious arson job tonight,” you muttered, stretching out your legs. “You only half-commit to everything, or just crime?”
Dabi flicked ash in your direction. “Like you’re one to talk. You had at least three chances to stop me, and you didn’t.” He shot you a sideways glance, smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Starting to think you like having me around.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, because listening to you bitch and moan is so much fun.”
“Hey, someone’s gotta keep you on your toes,” he said, lazily tapping ash off the side. “Can’t have you getting soft. If anything i’m helping a little girl become a hero”
You scoffed but didn’t argue. And that was the thing this was normal now. Fighting, bickering, sitting around after like you weren’t supposed to be on opposite sides. Like you weren’t supposed to be enemies.
Maybe that’s why you started noticing things.
Like how he leaned against walls like his legs were seconds from giving out. Or how his hands shook just a little when he smoked, like the heat didn’t quite reach all the way through him. Or how, no matter how sharp his smirk was, his eyes never quite matched.
And because you were a fucking idiot, you started caring.
Which is why, after another long, pointless fight, you threw a water bottle at him.
Dabi caught it, glaring. “The hell is this?”
“Hydration, dipshit,” you said, wiping sweat from your forehead. “Y’know, because you’re a walking pile of burnt kindling, and I’d rather not have you passing out mid fight.”
He stared at the bottle like it had personally offended him. Then at you. Then back at the bottle.
“You do realize I hate you, right?” he deadpanned.
“Uh-huh. Drink the damn water, Dabi.”
His jaw tightened, fingers flexing like he was debating throwing it at your head.
Instead, he cracked the cap open, took a slow sip, and never broke eye contact.
“…You’re fucking annoying,” he muttered.
You grinned. “And yet, here we are.”
He exhaled sharply, flicked his cigarette away, and leaned back against the wall. For once, he didn’t have a comeback. Just sat there, eyes flickering toward the skyline, quiet for once.
Not as a villain. Not as a hero.
Just as a guy too stubborn to admit he might not hate the company and just maybe a guy learning people can care for him.
Though it didn’t stop there, meetings became a lot more frequent.
“You stalking me, hero?”
Dabi didn’t even bother looking at you as you landed on the rooftop beside him. Just flicked his cigarette, barely missing your foot, and leaned back like he didn’t have a care in the world.
You sighed. “You just torched a building. Kinda my job to show up.”
“Yeah? And yet, here you are not doing shit about it.” He smirked, finally turning to you. “Shouldn’t you be slapping cuffs on me or whatever the fuck it is heroes do?”
You rolled your eyes. “Like you’d let me.”
“Damn right I wouldn’t.” He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, letting it curl between his fingers before he flicked the cigarette off the side of the roof. “And we both know you don’t have the balls to try though you might like the cuffs on you.”
You clenched your jaw but didn’t argue not wanting to entertain whatever thoughts he’s trying to imply, which only made his smirk widen. “That’s what I thought.”
“You always this fucking insufferable, or is it just for me?”
Dabi gave you a slow, lazy once-over, tilting his head. “I save my worst for special people.”
“Wow. Flattered.”
“You should be.” He stretched his arms over his head, sighing. “Not everyone gets to be my personal waste of time.”
You crossed your arms. “You say that, and yet, you’re the one still talking to me.”
Dabi chuckled low, rough, full of something mean. “Yeah. Guess I like watching you squirm.”
—-
You hit the ground hard, barely rolling in time to avoid getting fried. The pavement still sizzled from Dabi’s flames, burning through your sleeves as you pushed yourself up.
Dabi, still standing like he didn’t just try to incinerate you, gave you the most unimpressed look of all time. “That was pathetic.”
You spat blood onto the ground, glaring up at him. “You hit like a bitch.”
Dabi actually laughed at that, crouching just enough to get in your face. “You wish I hit like a bitch.” His fingers twitched, heat curling around them. “We both know I could turn you to fucking ash if I wanted to.”
You swallowed hard but held his gaze. “Then why don’t you?”
He tilted his head, watching you like a cat watching a half dead mouse. Then his grin stretched slow and sharp.
“‘Cause I like this,” he murmured. “Watching you scrape yourself off the ground. Watching you try so fucking hard to be something.” He leaned in just a little closer, voice dropping to something almost amused. “It’s entertaining.”
Your fists clenched. “You’re a real piece of shit, y’know that?”
Dabi smirked. “Yeah. And?”
You shoved yourself up, ignoring how your legs ached. “One day, I’m gonna put you down for good.”
His grin widened like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Oh, please do.”
——
Dabi was sitting on the curb like he had just clocked out of a long shift at his 9-to-5 arson job. Arms draped over his knees, a half-burnt cigarette dangling from his fingers, and an expression so profoundly bored that you had to take a second to process the absolute wreckage behind him.
The alley looked like a battlefield. Scorch marks everywhere, trash melted into unrecognizable blobs, and some guy still smoking from the flames. He was groaning, which was good it meant he was alive. But considering how crispy he looked, he probably wasn’t gonna be winning any beauty pageants soon.
You let out a long, suffering sigh. “Dabi.”
Dabi tilted his head back lazily to look at you. Then he exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Oh. You.”
You planted your hands on your hips, giving him the best I am so fucking tired look you could muster. “What the fuck happened this time?”
Dabi gave you a slow blink, like you just asked him why the sky was blue. “What the fuck do you think happened?” He waved a vague hand at the destruction behind him. “I had a bad night.”
You threw up your hands. “And what, this was your therapy session? You scorched a guy!”
Dabi sighed dramatically, rolling his neck. “And yet, he’s still breathing. How ‘bout that?”
You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “You have to stop causing problems for fun.”
He snorted. “Wrong. The problems cause me for fun.”
You gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “Did you read that off a bumper sticker?”
Dabi smirked. “Nah. Came up with it just now. Pretty good, huh?”
You ignored that. “Did it ever occur to you to just… I don’t know, go home and watch TV like a normal person?”
“I am watching something,” Dabi said, grinning. “You. Losing your goddamn mind.”
You let out a slow, deep breath, resisting the urge to punt him into the nearest dumpster.
Then Dabi rested his chin on his palm, gaze flicking over you. “And yet, here you are. Again.”
You squinted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He smirked. “If I had a dollar for every time you showed up to stop me but didn’t actually stop me, I’d be able to afford the therapy that daddy dearest never gave me.”
You jabbed a finger at him. “Listen here, you little shit—”
“I mean, really,” he went on, like you hadn’t spoken. “You could be off doing hero stuff. Arresting actual villains. Filing paperwork. Touching grass. But nah. Instead, you’re here. With me.” His smirk widened. “Kinda pathetic, don’t you think?”
Your fingers twitched. So help me God, you thought, if I don’t get out of here in the next five minutes, I am actually going to commit a crime.
You inhaled sharply through your nose, turned on your heel, and started walking.
“You’re not worth the effort.”
Dabi chuckled behind you, lazy and full of smug amusement.
“Keep telling yourself that, hero.”
——
The drive is quiet. its a warm kind of quiet. No one felt like they wanted break it. It was comfortable.
Touya is slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed, jaw locked, radiating the kind of hostility that could curdle milk. His whole vibe is very moody teenager who just got grounded, which is impressive considering he’s a grown-ass man.
You let the silence ride for a while, because you know him. You know he’s stewing. Probably pissed at himself for actually staying in rehab instead of setting the place on fire and walking out in a dramatic blaze of glory. Maybe pissed at you for witnessing the fact that he actually completed something for once in his life.
After a few more minutes of unbearable tension, you finally break.
“You want food?”
Touya snorts. “What, we celebrating?”
You keep your eyes on the road. “I just figured you’d rather eat something that isn’t microwaved cardboard.”
“Bold of you to assume I even ate that shit.”
You exhale slowly through your nose. Patience. Touya is like a stray cat he hisses, scratches, and pretends he doesn’t need anything, but if you ignore him long enough, he eventually starts lurking near your door at dinner time.
“There’s a diner up ahead,” you say, because you will be feeding this dumbass whether he likes it or not. “It’s either that or you starve.”
Touya sighs, like agreeing to basic human needs is such a burden. “Fine. Whatever.”
-
The diner you pull into looks like it should’ve been condemned twenty years ago. The neon sign flickers like it’s having an existential crisis, and the parking lot is a graveyard of questionable life choices.
Inside, the place is nearly empty just a couple of truckers at the counter, mumbling over half-eaten plates of regret. The waitress barely looks up as you both slide into a booth.
Touya, being Touya, immediately sprawls out like he owns the joint, kicking his feet onto the seat across from him. He snatches up a menu but doesn’t actually read it just taps his fingers against the table like he’s already planning an escape route.
The waitress shuffles over, popping her gum. “What’ll it be?”
“Cheeseburger. Extra fries. Coffee,” Touya says, snapping the menu shut like he just finalized a business deal.
You squint at him. “Coffee? This late?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you my mom now?”
You stare at him, debating whether or not to slide his menu across the table and slap him with it.
Instead, you sigh and place your own order. The waitress scribbles it down, looking just about as done with this conversation as you are, then walks off.
Touya slouches even further if he keeps this up, he’s going to merge with the booth. “So. You gonna give me some big, cheesy speech about how proud you are of me?”
You don’t even blink. “Do you want one?”
His lip curls. “Hell no.”
“Then no.”
Touya squints at you like he’s waiting for the catch. Like you’re gonna hit him with some life is a journey Hallmark bullshit at any moment. But when you don’t, he just clicks his tongue and looks away.
“You didn’t have to come get me,” he mutters. “Could’ve just called a cab.”
“Yeah, I could’ve.” You lean back in your seat. “But I didn’t.”
His fingers twitch against the table, like he wants to argue but can’t come up with a good enough reason. So instead, he scoffs and mutters, “You’re a pain in the ass.”
You smirk. “Yeah, well. So are you.”
When the food finally arrives, Touya wastes zero time inhaling it like he’s fresh out of a 24-hour famine. Fries? Shoveled into his mouth at breakneck speed. Burger? Absolutely demolished. It’s impressive, really. Borderline concerning.
You eat like a normal human being, sipping your drink as he continues his speed run.
Eventually, between bites, he mutters, “…Food’s not bad.”
You hide your smile behind your drink. “I’ll take that as a thank you.”
Touya glares. “Don’t push it.”
You let the conversation fizzle out after that. No talking about home. No lectures. No big emotional moments. Just greasy diner food and the occasional sarcastic remark.
And when you both eventually leave and get back in the car, he doesn’t argue when you take the long way home. Doesn’t snap when the silence stretches again this time a little less heavy.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s his way of saying thanks.
You’re halfway through your plate when you notice it Touya has stopped inhaling his food like a wild animal and is just… sitting there. Not glaring, not throwing sarcastic barbs, just absentmindedly pushing a fry around his plate with a vaguely thoughtful expression.
You blink. “Oh God.”
Touya raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“You’re thinking.” You point at him with your fork. “That’s never a good sign.”
He scoffs, shoving the fry into his mouth. “Shut up.”
But he doesn’t immediately follow it with another insult, which is weird. He just leans back, arms crossed, staring at you like he’s weighing whether or not to say something.
You tilt your head. “What?”
He exhales sharply through his nose, like this this moment, this entire night is physically painful for him. Then, finally, he mutters, “You look tired.”
You blink again. “Wow. Thanks. That’s what every person wants to hear.”
Touya rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying. When’s the last time you actually slept?”
You shrug. “I sleep.”
He snorts. “Yeah? When? Between your constant babysitting and whatever dumbass hero shit you’re doing?”
You open your mouth, then close it. Because okay, maybe you don’t get as much sleep as you should. But it’s not like he’s one to talk.
Touya notices your hesitation and smirks. “That’s what I thought.”
“Yeah, well,” you huff, stabbing at your food, “not all of us have the luxury of napping through our responsibilities.”
“Luxury?” He scoffs. “I was in rehab.”
“You chose not to set the place on fire and escape. I call that a vacation.”
Touya stares at you for a second, then against all odds laughs. Not his usual sharp, mocking laugh, but something quieter. Real. It throws you off so badly that you just sit there, blinking at him.
“What?” he asks, still smirking.
“You laughed.”
He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Shit, did I?”
“Yes, and it wasn’t even a mean laugh.” You squint. “Are you dying?”
Touya rolls his eyes. “You’re so fucking dramatic.”
“Says the guy who fake-died for three years.”
“Touché.”
You shake your head, still thrown by the fact that he’s being… weirdly chill. Like he’s actually letting himself exist in this moment instead of treating it like some obligatory punishment. It’s suspicious.
Then, just as you’re about to call him out on it, he reaches across the table, plucks a fry off your plate, and pops it into his mouth.
You gape at him. “Did you just—”
“Yep.” He grabs another one. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
You slap his hand away, scandalized. “I fed you! I rescued you from microwave mush, and this is how you repay me?”
Touya grins, all teeth, the corners of his eyes crinkling just slightly. “Consider it a tax.”
You groan, dropping your head onto the table. “I should’ve left you in rehab.”
“Eh,” he says, stealing one more fry just to be an asshole, “but you didn’t.”
And for once, there’s no smugness behind it. Just quiet acknowledgement.
No thank you, no big emotional revelation just a stolen fry and the simple fact that, no matter how much of a pain in the ass he is, you still showed up.
—
The air was thick with smoke, the night split by the wail of sirens and the distant shouts of first responders. The whole block was bathed in flickering orange light, fire consuming what used to be a warehouse now it was just a giant cautionary tale about what happens when dumbasses with unstable quirks play with explosives.
You exhaled through your nose, mask pulled up high, and glanced at the six-foot wall of muscle and arrogance standing beside you. Fucking Endeavor.
“So,” you said, tilting your head toward the raging inferno, “A+ work on the whole ‘subtle infiltration’ plan.”
Endeavor didn’t even look at you. Not surprising. “This isn’t the time for sarcasm.”
You gestured broadly at the absolute catastrophe in front of you. “See, I disagree. Because if we’re not laughing, we’re crying, and I—” You clapped a hand to your chest. “—am emotionally fragile.”
“Focus.” His voice was clipped, sharp, like he was the only professional here.
You rolled your eyes. “Right, right. ‘No nonsense. Only mission.’ Because God forbid we acknowledge that this is a shitshow.”
He ignored you, which was basically the foundation of your entire working relationship.
“What’s the plan?” you asked, already scanning the building for signs of movement.
“Contain the fire and get the survivors out,” he said, striding forward. Flames licked up his arms, rolling off his shoulders like he wasn’t currently surrounded by highly flammable debris.
You sighed, flexing your fingers. “Cool. Love a good ‘rushing into a death trap’ moment.”
Still no reaction.
You followed him in, ducking through the collapsed doorway as heat immediately punched you in the face. Smoke curled through the halls, thick and suffocating, clinging to the walls like a living thing. You yanked your sleeve over your mouth, glaring at Endeavor’s broad back.
“You ever not act like you’re fireproof?” you muttered.
“I am fireproof,” he shot back.
You scoffed. “Okay, but I’m not, so let’s not turn this place into a crematorium before we’re done.”
Predictably, he didn’t dignify that with a response.
You both moved quickly, scanning the rooms, stepping over broken crates and unconscious bodies. Most of the smuggling ring had been handled either burned, unconscious, or very interested in getting arrested if it meant not being roasted alive.
The first survivors were on the second floor, huddled in what used to be an office but was now just another death trap.
You stepped over the threshold, crouching beside a barely conscious man. “Hey, buddy,” you murmured, hoisting him onto your shoulder. “Let’s get you the hell out of here before this place caves in, yeah?”
Endeavor hauled up another survivor with ease, barely even trying. God, so annoying.
“Get them out,” he ordered. “I’ll keep moving.”
You adjusted your grip, ignoring the sweat rolling down your temple. “Awesome. You run headfirst into hell, I’ll play babysitter.”
You turned on your heel, smoke curling at your feet as you hurried back out.
By the time you made it outside, paramedics were already rushing forward, taking the man from your arms. You exhaled sharply, rolling your shoulders, and turned back toward the warehouse.
Endeavor was still inside.
Not that you doubted him. He was the number two hero for a reason. But you’d seen enough missions go south to know that confidence didn’t mean shit when fire had a mind of its own.
Then—
An explosion rocked the building.
Your stomach lurched, heart pounding. For a split second, pure instinct screamed at you to move, to go back in but then, blue-orange flames burst from the second floor, and a moment later, Endeavor strode out of the smoke, dragging the last survivor behind him.
Because of course he did.
You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah. Congrats on being a one man army.”
He barely spared you a glance, brushing soot off his shoulder like he hadn’t just walked through an explosion. “Handled.”
You huffed, crossing your arms. “Oh, for sure. Totally casual. You ever not act like you just expect to survive every dumbass decision you make?”
His eyes cut to you, sharp and assessing. “You don’t take this seriously enough.”
You arched an eyebrow. “And you take it so seriously you forget to breathe. Maybe if you stopped treating every mission like a personal vendetta, people wouldn’t be so quick to call you an ass.”
His expression didn’t change. “I get results.”
You snorted. “And I get migraines every time we work together. Funny how that works.”
Endeavor let out a huff his version of done with this conversation and turned away, stalking toward the police.
You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you surveyed the mess around you. Another night, another catastrophic team up with Japan’s most emotionally constipated man.
You really needed a drink after this.
But before you could make a break for the nearest bar, a voice rumbled beside you.
“…You did well.”
You blinked. Slowly turned your head.
Endeavor didn’t look at you just kept his gaze on the wreckage, arms crossed, face unreadable.
You squinted. “I’m sorry. What?”
His jaw ticked, like saying it physically pained him. “…I said, you did well.”
A slow grin spread across your face. “Holy shit.”
Endeavor immediately looked regretful. “Forget it.”
“Oh no no no, you don’t get to take that back.” You clutched your chest, mock gasping. “Endeavor praised me? I think I might cry.”
He sighed through his nose, very pointedly not engaging.
But you weren’t done.
“Wow. This must be what being a favorite child feels like.” You nudged him with your elbow. “Does this mean I get a ‘World’s Okayest Sidekick’ mug? Maybe a ‘#1 Emotional Support Hero’ t-shirt?”
Endeavor turned his head slightly. “You want a mug?”
You blinked. “Wait. Are you serious?”
He shrugged, which, coming from him, was basically a yes.
You grinned.
Oh, you were never letting him live this down
Now your relationship with the number 2 hero was never your favourite team ups. Though you did feel a strange bit of validation and growth every time you had the chance.
—
You had fought villains, survived explosions, and worked with Endeavor without committing arson (yet), but nothing, nothing. had prepared you for sitting at the Todoroki family dinner table.
Yet here you were, trapped between Hawks, who looked way too entertained, and Shoto, who was sipping his drink like he was emotionally detached from this entire situation.
Endeavor sat at the head of the table, arms crossed like he also didn’t want to be here, and Fuyumi was the only one smiling like this wasn’t the most awkward hostage situation you’d ever been part of.
“So!” she said brightly, setting down a plate in front of you. “How has working with my dad been?”
You immediately froze, a piece of food halfway to your mouth. Slowly, slowly, you turned your head to glance at Endeavor.
He was already looking at you.
Judging.
Daring you to open your mouth and ruin your career.
Hawks, the absolute devil, nudged your side with his elbow. “Go on. Be honest.”
You took a sip of water to buy yourself some time. “Well…” You cleared your throat. “He’s, uh… very efficient.”
Shoto snorted. “That’s a polite way to put it.”
You pointed your fork at him. “See? He gets it.”
Endeavor exhaled through his nose, which, given the fact that his entire body was basically a walking furnace, made it look like he was barely restraining himself from setting the table on fire. “If you have something to say, say it.”
Hawks smirked, leaning closer. “Yeah, say it.”
You shot him a you are so dead after this look before sighing dramatically. “Fine. You want the truth?” You turned to Endeavor. “Working with you is like trying to have a conversation with a brick wall, if that brick wall was actively judging you and could also set things on fire.”
Fuyumi gasped. Shoto took another sip of his drink. Hawks nearly collapsed against the table, laughing.
Endeavor, completely unfazed, just grunted. “You still get the job done.”
“Wow,” you deadpanned. “I am so touched.”
Hawks wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Man, this is so much better than I imagined.”
You turned to Fuyumi. “Blink twice if you need rescuing.”
She actually laughed at that, waving a hand. “Oh, it’s not that bad!”
Shoto, still completely monotone: “It is that bad.”
Endeavor let out the longest suffering sigh of his life.
By the time dinner ended, you were slumped against the doorway, utterly drained. Hawks, of course, was thriving, stretching his arms over his head. “Well, that was fun! Same time next week?”
You whipped around. “Do not manifest that.”
Fuyumi clapped her hands together. “Oh! That would be wonderful—”
“NO.” You pointed a warning finger at Hawks. “This is your fault.”
He grinned. “Worth it.”
As you stepped outside, you exhaled deeply, rubbing your temples. “I need a drink.”
Hawks slung an arm over your shoulders. “Told you it’d be fun.”
You shoved him off. “Keigo, I swear to god—”
—
Fighting Dabi was always a pain in the ass. Not just because of the fire which, yeah, was a huge problem but because he never shut up.
Tonight was no different. Flames roared around you, painting the alleyway in flickering blue as you dodged another wave of heat. The bastard was laughing, like this was some kind of game.
“What’s the matter, hero?” Dabi taunted, taking a lazy step forward. “Too hot for you?”
You huffed, rolling your shoulders as you steadied yourself. “Wow, never heard that one before. You come up with that yourself?”
His smirk widened. “Nah. I save my best material for special occasions.”
Before you could throw back another quip, Dabi’s eyes flickered to your uniform specifically, to the slight burn mark on your sleeve, barely visible but unmistakable.
And then, his entire demeanor changed.
His smirk faltered, replaced by something sharper. More calculating. His gaze darkened.
“Huh.” He tilted his head, stepping closer. “That’s interesting.”
You kept your stance firm, watching him carefully. “What?”
Dabi’s eyes flicked back to yours, his grin returning, but this time it was more… sinister. “That burn mark.”
You frowned, glancing at your sleeve. “Yeah? What about it?”
He let out a low chuckle, but there was something off about it something almost too amused. “Been spending time with other guys? I thought we were exclusive”
Your stomach twisted, but you kept your expression neutral. “oh? and what makes you say that?”
Dabi crossed his arms, the flames around his hands flickering dangerously. “So… you’ve been working with him, huh?”
You blinked. “What?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb.” His voice dripped with something between mockery and genuine intrigue. “You’ve been on missions with Endeavor.”
You still weren’t sure why that mattered to him, but something in his tone made your skin crawl. You scoffed, keeping your voice even. “Yeah, so? He’s the number two hero. I work with a lot of pros.”
Dabi let out a slow whistle, shaking his head. “Man, that’s hilarious.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What the hell is so funny?”
His smirk widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You, hero. Running around, playing sidekick to that bastard.” He let out a low chuckle, stepping even closer. “I wonder… did he finally get what he wanted?”
Your jaw clenched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dabi’s smirk twitched, like he was enjoying some inside joke at your expense. “Nothing. Just seems like you don’t know your mentor as well as you think.”
Something about the way he said it sent a chill down your spine. But you weren’t about to let him rattle you. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
Dabi just grinned, stepping back. “Nah. I think I’ll let you figure it out yourself.”
And before you could stop him, he vanished into the night, leaving behind nothing but embers and more questions than you wanted to deal with.
—
You had somehow let Fuyumi trick you into another dinner. You weren’t sure how it happened one second, you were wrapping up a mission with Endeavor, and the next, you and Hawks were walking up to the Todoroki house like it was some weekly scheduled event.
“You manifested this,” you muttered, glaring at Hawks as you knocked on the door.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, smirking. “I think this is great for you.”
“I hope you get hit by a rogue Nomu.”
The door opened before Hawks could come up with a comeback, and Fuyumi greeted you with her usual bright smile. “You came!”
“Yeah, yeah, against my better judgment,” you muttered as she ushered you inside.
This time, the vibe was slightly less tense than before. Natsuo still wasn’t here (no surprise), but the rest of the family was present Endeavor looked like he would rather be anywhere else, Shoto was neutral as always, and Hawks was making himself way too comfortable again.
As Fuyumi moved to set the table, you noticed something different this time a photo album was open on the coffee table, pages slightly worn at the edges.
You nudged Hawks and motioned toward it. “Look at this. Actual proof that Endeavor has been outside of a crime scene.”
Hawks chuckled, leaning in. “Wow. I can’t even picture him smiling.”
You flipped a few pages, finding old photos of Fuyumi, Shoto, and Natsuo when they were kids. The pictures looked almost normal—almost like any other family.
Then you saw a photo that made you pause.
It was a boy, older than Shoto but still young, with white hair and striking blue eyes. He was grinning, arms crossed with a cocky smirk, like he knew he was the coolest person in the room.
You frowned, tapping the picture. “Who’s this?”
Fuyumi turned from the kitchen and followed your gaze. Her expression softened just slightly. “Oh… that’s Touya.”
You glanced at Hawks, who also looked mildly surprised. “Huh. Never heard of him.”
Fuyumi’s smile dimmed just a little. “He was our oldest brother.”
Was.
You weren’t dumb. That single word told you enough.
Endeavor’s entire posture tensed, but he didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the table like the conversation wasn’t happening.
Shoto was unreadable as ever. “He passed away a long time ago.”
You blinked, looking between them. You hadn’t even known Endeavor had another kid, and now you were learning he was dead?
Hawks, who was usually one to crack a joke, was silent beside you, his sharp eyes studying the photo with an unusual seriousness. “How?”
Fuyumi hesitated, shooting a glance at her father. “An accident,” she said carefully. “A fire.”
You didn’t need a full explanation to understand there was a lot more to the story than she was letting on. The entire atmosphere in the room had shifted like an invisible weight had settled over the conversation, suffocating and heavy.
You looked at the boy in the picture again. Touya. Something about his expression, his posture, felt oddly familiar, but you couldn’t place why.
Hawks leaned back, whistling lowly. “Damn. Didn’t know you had another sibling, Shoto.”
Shoto’s eyes flickered to his father before looking away. “Most people don’t.”
You glanced at Endeavor, who was completely silent, jaw clenched. If the man was already emotionally constipated on a good day, now he looked like someone had shoved a grenade down his throat and pulled the pin.
Yeah. You were not asking follow-up questions.
Fuyumi gave you a sad smile before quickly trying to shift the mood. “Anyway! Dinner’s ready.”
You exchanged a glance with Hawks, silently agreeing to drop it for now.
But as you ate, your eyes kept drifting back to that photo. There was something about it, something that made your stomach twist.
Something that told you this wasn’t the whole story.
—
You’re barely five minutes into the drive when Touya starts fidgeting. One leg bouncing, fingers tapping, sighing dramatically every few minutes like he’s about to say something and then deciding against it.
You ignore him for as long as humanly possible.
Then another heavy sigh.
“For fuck’s sake,” you say, glancing at him. “What?”
Touya smirks. “Nothing. Just love a good awkward silence.”
You roll your eyes and turn down a side street, heading toward an old parking lot on the edge of the city. It’s the kind of place that’s either a sketchy drug deal spot or just an abandoned lot that no one’s cared about for years. Either way, it’s empty, which is exactly what you need.
When you park, Touya squints at you. “Oh, nice. Super ominous.” He leans back, crossing his arms. “So, what, this is where you tell me you’ve secretly been hired to kill me? ‘Cause, honestly? Should’ve done it before you wasted money on my food.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, digging around in the glove compartment. “I’m playing the long con.”
Touya watches as you pull out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes. He blinks. “The hell? Since when do you smoke?”
“I don’t.” You tap the pack against your palm, knocking one loose. “Except when I do.”
He huffs a laugh and pulls out his own pack. “Terrible influence. Hope you know that.”
“You’re literally the last person who gets to say that to me.”
Touya just shrugs, flicking his lighter open. He takes a slow drag, then leans over the console, offering you the lighter with a lazy smirk. “Go on, then. Join me in my terrible life choices.”
You roll your eyes but lean in, lighting your cigarette. The first inhale burns your lungs in a way that’s almost nostalgic, and when you exhale, the smoke curls into the night air.
For a while, neither of you speak. Just sit there, smoking in companionable silence, staring out at the city lights in the distance.
Then Touya, ever the shit-stirrer, side-eyes you. “Soooo… you’re in love with me, right?”
You cough on your cigarette, nearly choking. “What the fuck—”
He grins, leaning back against the seat. “I mean, think about it. You picked me up, bought me food, brought me to this super romantic abandoned parking lot—” He gestures vaguely. “Like, if you’re gonna confess, at least do it with some dramatic flair.”
You take a slow, pointed drag. Exhale. Stare him dead in the eyes.
“Touya,” you say dryly, “if I were in love with you, I’d have worse problems than this cigarette.”
He snorts, tipping his head back. “Fair point.”
Another silence stretches between you, this one lighter. Less heavy, more like… a pause between bullshit conversations.
Eventually, Touya flicks his cigarette out the window, watching the ember fizzle out. “…Y’know,” he mutters, “you didn’t have to pick me up.”
You shrug. “Yeah. But I did.”
He side-eyes you again, expression unreadable. Then he exhales sharply and shakes his head. “Idiot.”
“You’re welcome,” you say, smirking.
He groans, slouching further into his seat, but he doesn’t argue.
And that’s how you know he actually means thank you.
—
The smell of smoke still clung to the air, thick and acrid, curling in the space between you and Dabi… Touya. You didn’t even realize you were gripping your fists until your nails bit into your palms, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t breathe.
It made sense now. The way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he never really tried to kill you even when he had the chance. The pieces had been there all along, but now they were clicking together too fast, too loud.
And Dabi- no, Touya- was watching you like a cornered animal, all teeth and venom, muscles tight like he was ready to bolt or attack, whichever came first.
“Say something,” he muttered, voice rough. “You’re staring like a fucking idiot.”
Your throat was dry, words sticking to your tongue like glue. But then, finally—
“You’re Touya.”
His jaw twitched, fingers curling at his sides. “No shit.”
The sheer casualness of it nearly sent you over the edge. “No shit?” You took a step forward, shoving a hand through your hair. “That’s all you have to say? You.. You let me think you were just some guy this whole time”
“I am just some guy.”
“Don’t fucking do that,” you snapped. “You lied to me.”
Dabi let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Lied? Oh, that’s rich.” He took a step toward you, voice dropping into something low and mean. “You think I owe you the truth? That I was just gonna sit you down like, ‘Hey, by the way, I’m a walking family tragedy with daddy issues bigger than this whole fucking city’?” He sneered. “Be for fucking real.”
Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I thought we—”
“What? Had something?” His grin was all sharp edges, nothing warm behind it. “Hate to break it to you, but that was your mistake.”
You felt something crack in your ribs, but you ignored it. “I trusted you.”
Dabi’s expression twisted into something ugly, something raw, but it was gone in an instant, swallowed up by that same defensive, sharp-toothed smirk. “Then you’re even dumber than I thought.”
You sucked in a sharp breath, hands trembling. “Why are you doing this?”
He scoffed. “Doing what? Telling you the truth?” He stepped closer, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, warning you to back off but you didn’t. “You wanna play hero so fucking bad, then act like one. Arrest me. Fight me. Do whatever the fuck your little code tells you to do.”
You clenched your jaw. “You’re pushing me away.”
“Good.”
That hit harder than it should have.
Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Dabi wasn’t looking at you anymore he was staring past you, at nothing, jaw tight like he was trying to hold back words that could shatter his teeth.
But you’d had enough.
You exhaled sharply and took a step back. “Fine.”
His head tilted slightly, but he didn’t move, didn’t react.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Guess I was wrong about you.”
Dabi let out a short, hollow laugh, shaking his head. “Guess you were.”
The city felt too loud. Even with the distant hum of sirens fading into the night, even with the crackling embers of the smoldering wreck behind you, the weight in your chest made it hard to hear anything else.
Touya—Dabi—was still standing there, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly like he was waiting for you to walk away. Like he expected you to.
And maybe you should.
Maybe you should turn on your heel, pretend like this conversation never happened, pretend like his words didn’t bruise, pretend like your chest wasn’t burning with something ugly and disappointed.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you took a breath. Steadier this time. Then another.
“Okay,” you said, voice quiet but firm. “I’m leaving.”
His shoulders barely shifted. “Yeah. Got that part.”
You ignored him. “But I’m not letting you do this.”
His jaw tensed. “Do what?”
“This.” You gestured at the space between you, at the sharp, jagged edges of this conversation, at the way he was standing like a kicked dog trying to pretend it didn’t hurt. “Pushing me away like it’ll fix anything.”
He scoffed, but it didn’t have the same bite. “And what, you think not pushing you away is a better idea? Think about it, genius. What do you actually want from me here?”
Your fingers curled at your sides. “I want the truth.”
Touya laughed. It wasn’t sharp this time wasn’t even mean. Just quiet. Exhausted.
“The truth?” He shook his head, looking past you again, somewhere far, far away. “I gave you the truth, and you didn’t like it.”
“You gave me a version of it,” you shot back. “The one that hurts the least for you.”
His expression flickered for half a second something too fast to catch, something that almost looked guilty. Then, just as quickly, it was gone.
“And?” he said, like he was daring you to argue. “That’s what people do.”
“No, it’s what you do.”
Silence.
For the first time since this started, Touya actually looked at you. Fully. His eyes were hard, unreadable, but you could feel the tension underneath it all.
He thought this was the last time you’d talk. Thought this was the final thread snapping between you, the moment where you’d finally decide he wasn’t worth the effort.
And maybe you should.
But instead, you exhaled, rubbing a hand down your face.
“Y’know what?” you muttered, stepping past him. “Forget it. Just forget it.”
And for a second, you thought that was it.
But then, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it—
“…I didn’t want you to know.”
You froze.
Turned back.
Touya was still standing in the same spot, still holding himself like his own body was a battlefield—but his fists were clenched, his head dipped just slightly, like this admission was something he hadn’t meant to say out loud.
He let out a breath, shaking his head. “You-” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. “You were never supposed to know.”
Your heart twisted.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he took a slow step back, eyes flicking somewhere over your shoulder—like he was making sure you weren’t blocking his escape route.
You stared at him for a moment longer, waiting.
He didn’t say anything else.
Didn’t take it back. Didn’t try to fix it.
So you nodded, lips pressing into a tight line. “Okay.”
The city air was still thick with the scent of smoke, but the fire wasn’t the problem anymore. Not really.
You should leave. You should let this be what he wanted it to be one clean break, one final cut before you could crawl too deep under his skin.
But then he said it again.
“I didn’t want you to know.”
Barely above a whisper. A confession that sounded like it had been ripped from his throat against his will.
You froze. Turned back.
Touya’s gaze flickered to you, but only for a second before he looked away, jaw locking.
You swallowed against the tightness in your chest. “Why?”
Nothing.
Not right away, at least. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fingers twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. Like he wanted to reach for something, maybe even you, but wouldn’t let himself.
Finally, after what felt like forever, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Because you look at me like I’m-” He stopped himself, mouth pressing into a thin line.
You tilted your head, stepping closer. “Like you’re what?”
Touya scoffed, rubbing a hand down his face before running it through his hair, shoulders tensing. “Like I’m fixable.”
That knocked the air out of you.
“Touya…”
His fingers curled into fists, a sharp breath escaping through his teeth. “Don’t.”
But you couldn’t not. Not when he was standing there like this, when the usual cocky bravado had cracked just enough for you to see what was underneath.
“You think I’m trying to fix you?” you asked, voice softer now. “That’s not—” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “That’s not what this is.”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Isn’t it?”
“No.” You shook your head. “I just- I care about you.”
His head snapped up at that, eyes narrowing like the words had physically hurt him.
You took another step closer, slow, careful, hands open at your sides like you were approaching something fragile. “You don’t have to push me away.”
His throat bobbed.
For a moment, just one, you thought he might actually let you close the distance. Thought he might let his shoulders drop, let you see him without all the fire and sharp edges.
But then he stepped back.
Not far. Just enough. Just enough to tell you what he couldn’t say out loud.
His head tilted slightly, like he was trying to keep his expression blank, but his voice betrayed him.
“I do have to.”
Your chest tightened. “Why?”
Touya’s jaw clenched, eyes darting away. “Because if I don’t—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’ll hurt more when you finally realize I’m not worth it.”
Something in you cracked.
You wanted to scream. Shake him. Make him understand.
Instead, you just let out a slow breath. “That’s not gonna happen.”
He huffed, a small, tired smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, well. We’ll see.”
The worst part was he truly believed that. He thought it was only a matter of time. That you’d come to your senses, see him for what he thought he was, and leave him behind before he could stop you.
And you could tell, deep down, that he was already bracing for it.
You hesitated for half a second before reaching out slowly, carefully and letting your fingers brush against his wrist. Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin, the faint, uneven texture of his scars.
His breath hitched.
Not a flinch. Not quite.
But he didn’t pull away.
Didn’t look at you either, though. Just stared at the ground, breathing unsteady, like he was trying to decide whether or not to bolt.
You squeezed, just slightly. “I’m still here.”
A pause.
Then, softer than anything you’d ever heard from him—
“…For now.”
And that? That was the closest he’d come to asking you to stay.
—
Dabi never liked to stick around after fights. He was a hit and run kind of guy burn what he wanted, say something snarky, and disappear before anyone could pin him down. But for some reason, he had been lingering more and more after your encounters. especially after how tense the last encounter everything had been weird. Yes you had found out he was Touya but he had also found out his current chase has been cozy with the thing he missed the most.
You weren’t sure why. You weren’t working together, you weren’t allies, but somehow, you kept running into each other. And somehow, neither of you had killed the other yet.
Tonight was another one of those nights.
You had spent the last half hour chasing him through an abandoned district, dodging fire and insults in equal measure. Eventually, it turned into a weird kind of truce he had gotten bored, you had gotten tired, and now you were sitting on a crumbling rooftop, catching your breath while he lit a cigarette.
He exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the night air. “You’re getting slower.”
You shot him a glare, still panting. “Or you’re getting faster.”
He snorted. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
You leaned back on your hands, staring up at the stars. “Y’know, for a guy who’s so dedicated to burning society to the ground, you sure do waste a lot of time chatting with me.”
Dabi hummed, tapping ash off the side of the building. “Maybe I like watching you get pissed off.”
“Oh, yeah, that definitely tracks.” You rolled your eyes, glancing at him. “So? What’s the next step in your grand villain plan?”
He smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
You shrugged. “Eh. If it’s anything like your usual, I’m guessing ‘fire, explosions, and traumatizing civilians.’”
Dabi let out a low chuckle. “Not a bad guess.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, casually, you spoke.
“Had dinner with your sister again.”
You hadn’t looked at him when you said it, but you felt the way he tensed beside you.
It was subtle. So subtle that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But you had been around him enough now to catch the small things. The way his fingers twitched slightly against the cigarette, the brief pause in his breathing.
His voice was even when he responded, but there was an edge to it. “Oh yeah?”
You nodded. “Yeah. She made this crazy good teriyaki chicken. Even got Hawks to shut up for a full five minutes.”
Dabi scoffed, taking another drag. “Miracle worker.”
“Right?” You smirked. “Shoto was there too. And Endeavor.”
Dabi’s expression immediately darkened at the name, his grip on the cigarette tightening. “Sounds like a real fun time.”
You ignored the bitterness in his tone. “It was something, that’s for sure.” You leaned forward slightly, resting your arms on your knees. “Y’know… she still talks about you.”
Dabi went completely still.
You kept your gaze ahead, pretending not to notice. “Not all the time. Just little things. The way you used to joke around when you were kids. How you’d always eat the last piece of tempura when nobody was looking.”
Dabi let out a short, humorless laugh. “She remembers that?”
“She remembers a lot,” you said, softer this time.
Another silence. Dabi stared at the horizon, jaw clenched. His cigarette burned between his fingers, the embers crackling in the quiet.
You watched him carefully. For all his arrogance, all his cruelty, there were cracks in the walls he had built. Moments like this, when you could almost see past the fire and spite when the boy he used to be bled through, just for a second.
But just as quickly, he shoved it down.
He flicked his cigarette away, standing up. “This was fun, hero. Let’s do it again sometime.”
You frowned, watching him. “That’s it? No snarky remark?”
Dabi gave you a grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll make up for it next time.”
And before you could say anything else, he disappeared into the night.
But as you sat there, watching the last of the smoke fade into the sky, you couldn’t shake the feeling that for just a moment. he had hesitated.
—
You both sit there in the car, letting the last wisps of cigarette smoke curl out the windows. It’s quiet, save for the occasional rustling in the nearby bushes, which based on the location could either be a raccoon or someone plotting a murder. Either way, not your problem.
Touya exhales sharply, flicking his cigarette out the window. “So, what now?”
You glance at him. “What do you mean ‘what now’?”
“I mean, what the hell are we doing? You kidnapped me from rehab, bought me food, let me pollute my lungs in peace feels like there should be a next step in this weird-ass bonding experience.”
“You want a scrapbook?” You lean back against the seat, stretching. “Maybe a trophy? ‘Congratulations, you survived rehab and only complained about it 47 times!’”
Touya scoffs, side eyeing you. “That’s lowballing it. I complained at least 93 times.”
“Yeah, I stopped listening after the first 50.”
He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before running a hand through his already messy hair. “Whatever. This whole thing is pointless.”
“Oh, my bad, I didn’t realize I was supposed to plan a grand Welcome Back to Society party,” you say, deadpan. “Should I have rented a clown? Gotten one of those shitty banners that say ‘You Did It!’ in Comic Sans?”
Touya huffs a laugh but quickly wipes it off his face, like he refuses to let you win even a little. “Yeah, I’d rather set myself on fire again than be subjected to that.”
You smirk. “Damn, next time I’ll actually do it, then.”
Another silence stretches between you, but it’s not comfortable. You can tell he’s restless, fidgety, like he’s trying to swallow down some actual feelings and it’s making him physically ill.
And sure enough—
“…I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do now.”
There it is. The actual problem.
You tap your fingers against the steering wheel. “What do you want to do?”
He gives you an exhausted look. “If I knew that, don’t you think I’d be doing it?”
“Hey, some people like being miserable. You’re one of them.”
“Fuck you.”
You grin. “There it is.”
He rolls his eyes and slouches further into his seat. “I’m serious, dumbass. Like… what now? What the hell am I supposed to do? Get some boring-ass job? Become a ‘functioning member of society’ or whatever bullshit they kept telling me in rehab? What if I just don’t?”
You shrug. “Then don’t.”
Touya blinks. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.” You throw him a look. “Did you want me to give you a whole therapy monologue? ‘You got this, king! Chase your dreams! Live, laugh, love!’”
He gags. “Absolutely fucking not.”
“There you go, then.”
He mutters something about you being insufferable under his breath before rubbing his face with both hands. “Ugh. Whatever. This whole thing sucks.”
“Yeah, well, welcome to being alive.” You stretch again, popping your back. “Anyway. Let’s go.”
Touya frowns. “Where?”
“I dunno. But if you’re gonna sit there having a melodramatic crisis about your future, we might as well do it while driving.”
He stares at you. “You’re so fucking stupid.”
“You’re so fucking mean,” you shoot back, starting the car. “Buckle up, jackass.”
He groans but does it anyway, muttering complaints the entire time.
And with that, you pull out of the parking lot, heading absolutely nowhere by just you, a moody ex-arsonist, and a whole lot of sarcastic insults to get you through the night.
Sal Fisher X Reader
ᯓ★ Why Would You ᯓ★
A small drabble. Btw! i just found this pixel art on pinterest and if someome can point me at the artist that would be super swaggy!!!
masterlist
SYNOPSIS: he left you alone. After everything he’s left you alone.
ᯓ★ The graveyard is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your ears ring, like the world is holding its breath. You shift on your feet, staring at the headstone, your fingers tightening around the bouquet of flowers you brought. They’re crushed now petals bent, stems snapped but you don’t care. You’re not even sure why you brought them in the first place. It’s not like he can appreciate them.
Your chest feels tight, something thick and unbearable pressing against your ribs. It’s been years. Years since you stood here for the first time, too numb to do anything but cry. Time was supposed to dull the pain, make it easier to breathe, but it hasn’t. If anything, the ache has settled in, a permanent part of you that refuses to fade.
You kneel, fingers brushing the dirt from the letters carved into stone. Sal Fisher. The name alone feels like a punch to the gut.
“Hey, Sal,” you whisper, your voice cracking.
Silence. Of course, silence.
You suck in a sharp breath, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “You always said ghosts stick around when they have unfinished business. But if that’s true, then why?” Your throat tightens. You press your palm against the cold granite as if that’ll make the words come out easier. “Why can’t I feel you here?”
Your fingers curl against the stone, frustration bubbling up beneath the grief. “I’ve seen ghosts before, you know? Back at the apartment, they showed up whenever they felt like it. They whispered, moved things, made their presence known. But you? You” Your voice rises, shaking with anger. “you just left. Like you were never even here.”
The wind picks up, rustling the leaves, but it’s not enough. It’s not a voice, not a sign, not him.
running both hands through your hair as you let out a bitter laugh. “You were supposed to be different, Sal. You were always different. Smarter. Stronger. You always found a way. So why the hell is this the one thing you can’t do?”
A lump forms in your throat, but you swallow it down. “Do you know how long I waited?” Your hands clench into fists at your sides. “I kept looking for something anything. A flickering light, a dream, a voice, a shadow out of the corner of my eye. But there was nothing. Not a damn thing.” You shake your head, chest heaving. “Was I expecting too much?”
The weight in your chest presses heavier, suffocating, as you stare at his name carved into cold, unfeeling stone.
“Do you have any idea what you left me with?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. It shakes not with sorrow, but with anger.
Your hands tremble as they grip the ruined bouquet. “Ashley’s gone. Vanished. I don’t know where she went, and I don’t even know if she’s still alive. Todd” You suck in a sharp breath, jaw tightening. “Todd barely speaks anymore. He’s a ghost in his own way, Sal. He’s still here, but he’s not.”
Your voice rises, fury crackling through your grief. “Everyone else is dead! Do you get that? Everyone is dead!” Your foot slams against the base of the grave, dirt shifting under your heel. “You said you’d always be here, but you’re not! You left me!”
A sob tears out of your throat, but you bite it back, refusing to break. Not here. Not now.
“You weren’t supposed to go,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “You were everything, Sal. You were my best friend, my family.” You choke on the words, then force them out, raw and trembling. “the love of my life.”
You clutch at your chest, nails digging into the fabric of your shirt as if you could rip out the hollow ache where he used to be.
“You didn’t just die, Sal. You left me.”
The wind howls through the graveyard, rattling the branches, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not him. It’s never him.
pressing your forehead against the stone, fists clenched so tightly your nails bite into your palms. “I don’t want to do this without you,” you admit, voice small. “I don’t know how.”
Silence stretches between you and the grave, as empty as the space he left behind.
Your shoulders drop, exhaustion settling into your bones. The anger drains just as quickly as it came, leaving only the grief behind. You exhale shakily, falling back to your knees, pressing your forehead against the headstone like it’ll somehow bring you closer to him.
“I miss you, sal,” you whisper. “I don’t know if I want you to be at peace or if I want you to haunt me forever.” You let out a hollow laugh. “Because if you’re really gone… I don’t know how to do this without you.”
The wind shifts, softer this time, brushing against your skin like a touch you can’t quite feel. You close your eyes. For a second just one second you think you hear it. A whisper, faint and familiar.
“I miss you too.”
Your breath catches, eyes snapping open. But there’s nothing. Just the wind and the empty graveyard.
Maybe it was real. Maybe it wasn’t.
Either way, it’s not enough.
i feel my funny meme area should not be here for this one
Caelus X Reader Honkai Star Rail
“Another Me in Another World”
Masterlist
pov you come from a timeline where you and caelus loved each other. Though now thrown into this world you don’t remember anything.
:0
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ The moment the warp settled, a shiver laced down Caelus’ spine.
They stood at the edge of a crumbling city floating in a pocket of broken time what Herta dubbed a “dimensional fault zone,” where history bent like glass under pressure. Fractured towers loomed above, suspended by unseen strings. The air crackled, distorted. But none of it compared to the static in his chest. She was here. He didn’t know how he knew only that the moment he stepped off the Express, his heart started pounding like it remembered something he didn’t. Then he saw her. She was standing alone at the edge of a fractured platform, long coat fluttering behind her like a shadow. Mask half lowered, a Stellaron Hunter insignia stitched boldly across her sleeve. And when her gaze met his sharp, unreadable his world tipped on its axis.
“…You,” Caelus breathed.
You didn’t blink. “So you’re the Express’s precious Trailblazer.” His title sounded foreign in your mouth, like it didn’t belong like you didn’t want it to. But your fingers twitched slightly at your side, as if muscle memory betrayed you. Behind Caelus, March and Dan Heng tensed. “Careful,” Dan Heng said lowly, “she’s one of Kafka’s.”
But Caelus stepped forward anyway. You didn’t move. Not when he stopped a few feet away. Not when he tilted his head, searching your eyes for something you didn’t even know you’d lost.
“There’s something familiar about you,” he said softly.
Your lips curved into something like a smirk but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I hear that a lot before people try to shoot me.”
“I’m not going to shoot you.”
“And I’m not going to hesitate if you become a threat,” you replied coolly, though something in your voice faltered at the end. Just a little.
A pause stretched between you.
Then he said it, almost like a confession to the wind “I’ve seen you before. In dreams.”
The expression you wore froze. You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your throat tightened, because you’d seen him too every night since you woke up in Elio’s care, with a name you barely remembered and a void where your past should’ve been. A silver haired boy with amber eyes, reaching for you just as you disappeared. And now he was here, real and breathing and looking at you like he knew your soul.
“I don’t know you,” you said, a bit too quickly.
“Maybe not,” Caelus said, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips, “but I think… I loved you, once.”
Your heart missed a beat. Behind your back, your fingers curled into a fist and you backed up. You hated the way his words made your chest ache. Hated the way the cold mask you wore suddenly felt too heavy. Because if what he said was true if you had loved him once then fate had played a cruel trick and you didn’t know if you had the strength to undo it.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ The world returned in fragments like shards of a broken mirror pressed too close to your eyes. At first, there was only the hum. Low, metallic, steady. Then light. Blinding. Cold. You gasped. Air surged into your lungs like you hadn’t breathed in centuries. You jolted upright with a strangled sound, hand instinctively reaching out for something someone.
But there was only silence. You blinked furiously, vision adjusting to the sterile, glass panelled room around you. Pale walls. A console blinking with unreadable data. You were lying on a bed no, a containment pod, cracked slightly down the side. It smelled like ozone and dust.
“Easy little one.” A voice. Calm, smooth, a touch amused. You turned sharply.
Kafka stood at the foot of the pod, arms crossed, one brow slightly arched. She looked completely unbothered, as if this was routine. As if you were routine. You stared at her like she might be part of the dream.
“Who…?” Your voice rasped out, raw. “Where…?”
“Questions already?” Kafka mused.
You opened your mouth to retort and froze. You didn’t know your name. No, wait you did. Barely. It floated to the surface like a whisper. You clutched it like a lifeline. “…My name is…” You hesitated. “I think it’s [Y/N].”
Kafka nodded slowly, like she was testing the shape of your name against the air. “It suits you.”
You sat there, stunned. Trembling slightly. “What… happened to me?”
She shrugged, a glint in her violet eyes. “A warp event. Something… untraceable. We found you drifting between coordinates with a fractured signal and half a heartbeat. Elio said you’d be important.”
“Elio…?”
“You’ll meet him eventually. For now, it’s just us.” You looked down at your hands. They felt wrong. Or maybe the world did.
“I don’t remember anything,” you whispered.
“No,” Kafka said. “But your instincts remain intact. That’s the part that matters.” You flinched when she stepped closer, but she only placed a hand on your shoulder gentle, grounding. Her smile softened, just slightly.
“Listen to me. You were meant for something greater. A fate rewritten by stars too scared of your potential. Elio saw it. And I do too.”
You stared up at her, desperate, haunted. “Then why do I feel like I’m… missing something?”
Kafka tilted her head, curious. “Missing someone, you mean?” Your breath caught. Because for all the blanks in your memory, there was one thing one constant you couldn’t explain away. Amber eyes, filled with light. A boy smiling at you like you were his entire world. Reaching for your hand as everything around you crumbled.
“I don’t know who he is,” you whispered. “But I see him when I sleep.” Kafka didn’t answer right away.
Then, softly “Maybe one day, you’ll remember. Maybe one day, he’ll find you.” You never remembered the moment you met him. There was no clean origin, no first conversation etched in time just the feeling. Like gravity had shifted in your chest. Like your soul had turned its head toward someone and said, “There you are.”
Even in the days after waking, long before Elio whispered of fate and purpose, you carried that strange ache. It sat beneath your ribs, subtle but persistent. As if your heart had memorized a rhythm it could no longer hear and still beat along with it anyway. And always, him. A boy reaching for you through dreams. Sometimes smiling. Sometimes calling your name. Sometimes standing still at the edge of a world collapsing in gold. You never saw his full face, not really. It shifted with every dream like your memory was afraid to settle. But the feeling stayed the same. Safety. Sadness. Love.
Kafka called it a side effect of a damaged warp phantom memories stitched together by a soul that had jumped too many coordinates, too fast. Elio said nothing. He only looked at you, eyes unreadable, and murmured “Even in broken timelines, some threads find each other again.”
You didn’t know what that meant. Not then. But now standing in this fractured city, staring into Caelus’s eyes you do. Because it’s not a coincidence. Not a trick of dreams or Stellaron interference. It’s older than memory. Deeper than fate. A bond written somewhere before the stars. You and Caelus are mirror souls two halves born in the same cosmic breath, scattered by a universe that didn’t know how to hold you.
Maybe you boarded the Astral Express, once. Maybe you stood beside him, laughed with him, loved him. Maybe you were torn from that path by a warp gone wrong, or a choice you never knew you made. But your souls remember. They reach for each other still in dreams, in battles, in silences where your fingers almost twitch toward his before you stop yourself.
You were meant to walk together. But the universe split you. Now, you’re on opposite sides of a war you don’t fully understand. But the bond? It hasn’t faded. It can’t. Because no matter how much memory was taken, how many times your paths diverged. You are still drawn to him. Still tethered by something ancient and unfinished.
And when Caelus whispered, “I think I loved you, once,” your soul didn’t hesitate. It whispered back “You still do.”
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
At first, you didn’t speak to anyone. You woke, you trained, you followed instructions. No questions. No smiles. No attachments. That was how it started. The other Stellaron Hunters didn’t mind. Blade said nothing, as usual. Silver Wolf barely looked up from her screens. Sam never came close enough for conversation, and Kafka was always watching.
She never pushed, never pried. Just watched, like she already knew the storm inside you and was waiting for the clouds to shift. But it was her, in the end, who pulled you into the rhythm of this strange place. It started with a game.
“You’re watching me again,” you muttered one evening, eyes fixed on the holographic wall map you’d been pretending to study for the last ten minutes.
Kafka leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “I do that.”
You turned, half expecting mockery in her eyes. Instead, there was something softer faint amusement, edged with quiet interest.
“I’m not broken,” you said flatly. “You don’t have to treat me like I’ll crack open.”
“I never said you were,” she replied, and then, after a pause, “But you are still unfinished.”
“Unfinished?”
Kafka stepped forward, her coat trailing behind her like a slow moving shadow. “You remember fragments. Dreams. Pieces of another life. You haven’t decided yet who you want to be in this one.”
You clenched your jaw. “Maybe I already have.”
“Have you?” she asked, too gently.
You didn’t answer.
Later that night, she left something outside your room.A data pad. A short file. A simulation: sparring tactics against hypothetical enemies. Paired drills. On a whim, you ran the simulation. when you did, it loaded a preset with Kafka’s movement patterns coded as the partner. Every step she made was measured, confident. Every time you moved, the code adapted like she was anticipating you. Like she already knew how you fought. You didn’t sleep that night. Not because of fear or anxiety, but because you became entranced
From then on, things shifted.
You stopped avoiding the others in the corridors. Started nodding back when Silver Wolf greeted you with a lazy two finger wave. Listened when Blade offered one word advice during training. Responded when Kafka teased you, even if it was just with a dry, “Don’t push your luck.”
You began asking questions quiet ones, when no one was around.
“What’s Sam’s story?”
“Why does Blade meditate with his blade drawn?”
“Does Silver Wolf ever lose in those games?”
And every time, Kafka answered. Not always directly. Sometimes with riddles, sometimes with little smiles that said, You’ll figure it out. But she answered. More than that she listened. When you told her about the dreams again, she didn’t tell you to ignore them.
She only asked, “Do you want to remember?”
You did. Even if it hurt.
Weeks passed.
Your coat bore the Hunter insignia now. You walked with purpose in the base’s dim halls. You learned their methods how to dismantle systems, how to fight in sync with someone you weren’t sure you trusted, how to exist beside people who had no need for sentiment, but somehow left space for it anyway. Kafka didn’t change much.
But you started to see the way she lingered when Blade was injured. The way she glanced at Silver Wolf with a sisterly fondness when she thought no one noticed. The way she always made sure you got the missions that aligned with your strengths.
“Why do you help me?” you asked once, after a particularly clean victory where the two of you fought side by side, flawless.
Kafka didn’t miss a beat. “Because I remember what it feels like to be lost. And because Elio says you’re important.”
You scoffed. “You always follow Elio’s predictions?”
Kafka’s lips curved. “Only when I agree with them.” despite yourself, you smiled back.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ Kafka’s voice was calm over the comms.
“Quick in, quick out. Eyes open, [Y/N]. The relay’s still broadcasting faint traces of encrypted Express data. Elio wants to know why.” You crouched behind a collapsed support beam, hand tightening on your weapon. Your breath fogged slightly in the cold air. The station’s artificial gravity pulsed irregularly, like the heartbeat of something half dead.
“I don’t like it here,” you murmured. “Too quiet.”
“You’ll get used to that,” Kafka replied. “Most haunted places start that way.”
The door groaned as it opened rusted metal, reluctant hinges. You stepped inside, Kafka at your back, the hallway stretching before you like the throat of a dying star. The walls were scorched. Burned out terminals flickered and fizzed with leftover sparks. Bits of fabric clung to jagged debris passenger coats, maybe. You stepped over a half buried nameplate that read T78–Celestial Relay: Astral Express Docking Site.
You froze. Astral Express. The words rang in your head like a forgotten lullaby.
“Something wrong?” Kafka asked.
You stared at the nameplate, unsure what to say. “I… I think I’ve been here before.”
Kafka didn’t answer right away. She simply stepped beside you, gaze trailing over the ruined corridor. “Maybe you have.”
You pressed your hand against the wall, fingers brushing a faded imprint someone had drawn stars here once. The paint had nearly chipped away, but you could still make out the rough lines of a train and what looked like… a tiny figure standing at its edge. Your heart clenched. And then A whisper. Soft. Unmistakable.
“–[Y/N], you coming? We don’t leave people behind–”
You whipped around. No one was there. The hallway behind you remained empty, Kafka standing still as a statue beside the doorway.
“What did you hear?” she asked quietly.
You blinked. “That voice. I… I knew it.”
Kafka turned to face you, her expression unreadable. “What did it sound like?”
“Warm,” you whispered, before you could stop yourself. “He called my name like it meant something. Like I was his… crew.”
A slow beat of silence passed. Kafka stepped forward and reached up gently pressed two fingers to your temple. Not unkind. Not forceful. Just enough pressure to draw your attention.
“That’s not just a memory,” she murmured. “That’s a tether.” Your breath hitched.
“I don’t understand.”
“You will,” Kafka said. “Elio predicted this. A place would wake the memories. A name. A sound. You weren’t meant to forget it all. The universe just… paused you. Stalled the connection.”
You turned toward the hallway again. In the distance, barely audible, came another voice. Fainter this time. Familiar.
“Don’t wander off again, [Y/N]…”
Your lips parted. You could see it, just for a second flashing gold windows, March’s laughter, the faint hum of the Astral Express engine purring beneath your feet. It faded as quickly as it came.
“I… was with them,” you said softly, gripping your sleeve. “Before. Before all this. I can feel it.” Kafka studied you with something like pride.
“You’re remembering who you were. The question now is who do you want to be?”
You didn’t answer. Not yet. Instead, you turned back down the hall and whispered, like a promise only the stars could hear,
“I’ll find you.”
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ The first time he saw her, it was in a dream. She stood at the edge of a broken platform, surrounded by stardust. Hair swaying in a nonexistent wind, face turned away, just slightly. The light around her bent like it knew her. Soft, reverent.
She didn’t speak. Caelus woke with his chest aching. At first, he chalked it up to warp sickness. Another leftover hallucination, maybe Stellaron residue playing tricks on his head. It wasn’t new. Flashes of unfamiliar places, déjà vu that made no sense. The usual.
But this was different. Because the girl didn’t fade. She kept showing up. Not just in dreams now, but in thoughts. In echoes. In odd moments where he’d catch his reflection in a terminal screen and think She’s looking for me. He missed her. This random girl.
Without knowing her name. Without knowing if she was real. He missed her. Like his soul had once been stitched to hers, and something some event, some warping twist of fate had torn it in half.
“Hey,” March’s voice snapped him out of it, “you okay?”
He blinked. Realized he’d been staring out the train’s window for who knows how long. The stars looked endless tonight. Cold. Unreachable.
“Yeah,” he lied. “Just thinking.”
“About what?” she teased, leaning in. “Don’t tell me you’re finally getting poetic about the stars. Welt’s going to cry.”
He tried to smile. “Nothing important.”
But even then, he heard it.
A whisper, not quite sound, threading through his mind like a thread through fabric:
“Caelus…”
The way she said it wasn’t scared. Or urgent. It was warm. Familiar.
Intimate.
He rubbed at his temple. “It’s happening again.”
March sobered. “The dreams?”
He nodded. “She’s… everywhere. But I don’t know her.”
“You’re sure she’s not someone we met on another planet?”
“I know I’ve never met her,” Caelus murmured. “But it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like I’ve always known her. Like I’m forgetting something I should never have forgotten.”
March frowned, stepping a little closer. “What does she look like?”
“I don’t know. Her face is always in light. Or in motion. Or…” He sighed. “She’s always just out of reach.”
March crossed her arms. “Sounds like a cosmic love story.”
“Or a curse,” he muttered.
He meant it.
Because it hurt, missing someone you didn’t even know. It made no sense, but she had become a presence an ache under his ribs, a name he didn’t know how to speak.
That night, the dream changed. He was on the Express but not this one. The colors were warmer. The crew felt familiar, yet different. And there she was finally facing him. This time no blur and no haze.
She smiled, soft and sad. Like she knew something he didn’t. Like she’d watched him from afar for a long, long time.
He took a step forward. She held out her hand.
The sound of shattering glass. Light tore across the dream like lightning. Her image cracked, distorted, fell apart.
He screamed her name Except he didn’t know it. He woke up gasping.
He stood in the hallway outside the passenger car now, gripping the rail, heart pounding. The stars outside flickered like they were trying to whisper something back.
“I don’t know who you are,” he murmured, voice rough. “But I think I’m supposed to.”
Though he felt he had loved her once. that love got lost between the stars. But it was finding its way back. He could feel it.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
The moment hung between you like a heartbeat suspended in air fragile, trembling, too afraid to fall.
You didn’t speak.
Couldn’t.
Because if you did, something would break.
Maybe it was the persona you’d built. Maybe it was the invisible wall that Elio insisted you keep between yourself and the rest of the galaxy. Or maybe… it was the feeling you’d been running from since the day you woke up in Kafka’s care:
The ache of knowing someone you’d never met.
Of longing for something you never had.
Of being seen when you had no memory of who you were supposed to be.
And Caelus saw you.
Not the mask. Not the weapon. You.
He stood there, closer than he should have, amber eyes gentler than any soldier’s had a right to be, and you hated how your resolve cracked around the edges just by looking at him.
“I don’t want to fight you,” he said, voice barely above the whine of static in the air. “I just… want to understand.”
Your mouth opened then shut again.
The wind shifted between the broken towers, pulling at your coat. You turned away first. Because if you kept looking at him, you weren’t sure you’d be able to hold your ground.
“I don’t care what you dreamed,” you said finally, trying to sound cold. Detached. “Whatever you think we were… I’m not that girl anymore.”
“I know,” he murmured, and that was somehow worse.
Because he meant it. And he still looked at you like that.
Like he was remembering you, even if you’d forgotten yourself.
Before you could respond, Kafka’s voice crackled in your earpiece.
“Darling. We’ve got what we need. Time to disappear.”
You inhaled sharply through your nose, nodding to nothing. for a second, just before you moved, your hand twitched again reaching out, purely instinct. But then you turned.
You vanished into the fractured skyline, not even a ripple left in your wake. Caelus didn’t follow. He just watched you go, a strange, hollow kind of sorrow nesting in his chest.
“She didn’t try to kill us,” March 7th said flatly.
“Progress,” Dan Heng deadpanned.
Caelus didn’t laugh.
He sat in silence, watching the universe drift past the train’s window. His reflection stared back at him, eyes tired and heart somewhere lightyears behind.
She didn’t remember him.
But her fingers had twitched when she said his name. Like muscle memory. Like muscle memory aching to reach out.
She was the one he’d been dreaming of. The one who didn’t board the Express. The one who was never supposed to walk the path she was on. The one fate had twisted away from him.
Later, after the brief standoff after Kafka led you away with a smile and a smug wave, and after Himeko called the mission a partial success Caelus sat alone in the Express observatory.
He stared out at the stars, but they felt different now.
You were real. And you knew him.
Not just knew of him. You knew him. The way your eyes lingered. The subtle way your fingers twitched when his voice hit the air. The way your name still escaped him but your presence didn’t.
“You okay?” March leaned in from behind, holding a cup of cocoa.
He didn’t turn. Just nodded. “I met her.”
March blinked. “Her?”
“…The one from the dreams.”
Her brows shot up. “Wait, seriously? That’s the girl?”
He nodded again. “She’s with Kafka.”
March made a face. “Of course she is. That explains the cool and mysterious aura coming from your weird head.”
“I don’t think she remembers me fully,” he said softly. “But she said my name.”
“hmmmm this feels kinda crazy,” March said, sitting beside him. “This is like some weird soulmate thing.”
Caelus glanced at her. “Is that even possible?”
She smirked. “With us? Anything’s possible.”
He turned back to the stars.
Somewhere out there, on another ship, or in another world, she had stood beside him. He knew it.
And even if time or fate had pulled them apart he was going to find his way back.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
It was stupid.
Dangerous.
Kafka had already noticed.
“You’ve been requesting missions in Express protected zones a lot lately,” she said one evening, her tone lazy, her gaze razor sharp. “Coincidence?”
You didn’t answer. Just kept cleaning your gear with surgical precision.
“…You saw him again, didn’t you?”
You paused, hand tightening on the cloth.
Kafka smiled like a cat who’d just cornered a bird. “I knew it.”
You didn’t look up. “It’s nothing.”
“Sweetheart, if it were nothing, your hands wouldn’t be shaking.”
They weren’t until she said it.
You shoved the cloth into your bag and stood. “Give me a mission.”
“Where to?”
You hesitated.
“Doesn’t matter,” you lied. “Anywhere near the Express.”
Kafka didn’t tease you. She just tilted her head, watching you like you were a story she already knew the ending to.
“Alright,” she said, voice soft. “Just try not to break his heart too fast.”
You rolled your eyes but your chest twisted. Because you didn’t want to break anything. You just… wanted to see him again.
Even if it was across a battlefield. Even if it was a few glances stolen between chaos. Even if it meant pretending you didn’t feel like the universe was holding its breath every time your paths aligned.
‼️‼️‼️
“Trailblazer, are you sure you need to scout that sector again?” Himeko asked, not unkindly.
“Yes,” Caelus said immediately. “I have a feeling.”
Dan Heng raised a brow. “A feeling.”
“Yeah.”
March grinned. “It’s her, isn’t it?”
Caelus didn’t deny it.
He didn’t know what he was expecting maybe another cold stare, another few seconds of standing too close without touching. But every time he caught a whisper of your presence on a planet, his heart pulled like a compass needle snapping to true north.
lately? You’d been showing up a lot. He started waiting on rooftops after missions, lingering longer than necessary. Hoping. Searching.
One time, he swore he caught your silhouette vanishing behind the smoke of a blown power core. Another, he spotted a shimmer in a crowd just a flicker of your coat as you disappeared into a ship.
You never stayed. you were always there.
You crouched at the edge of a ruined dome, watching the Express land below like a ghost too afraid to knock on the door.
Your comm buzzed.
Kafka: “You just gonna stare again, or say hi this time?”
You didn’t answer. Because you didn’t know how to explain it. That this wasn’t love…. at most you don’t know what that word even meant
He felt like It was gravity. He was the center of something you couldn’t name, and every time you stepped close, the past stirred in your bones like a song you once knew.
And still, you stayed. Watching him laugh with March. Watching him glance over his shoulder, like he felt you nearby. Watching him wait.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
The stars above the shattered dome flickered like dying embers dim, faraway, forgotten. The observatory was dead, a relic from a time when people still believed the cosmos could be mapped, understood, controlled.
Now, it was just quiet. A perfect place to hide. You didn’t know why you were here. Not really. The coordinates had come through a scrambled data trail supposedly a scouting point for a Hunter op. But Kafka had said nothing. She’d just smiled when she saw the file and said, “Go.”
So you went. You didn’t expect him to be there too. But the moment you stepped through the cracked threshold, you knew. The air changed. Like the world itself paused to take a breath.
And then you saw him.
Caelus stood by the remnants of a collapsed telescope, bathed in soft starlight filtering through the fractured glass above. His coat rustled quietly as he turned.
His eyes widened.
“…You.”
You didn’t move. You should’ve run. Should’ve vanished like you always did. your boots felt rooted to the floor, and your chest was tight with something you didn’t have a name for.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” you said, voice low.
“I know,” he replied. “But I hoped you would be.”
That stopped you cold.
“…Why?”
“Because I can’t keep pretending you’re just a dream.”
Your heart stuttered.
He took a slow step forward. You didn’t stop him.
“You keep showing up,” he said, quietly. “And every time, I think maybe it’s just a trick. Just my mind trying to make sense of something it can’t remember. But then I see you. And I know.”
You swallowed hard.
“There’s a reason we remember each other,” he went on. “Even if we don’t know how.”
You looked away. “You don’t know who I am.”
“I don’t have to,” he said. “Because when I see you I feel peace. Like the galaxy makes sense for a second.”
That… hurt. Because you didn’t just feel peace when you saw him. You felt everything else. Hope. Ache. Fear. That sharp, impossible longing like something inside you was trying to claw its way out just to reach him.
“I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.
“well that shouldn’t feeling kinda doesn’t apply here,” Caelus said again, gentler.
Silence stretched between you fragile, sacred. Then, softly, he asked, “Can I come closer?”
You nodded.
He stepped toward you, slow and careful, until there was only a breath between you. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then gently, so gently his hand reached out and hovered near yours. Not touching. Just waiting.
And your fingers… trembled.
You didn’t take his hand.
But you didn’t pull away either. It was the closest you’d been. Not physically emotionally. Soulfully. And for the first time since you woke up with no memories, you didn’t feel lost.
You felt… found.
It just hovered there between you, caught in some invisible tension neither of you had the words to sever. Caelus stayed still too, though you could tell he wanted to say something his eyes kept flicking to your expression, like he was trying to read stars in a language he used to know.
Then, very softly, he chuckled.
You blinked.
“What?” you asked warily.
“I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, expression going a little sheepish. “I was trying to think of something poetic to say. You know, something like, ‘Even across galaxies, I’d find you,’ or ‘Your eyes remind me of starlight before a warp jump.’” He paused. “But that would be cringe, right?”
You stared at him.
And then against your own instincts you laughed. It was small, quiet, almost disbelieving, but it escaped you anyway. “That’s so cringe.”
“I knew it!” he grinned, victorious. “See? March would’ve roasted me for it too.”
Your lips twitched. “You really are a dork,” you muttered.
“I prefer charmingly knight super cool amazing, thank you very much,” Caelus said, placing a dramatic hand to his heart. “Besides, you were about two seconds away from touching my hand. I saw the twitch. Don’t lie.”
You rolled your eyes, but something in your chest… eased. He noticed. And that dumb little smile of his softened into something quieter.
“I’m not trying to pressure you,” he said. “I just wanted to see you. Talk.”
You didn’t answer right away. The truth was you didn’t know who you were now. Not completely. But sitting here, with the moonlight dusting your boots and this ridiculous boy talking about bad pickup lines in the middle of a ruined observatory. You didn’t feel like a Stellaron Hunter. You didn’t feel like a traitor or a mistake. You felt… normal. For the first time in forever.
Your fingers inched just slightly toward his. Barely enough to count. But Caelus noticed. He grinned.
“So,” he said, voice light again, “should I keep going with the pickup lines, or have I impressed you enough for one night?”
You exhaled slowly.
“…Let’s just sit.”
He nodded. “I’m good at that. Sitting. Part of my best skills.”
You shook your head, but you didn’t pull away when he finally sat beside you close, not touching.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
Caelus couldn’t stop smiling.
It wasn’t his usual half grin or smug little smirk it was a real smile. One of those stupid, giddy ones that made his face hurt and had absolutely no business existing after a trip to a dead observatory.
But here he was. Practically skipping down the corridor of the Express like a guy who’d just gotten a love confession and a puppy all in one day.
He didn’t get what was happening. But he felt it. That weight in his chest that had been following him since the warp it was lighter now. Not gone, but gentler. Like seeing you made the ache less unbearable.
Even if you’d only laughed once. Even if your hand had hovered, not held. Even if you still looked like you were ready to vanish at the first sign of a threat.
It didn’t matter. He’d seen the crack in the mask. He’d seen you.
“Okay, you’re smiling. That’s never a good sign,” a voice called.
Caelus turned just as March 7th leaned dramatically over the back of the lounge couch, a mock suspicious look in her eyes. “Did you get hit on the head, or are you in love?”
“What?” Caelus blinked, then coughed. “Neither!”
“That was the most unconvincing response I’ve ever heard in my life,” March grinned.
“Didn’t even try to lie properly,” Dan Heng muttered from behind his book, not looking up.
“Oh my god.” March gasped and pointed at him. “You’re blushing. Are you blushing?!”
“I am not blushing,” Caelus said, very obviously blushing.
“You totally are!” she squealed. “You went somewhere, didn’t you? You did the secret meeting thing. The ‘forbidden connection across enemy lines’ thing. Like star crossed lovers in a trashy space novel!”
“I just… I ran into her,” Caelus muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “We talked. That’s all.”
March narrowed her eyes. “Define ‘talked.’”
“…There were words.”
“Ooooh. There were feelings,” March declared. “Dan Heng, he’s so doomed.”
Dan Heng sighed without looking up. “I’ll alert the press.”
At the front of the Express, Himeko sipped her coffee until she tilted her head toward Welt with a smirk. “I think the kids are gossiping again.”
Welt glanced up from the terminal, raising an eyebrow. “Should we be concerned?”
“Well, considering our dear Trailblazer seems to be falling for a Stellaron Hunter, I’d say yes,” she said with a knowing smile. “But also… not yet. Let them feel something. They’ve earned it.”
Back near the lounge, Caelus flopped onto the couch beside March and groaned into a pillow.
“I didn’t mean to like her,” he mumbled.
“That’s how it always starts,” March said with faux dramatic flair. “You ‘accidentally’ develop feelings for the mysterious, emotionally complicated girl who may or may not be working for a morally grey space cult.”
“She laughed at one of my dumb jokes,” Caelus admitted, muffled.
March gasped again. “She laughed?! Oh, it’s over for you. You’re done. Pack it up. Go write her name on your locker and doodle hearts in your journal.”
“I don’t have a locker.”
“its a metaphor you stupid hoe,” she said solemnly.
And as the Express continued its course through the stars, the crew kept teasing, bickering, and beneath it all watching over each other. Even if they didn’t say it, they all felt it.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
This sector was too close to the Express’s patrol route, and Kafka had given you a very specific order to avoid unnecessary contact with the crew for your own good, allegedly. But “allegedly” didn’t stop your feet from wandering. And it sure didn’t stop him.
Because Caelus was already there, poking his head around a half crushed console like he was looking for snacks and not violating multiple interdimensional boundaries.
“Psst,” he whispered, ducking behind a pillar like a badly disguised spy.
You stared at him, deadpan. “You followed me.”
“I think the term stumbled across you like fate intended,” he said, peeking out again with a hopeful smile.
You folded your arms. “You almost got spotted by Silver Wolf’s scouts. If I hadn’t looped their surveillance…”
“Okay, so maybe I’m not great at stealth,” Caelus admitted, sheepish. “But I am great at being incredibly charming in the face of mortal peril.”
You opened your mouth to tell him off but then he crouched, balancing on one leg with his arms out like a chicken, and made a dramatic caw noise.
“See? You can’t stay mad at this level of grace.”
You stared. Then pinched the bridge of your nose. And yet… your lips twitched. Damn it.
He grinned wider, clearly catching it. “There it is! The tiniest smile. I knew I could break through that scary, cool Hunter persona.”
“I’m not scary,” you muttered.
“You’re terrifying. In a hot way.”
You rolled your eyes, turning away to hide the heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’re a really weird guy.”
“And yet you keep meeting me,” he said, stepping closer now. “Isn’t that funny?”
It wasn’t funny. It was frustrating. It was dangerous. Every second spent with him risked blowing your cover, ruining your mission. Staying away from the people that hindered the stellarons hunters wishes
But every time he smiled at you like that like you were the only real thing left in the galaxy. You forgot what side you were on.
“Caelus…” you started, voice wavering.
“Yeah?”
“Why do you do this?” Your eyes locked with his. “Why do you keep chasing me when we’re supposed to be enemies?”
He hesitated, surprised by the weight in your voice.
Then he shrugged, quietly this time. “Because even when I close my eyes, I still see you. And I think… if I stop chasing that, I’ll regret it forever.”
Something in your chest cracked open. The longing. The ache. The static in your blood. It surged all at once.
You didn’t think. Didn’t plan. You just grabbed his collar and kissed him. Hard. The impact startled him his hands flying to steady you, your fingers curled in his jacket like you’d fall apart if you let go. It was clumsy, fierce, desperate.
You felt his breath hitch. Felt his fingers tighten. Though suddenly. The static surged. Your knees gave out and the world tilted. You collapsed into his arms, your consciousness slipping like smoke.
“Whoa! Wait!” Caelus caught you before you hit the ground, wide eyed. “Okay, not how I imagined our first kiss going hey, are you okay? Are you? Oh god, did I break you?!”
He knelt, cradling you gently, brushing hair from your face as your breathing steadied but your eyes stayed shut.
“…You kissed me,” he whispered, stunned.
Then, more softly.
“…Please wake up so I can tell you how i really feel”
A few moments pass and you’re still completely knocked out.
“She’s not waking up. She’s not waking up. She’s not okay okay it’s fine, I’ve definitely… totally… handled something like this before…”
He hadn’t. Caelus was not fine. You were unconscious in his arms, and he had no idea why. He was racing back toward the Express through dimensional shrapnel and twisted corridors like he was running from the universe itself. Every few seconds, he glanced down to make sure you were still breathing.
You were. Shallow, but steady. Thank every star in the sky.
“I mean, you kiss a girl, and she immediately collapses that’s gotta be a record, right?” he muttered, mostly to keep from screaming. “Cool, Caelus. Real smooth. She finally kisses you and the stellaron hunter gets beaten by a kiss. note to tell Dan heng to use that on blade later”
His foot snagged on a floating stone, and he nearly tumbled. He tightened his hold, shielding your head.
“Sorry, sorry gotcha,” he said softly, eyes flicking to your face. “You don’t look hurt. You just… fainted? Did I do something wrong? Was it the hair? Be honest, you hate the hair, don’t you?”
No answer. Just the soft, steady rise and fall of your chest.
The Express came into view. Warm lights. Familiar hum. A tether back to sanity. He bolted inside, panting. “Emergency! Kind of! I mean, not me okay, yes me, but mostly her!”
March’s head whipped up from the couch. “Is that?!”
Dan Heng appeared instantly at the sound of frantic footsteps, and Himeko turned from the navigation console.
“What happened?” she asked sharply, crossing the room. “Isnt she that girl youre always talking about?”
“I I don’t know! I mean, I do, but I don’t she’s the girl from the dimensional fault. She kissed me long story and then she just collapsed.”
“You kissed the enemy?” March asked, voice pitched somewhere between scandalized and amazed. “Oh my, Caelus!”
“She kissed me!” he hissed, glancing down at you. “And then passed out, which is not how kisses usually go right? That’s not normal?”
Welt Yang stepped in, grave and composed as always. “Where exactly did this happen?”
“Fragmented zone, a relay station near the collapsed ruins. She was fine then not. I didn’t know where else to go.”
“You made the right choice,” Himeko said gently, already checking your pulse.
“She’s… she’s okay, right?” Caelus asked, voice cracking as he dropped to his knees beside you.
Welt nodded slowly. “Stable vitals. No external trauma. But her energy readings are odd.”
“Odd how?” Caelus asked.
March peeked over Welt’s shoulder. “Like Stellaron odd? Trailblazer odd? Or, like, cute girl with dangerous secrets odd?”
Welt exhaled. “Yes.”
Caelus swallowed hard. He looked at your face again. Still so still.
“Hey,” he murmured, taking your hand carefully. “You can’t just… leave me hanging like that. You can’t kiss me and ghost me in the same breath. That’s rude.”
March elbowed Dan Heng. “Yo i love the guy but has he ever been serious”
“I don’t think so,” Dan Heng replied dryly.
“I’m serious,” Caelus said, voice softer now. “You gotta wake up soon. I don’t care who you are. Or what you think you have to be. I just… I want to know you. The real you.”
Your fingers didn’t twitch.
But your heartbeat, quietly, began to quicken. The cabin of the Astral Express felt too quiet. You were still unconscious, resting in the medbay with March standing guard just in case you woke up and decided to, you know, unleash chaos. Dan Heng was nearby, arms crossed, calm but clearly on edge.
And Himeko… was doing something no one expected.
“She’s calling Kafka?” March whispered, wide eyed. “That’s… wow. That’s like dialing a volcano and asking it politely not to erupt.”
“I’m not asking,” Himeko said smoothly, tone neutral as she tapped into the comms. “I’m informing. She’s going to want to know her operative’s alive and on board. I’d prefer that information come from us than from, say… a surveillance drone.”
“Or a giant explosion,” Caelus mumbled from where he slumped against the wall.
March shot him a look. “You really kissed her, huh?”
“She kissed me,” he repeated, quietly now. “And then she collapsed. Not exactly the grand romantic moment I imagined.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘cursed,’” March offered helpfully.
Before he could spiral further, Welt Yang appeared beside him and nodded toward the back car. “Walk with me?”
Caelus didn’t argue. They ended up on the observation deck, stars stretched out endlessly through the glass windows. The silence was nice. Heavy, but nice.
“You’ve been quiet,” Welt said after a while.
“Trying not to panic,” Caelus admitted. “Not doing a great job.”
Welt studied him with the patience of someone who’d seen too many wars and too many versions of the same story. “You’re allowed to panic. But you’re also allowed to hope.”
Caelus leaned his head against the window, watching a comet streak by. “She was… cold. Distant. But when she looked at me, it felt like someone lit up the whole room. Like a puzzle piece finally clicked, even if it didn’t make sense.”
“And the kiss?”
“Unplanned. Very… wow. And then terrifying.”
Welt chuckled quietly. “Feelings can do that. Especially when they come from somewhere deeper than memory.”
“You think she’s really?”
“I think the universe has a way of trying again when it gets something wrong,” Welt said gently. “You two… may have been pulled apart by something beyond your control. That doesn’t mean you can’t find your way back.”
Caelus swallowed the knot in his throat.
“I just what if she wakes up and remembers who she is, and it means she leaves? Or worse, tries to finish what she started?”
“Then you face that moment with the same bravery you faced her now. With heart.”
Caelus looked up at him.
“…You’re good at this.”
Welt smiled, faint but kind. “I’ve had practice.”
The silence stretched between them comfortably this time. Then March’s voice crackled over the intercom.
“Uh, guys? So… Kafka responded. She’s coming. ETA fifteen minutes.”
Caelus stiffened.
Welt simply exhaled. “Well. Time to prepare for company.”
“And by company,” Caelus muttered, “you mean the scariest lady who might murder me for smooching her agent.”
“She might also say ‘thanks,’” Welt mused.
“…That would be a miracle.”
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ
She came with the wind. No ship announced her arrival. No screeching engines or blaring alarms warned the crew. Just a sudden, eerie stillness like the Express itself recognized the presence walking its halls and chose to hold its breath.
Caelus stood in the medbay doorway, arms crossed tight against his chest, heart hammering like it still hadn’t caught up to the kiss or the collapse that followed.
You hadn’t stirred. Not once. He didn’t know what terrified him more the silence from your body… or the way he wasnt sure what everything meant
Then she appeared. Kafka stepped through the door like a queen entering her court graceful, confident, her long coat fluttering gently with her stride. Eyes sharp and knowing. Expression unreadable, but tinged with something… fond. Like she’d expected this.
“Well,” she murmured, surveying the scene. “You’re earlier than I thought, Caelus.”
He blinked. “You… expected this?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her gaze fell on you, lying still and pale on the cot, a faint glimmer of light pulsing beneath your skin where your mask once was.
Kafka smiled softly.
She walked closer and crouched beside you, brushing a gloved hand over your forehead in a rare moment of gentleness. “She always did overdo things when emotions were involved. Even across timelines, some things stay the same.”
Caelus stepped forward, jaw tight. “What happened to her?”
Kafka tilted her head. “She remembered you. More than she was supposed to. More than her mind this version of her was ready to accept.”
“What do you mean, ‘this version’?” Caelus asked slowly, dreading the answer.
Kafka looked up at him. “She’s not from here. Not exactly.”
Silence. Dan Heng, March, Welt, and Himeko stood nearby, tension bleeding into the room like fog.
“She’s a splinter,” Kafka continued. “A fracture of someone that once existed in a timeline that was… erased. In that version of the world, she boarded the Express. Just like you. She was one of yours.”
“…Ours?” Caelus echoed.
“You were happy,” Kafka said with a smile. “Close. Devoted. She loved you, Caelus. More than duty, more than fear. Enough to leap across timelines when fate collapsed around her.”
His breath caught. Kafka rose, brushing imaginary dust from her gloves. “Elio found her adrift. Not quite nothing, not quite whole. And I well, I’ve always had a soft spot for lost causes.”
March folded her arms. “So… you knew she didn’t belong with the Stellaron Hunters?”
“She belonged where her heart led her,” Kafka replied coolly. “We never forced her to stay. She chose to remain. But I knew the day would come when the two of you would meet again. Some things are inevitable.”
Himeko narrowed her gaze. “Then why bring her in at all?”
Kafka looked at her. Smiled. “Because sometimes, a storm needs a place to land.”
“…That’s not an answer,” Dan Heng said.
“No,” Kafka replied, unbothered. “It isn’t.”
She turned back toward Caelus then. Her tone gentled. “She found you again. Against all odds. And even without memories, her soul still remembered.”
Caelus swallowed. His voice felt hoarse. “So what now?”
“Now?” Kafka took a step toward him, something unreadable in her eyes. “Now you wait. Be patient. She’s strong. Stubborn. She’ll come back to you.”
Then, a pause deliberate and teasing. She leaned closer. “And be good, Caelus.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Be. Good,” she repeated with a sly smile. “Or I’ll steal her back.”
He flushed. “she came to me, you know.”
Kafka’s grin widened. “Soulmates do that. No matter the odds. No matter the sides.”
He stared at her. She softened. Just a fraction.
“Even when she was one of us,” she said quietly, “she still looked at the stars and dreamed of you. You’d think that kind of devotion would die between timelines, but… it doesn’t.”
Caelus’s chest ached.
“She loved you then,” Kafka whispered. “And if you’re lucky, she’ll love you again.”
Her gaze turned thoughtful.
“Opposing sides don’t mean much to the heart. What matters is how hard you’re willing to love, even when the universe tries to tear you apart.” Then she brushed past him, heading toward the door.
“Wait,” Caelus said. “Are you just going to leave her?”
Kafka smiled over her shoulder. “She’s exactly where she needs to be.” And with that, she was gone. Silence returned. Caelus stood there for a moment, eyes on your still form. Then, quietly, Welt stepped to his side again.
“Well,” he said gently, “you heard the woman.”
Caelus exhaled shakily. “Yeah…”
“She’ll come back.”
Caelus nodded. “Yeah.” And when she does, he thought, I’m not letting go again.
ଘ(੭ ᐛ )━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ It starts with light. Soft, golden, and endless. You’re weightless, drifting. Not through space through memory. Through pieces of yourself you didn’t know were missing. At first, the visions are disjointed, blurred at the edges. Like film caught between frames. A laugh. Your own. It’s bright, full of something warm. Something forgotten. You’re standing in the Astral Express kitchen, sleeves rolled up, flour on your cheek. March 7th is beside you, wielding a spoon like a sword. Across the counter, Caelus is dramatically pretending to faint as he eats a cookie you baked.
“It’s so good,” he gasps, flopping over a chair like a dying man. “I’m ascending Himeko, if I die, bury me with ten of these.”
You hit him with a dish towel. “Eat like a normal person.”
“I am! This is how Trailblazers eat. enjoying every second of this. Very cool.” You’re smiling so wide it hurts. The scene melts.
FLASH.
You and Dan Heng are leaning over a terminal together. He’s explaining star coordinates, but your attention keeps drifting. Not because you’re bored but because you’re waiting. Waiting for that familiar, goofy voice behind you. Sure enough.
“You’re cheating on me with star maps again?” Caelus says, mock offended.
“Jealous of numbers?” you tease, turning to him.
“I’m jealous of anything that takes your attention for more than thirty seconds.” Dan Heng clears his throat, but you swear he’s hiding a smile.
FLASH
It’s night. Or what passes for night on the train. You and Caelus are sitting on the edge by the door, legs dangling over the edge. Your heads are tilted toward the stars, shoulders touching.
No words. Just the sound of the universe breathing between you.
“I think I found home,” he whispers.
You blink. Look at him.
He doesn’t turn to you, but his hand finds yours in the dark.
“I think,” he continues, voice quieter now, “it’s not a place. I think it’s a person.”
“did you read that in a romance book?”
“shhhhh, you’re crazy you’re thinking too much. close your eyes and just embrace it”
You squeeze his hand back.
FLASH.
Battle. You’re bleeding. Something had gone wrong on a mission fight with a Fragmentum creature. You’re cornered, dizzy, staggering but then Caelus is there. Always.
He pulls you back against him, shielding your body with his own, teeth gritted, eyes wild with fear.
“I got you,” he pants. “Stay with me, okay? Just don’t go.”
You look up at him.
You smile.
“Like I’d leave you, dummy.”
FLASH.
You’re in the observation car, curled on one of the long benches. The stars are streaming by, casting the room in slow, celestial motion. Caelus walks in with two mugs and stops in his tracks when he sees you. You feign sleep. He sits beside you anyway. Then, softly, with that grin you’ve always hated because it makes your heart ache.
“I don’t know what I did in the past to deserve you,” he says, voice like a secret, “but I’d do it again. A thousand times.” Your heart clenches. Because something inside you remembers.
FLASH.
That ruined city. The fault zone. His face. You hear his voice again.
“I’ve seen you before. In dreams.”
“I think… I loved you, once.”
And for the first time, your consciousness stirs. The dreams fracture. Like mirrors catching too much light. The voice calling you back isn’t Kafka’s. It’s his.
Caelus.
You try to reach. To swim toward the sound. But something holds you back like the universe hasn’t decided if you’re ready to wake. Then, one final whisper reaches you. Not a memory. Not a dream. Just a feeling, laced in the warmth of amber eyes.
“Come back to me.”
You move.
There was no light when you first stirred just warmth. A soft hum beneath you. A scent in the air like metal and tea. And someone breathing. Slow, steady, near. Your eyelids fluttered open, lashes blinking against the low glow of the Astral Express’s medical bay. Everything felt strangely quiet thick, like sound and time had been layered under water. You blinked again. Once. Twice.
Then you saw him.
Slouched in a chair beside the bed, head tucked in his arms, was him. Caelus. He looked so much softer like this. Asleep, or maybe just resting his eyes. Hair slightly mussed, coat slipping off one shoulder, mouth slightly open like he had passed out mid thought. Your heart gave a small, traitorous flutter.
You whispered, “…Caelus?”
His head jerked up so fast you thought he might give himself whiplash. His amber eyes locked onto yours in an instant, and something shattered across his face. He bolted upright, nearly tripping over the chair in his scramble to get to your side.
“Hey hey! You’re awake! You’re actually awake! Not, like, fake half awake. Awake awake.” His hands hovered awkwardly over you, unsure if he was allowed to touch. “I Himeko said it could take a week, or a month, or uh, anyway, it’s been three days, and I’ve been sitting here the whole time and” You reached up and gently touched his wrist.
“I think…” you murmured, voice hoarse but steady, “I think I love you.” He froze like you’d physically unplugged his brain.
“W what?”
Your body ached, your throat still burned, and your thoughts swam like drifting stars but the feeling in your chest was real. Unmistakable. A tether that led back to him, no matter the timeline. You sat up slowly he instantly reached out to help you, like you might fall apart again and when you moved forward to hug him, his arms instinctively opened.
“Waitwaitwait!” He pulled back with sudden panic, palms bracing your shoulders like a human seatbelt. “Are you gonna kiss me again? Because the last time you did that, you passed out in my arms and scared me half to death. Not that it was a bad kiss honestly, it was amazing, I’m still recovering but I don’t want you to, like, die on me again. My heart can’t take it.” You stared at him. Then laughed. Softly. Genuinely.
Even now when he was clearly shaken, clearly not over what happened he was still him. A little weird. A little dramatic. A little too honest. It calmed you. Grounded you. You leaned in again slower this time and pressed your forehead against his.
“I’m not yours,” you said quietly. “Not the one you have ever met
He nodded, eyes dimming slightly. “Yeah. I figured.”
“But you…” You closed your eyes. “You’re not my Caelus either.”
A breath passed between you. And then, you whispered, “But I think… you’re still my home.”
His breath caught. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at you, that chaotic, sincere expression melting into something gentler. Something he hadn’t let himself hope for.
Then, his hand brushed the side of your cheek tentative, reverent. And he smiled.
“…You really know how to knock a guy off his feet, huh?”
You leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut.
“You’ve been doing it to me since before I even knew your name.”
₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ
Welcome to my Blog >;p
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⭑.ᐟ SIRXAIBS ⭑.ᐟ She/Her ⭑.ᐟ 19 ⭑.ᐟ
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My Hero Academia | DC Comics | VideoGames
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I can’t get this fic out of my mind. Thank you @mytanuki-kun 🙏🏻😌✨💕
ok so this fic has inspired me to want to write delving into this dynamic 😼
'' DEPOLLUTE ME , GENTLE ANGEL ,,
|| pairings: hawks x reader / keigo takami x reader
|| warning: a little suggestive, but it stops, other than that its comfort <3 listen to the song "We'll Never Have Sex" and you'll understand. reverse comfort
|| word count: 0.8k
Hawks. Number two hero in all of Japan. Fastest hero in all the country, youngest too, only age 22 and he was number two. Everyone seemed to want a piece of him, woman, man, anyone. It made sense, of course, he was attractive. He acted carefree, always with a boyish grin on his face and everything he did seemed so effortless. Perhaps that was apart of the problem.
No matter what he did, everyone made their assumptions. Made their ideas, believing him to be a playboy or some sex-driven man. He hated it. Keigo was told to just let it happen, it was good publicity. Especially with how much his fans ate it up, he complied. He let it happen.
That all changed when he met you. Who's hands were never quick, never yearning in a way to get his clothes off. Your hands were soft, gentle. Always caring, never forcing. Keigo didn't understand it, why weren't you trying anything? Why weren't you trying to make him apart of a fantasy?
Your soft lips against his as you sat in his laps, but it wasn't quick. Not 'hot and bothered' as some may speculate, no, it was slow and careful. His hands placed on the small of your back as the two of you kissed. It was a comfort, it was wonderful. Something Keigo always yearns after he finishes a hard day of a hero, to come home where you'd swing by. Watch a movie, make some food, just be together. Sweet kisses exchanged, tonight was no different. The only small change was that those small kisses turned to a small make-out.
You, who'd move your hands just a bit down, down Keigo's chest. He didn't want it to stop, but at the same time it felt like too much. Something he wasn't ready for, not yet at least. The vermillion feathers ruffled behind him as he forced himself to let this happen. You, on the other hand? You stopped and pulled away, cupping his face in your hands as you pressed a gentle kiss on Keigo's scarred cheek.
"Why'd you stop?" Your boyfriends question was barely above a whisper as he held you close. He didn't understand, was he not kissing you well enough? Not being good enough for you?
"Because you wanted to stop," You ran a hand through his messy blonde hair. One that's been kissed by the winds that he flew through during the day. Before he could try to fight back you continued. "I could tell your hesitation, love."
"Dove, we can keep going-"
"When you're ready."
Keigo stared at you with his golden eyes, staring up at you as you mindlessly brushed through his hair with your fingers. Untangling any mess that had happened from the day, taking out any small pieces of dirt or debris from the day. He didn't understand. No, he wasn't a virgin, why were you acting like he was? He held you tighter as he pushed his face into the plush of your neck.
Taking a deep inhale of your scent as he relaxed under your touch.
"Thank you."
You knew how the media treated him, as some sort of sex symbol. Always putting him on a pedestal as the number two hero, fastest hero in all of Japan. It killed you everytime you'd see an article of some made up scandal Keigo was supposedly apart of. You'd compare that article to your boyfriend. The man who'd come home, dragging his feet against the wooden floor. Eyebags under his eyes once he wiped the make up he used to conceal it. He was exhausted, overworked. Yet all the media saw was some one-dimensional man.
With a small hum, you shook your head and pushed a small kiss to your winged boyfriends forehead. Lingering there for a few moments before pulling away. A small smile on your face as you kept your gaze on him.
"You don't need to thank me, Keigs."
"But I should, you-"
You pushed your finger against his lips, a small smirk danced on your lips as you huffed.
"I don't wanna do anything you're not comfortable with. We don't have to do anything soon," With a small sigh, not of disappointment, you pressed your forehead against his. Fluttering your eyes closed as you kept speaking softly. "I kiss you just to kiss you, Keigo. If you don't wanna go too far, we don't have to. I'll be as patient as you need."
Your words hit a chord somewhere in Keigo. He always felt so pressured to do.. Well, anything. Hero work, the Commission, friends, enemies. He had so many things he had to do. But with you? He could go his pace for once. Not Hawks'. Not the man he presented to be, not the fastest hero in Japan. Just Keigo. He could go as slow as he needed, and you'd be there to support him.
"I love you," He whispered softly, his voice trembling just the smallest bit as he kept his emotions in check. Trying not to cry.
"I love you too, my darling."
"I love you," He repeated again. And again. And again. He kept whispering it as he kissed your neck softly, not a tease, not to lead up to something else. But because he could, because he wanted to.
"My gentle angel."
|| GUYS. GUYS. IM CHDBSIUBSIBVIDBLDVSAA i love keigo oml. i love how complex he is, he means sm to me OOOMMMLLLLLL :(( TO BE CLEAR!! im not anti-sex or smth, i js find it interesting to see the difference between hawks and keigo. i can make a whole essay on this
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.
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