ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Someone Thought Of Meཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ
Batfamily X Batmom! Reader
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Someone Thought Of Meཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ
I feel like Tim has very little love. So how does he feel in a family thats so weird?
masterlist
Timmy timothy tim likes to journal his problems
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Journal entry- Shes always there. Written from the point of view of Tim Drake. In Tim Drakes Journal. Which Is my journal… Tim Drake… because it’s my journal?
When people think of Bruce Wayne, they think of Gotham’s crowned prince brooding, rich, charming in a suit. Maybe they even think of Batman if you’re one of the few people that actually know him, the knight in Kevlar, Gotham’s relentless protector. They forget, more often than not, that behind the cowl is just a guy made of jagged edges. The kind that can cut even the people he cares about most.
But her?
She was warmth. A reporter with fire in her blood and sharp questions at her lips. That’s how Bruce met her chasing down a story she didn’t know he was part of yet. She wasn’t intimidated by his name or the shadows that followed him. And when she found out he was Batman, she didn’t run. She pivoted. She didn’t want to be used by the Gotham Gazette to milk a headline about their relationship. So she left. Started something new. Told the stories of villains not to glorify them, but to show their truth. The people they used to be. The cracks that made them break. That was her power.
I didn’t meet her until later, of course. But I always knew of her. I still stayed with my parents at the time and since she stayed at the mansion i never really saw her. she was the one everyone talked about. Not just in passing, but with reverence. Even Bruce, in his own quiet way, would drop her name like it meant safety. And to Dick and Jason? She wasn’t just a stepmom, or “Bruce’s wife.” She was Mom.
Dick talks about her like she’s the sun. When he visits he always visits, at least once a week no matter where he is you can see it. How his whole face lights up just stepping into the manor and hearing her voice from the kitchen. You’d think he was back in the circus and just found his net again.
“She used to stay up for me, no matter what time patrol ended,” he told me once. “I’d come in through the balcony, boots muddy, bruised up, sometimes bleeding and she’d be in the kitchen heating soup. Always that look on her face like I’d just come back from war. Never lectured me like Bruce. Never told me to be more careful. Just… held me. Like that fixed everything.”
Dick never stopped calling her “Mom.” Not even during the rough years when Bruce pushed him too hard. Not when he moved out. Not when the Batcave felt colder than the Gotham River in winter. If anything, she was the reason he kept coming back.
When she got that small publishing deal to write about Harvey Dent’s past, Dick flew back from Blüdhaven just to take her out to dinner. No press, no big celebration. Just a booth by the window at her favorite Thai place and a bouquet that barely fit through the door. He said he owed her everything. “I don’t care if I’m not hers by blood,” he told me once. “That woman taught me how to hold on to who I am, even when everything else was falling apart.”
Then theres my other older brother. Jason’s love is different. It’s quieter.
Harder to see unless you’re looking close. He’s not good at the soft stuff. Not anymore. But with her, he tries. He never says “I love you.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard the words leave his mouth. But he’s always fixing stuff around her house. Not the manor her place, the little brownstone Bruce bought her because she hated the echo of the mansion. The place with the bookshelf she filled herself, the mismatched mugs, the heavy desk where she does her interviews. Jason comes by when she’s out running errands. Patches the leaky sink. Replaces the light in the hallway. Leaves a bag of her favorite tea on the counter. No note. No credit. But she always knows it’s him.
“She used to sit on the fire escape with me,” he told me once, when we were staking out some arms deal in the Narrows. “I’d be pissed off at Bruce, just raging. And she’d just sit there. Didn’t ask questions. Didn’t talk me out of it. Just sat and sometimes smoked a cigarette. One time I cried. Don’t remember why. But she didn’t flinch. Just put her hand on my back. Stayed until I fell asleep.”
He’d die before saying it out loud, but I think in a way… he’s more hers than he ever was Bruce’s. And when he came back when he was the Red Hood and he was full of grief and rage and bullets she was the only one who hugged him. Everyone else flinched. Even Bruce. But she opened the door, saw what he’d become, and said, “You look like hell, baby. Come inside.” And he did.
I remember the first time I met her. Bruce had just taken me in. I was still flinching every time he walked into the room, still unsure if I belonged in this broken, stitched up family. And then she walked in breezy and fierce, like she’d just come off a battlefield with coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. “You must be Tim,” she said, giving me a once over like she could see right through to my spine. “You eat?”
I hadn’t. She fixed a plate, sat with me, asked me about everything except my parents. I had just lost them at the time and that’s when I got it. Why Dick lights up around her. Why Jason will move heaven and earth to fix her sink. She’s home. Not the kind with walls and Wi-Fi. The kind with presence. With knowing how to say just the right thing without ever saying too much. With safety, and warmth, and late night soup and hair ruffles and sitting on fire escapes even when the kid next to you’s got blood on his boots. I think that’s why even Bruce… softens around her. She’s the one person who makes him feel safe.
When she got her first daughter, you can tell something changed in her. Cass didn’t talk much. Not in the early days. She was quiet in the way shadows were quiet always there, always watching, always slipping through cracks without a sound. Most people assumed she just didn’t want to talk. Or couldn’t. But I saw it different.
Cass spoke just not with her mouth. She spoke with her hands, her eyes, the way she’d tense or soften when you entered a room. But with her? With Mom?
Cass bloomed.
She’d lean on her shoulder when they sat on the couch. She’d grab her hand subtle, small, but full of meaning and lead her to the garden out back just to sit in the sun. I watched Cass laugh once, like actually laugh, cheeks lifted and eyes crinkled. I didn’t even know she could laugh like that. But it was because Mom had made some dumb joke about a rogue penguin at the zoo stealing someone’s purse. Cas used to flinch at affection. Now, she hugged her. Without hesitation. Leaned into her side. Signed things with soft smiles and the rare, quiet “Love you,” if no one else was around. She didn’t even say that to Bruce. Not really. But Mom? Mom got everything.
She knew how to talk to her. Never pressed. Never coddled. Just existed beside her with a kind of understanding that didn’t require words. I think Cass clung to that someone who didn’t need her to be anything but herself. Someone who didn’t treat her like a porcelain weapon. I’d never seen Cass so… safe. So full.
Then there was Damian. God. When Bruce brought him to the manor, I thought maybe we’d finally seen the worst of it. Turns out a ten year old assassin with an ego the size of Arkham was the cherry on top.
From the minute Damian showed up, he was a walking migraine. Arrogant. Condescending. Entitled in the way only someone born and bred to believe they were superior could be. But the worst part? He was cruel to her.
Not in the loud, tantrum way kids can be cruel. No. Damian was sharp. Precise. Calculated. His insults were surgical targeted and clean like a blade to the gut. “I don’t see the point in you,” he said once, arms crossed in the foyer, looking her dead in the eye. “You’re not my mother. You’ll never be her. Father had real women in his life before you.”
It wasn’t the first time he said it. Wouldn’t be the last. she….God, she just took it. Not because she agreed. Not because she was weak. But because that’s who she is. She let him be angry. Let him lash out. Let him burn himself on her because she knew what was underneath it all. But I saw it. I saw the way her shoulders slumped when she turned away. The way she stirred her tea a little too long in the kitchen. The way she lingered in front of Bruce’s old pictures of Talia that he put up for Damien. didn’t touch them, didn’t say anything, but looked like someone standing in a war zone, wondering if the ruins were prettier than she’d ever be. She never said it aloud. Never asked if she measured up. But we all knew the weight she carried. Bruce’s past wasn’t just shadows it was legacies. Legacies she was never meant to compete with. And Damian made sure she felt that.
I don’t know when that started to change. Maybe when she helped patch him up after his first solo patrol and didn’t say a word about the busted ribs. Maybe when she sat in the library and helped him with his handwriting because even deadly assassins have messy cursive. Or maybe it was when she found his sketchbook. hid it from everyone else, never mentioned it, just left him new pencils on his desk with a quiet, “You’re very talented.”
He stopped being so sharp after that. Still rude. Still Damian. But less… venomous. Like the poison had burned itself out and he was left kind of confused by the fact that she was still there. Because she always was. For all of us.
And then there’s me. The extra. The late one. I was never brought in because Bruce wanted to be a father. I was brought in because I figured out his secrets and then wormed my way into the cave, into the suit, into the family. I don’t know if I was ever really meant to be here. Not the way the others were. Me? I had parents. Not great ones. But they were there… until they weren’t. I didn’t grow up in an alley, or a pit, or the League. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I feel so… replaceable. But she never made me feel that way. She saw me. She knew I overworked myself. Knew I never slept. Knew I spiraled when I wasn’t useful. And instead of pushing me to be better or telling me to slow down, she just… met me where I was. Once, I found a note in my backpack. Folded between mission plans.
“Youre the most amazing boy that i know, You my boy are going to do amazing things. I love you so much!!”
I never told her I found it. But I kept it. Still have it, tucked into my journal like armor.
I don’t know if any of us would’ve survived this family without her. Bruce taught us how to fight. How to fall and get back up. But she taught us how to rest. How to breathe. How to love without blood and history binding us. She fixed all of us. Bit by bit. Even when we didn’t know we were breaking. I don’t feel broken enough to deserve that kind of care. But she gave it anyway. Because that’s who she is. Because she was always there.
I heard her once, talking on the phone to someone. Maybe a friend. Maybe a source. “They’re not mine by blood,” she said. “But God help the world if they ever needed me. I’d burn down Gotham to protect any one of them.” That’s when I knew she meant me, too. if I had to tell this story about the Batfamily, about the ones who wear masks and hide pain and throw themselves into the fire night after night I’d start with her. Because Batman might have saved Gotham but she saved us.
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ
Tim closes the journal with a soft thump, fingers lingering on the worn leather cover. His hand hovers just a second longer before pulling away. The room feels too quiet now like his thoughts are echoing louder without the scratch of his pen to distract him.
He pushes the chair back, the legs creaking on the old hardwood floors, and stands. His back cracks. How long had he been writing? Hours maybe. It’s dark out, the kind of heavy Gotham dark that presses against the windows like it wants in. The manor groans quietly in the silence, pipes murmuring and the wind brushing tree branches against the windows like fingers tapping to be let inside.
He walks out of his room, bare feet soft on the carpet as he pads through the hallway. The air feels heavier at night in the manor. Like all the ghosts that live in the walls are finally breathing.
I turned the corner after walking mindlessly and stared. There you were.
Back facing towards me, wearing one of those oversized, faded shirts Bruce always swore he didn’t miss. Standing in front of the stove, hair pulled up, humming something under your breath as you stirred with a wooden spoon like you were crafting alchemy and not just soup. And beside you, leaning against the counter, arms folded but eyes softer than I’d seen in weeks. Jason. He wasn’t wearing his jacket. Which was rare. His boots were off. Rarer. And he was smiling. Not the cocky half grin he used when he was about to pick a fight, but something quieter. Warmer. Something like a son sitting in the only place in the world where he felt safe.
You said something to him I couldn’t hear what but you reached up on your toes and smoothed his hair out of his eyes like he was five. He rolled his eyes, said something sarcastic, but didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into it. that was when Alfred walked by, hands behind his back, chin tilted slightly in amusement as he passed me. “You know the rule, Master Timothy,” he said, low enough not to disturb the moment in the kitchen. “She is the only one allowed in there. The rest of you have forfeited that right after the last… incident.”
I groaned.
“That was Damian’s fault,” I hissed back.
He raised a brow. “Was it Damian’s idea to flambé a Pop Tart?”
“Okay. Fine. That part might’ve been me.”
It was one of our dumbest ideas maybe not the dumbest, but it’s a crowded race. It started with a challenge. Damian, fresh off a smug streak and newly obsessed with culinary documentaries, claimed that my “American palate” had “eroded my taste and motor skills.” I told him I could cook circles around him. Neither of us could cook.
It escalated quickly. An Iron Chef style duel. Secret ingredient: eggs. Only, I dropped mine. Three times. Damian misread the baking powder as flour. Then I panicked and tried to “smoke” the scrambled eggs for flavor using a packet of incense from the guest room and a lighter.
Within ten minutes, the fire alarm was going off, Alfred had activated the emergency sprinklers, and the kitchen looked like something between a crime scene and a culinary apocalypse. Mom was the one to find us.
Standing soaked, flour covered, blinking through smoke. Damian holding a spatula like a sword. Me covered in what I hoped was yolk. You didn’t yell. That’s the worst part. You just… looked at us. Long and hard. Then let out a breath, pinched the bridge of your nose, and said, “Alfred, I assume this is why you told me to ban them from the kitchen.”
“Indeed, madam,” he replied grimly.
And that was that. Kitchen rights revoked. Except for you. Always you.
Now I stood there in the hallway, watching you and Jason from the doorway, unseen. He was telling you about something he saw on patrol a gang trying to smuggle rare books, of all things. You were laughing, that full body laugh that makes your shoulders shake and your eyes close, like the world could still be beautiful if you just tried hard enough. And Jason?
He was drinking it in. Like he’d been starved of this kind of love for years. Ever since he came back, you were different around him. Not overly careful like Bruce. Not tense like some of us had been. You just loved him. Loudly. Freely. kisses to the temple, touching his shoulders like you had to convince yourself he was still solid. Like you had to remind him that he was still wanted. Jason never said it but he melted under it. His edges dulled. His anger slipped. When you held him, when you gave him that smile that said “you’re home,” he softened. He belonged.
I swallowed hard. Stepped back, just a bit. Let the shadows take me. Because I’d never had that. Not in the same way. You loved me I knew that. But it wasn’t the same kind of fierce, smothering love. And maybe that was fair. I wasn’t broken in the way Jason was. Not born in blood like Damian. Not carved out of grief like Dick. Not silenced like Cass.
I was just… me. Smart. Quiet. Stable, mostly. I’d always felt like a thread sewn into someone else’s tapestry. Useful. Strong, even. But not the reason anyone stayed warm. in moments like this seeing Jason melt under your hands, seeing you pour every ounce of your soul into making him feel alive I couldn’t help but wonder if I was ever going to fit here. So I stepped away from the kitchen door.
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ
The house was quiet again. The kind of quiet that only happens after everyone’s gone to bed or pretended to. I was curled up in the corner of the library, one leg slung over the arm of the chair, a thick old book cracked open across my lap. It wasn’t for patrol or mission planning. Just something to read. Something to fill the quiet so I didn’t have to think too much.
It was peaceful, until muffled voices filled the room. I blinked, tilting my head just enough to catch the low murmur threading in from the hallway. At first, I thought maybe Bruce had wandered into the Batcave again, but then I heard my moms voice. Whispering like someone trying not to wake a sleeping baby. Bruce responded, and you both laughed, low and secretive. I rolled my eyes and went back to my page.
I stopped caring about that kind of thing a long time ago. You and Bruce were always, in a word, gross about each other. Not the clingy, PDA gross… well yes the clingy PDA way but the kind where he’d brush your cheek mid conversation like it was instinct. Or the way you’d make him coffee without asking, and he’d pass you reports to look at because he trusted your opinion more than the board’s. It was… sincere. Intimate. Kind of annoying, honestly, when you were trying to eat cereal and Bruce kissed your temple like it was some kind of reflex.
But it was comforting too. Something solid. I was just starting to lose myself in the book again when
“Boo.”
“GAH!”
I launched the book about a foot into the air and nearly twisted my entire spine trying to figure out what demon had possessed the room. My heart rocketed into my throat as I whipped around, hand halfway to a batarang that wasn’t even on me. You stood there, grinning ear to ear.
“Tim,” you cooed, covering your mouth to stifle a laugh, “you should’ve seen your face oh my god, I think you levitated.”
“I almost hit you with Tolstoy!” I hissed, breath still catching up to my body. “Don’t sneak up on a guy in this house! I was ready to throw hands with a ghost.”
“Well,” you teased, “if it was a ghost, you’d be the only one I’d trust to outsmart it.”
I gave you a flat look, still massaging my neck. You sobered a little, stepping forward and tapping the top of my head gently. “Come on, kiddo. There’s something we want to show you. In the dining room.”
I blinked. “We?”
“I’m here too,” came Bruce’s voice from the hallway, in that terrible deep gravel whisper he clearly thought was somehow sneaky. You and I both turned to look at him as he peeked around the corner, trying very hard and failing to look inconspicuous.
I squinted at him. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he said too quickly.
You sighed and gently smacked his chest. “Why are you like this?”
“I’m building intrigue,” Bruce said with what I assumed was supposed to be a straight face. “It’s part of the plan”
“You’re ruining the surprise,” you whispered, dragging a hand down your face.
“There’s a surprise?” I asked slowly, eyes darting between the two of you.
Bruce’s expression didn’t change, but I could see the micro tension in his brow. He was lying. For the world’s greatest detective, the man couldn’t lie to his children to save his life. Every time he tried, he got this weird stiffness, like someone who’d never used human emotions before. You groaned again and took my wrist gently. “Come on. Just come to the dining room. Please?”
I stood up slowly, abandoning my book on the chair. “What’s going on?” I asked again, warier now. “Is this, like… an intervention? Did Damian break into the Tower again?”
“Nope.”
“Did Jason get arrested for vigilante loitering?”
“Not this week.”
“Are you going to make me touch grass?”
You snorted. “God, no.”
I sighed. “Alright. But if this is a trap, I want it on record that i died saying my parents were weird.”
Bruce just grunted. So I followed them. These two weird, overly affectionate, semi cryptic parents of mine one with crows’ feet from smiling too much and the other still pretending he didn’t smile at all. Down the hallway. Toward the dining room. Still completely, utterly confused.
The hallway to the dining room wasn’t long. It just felt long. Partially because Bruce was still trying to act like this wasn’t suspicious at all, and you kept elbowing him in the ribs every few steps. Partially because my nerves were starting to twitch under my skin. mostly because I could hear whisper yelling coming from the dining room.
“I said put the banner up, not strangle the chandelier with it!”
“That wasn’t me! It was Damian! He climbed up there!”
“I was fixing your poor attempt at symmetry, Grayson!”
“Why is the pie we made lopsided Jason what did you do to the pie?”
“It’s good. Shut up.”
“You burned it.”
“I call it caramelized flavor.”
“…It smells like regret.”
“Can someone…. Cass, what are you doing with the glitter glue?!”
“Decoration.”
I paused just outside the door and looked up at Bruce and you with raised eyebrows. You just smiled softly and gave a little shrug, while Bruce tried to maintain whatever shred of dignity he had left. It wasn’t working.
You both looked so stupidly in love standing like that his arm around your waist, yours looped casually around his. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this was normal. Like this whatever chaos was waiting behind the doors was ours.
Bruce leaned in toward the doorframe like he was assessing a mission room, and I swear I saw his eye twitch.
“I gave them very simple instructions,” he muttered.
You patted his chest. “Your children are as smart and emotionally constipated as their dad”
The door swung open before anyone could knock. Dick stood there with his usual too big grin and remnants of glitter on his cheek like war paint. “Timmy! You’re late to your own surprise party!”
“It’s not my birthday?”
“Not that kind of surprise party!” he said, reaching out to drag me in with too much enthusiasm. “It’s Appreciation Day!”
“That’s… not a real holiday.”
“Sure it is,” said Jason, appearing from behind a mess of mismatched plates and aluminum foil wrapped disasters. “We just made it real. Sit down, Nerd Boy.”
Cass waved from the head of the table with a little toothy smile. Damian was on a chair next to her, arms crossed, already pouting like he hadn’t been helping just ten minutes ago.
The table was atrocious like someone had thrown a home economics final exam and a kindergarten arts and crafts project into a blender. The centerpiece was a crooked sign that said “WE APPRECIATE YOU” in bold, messy handwriting (clearly Dick’s). There was glitter on everything. The cups didn’t match. The pie looked like it’d been in a fight. it was perfect. All of it.
Dishes were stacked, uneven and mismatched. Cookies were slightly burnt on one side. Jason’s so called “caramelized” pie was visibly cracked. Cass had made what looked like finger sandwiches shaped into little bats. Even Damian had contributed begrudgingly with a plate of sliced fruit that had been carved into vaguely threatening shapes.
And in the middle of it all was a small card in your handwriting.
Tim,
We know things have been hard.
We know it sometimes feels like you’re overlooked.
But you’re not. Not here.
You’re brilliant. You’re loved. You’re ours.
Love,
Your Family (a bunch of idiots, but yours)
I couldn’t speak. Not really. Because what was there to say? This… this wasn’t some big show. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. it was for me. I glanced down the table.
Dick was beaming and already scooting over to make room for me. Jason was pretending not to look at me too hard, but his expression was softer than usual. Cass gave me a small nod, the kind that said more than words. Damian looked away when our eyes met but I could see the tiniest hint of awkward approval in the way he pushed a napkin toward the empty seat beside him. I took it. Quietly. Still blinking a little too fast. I didn’t cry. I didn’t. But I felt it thick in my chest. That weight. That feeling. Because my biological parents had never done anything like this. They didn’t see me, not really. I was a project. A prodigy. An obligation. But you and Bruce, in his awkward gruff way you saw me. You made this happen. I looked up once more and saw you and Bruce still standing near the door. Arms still around each other. Watching. Bruce’s eyes met mine. He gave the smallest nod. You just smiled. I mattered here. not always loudly. not in the same way the others did. But I mattered. And this this was home.
More Posts from Sirxaibs and Others
PUH LEASE write a sal x fem!reader where they all go to the lake, (larry, sal, ash, todd, etc) and sal is ogling the reader. then larry gives one of his motivational speeches where he talks him up to confess to her. and make it SUPES fluffy please 🤑🤑 i’ll give u my kidney
SAL FISHER X READER
🂾𓂉🂾 AHHHHHHHHHHH 🂾𓂉🂾I
I want to point out that I changed it up a bit. Larry is still supportive and learns about it all and encourages it like a guy best friend. (so a little immature but all in good health) and uh i couldn’t think of a title
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🂾𓂉🂾 The low hum of the Deftones spun through the battered speakers in Larry’s room, the gentle, distorted riffs of “Teenager” lacing the air with a strangely melodic chords. The posters on the wall seemed to flicker with the candlelight, smoke curling from the incense stick Larry had lazily propped in an old soda can. He lay across his bed, head resting on his folded arms, eyes half lidded. Sal sat on the floor with his back against the dresser, mask on, fingers toying with a frayed string from the hem of his hoodie. Larry let out a long sigh, kicking one foot lazily.
“So,” he said, dragging the word out with that signature Larry Young drawl, “you sure you don’t wanna tell them how you feel, dude?”
Sal let out a breath part exasperated, part defeated. “Yeah. I’m sure.” A pause. “It’s not like it matters. She’s just… her. Carefree. Like nothing in the world can ever shake her. And I’m… me.”
Larry raised an eyebrow, a shit eating grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Right, except she’s been into all your weird ghost shit since day one. That doesn’t strike you as a little suspicious?”
Sal rolled his eyes, though behind the mask, Larry only caught the tilt of his head and the sound of sarcasm lining his voice. “Oooookay, bud.” But even as he said it, his mind started drifting unwelcome but persistent, soft as the music playing in the background.
🂾𓂉🂾 It was one of those October evenings where the sky was bruised purple, the kind of night where the Addison Apartments looked especially like they were hiding something. “Let’s break into the basement,” you’d said with a grin, adjusting your flannel around your waist, boots crunching leaves beneath them. You tapped your chin, head tilting mischievously. “You and your little ghost gizmo thingy what’s it called again?”
“The Gear Boy,” Sal said, holding it up.
You snorted. “Right. Very cool very awesome demure or whatever .” Then you nudged him with your elbow. “C’mon, Sally Face. Let’s go find some demons.” You didn’t even flinch at the dark, or the cold, or the smell of mold in the stairwell. He remembered watching you run ahead, flashlight in hand, hair bouncing as you turned back and grinned at him like this was the best place in the world.
🂾𓂉🂾 Back in Larry’s room, Sal’s voice was quieter now. “She could’ve run screaming like most people. But she didn’t. Which I know she was your friend before anything but her crazy matches my crazy.”
Larry stretched, his joints popping. “Well she just likes creepy shit. Doesn’t mean she’s in love with you, dude.” Sal didn’t respond. But the next memory hit him anyway.
🂾𓂉🂾 They were sitting on the rooftop. You had a ripped black hoodie, sleeves cut into jagged edges, and a collection of safety pins holding one shoulder seam together. A cigarette dangled between your fingers, the smoke drifting in the cold air. You were talking about how your mom didn’t trust the apartments. “Says they give her the heebie jeebies,” you’d said, mocking the voice. “Can’t blame her though. The walls here feel like they’re listening.”
Sal chuckled under his breath. Then you turned toward him, all seriousness for a moment. “You ever think you might be too good for this place?”
He blinked. “What?”
You shrugged. “You’re, like, stupid kind. you might be into everyones business here, but you’re the gentlest person I know. Sometimes I wonder if you even see yourself clearly.” He looked down at the edge of the roof, heart thumping awkwardly. He thought maybe he misheard. But then you flicked your cigarette, stretched your arms behind your head, and looked back up at the stars like it hadn’t been a big deal at all.
🂾𓂉🂾 Back in the room, Larry sat up slightly, now curious. “You really think she meant something by that?”
Sal scoffed. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. She always say stuff like that. You know how she is.”
Larry gave him a skeptical look. “Yeah, and you always brush it off like it doesn’t eat you alive.”
Sal shook his head, reaching for one of Larry’s sketchpads absentmindedly, flipping it open but not really seeing the pages.
“Shes so weird? Like, nothing could tie her down. She’d walk into hell with a smile and offer the devil a light. I’m not sure I’d ever be enough to keep someone like that interested.”
🂾𓂉🂾 It was raining, and you were soaked to the bone, hair sticking to your face as you stood in the apartment hallway, laughing. “Okay,” you said between breaths, “next time you distract the teacher while I pick the lock. My ass is not cut out for this kind of stealth.” Sal had watched you giggle like a maniac, water dripping from your sleeves, eyeliner smudged like a grunge music video, and thought, I’m completely screwed. Then, you looked up at him, eyes bright, lips parted like you were about to say something else but then you stopped. Just smiled. A quiet, knowing kind of smile.
“You’re really fun to get in trouble with, Sally Face.”
🂾𓂉🂾 Larry whistled low. “That’s… okay, yeah, that one’s suspicious.”
Sal grumbled. “You think?”
Larry shrugged, lying back down again. “Sounds like she’s been flirting with you for, like, months.”
Sal leaned his head back against the dresser with a soft thump. “Or she’s just like that with everyone.” The Deftones track shifted, a more intense guitar swell starting as Digital Bath played. The room filled with its pulsing rhythm, washing over the silence between the boys. “I just…” Sal muttered, “I don’t wanna screw it up. If I say something, and I’m wrong, I lose her. And even if I’m right… someone like her, with someone like me?”
Larry stared at the ceiling. “Sal… sometimes you sound like the pieces of fart in romance movies”
Sal laughed under his breath, dry and unamused. “Thanks.”
But still, the memories pressed on him. The way your eyes lingered when you thought he wasn’t looking. The times you leaned against him when you didn’t have to. The way your laughter always came easier around him than anyone else. And the stupid, tiny, impossible hope that maybe just maybe you saw him the way he saw you. He didn’t know what to do with any of it. So instead, he stayed silent. Let the music play a little louder. Let the ghosts wait in the walls of Addison Apartments. Because maybe the scariest thing wasn’t the dead. it was the living. And how deeply they could get under your skin without even trying.
“You gotta do something, man,” Larry said, pointing a lazy finger at him. “Like, soon.”
Sal shot him a sideways glance. “Do what?”
“You know what. Confess. Or flirt. Or, I don’t know, do something with your weird little ghost boy charm. They’re basically throwing hints like they’re in a punk rock rom com, and you’re just sitting here like it’s algebra class.” Sal leaned his head back against the dresser again, letting out a groan. “I can’t, man. That’d be like… opening Pandora’s box with a note that says ‘Hey, I hope this doesn’t ruin everything!’” His voice was muffled but undeniably dry. “Also? What even is ghost boy charm?”
Larry laughed, grabbing a guitar pick from his nightstand and flicking it across the room. “You’ve got that quiet, mysterious thing going on. she eats that shit up.”
“I highly doubt that,” Sal mumbled, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie.
Larry smirked. “Your loss, man. I’ll be sure to let you wallow in your tragic love story all by yourself while everyone else is making out by the lake.”
Just as Sal opened his mouth to counter with the fact that basically no one in the group is attracted to each other for a multitude of reasons, a loud slam echoed through the room, the door flinging open as you barreled in with a chaotic whirlwind of energy. “WENDIGO LAKE, BABYYYY!” you shouted, practically bouncing on your heels. You wore a pair of scuffed up combat boots and ripped fishnets under a patched up pair of shorts. Your backpack was a canvas battlefield blazing with sewn on patches, painted slogans, and safety pins holding together loose fabric. The Sex Pistols, Black Flag, a big bold patch reading “Only Anarchists Are Pretty”, and another featuring Vivienne Westwood’s face all clashed together like a punk rock museum on your back.
Larry blinked. “You sew all that yourself?”
You gave a proud little hum. “Hell yeah. Don’t trust machines for the good stuff.”
Sal swore his heart skipped a beat. Without hesitation, you plopped down behind Sal, your legs bracketing either side of him. You didn’t say anything at first, just casually reached around to start playing with the collar of his shirt like it was the most natural thing in the world. Twisting it between your fingers, tugging slightly, smoothing it out, then ruffling it again.
“Piercing’s new, right?” Larry asked, tilting his head and nodding toward your septum ring. “Should you even be going into the lake?” You gave him a wicked grin and then dragged your palm slowly across his face in a dramatic shhhh, your fingers smudging his cheek with the soft scent of tobacco and clove. “Shhhh,” you whispered, voice dipped low in mock seriousness. “Let me be irresponsible, Lawrence.”
Larry wiped his face off with the back of his hand, laughing. You leaned forward a bit, resting your chin on Sal’s shoulder. “I’m just stoked to have everyone out. Senior year’s been, like, a slow death. No bars around here worth anything, no good gigs nearby. It’s like the universe forgot how to throw a party.”
You pulled back slightly, hand resting on Sal’s shoulder now. “Oh by the way, I brought you some extra snacks. And a book.” You said it casually, but the words hung in the air. “Figured you weren’t going in the water.”
Sal blinked under his mask, throat tight. “You didn’t have to”
“I wanted to.” You smiled, then hopped up again, grabbing your bag. “Alright. Cigarette break. Don’t get all broody without me.” You shot a finger gun toward Sal and winked before disappearing out the back door.
The second the door closed, Larry launched himself from the bed. Sal yelped as Larry practically straddled him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him wildly. “DUDE.”
Sal struggled, awkward and panicked. “What the Larry!”
“I SEE IT. I FREAKING SEE IT!” Larry’s grin was wide enough to split his face. “That was not lowkey! That was highkey! High effort! Extra snacks and a book? Who does that? For you?”
“Why are you sitting on me!?”
“Because this is an emergency! We’re in Defcon 1, Sal! You’ve got a hardcore punk goddess out there who’s literally playing with your clothes and giving you personalized gifts like it’s Valentine’s Day for the emotionally suppressed!”
Sal flushed so deeply even the tips of his ears went pink. “She’s just That’s just how she is!”
Larry leaned in closer, eyes wide. “You are so deep in denial. Ive know her since we were shit stains. If you go one more day without at least flirting back, I swear when I die, I’m going to ghost haunt your dreams until you cry.”
Sal grumbled, face buried in his hands. Then the door creaked open again. You stood there in the doorway, one hand on the frame, a smile tugging at your lips. “Well? You boys gonna keep cuddling, or are we heading to the lake?” Sal froze. Larry grinned. You tilted your head, amusement glittering in your eyes. “C’mon. I wanna see who gets wet the fastest when we get there. I say its between Ash or me”
Larry grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “You’re actually the gross ome,” he said, walking past you. You flipped him off with a grin. Sal stood slowly, heart still racing. You looked at him over your shoulder, a little smile playing at your lips again.
“Hey. You coming, Sally Face?”
He nodded, almost dumbly. “Yeah. I’m coming.” You waited as the Deftones shifted into “Change (In the House of Flies)”, the screen door creaked shut behind you all.
🂾𓂉🂾 The lake shimmered beneath a hazy midafternoon sun, the surface rippling gently under the occasional breeze. Trees surrounded Wendigo Lake like tall, crooked teeth perfect for the vibe of this weird little friend group. The air carried the scent of water, pine, and whatever patchouli heavy perfume you’d doused yourself in before leaving. Something about that smell made Sal’s stomach twist not in a bad way. Just in that weird, you’re kinda in love with someone but don’t wanna deal with it yet sort of way. You were crouched down near the shore, a slightly beat up picnic blanket in your arms as Todd helped you flatten it out over the grass. You had insisted on bringing it, even though only you, Larry, and Sal were sharing it. Ash and Todd, for some ungodly reason, had shown up with just towels like this was a beach day. The contrast was already hilarious.
“Really going full domestic over there,” Larry muttered under his breath with a snicker, elbowing Sal, who was standing stiffly to the side, arms crossed. “You seeing this?”
Sal glanced at you and couldn’t help it he smiled. You were teasing Todd about something, fingers poking at the hem of his hoodie. He couldn’t hear you from this distance, but knowing you, it was probably something like “Bro, you hang out with emos all day. Why are you dressed like an NPR intern?” Todd just looked mildly amused, adjusting his glasses, letting you mess with him like a human fashion victim. Sal felt his cheeks heat, even under the mask. He looked away quickly. Ash, sitting cross legged nearby with her towel stretched out like a lazy cat, clocked it immediately.
“Oh my god.” She slapped a hand on Sal’s shoulder, feigning an emotional gasp. “My little boy… my son… he’s growing up so fast. He’s starting to like girls now.”
Sal groaned. “Ash, shut the hell up.”
She cackled, draping herself over his back dramatically. “Just one girl. That girl made my boy a man”
He practically peeled her off him. “Do you want me to throw you into the lake?”
Ash grinned wickedly. “Do you want me to tell her you were staring at her like she was a sexy alien sent to save the world?”
Sal grabbed her towel and yeeted it into the grass. “That’s it. Exorcism time.”
Meanwhile, you and Todd finally made your way over, you bouncing slightly on your heels as you looked at the mess unfolding. “Damn,” you said, “did we miss the hug session or did it turn into a wrestling match?”
“Sal wouldn’t mind another session,” Larry said instantly, not missing a beat, throwing a sly grin in your direction.
Ash volleyed, eyes sparkling with evil glee. “Especially if it’s with you.”
Larry followed up like the demon duo they were. “You know, he’s really into long hugs. Like, full body contact. horizontally. moving back and forth. Really intimate.”
Sal practically lunged at Larry with a “You are so dead!” as the taller boy yelped and tried to scramble out of the way, laughing the whole time.
You laughed so hard your whole body curled forward, grabbing Ash’s hand to steady yourself. “fuck man, I think they were both already stoned when i picked them up” you wheezed. “The party has officially started!” Ash was laughing too, but she still gave Sal a knowing look behind your back, mouthing the words do something already. Sal pretended not to see it.
🂾𓂉🂾 You flopped down on the blanket between Sal and Larry, reaching into your bag and pulling out a crinkled pack of gum and a mini speaker. “Alright, mild sun poisoning anyone? you pasty mofos need it”
Larry grinned. “your ass better be talking about anyone else here because I know you’re not talking to me”
Sal, still flushed under his mask and recovering from that last comment, watched you out of the corner of his eye as you started queuing up music, chatting with Ash and Todd about whether The Damned were better than The Buzzcocks. He didn’t say it out loud, but he could’ve watched you do that forever. he didn’t mind the teasing if it meant being this close to you. Even if he was the only one too chicken to do anything about it.
🂾𓂉🂾 It was a little later in the afternoon now, the heat softening as shadows stretched longer across the ground. The smell of warm grass and lake water mixed with the faint burn of something herbal someone had definitely brought a little something to pass around, and judging by the lazy laughter and general haze of good vibes, it had been shared liberally. You were half leaning on Sal’s shoulder, one leg sprawled over the other, ankle gently nudging his shin as you talked nonsense in that way you always did.
“So, like,” you murmured, voice heavy with drowsy amusement, “if fish could scream, do you think people would still go swimming?”
Sal blinked. “…What?”
You nodded like this was deeply important. “Like, you’re just chilling in the lake and suddenlyAAHHHH ” You mimicked a fish shrieking, limbs flailing, nearly smacking him in the face with your elbow.
“I think that argument gave god the entire reason for fish to not scream,” Sal said, dry but fond.
“Okay, but would you still swim?”
“…Probably not,” he admitted, then turned to glance at you. You were close. Like always. Close enough that your cheek was brushing against the edge of his shoulder. Close enough that your hand was resting by his on the blanket, pinkies nearly touching. It wasn’t unusual. You’d always been like that with him. Ever since you started hanging around, you’d just been comfortable. Always invading his space without a second thought, always bumping shoulders or leaning into him when you laughed. He’d never had the nerve to ask what it meant. Maybe it was just you. But damn it if he didn’t want it to mean something. The world swayed with a low thrum of music from your little speaker something with a steady, almost hypnotic beat. The Deftones, again. They’d been the soundtrack to the day. Dreamy. Fuzzy. A little too perfect.
“I feel like I’m melting,” you mumbled, staring up at the sky. “Let’s go swimming. Let’s go be weird little lake freaks.”
Without waiting for an answer, you kicked up from your spot, stumbling slightly with a laugh, then turned to Ash, grabbing her wrist. “Come on. Water nymph time.”
Ash groaned playfully, letting herself be dragged. “Do I have to be a nymph? Can’t I just be a vaguely damp woman?”
“Nope. Nymph or nothing.” You stuck your tongue out and reached for the hem of your shirt, tugging it up with an easy flourish.
for Sal, the world just stopped. The chatter, the breeze, the soft laughter from Todd and Larry. Gone. Even the music faded into something distant and orchestral, as if a full string section had taken over his brain. You stood in the golden light of the sun, the curve of your shoulders catching the warmth like a halo, your skin kissed in amber and the softest shadows. Your shirt slipped off, and it was like time dilated just for him.
Your body. Your posture. The way your hair caught the wind. The shimmer of sweat on your collarbone. Everything about you in that moment was art. He stared. He couldn’t not and he wasn’t even being creepy about it he wasn’t ogling for ogling’s sake. He just… forgot how to breathe. He looked at you like you were some ancient deity pulled from a forgotten shrine, like you’d stepped out of some punk rock myth, wild and grinning and just a little dangerous. And maybe, somewhere deep down, he’d always thought you looked like this. Always felt it when you leaned on him or laughed into his ear or stood with your boots planted like you owned every inch of space you took up.
You were beautiful. Sal whispered it without thinking. A breathless, soft little exhale behind his mask. “…You’re beautiful.”
You turned. Caught it. And flashed a grin so wicked and knowing he wanted to melt into the damn earth. “Thanks,” you said, stretching dramatically. “I do it for the girls” you jerked a thumb toward Ash, “and the gays” now to Todd, who gave you a sarcastic bow in return.
Larry’s voice shot out like a gunshot. “What about Sal and me?!”
You gave him a slow once over, clearly unimpressed. “You’re a perv, dickwad,” you said sweetly. “Sal can look I’ll allow it. You, as a man, should start groveling.”
The entire group burst into laughter. Ash doubled over, Todd adjusted his glasses to hide his grin, and Larry threw hand to you. flipping you off with pride. like you’d mortally wounded him. Sal, for his part, sat there utterly flustered. Frozen. A little dazed. You had heard him. And instead of teasing him, instead of making it weird, you just let him look. it was maybe even… wanted?
You turned, already skipping toward the lake with Ash in tow, your punk patched shorts low on your hips when you all first got there, you ripped your tights so they were ling gone now. a new glint catching the light from your eyes.
“Don’t take too long, losers!” you called. “Water’s waiting!”
And just like that, you were gone sprinting into the shallows, laughing as you splashed Ash and dared her to dunk you. Sal was left sitting on the blanket, staring after you, heart pounding, mind full of sun and music and your laugh. “…Holy shit,” he muttered.
Sal was still watching the lake. The way the water shimmered around you as you threw yourself backward into it, the arc of your arms as you splashed Ash there was something dizzying about the whole thing. Something surreal. Maybe it was the buzz from earlier or just the heat of the day, but it felt like the world had shifted, just a little, like the axis tilted and gravity decided to be kinder.
You looked over your shoulder once mid laugh, you knew exactly where Sal would be, you were making sure he saw you. The grin on your face could’ve been carved from rebellion and starlight. He felt like he was dying. In the good way. Larry had been quiet beside him for a few seconds too long. That should’ve been Sal’s first warning.
Then he felt it. That slow, creeping grin. He turned his head and yep. Larry was looking at him like the cat who got the cream, the rat, the last donut, and possibly a Grammy.
Larry leaned in, eyebrows raised, his voice low and drawling. “Dude,” he said with a smile far too smug for one face. “She basically just asked you to fuck.”
Sal’s brain short circuited. “What?!”
“I mean,” Larry shrugged, tossing a pebble toward the lake, “she said you could look. That’s, like, stage one. Next thing she’ll be asking you to carry her to bed like a Victorian ghost bride.”
“You are so gross,” came Todd’s voice from behind them, utterly unimpressed. He adjusted his glasses with a sigh, setting down a bottle of sunscreen. “That kind of take is exactly why she called you a perv. She knew.”
Larry threw up his hands, grinning wider. “Hey, I am a perv! I embrace the perv. But I’m also right.”
Sal pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will his soul back into his body. “Yeah, nothing says romance like ‘she’ll haunt you if you don’t rail her.’ Totally the dream.” Todd let out a snort, and Larry cackled, falling back onto the blanket. “Y’all are dumb,” Sal muttered, but he was smiling behind the mask. He couldn’t help it. The warm buzz of your laugh in the distance, the afterglow of your flirtation (which was totally flirtation, right?), and his friends acting like idiots it all wrapped around him like a blanket fresh from the dryer.
🂾𓂉🂾 Golden hour washed the world in amber. Everything looked softer, warmer, even the worn edges of the ghost gang out in the water. Their laughter echoed across Wendigo Lake, distant and muffled like a memory being recalled in real time. Sal sat on the blanket you and Todd had set up, the spine of the book you’d brought him resting comfortably in his palms. He’d tried to focus. Really, he had. He even read the same paragraph four times.
But every few seconds, his eyes would wander first toward the water, then toward you. You were laughing as Ash tried to climb onto Todd’s shoulders for some impromptu chicken fight. Larry was egging both of you on from the sidelines, flinging water like an excited Labrador. It was stupid. Wild. Loud. But Sal could only sit there, book in hand, and watch. Not because he didn’t want to join. because he couldn’t. Even with all of you people who had seen the real him, scarred and broken and still trying he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t take off the mask. Couldn’t risk the way you’d all look at him one day if something in your brains shifted and the wrong thought took hold. He could still hear echoes of old kids, of freak and monster. He kept the mask on. Always. Even when he wanted to be a part of things. Even when you looked back at him with a smile that seemed to say, Come on, blue boy. The world’s warmer over here. He looked down at the page again. A line about borrowed time. About choices made in secret.
Then a splash, a laugh, water footsteps on grass. He looked up, the air left his lungs. You were walking toward him, golden hour catching every drop of water clinging to your skin, each one like a star strung along your body. You were soaked and radiant and barefoot in the dirt, and you were wearing a two piece that could’ve been forged by some divine hand to ruin his entire week. Sal felt like a little boy discovering women for the first time. Like, oh. Oh, that’s what this feeling is. Your hair stuck to your cheeks, your septum ring catching the light just so. A punk Venus. A grungy dream. You were all sunburnt mischief and unapologetic beauty. He didn’t even realize he was staring until you plopped down beside him with a hum, rubbing water from your eyes.
“Hey,” you said, grinning. “How’s it goin’?”
Sal shifted slightly, trying not to sound too affected. “Oh, y’know. Just enjoying my career as the local cryptid.”
You snorted and fished out a towel from nearby, shaking it before folding it and draping it over his lap. Then, without warning, you laid down right across the towel, your damp hair spilling slightly onto his hoodie sleeve. Sal looked down at you, eyes wide, book hovering midair.
“Do I even get a warning before you invade my lap?” he deadpanned.
You smirked up at him, cheek pressed to the towel. “Nope. Felt like it. Problem?”
He exhaled through his nose. “Just trying not to die of cardiac arrest. Thanks.”
You poked his side gently. “That’s what the mask is for, right? To keep all your panic internal?”
“Exactly. It’s the emotional equivalent of a paper bag.”
You smiled, head tilted up so you could meet his eyes. “You start the book yet?”
He glanced at the open pages in his lap. “I’ve been trying.”
“‘Trying,’ huh?” You gave him a knowing look. “What’s the verdict? Worth my very cool, carefully curated recommendation?”
Sal paused for a moment. Then nodded, honest. “It’s good. Actually. Weird good. You’ve got disturbingly good taste.” You lit up at the compliment
“Okay, okay,” you said, turning slightly more onto your back, your arm flopping lazily over his legs. “Read it out loud. I wanna hear you read it.”
Sal blinked. “Seriously?”
“Mhm,” you hummed. “You’ve got a nice voice. It’s like… if sarcasm were smooth jazz.”
He stared down at you, heart hammering in his chest. “You’re lucky I can’t blush through this mask.”
“You’re lucky I don’t make you take it off and prove it.”
Sal scoffed lightly, looked down at the book again, then cleared his throat. You looked up at him like he hung the damn stars. so, under the waning gold light of the evening, with your head against his legs and your hand absentmindedly brushing his knee, Sal began to read. His voice steadying, even if the words on the page danced between lines of wonder and disbelief.
He couldn’t focus on the text. Not really. But it didn’t matter. Because in that moment with you next to him, comfortable and unafraid Sal felt a little more seen.
🂾𓂉🂾 On the other side of the lake, the water rippled gently around Ash, Todd, and Larry as they floated or waded just deep enough to stay cool. They were watching from a safe, absolutely not suspicious distance though their not so subtle gawking was giving the game away hard.
Ash narrowed her eyes like a sniper sighting her target. “She’s laying on his lap. She’s laying on his lap, you guys.”
“No, no,” Larry whispered like he was in church. “We all know she kinda flirty with everyone thats her personality but who flirts in such a casual way like her?.”
Todd adjusted his glasses, blinking once. “They’re always physically close. But this is different.”
Ash looked at him. “Right?! This is intentional closeness. This is I could’ve sat anywhere but I chose the throne.”
Larry, in the middle of floating on his back, suddenly stood straight up in the water like he’d been struck by lightning. “Wait. WAIT. Is she touching his leg right now?”
“Yes,” Todd and Ash said in perfect sync.
Larry, unable to cope, flung himself backward dramatically into the lake. Water splashed everywhere as he sank into the shallows like a fallen hero.
“I can’t they’re gonna fall in love and get married and we’re going to have to wear matching suits for the wedding,” he cried from below the surface before sitting back up with a sputter.
Ash was cackling, half drowning in laughter. “Do you think he’s sweating under that mask? Like. Frying.”
Todd, always a little more composed, was still clutching his towel like a war fan. “It’s the quiet ones that fall the hardest. You see that stare? That man’s reading a book and still found time to look at her like she’s the damn sun.”
All three of them turned into rubbernecking witnesses as Sal, still on the blanket, did the unthinkable. He moved his hand. Delicately. Softly. brushed a piece of hair out of your face.
“OH MY GOD!” Ash shrieked.
“IT’S HAPPENING!” Todd gasped, dropping his towel like it betrayed him.
Larry slapped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide. “I knew he liked her, but this this is outta a movie, bro.”
Ash practically threw herself at the water’s surface, splashing Larry in the process. “I mean, I know he’s got the mask on, but that boy’s soul just ascended.”
Todd was now pacing in knee deep water like a dad preparing a PowerPoint. “That gesture was too tender.”
“I’m gonna cry,” Ash said, wiping fake tears from her face. “Look at her. She’s probably asleep and doesn’t even know she’s got Sal acting like the love interest in a coming of age drama.”
Larry leaned into the dramatic energy immediately, tossing his arms out wide. “HE MOVED HER HAIR, GUYS. THE HAIR. The hair”
Todd nodded solemnly. “The ancient texts foretold this moment.”
Ash, not to be outdone, fell to her knees in the shallows and lifted her hands to the sky. “Sal Fisher is in LOVE and it’s SOFT and GENTLE and she’s probably gonna wake up and say something weird and philosophical and I just I love this stupid, freakish group of friends.”
Larry wiped an invisible tear from his cheek, then suddenly smirked. “You think if we all walk over there right now, he’d panic and fling the book across the lake?”
Ash chuckled, climbing to her feet. “Let them have their moment. Sal’s being brave in his own way.”
Todd added, “It’s kind of beautiful. He’s letting himself feel something.”
“God,” Larry muttered. “If she kisses him later, I might just explode.”
Ash nodded gravely. “Then we explode together.”
Todd sighed with a small smile. “They don’t even know we’re over here narrating their love story like omniscient gods.”
“And we will not tell them either,” Larry said. “This is sacred. This is ours.”
And so the trio stood (or waded), eyes fixed on the quiet scene playing out across the shoreline Sal carefully reading with you resting on his lap, the lake breeze brushing through your hair, a piece of peace they all felt lucky to witness. No one spoke for a minute. Then Ash whispered, “She better ask him out before graduation or I’m staging an intervention.”
🂾𓂉🂾 The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting golden hour across Wendigo Lake like it was something out of a dream everything warm and slow and humming. The world had turned syrup thick, still and heavy with late summer heat and the haze of the day. On the picnic blanket, Sal sat nearly frozen in place, a book long forgotten in his lap, cradled now beneath the soft rise and fall of your sleeping frame. The towel you’d laid down between your soaked body and his jeans was doing exactly jack shit to keep the water from seeping through. He’d given up on caring about the damp chill a while ago sometime after you’d curled up on top of his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Your arms tucked beneath your chin, your breathing slow and even. His own hoodie now rested over your back, cocooning you with a softness he hoped might make up for how still he was forcing himself to be. He didn’t dare move. Not yet. God, you were beautiful.
Sal’s breath caught when he looked down at you. The way your septum ring caught the light. The wet strands of hair pressed against your cheek. The slope of your nose. Your eyelashes looked longer like this, somehow. Relaxed. Innocent. Peaceful.
And all he could think all he could think was I have to tell you. I have to. If I don’t do it now, I never will.
His heart pounded so hard he was sure Todd could probably feel it from the other side of the lake. Every nerve in his body buzzed with static. His stomach churned in knots, and the voice in his head that mean little bastard voice kept whispering, You’re gonna ruin everything.
But then he looked at you again. Still sleeping. Still peaceful. Still here. On his lap. He reached out, moving a lock of hair from your face again slow, careful, like if he went too fast, you’d vanish into mist. His pinky brushed against your cheekbone as he did, light as air.
You stirred gently, eyelids fluttering open. The slow, lazy blink of someone waking from a warm nap, like a cat. You didn’t move from your spot. Your face turned slightly up toward him, hair fanned out under his hoodie. Sal felt his throat go dry. But it was now or never.
“Pspspsps,” he whispered playfully, soft and dumb and completely him.
You blinked again, brows slightly furrowing as you woke more fully. “Hmm?”
He smiled nervously. “Hey… do you think you’d be willing to give me a chance?”
You stared at him for a second. The sleep still lingering in your expression gave way to a flicker of surprise. Eyes widening just slightly. Your lips parted in a little “oh,” before curling up into a lazy grin. Your tone was smooth, but playful light teasing laced with real meaning. “Alright, pretty boy…” you hummed, voice still sticky with sleep, “…I will.”
Sal’s heart skipped at least two full beats.
“But,” you added, one eye narrowing mischievously, “if you mess with me, I’ll make sure you never hear the end of it.” A beat of silence passed. then Sal laughed soft and low and real. It wasn’t sarcastic or bitter or guarded. It was warm. Nervous. Happy.
He nodded, breathless. “Fair enough.”
You yawned, stretching slightly but didn’t move off his lap. Your hand reached up and lazily tugged the edge of his hoodie closer around your shoulder. “Good. Now shut up and keep reading. Your voice is nice.”
Sal swallowed. “Right. Okay. Reading.”
But his hands shook a little as he picked up the book again, smile hidden behind his mask, heart screaming from inside his chest. even though the towel underneath was still soaked through, and his jeans were a wet mess, and the rest of the group was definitely watching from the lake with wide eyes and zero chill. Sal felt like he’d just won something huge. He had you. Or at least, now… he had a chance.
Red Haired Shanks X Reader
𓆉 𓆝 𓆡 “Red Tides and Restless Hearts”𓆉 𓆝 𓆡
So like, I know very little about this character other than I find him hot. So tiktok and youtube was my best friend while writing
masterlist
SYNOPSIS: You’ve never been one to settle, drifting from ship to ship, never truly belonging to any crew until you crossed paths with Red Haired Shanks and his band of misfits. For a time, you sailed alongside them, teasing, fighting, and even falling for the infamous captain himself. But your free spirit always called you elsewhere.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 You stand there, your fists clenched, your gaze unwavering as you stare at Shanks. The tension between the two of you is palpable, the salty sea breeze whipping through your hair. Shanks just grins at you, as if completely unfazed by the storm of emotions brewing in your chest. It’s been a long journey with this ragtag crew, but you’ve never quite gotten used to the way they tend to leave a mess in their wake, and Shanks, the infamous Red Haired Pirate, is no exception.
“I don’t care if you’re a pirate bigshot, Shanks,” you growl, every muscle in your body screaming for action. “You let a kid eat the Devil Fruit? What were you thinking?”
His grin doesn’t falter, but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You know how it is,” he says, leaning back against the mast of his ship. “Luffy’s got a spirit that just can’t be ignored. Besides, I didn’t think the kid would be so… special.”
The name Luffy hits you like a punch to the gut. You’ve seen the kid his boundless energy, his infectious smile, and that wild determination in his eyes. But this? This is a different side of him, one that makes your stomach churn. You had always been the type to keep moving, drifting between ships, never really settling in one place for too long. But the sight of Luffy, innocent and full of dreams, awakening a maternal instinct inside you that you didn’t even know existed.
“Shanks,” you mutter, the anger shifting into something more complex. “You don’t understand what you’ve done. He’s just a kid, and now he’s tied to something he doesn’t fully understand.”
Shanks raises an eyebrow, his smile softening just a bit. “I’ve seen a lot of people with dreams, and Luffy’s got one that burns brighter than most. Maybe he’s got something special in him. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t screw up.”
Your eyes narrow. This was the same man who could stand there and laugh, without a care in the world, even when the weight of what he did sank into you like a stone. But as your gaze flickers back to Luffy, you see it the spark that Shanks was talking about. The boy was destined for something great. And if no one else would look after him, then damn it, you would.
A deep breath escapes your lips, and you take a step back from Shanks, shaking your head. “I’m not going to let him end up like you, Shanks. He deserves better.”
Shanks chuckles, crossing his arms. “I think he’s got more heart than any of us, don’t you? Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” you warn him, but there’s a soft determination in your voice. Your ship’s already waiting to sail, but something about Luffy keeps you grounded, and just for a moment, you feel like you’ve found a new direction one that involves more than just drifting.
Shanks watches you carefully, but the playful glint in his eye is still there. “Just don’t be too hard on him, okay? He’s got a good heart. Trust me on that one.”
You give him a final glance, not a single ounce of backing down in your demeanor. “We’ll see.”
Then, you turn, heading toward Luffy. Maybe it’s time to stop running from something and take a stand for once.
You sprint toward Luffy, the instinct to protect him overwhelming you. Your heart races as you close the distance, and before he can even blink, you scoop him up in the biggest, tightest hug he’s ever felt in his life. The kid squeals in surprise, his arms flailing a bit, but you’re not letting go.
“You better be good, Luffy!” you say, your voice full of both care and frustration. “You’re just a kid! Don’t go doing anything crazy, okay? Promise me!”
Luffy’s face lights up, his grin as wide as ever despite being squeezed out of breath. “I promise!” he says, his voice muffled as he struggles to wriggle free.
You pause, holding him for just a moment longer, then, without warning, your hand snaps forward. Wham! You smack him right on the back of his head, making him let out a small “Ow!”
“That’s for eating the Devil Fruit, you little idiot,” you mutter, your tone now a mix of exasperation and affection. “I swear, if you end up turning into some sort of monster because of this, I’m holding you responsible!”
Luffy rubs the back of his head, unfazed and still grinning. “I’ll be fine! I’m gonna be the Pirate King!”
You sigh, ruffling his hair, though you can’t suppress the smile that tugs at your lips. “Yeah, you will. But don’t think I’m not keeping an eye on you.”
With one last pat on his head, you set him back down, looking into his eyes. “Now be careful, alright? Stay out of trouble, and if you need me, you know where to find me.”
Turning away, you head back toward Shanks’ ship. As you board, you glance over your shoulder, making sure Luffy’s still standing there, eyes wide, watching you.
Shanks calls over from the deck with a smirk, “Did you give him a good talk?”
You give him a sharp look. “He needed it. Someone’s gotta keep him in line.”
Shanks laughs, a hearty sound that echoes across the dock. “Well, I think that kid’s gonna be just fine.”
You roll your eyes but feel a strange warmth in your chest. Despite everything, maybe you’d just found something worth sticking around for.
As the ship sets sail, the sound of the waves lapping against the hull and the wind in your hair feels like the start of another adventure. You take a deep swig from your drink, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through your chest. It’s a moment of calm before everything inevitably gets chaotic again.
You walk over to Shanks, who’s leaning against the mast with that signature grin of his. He notices you coming, flashing you that smile that’s almost too charming for its own good.
You plop down beside him, your back against the wood of the ship, and you let out a contented sigh. The drink in your hand sways slightly as you raise it to your lips again, then set it down.
“Shanks,” you start, your tone a bit too serious for the carefree pirate you’ve come to know, “I think I finally figured it out.”
His smile only widens, that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh? What’s that?”
You tilt your head, eyes narrowing in playful disbelief. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”
His reaction is immediate: he bursts out laughing, his deep chuckles booming in the quiet of the open sea. “Oh, really now?” he teases, looking over at you with that infuriatingly perfect smile. “I’m flattered.”
You smirk, taking another sip from your drink. “Yeah, you’re amazing, Shanks. You’ve got this whole thing figured out, huh? Everyone loves you, you’ve got the world at your feet, but” You pause for a moment, letting the gravity of what you’re about to say sink in. “One day, you’re gonna be in deep waters, and no one’s gonna be able to pull you out.”
The playfulness in your voice is still there, but there’s an edge of truth to it. You watch Shanks carefully, wondering if he’ll actually take your words seriously for once.
Instead, he just chuckles again, slinging an arm around your shoulder casually, his grin never leaving his face. “You think I don’t know that?” he says, his voice warm and carefree. “But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? No one ever gets out of deep waters, whether they want to or not.”
You glance at him, not sure if you’re more frustrated by his lack of seriousness or relieved that he wasn’t taking it as a threat. Maybe he wasn’t as reckless as he seemed or maybe he just knew something you didn’t.
“perchance,” you reply, a smile creeping up despite yourself. “But don’t get too comfortable. One day, you’ll need someone to drag your ass out.”
Shanks raises his drink to you, his smile never wavering. “I’ll take my chances.”
You roll your eyes, leaning back against the ship with him. Despite the mystery in his words, you can’t help but admire his unwavering confidence. One thing was for sure: Shanks was the kind of man who didn’t fear deep waters.
As the wind whips through your hair, Shanks suddenly pulls you close, his arm wrapping around your shoulders with surprising force. Before you can protest, his hands squish your face in a teasing, almost obnoxious manner, pushing your cheeks together until you’re left looking ridiculous.
“Jeez, for a pirate, you sure have a problem with living for adventure,” he says with a mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with that familiar teasing glint. He holds you there for a moment, making it impossible to escape his playful hold.
You let out a dramatic, exaggerated groan, clearly unimpressed by the way he’s treating you. “Are you seriously calling me out for not living for adventure when you’re the one who’s been causing messes across the seas for years? All im wanting is to minimize that” You squint at him, trying to free your face from his grip. “Who’s the one who can’t sit still, huh? The great pirate, Shanks, running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”
He laughs, letting go of your face but keeping his arm around you, clearly amused by your attempt to resist him. “I see you’ve got quite the sharp tongue, as always.”
With a playful shove, you push him back slightly, still grinning. “Yeah, well, you’re a walking contradiction, Shanks. I swear, you are an amazing pirate but you sure don’t act like it half the time.” You raise an eyebrow at him. “Maybe you should spend less time being a happy go lucky guy and more time being a serious pirate.”
Shanks shrugs nonchalantly, a chuckle escaping his lips. “I’m serious enough when it counts. Besides, you’d be bored without me.”
For a moment, there’s a comfortable silence between the two of you, the sound of the waves filling the space. Then, out of nowhere, his expression softens slightly, his usual teasing demeanor disappearing for a brief moment of seriousness.
“The kid will be fine,” Shanks says quietly, his voice devoid of the usual joking tone. It’s not a statement of doubt or uncertainty, but one of quiet assurance.
You blink at him, momentarily taken aback by the sudden shift in his attitude. You’ve never heard him speak so seriously about anything, especially when it comes to Luffy.
You look at him for a long moment, trying to gauge the sincerity behind his words. Shanks may act carefree, but there’s a weight behind his gaze that you can’t ignore. “You really believe that?” you ask, your voice quieter now.
Shanks meets your gaze, his smile returning but with an odd softness to it. “I do. Luffy’s got a strength in him that you can’t just teach. It’s in his blood. He’ll find his way, just like I did.”
You nod, the feeling of protectiveness over Luffy tightening in your chest, but you can’t help but feel a little more reassured by Shanks’ words. Maybe, just maybe, the kid really would be alright.
Before you can fully process his serious words, Shanks flashes that mischievous grin of his again, and without warning, he squishes your cheeks once more this time, more playfully than before. But the next thing you know, he leans in, and in a swift movement, presses his lips against yours.
The world seems to pause for a split second, and your eyes widen in surprise. The taste of alcohol still lingers on his lips, but there’s something deeper in the kiss a playful but intense spark that makes your heart race in a way you didn’t expect. It’s a brief kiss, just long enough to leave you reeling, your mind struggling to catch up to the moment.
Shanks pulls away, his eyes twinkling as he watches your stunned expression. “What’s the matter? You’re usually quick with a comeback,” he teases, clearly enjoying your reaction.
The crew members, who had been going about their business on the ship, seem to freeze in place as the scene unfolds before them. For a moment, there’s an awkward silence as they take in what just happened.
Then, one of the crew members, a burly guy with a thick beard, stumbles back, wide eyed. “Oi, did that just happen? Shanks actually did that?”
Another crew member, a younger man with a nervous laugh, scratches his head. “I I thought what they had was a joke! Like, one of those really weird jokes, y’know?”
A third, a tired looking yassop, raises an eyebrow, clearly unbothered by the spectacle, but with an amused smirk playing at her lips. “Well, if it wasn’t a joke, I guess the captain’s finally making his move.”
Shanks casually drapes an arm around you, the cocky grin never leaving his face as he glances at his crew. “What’s the matter, guys? Never seen a pirate kiss someone before?” His voice is light and teasing, but there’s a touch of seriousness in it that only a few people would catch.
You, still trying to process the sudden shift in the air, slap his arm away lightly, turning your face away to hide the flush creeping up your neck. “You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, but despite your attempt to seem unaffected, your voice betrays a small, flustered tremor.
The crew, seeing the two of you interacting, exchanges knowing looks, but no one dares to push it further. They’ve seen enough of Shanks’ antics to know when to let him have his fun.
The bearded crew member grins, elbowing his mate next to him. “Looks like someone finally got to the captain.”
Another crew member shakes his head with a laugh, muttering, “Only Shanks could pull something like that off without it being completely out of left field.”
Shanks, for his part, looks completely unfazed by the crew’s reactions. He looks back at you with that same, unshakable grin. “C’mon, don’t act like you didn’t like it. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”
You roll your eyes, trying to push down the strange fluttering in your chest. “You’re impossible,” you retort, but there’s a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite yourself.
The crew continues to buzz with quiet excitement, but they all know better than to say too much. After all, with Shanks, you never quite knew what to expect next.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼
A few weeks had passed since that day, and while the memory of Shanks’ surprising kiss still lingered in the back of your mind, you couldn’t shake the itch for something new. The sea, vast and untamed, was always calling to you its promise of freedom and adventure tugging at your very core. It was a familiar feeling, the urge to jump on a different ship, to discover unknown lands, to experience the world from a new perspective. It was what you did best.
You stand at the edge of the Red Haired Pirates’ ship, watching the sun dip low on the horizon. The orange and pink hues of the sky cast a warm glow over the sea, and the sound of the waves crashing against the ship’s hull almost seems like a song to your soul.
You’ve had fun with Shanks and his crew more fun than you thought you would, honestly but the pull of adventure is far stronger than any comfort you’ve found here. The thought of staying with them forever, as much as you care about them, feels like a chain you’re not willing to wear. The world out there is just too big, too full of possibilities.
As you turn to head below deck to grab your things, you hear footsteps behind you. Shanks, ever the observant one, approaches with that same laid back swagger of his, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.
“You’re leaving, huh?” he says, the tone of his voice making it clear he already knows. It’s not a question it’s a statement, the kind only someone who knows you well can make.
You pause, your hand resting on the ship’s railing as you turn to face him. “Yeah. It’s time to keep moving. There’s more out there, Shanks, and I can’t just sit still.”
He gives you a soft smile, the same grin he always wears, but there’s something more contemplative in it now. “I figured. You’ve got that look about you. The one that says you’re ready to chase after something new.”
You nod, a small sigh escaping your lips. “I just… I need to see more of the world. I’ve had my fill of this ship, for now. I’m not like you I can’t be tied down, no matter how much fun I’m having.”
Shanks chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve always been like this, huh? Never content with just one place, one thing. But I get it. You’ve got that fire in you.” He steps closer, his smile never fading. “But don’t think you can run from me forever. The sea’s big, but not that big.”
You laugh, the sound light and carefree despite the underlying emotions you’re trying to bury. “You won’t be rid of me that easily. I’ll be around. Just not here.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know,” he says with a wink. “But you better make sure to come back one day. Or else I’ll come find you myself.”
You roll your eyes at his usual overconfidence. “Sure, sure. I’ll look forward to it.”
Shanks’s gaze softens for a moment, his expression becoming more serious than you’ve seen it in a while. “Just… don’t get yourself into too much trouble out there, alright? You’re not invincible, you know.”
You give him a teasing smile, knowing exactly what he’s trying to say. “You’ve been hanging around me too long if you think I’m the type to get into trouble.”
“Maybe,” he replies with a grin. “But I still worry about you.”
The sudden warmth in his voice catches you off guard. For a brief moment, you’re struck by how much you’ve come to care for the crew, for him even though you’re still not one to settle. You appreciate the concern, even if you know it won’t stop you.
“Don’t worry, Shanks,” you say, your voice a little quieter now. “I’ve got this. I’m just… doing what I’ve always done. Searching.”
“I thought we were having fun. You sure you’re not just bored of us?” He goes and grabs your hand You tense for a moment, trying to hide the way his touch makes your pulse quicken. You bite your lip, the playful spark in your eyes hiding the truth you don’t want to admit. “I’m not bored,” you reply coolly, though your voice betrays a slight edge, “I just… need to keep moving. That’s all.”
Shanks chuckles softly, his breath warm against your ear. “Is that so? Because I think you’re just trying to run away from something. Or someone.”
You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, holding you close as he shifts so he’s facing you now. His lips are dangerously close, and you can feel the playful challenge in his gaze. “You’re the one who can’t sit still,” you murmur, your lips brushing his slightly as you speak.
Before you can even process it, Shanks pulls you toward him, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss that makes your mind short circuit. It’s intense, almost desperate like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he doesn’t act now. His hand move to cup your face, the kiss deepening, his tongue gently coaxing yours to respond.
Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you can’t decide whether you want to break free or give into the pull of him. But the more he kisses you, the more the walls around your heart crack, the uncertainty vanishing in the heat of the moment.
“Thought you were just going to walk away from me,” Shanks murmurs against your lips, his grin mischievous as he pulls back just slightly to catch your breath. “Guess I’m not that easy to forget, huh?”
The teasing lilt in his voice fuels the fire inside you, making your chest tighten. You bite back the urge to tell him how wrong he is, how hard it is to let go of someone who’s so… Shanks. But instead, you reach up, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him in for another kiss, this time harder, more demanding. There’s no holding back now no teasing, no banter. Just raw, unfiltered desire.
The kiss grows more urgent, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you even closer, as if trying to make you stay without a word. You let your body respond to his, the heat between you two building as if there was no time left to waste.
When you pull away, breathless and flushed, your heart racing, you both stand there for a moment, unable to say anything. The world seems to have slowed down, the noise of the crew and the sea a distant hum.
Shanks, ever the tease, is the first to break the silence, his grin never fading. “Told you you’d get bored of running eventually,” he says with a wink, the smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “Guess you’ve found something better to do.”
Before you can even process what just happened, Shanks doesn’t give you a moment to breathe. With a mischievous glint in his eyes and that confident smirk still plastered across his face, he wraps his arm around your waist, effortlessly pulling you along with him. You barely have time to react before he’s leading you towards his quarters.
“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” he teases, his voice playful but laced with an intensity you can’t quite ignore. “You think you can just walk away after that?”
You try to pull away, but his grip only tightens. “Shanks, stop! I need to leave,” you protest, though the words come out weaker than you intend. The closer you get to his quarters, the more your resolve crumbles under the weight of his touch.
He grins down at you, unbothered by your protests, clearly enjoying the way you’re squirming. “Oh, I don’t think so. You’re not going anywhere until I’m done with you,” he says with a wink, and before you can even muster a response, he opens the door to his quarters, pulling you inside.
The door shuts behind you with a soft click, and suddenly the room feels smaller, more intimate, as if the world outside doesn’t matter anymore. The space is dimly lit, with the scent of wood and the salty air of the sea lingering in the air. It’s a familiar, comfortable like the man himself.
You turn to face him, trying to muster some defiance, but the look in his eyes is too consuming. “Shanks, I’m serious. I don’t have time for”
Before you can finish, he’s right there, his hand brushing the side of your face, his touch almost gentle now. “I know you don’t have time,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost like he’s savoring the moment. “But you’ll make time for this. Just for a little while longer.”
His words send a shiver down your spine. You’ve always known how easily he could change the mood, how he could draw you in with just a few words, a touch. But now, the air between you feels heavier, charged with something deeper than just playful teasing.
Shanks steps closer, closing the distance between you. “I don’t want you to go just yet. I’m not ready to let you leave.”
Before you can respond, his lips are on yours again, this time slower, more deliberate. The kiss deepens, and your body responds before your mind can even catch up. His hands move to your back, pulling you in closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours as the kiss becomes more urgent, more desperate. You can feel the tension building, the desire you both tried to ignore now taking over everything else.
You push back for a moment, your hands on his chest, breathing heavily. “Shanks, I”
He silences you with another kiss, this one longer, filled with an intensity that leaves you breathless. The world outside, the ship, your plans to leave they all seem so far away now. It’s just you and him, wrapped up in this moment that you never quite expected.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Shanks whispers against your lips, his voice rough with desire. “Not yet.”
The room around you feels like it’s shrinking, as if time itself is slowing, stretching, just for the two of you. There’s no escape now, not from him, not from the pull of something more than just fleeting attraction. Something deeper, something you weren’t quite ready for, but something that feels impossible to deny.
And for now, you let yourself give in to it, the need to feel alive, to be consumed by the feeling of his touch. The adventure, the unknown, the pull of the sea… it’s all still there, but in this moment, you’ve found something else something you didn’t expect, but maybe, just maybe, something you needed more than you realized.
His ship may rock in the distance, but inside, the world seems to have paused, the only sound being the rhythm of your breathing as Shanks stands in front of you.
You tilt your head back, glancing up at him, your voice playful but laced with desire. “You know, it feels weird not being able to grab you properly with just one arm,” you tease, a mischievous smile curling your lips as you pull him closer to you, feeling his warmth press against yours.
Shanks raises an eyebrow, that familiar grin of his creeping back into place. “Oh?” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “You think that’s going to stop me?” His fingers slide along your waist, his touch deliberate, like he’s testing the way your body reacts to his proximity.
You feel your heart race as his hands drift downward, the heat between you rising, yet you can’t help but laugh lightly, despite the tension. “I guess it’s just not as satisfying,” you tease, your fingers lightly tracing the outline of his chest. “Can’t quite get a proper grip.”
His gaze darkens slightly, his lips curling into a sly smile. He steps forward, closing the gap, so close now that you can feel his breath on your neck. His voice, still playful, drops to a more sensual tone. “Trust me, darling,” he whispers, his words like a caress. “One arm or not, I can make you feel good.”
Before you can respond, he pulls you in fully, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that feels like an invitation, a promise. His other arm, strong and free, wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the tension in his body, his muscles coiling with desire as he deepens the kiss, urging you to surrender.
You try to pull back, but the heat of him is overwhelming, the way he holds you like he’s not going to let go. “You sure?” you joke again, your lips brushing against his as your hands wander to his back, where you feel the muscles tighten under your fingertips. “I don’t know if one arm is going to cut it for what I want.”
Shanks chuckles darkly against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. “I’m more than capable,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky now, full of that intoxicating confidence. “You’ll see. I’ll make sure you feel every inch of it.”
With a quick motion, he pushes you back against the edge of his bed, your body feeling the soft thud of the mattress behind you as he hovers over you. His lips trace a path down your jaw, to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His hand slides under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin, sending shivers through your body.
“You’re going to feel things you didn’t even know you wanted,” Shanks murmurs, his lips now dangerously close to yours, and you feel every word in the pit of your stomach. His kiss is soft at first, teasing, but it quickly escalates, the hunger between you both undeniable. “I told you I could make you feel good. Now let me show you.”
Your body responds almost instinctively, the teasing, playful banter between you both shifting into something deeper, something more intimate. His arm that’s free grips you tightly, anchoring you as if he intends to keep you right here, right with him. You can feel the pulse of his desire, the way he pulls you closer, and there’s no escape. No desire to run away from this pull that’s magnetic and impossible to resist.
Shanks moves over you, kissing you again, this time deeper, as if trying to convey all of his intentions in that one kiss. You feel it in every inch of your skin the promise, the thrill, the desire to see this through. And as his lips move from your mouth to your neck, his touch intensifies, making you gasp as your body reacts to his every movement.
“You like that, huh?” he mutters against your skin, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess I was right. I don’t need two arms to make you feel good.”
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼
The Marineford battlefield is a storm of terror, with the clash of steel, the roar of flames, and the screams of combatants filling the air. Yet, amidst the turmoil, Shanks stands unwavering, his gaze fixed ahead. His crew moves with precision, navigating the madness of the war, his usual playful demeanor replaced with the weight of responsibility as he commands his crew to continue pushing forward.
As his eyes scan the battlefield, they momentarily catch on a familiar face, standing amidst the battle. You. The sight of you, despite the distance, causes a strange stir deep within him. His heart skips, the remnants of old memories resurfacing like waves crashing on a shore.
For a split second, time seems to slow. The roar of the battlefield dims, and all he sees is you standing on the opposite side, your figure cut sharply against the backdrop of battle. Buggy’s crew flanking you, but your stance, your expression, it’s unmistakably you.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t call out. His eyes narrow, a slight furrow on his brow, but the momentary flicker of surprise fades quickly into the calm, collected gaze of a captain. His focus returns to the task at hand. He’s here for a reason there’s a war raging, and the lives of many are at stake. His crew needs him, the fight is urgent, and there’s no time for distractions. Not now.
Still, in the back of his mind, your image lingers. A strange tug of longing gnaws at him, but he pushes it down, locking it away with the rest of the emotions that threaten to cloud his judgment.
Later, he thinks to himself. Once this is over.
But he doesn’t look away, not entirely. His gaze flits back to you one more time, the flicker of a smile almost crossing his face. He’s not surprised to see you he would’ve known you’d be here, somewhere in this madness, but there’s something in the way you carry yourself that pulls at him, a reminder of the connection that was left behind.
He doesn’t call out to you. He doesn’t wave. Instead, he turns back to the battle, his sword in hand, his crew around him.
For now, there are more pressing matters. But he can’t quite shake the thought of you, distant and still, from across the war.
The battlefield is a hellstorm of clashing wills, where the strongest forces in the world collide in a desperate struggle. The air is thick with the scent of blood, gunpowder, and salt from the sea so much destruction, so much disaster . And yet, amidst it all, Shanks finds himself momentarily distracted.
His grip tightens on the hilt of Gryphon, his breath steady despite the turmoil around him. His crew moves seamlessly, cutting through the battlefield with precision, but his gaze lingers on you for just a moment longer.
The flickering fires cast an eerie glow over your figure, and despite the distance, he can still make out the subtle tension in your stance. You’re alert, battle ready, but you’re not fighting not yet. Buggy’s crew swarms around you, their garish colors clashing against the blood streaked battlefield, and he can’t help but wonder why are you with them?
It’s been years. Since the last time he saw you, since you stood at his side. Back then, your presence was a constant in his life, a piece of his world that he never thought he’d lose. But time, as it always does, had pulled you both onto different tides, leading you to opposite ends of the world.
And now, here you are.
His chest tightens, though his face betrays nothing. There’s no time to indulge in the past. Not here. Not now.
Benn notices the brief pause in his captain’s movements, the barely perceptible shift in his gaze. “Shanks,” he calls, voice low but knowing. A reminder.
Shanks exhales softly, his expression smoothing into something unreadable. He gives a small nod. “I know,” he says. His crew needs him. The war still rages, and he has a duty to fulfill.
But even as he turns away, even as he focuses back on the battle at hand, he can’t help but steal one last glance in your direction.
Later.
He’ll find you later.
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼
The war had finally reached its bitter conclusion. The bloodshed, the cries of combatants it was all coming to an end, leaving nothing but destruction and silence in its wake. The Marineford battlefield was now littered with fallen warriors, allies, and enemies alike, their fates sealed under the weight of the war.
You stood beside Buggy, hands on your hips, glaring at him with a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief. The battle had subsided for the moment, but Buggy, as always, managed to keep up his ridiculous antics.
“Buggy, what the hell were you thinking?” you snapped, your frustration bubbling over after hours of his nonsensical decisions during the battle. He had done more harm than good at times, running headlong into danger with his usual lack of care.
Buggy, of course, was completely unfazed, grinning widely as ever. “What do you mean, huh? I was a total genius! I took down some Marines, didn’t I?” He gave a ridiculous gesture as if he had just performed the most incredible feat in the world, his rubber arms flailing around in a display of triumph.
“By accident, Buggy!” you retort, throwing your hands up in the air. “You somehow managed to make things worse, and I’m the one left cleaning up your mess!”
He chuckles, oblivious to the irritation that practically radiates from you. “Oh, you love me for it, come on now,” he says with a wink, completely missing the point.
You roll your eyes and cross your arms, grumbling under your breath. “I should’ve just stayed with Shanks,” you mutter.
As if summoned by your words, a sudden, familiar presence looms at the edge of the battlefield. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. The aura of familiarity, that ever present feeling of a connection you couldn’t quite break, fills the air. The distinctive, confident gait of the Red Hair Pirates is unmistakable.
Shanks steps forward into the clearing, his crew behind him, the calm after the storm settling over him like a cloak. His eyes immediately scan the area, and they land on you. The moment his gaze meets yours, there’s a brief, almost imperceptible shift in his expression a flicker of recognition, of longing, of something unspoken. It’s there, but fleeting.
Buggy notices Shanks’s arrival before you do and, of course, reacts in his usual obnoxious way. “Oh, look who it is, the big shot himself!” Buggy says, hands on his hips, a grin spreading across his face. “You think you can come here and just waltz in after all this time, huh?”
Shanks smirks at Buggy, unfazed by his antics, before his attention shifts to you. His smile softens, and there’s an almost imperceptible shift in his eyes a familiarity that you both know all too well. He takes a step toward you, the movement so subtle, so calculated, that it feels as though time itself has momentarily stopped.
You feel the pull, the weight of everything that had happened between you both. The quiet ache of his absence, the unresolved feelings that were left behind when you had parted ways. But the war is over now, the dust settling, and there’s nothing but you and him left in the silence of it all.
“You’re still here, huh?” Shanks asks, his voice softer than you expect, the teasing tone replaced with something more sincere. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, yet comforting all the same.
Buggy’s voice cuts through the tension, as always, loud and obnoxious. “What, you think you’re gonna take her away now, Shanks?” He throws his hands in the air, mocking the idea. “Not after all I’ve been through with her! I’m the one who actually fought beside her!”
Shanks doesn’t flinch at Buggy’s outburst. Instead, he gives you a look an almost knowing look, as if he’s waiting for you to make the next move. His eyes flick back to Buggy for a moment, but there’s no real hostility there. Just that old, familiar smirk, the one that always made you want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.
“I don’t know, Buggy,” Shanks says, his voice playful yet carrying a subtle weight. “Maybe she’s just tired of your nonsense.”
Buggy throws his hands up in mock indignation, but before he can continue his argument, you step in between the two of them, shaking your head. “Enough, you two. This isn’t the time.”
Shanks’s gaze shifts back to you, a brief flicker of something unreadable passing through his expression. Then, that trademark grin creeps back onto his face, like it never left. “I’ll let you handle him, then,” he says, his voice teasing. “But you know… I’d prefer it if you were with me, and not him.”
You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Is that so?” you reply, your voice light but carrying the weight of everything unsaid. “I think I can make my own decisions.”
Shanks doesn’t push further. Instead, he simply steps closer, his hand brushing against yours, a fleeting touch but one that sends a spark through you. “I’m sure you can,” he says softly. “But maybe, just maybe, you’d reconsider joining us again… at least for a while.”
And in the wake of the war’s aftermath, as the world begins to rebuild itself, the space between you and Shanks feels smaller. What happens next? That’s still up in the air. But for now, the tension between you both is thick, palpable, and the future is unwritten.
somehow, amid it all, you found yourself standing in front of Shanks again.
He looked the same too much the same, honestly. Like war and time had barely touched him, like he could still laugh just as easily as he did years ago, like he could still read you like an open book without even trying. His gaze held that same unreadable depth, his presence as steady as ever.
“its been so long” he said, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
You crossed your arms, raising a brow. “Same to you.”
There was a pause, the weight of old memories hanging between you both, before
“OI, OI, OI, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”
Both of you turned your heads in sync, just in time to see Buggy stomping toward you, flailing his arms wildly. His face was red though whether from rage or exhaustion, it was hard to tell and he looked offended on a personal level.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING, TALKING TO THAT GUY?” Buggy jabbed a finger at Shanks like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. “Have you been brainwashed?! Threatened?! Are you suffering from some tragic, incredibly inconvenient amnesia?! Because there’s no way in hell you’d actually want to stand around talking to this bastard!”
You exhaled through your nose, already feeling a headache forming.
Shanks, on the other hand, just looked amused.
“You really haven’t changed, huh, Buggy?” he said, crossing his arms.
Buggy’s rage intensified. “DON’T SAY MY NAME SO CASUALLY, YOU ONE ARMED FREAK!” He turned to you, wildly gesturing between the two of you. “Seriously, what is this?! Do I need to remind you that this guy is IS THE ABSOLUTE WORST?!”
“You’re just mad youre not getting any attention” Shanks teased.
“THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS! AND ALSO, YES IT DOES, BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT!”
You let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Buggy.”
“WHAT?”
“Shut up.”
Buggy made an offended wheezing noise, clutching his chest as if you had personally stabbed him. “[NAME]?! After everything we’ve been through?! After I let you stay on my ship?!”
“You say that like I didn’t pay for my place there.”
“Details!”
Shanks snorted. “You’ve been sailing with Buggy? That explains a lot.”
“OI, WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?!” Buggy yelled, whirling back on him. “Listen, I don’t care what unfinished romantic subplot you two think you’re having right now, but I refuse to stand by and watch this disaster unfold!”
You blinked. “Romantic what?”
Shanks let out a full laugh at that, shaking his head. “You really are dramatic, Buggy.”
“DRAMATIC?! DRAMATIC?! I AM THE ONLY SANE ONE HERE!”
You and Shanks exchanged glances.
Neither of you spoke.
Buggy’s eye twitched violently. “I hate both of you.”
“You’ll get over it,” Shanks said cheerfully.
Buggy let out a scream of rage, throwing his arms up in frustration before storming off, grumbling loudly about betrayal, stupidity, and how he was surrounded by absolute morons.
You and Shanks watched him go.
“…So,” you said after a moment, glancing back at Shanks. “Where were we?”
Shanks chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Something about not expecting to see each other.”
You hummed. “Right. Well. I still don’t know how I feel about it.”
Shanks’ grin softened just a little, something unreadable in his gaze. “Then I guess we’ll have to figure that out.”
“Guess we will.”
And with Buggy’s distant ranting still filling the background, the two of you stood there, caught between the past and whatever came next.
The tension in the air feels thick, almost suffocating, as Shanks steps closer to you. The battlefield around you is silent for a moment, the echoes of the war finally dying down. The weight of everything you’ve both been through, everything that’s been left unsaid, seems to hang heavy between you.
Shanks lets out a soft laugh, his eyes warm, but there’s a hint of something else there, something more vulnerable that catches you off guard. “Idiot girl,” he mutters, though it’s far from cruel. It’s almost affectionate. Before you can even respond, he pulls his coat from his shoulders and wraps it around you, his movements gentle but firm. His hand lingers on the edge of the fabric, like he’s trying to pull you closer without speaking a word.
“Both of us are getting too old for this,” Shanks says quietly, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Chasing after adventures, running from one place to the next, never stopping long enough to let things settle.” His smile fades, the usual mischievous glint replaced by a more solemn expression. “We’re past the point of just being carefree pirates, you know?”
The weight of his words hits you harder than expected. A part of you wants to laugh it off, to keep the teasing banter going as it always has. But it’s different now. The battle and the aftermath are finally sinking in, and so is the truth behind Shanks’s words. You’re not the same people you were when you first met, and neither is he. Time has passed, and you’ve both been through so much. The thought of that, of change, of all that you’ve lost, sends a wave of emotion crashing over you.
You feel the familiar sting of tears pricking at your eyes, and before you can even stop yourself, a few escape, trailing down your cheeks. It’s been so long since you let yourself feel this much, to let the emotions rise to the surface, and it feels raw, painful.
But even through the tears, you can’t help yourself. You turn your face toward him with a tearful smirk, your voice a little shaky but still laced with that teasing tone he’s come to expect from you.
“Getting old, huh?” you say, your voice cracking just slightly. “You, the great Shanks, admitting it? You’ve been chasing after adventure for so long… but now that it’s caught up to you, you’re ready to stop?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just watches you with that familiar gaze. His expression softens, his eyes filled with something unspoken. Then, he pulls you a little closer, the warmth of his coat enveloping you.
“Yeah, well i dont know about stopping” he says quietly, his hand reaching to gently brush away a tear from your cheek. “Though I guess we both are. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still live, right? Even if things change, we’re still us.”
You feel the weight of his words, and it stirs something deep inside you. There’s so much history between the two of you, so much shared, so much left behind. And as you stand there, in the aftermath of the battle, wrapped in his coat, you realize that maybe this this is what really matters.
With a shaky laugh, you lean your head against his chest, your voice thick with emotion but still carrying that familiar playful edge. “Idiot,” you whisper, your words barely audible, but the affection in them is clear. “You’ve always been full of crap, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Shanks chuckles softly, his hand resting on your back as he holds you close. “Yeah, well, you’re an idiot too.” His tone is light, but there’s a sincerity there that makes your heart ache.
You both stand there for a moment, the weight of the war behind you, the future uncertain, but in this moment, at least, you’ve found a strange sense of peace. The tears still linger, but there’s warmth in the air, and for the first time in a long while, you don’t feel the need to run.
“I guess we really are getting old, huh?” you say, your voice quieter now, but the teasing still there, as always.
Shanks doesn’t respond right away, his hand still gently resting on your back. Instead, he pulls you just a little closer, his breath warm against your hair. “Yeah,” he whispers. “But we’re still alive. And that’s all that matters.”
❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞
summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.
pairing/s: poly!marauders + lily x reader.
tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.
note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.
“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.”
You blink.
“Get the fuck out of my room!”
Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making.
At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls.
“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!”
“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze. Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!”
“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly.
You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.”
“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.”
You slam his head against the wall.
Definitely the wrong thing to say.
Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies.
“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”
Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.”
“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—”
“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.”
Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you.
(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”)
“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—”
“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?”
Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.”
You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?”
You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.”
Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.”
ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)
“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home.
Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)
“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that.
(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”)
You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.”
Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze.
Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.”
“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much.
“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile.
Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.”
“I know.” Harry grins.
“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.”
“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally.
You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.”
(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)
The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow.
You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers.
“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.”
“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.”
You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”
James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you.
“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast.
“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”
(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.)
Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?”
James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.”
Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you.
“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.”
“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze.
“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.”
“Oi!”
Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.”
James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.”
“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary.
“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.”
(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”)
“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.”
“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.”
Harry wants to barf, actually.
After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.
“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.
“Away from you, Potter!”
And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”
Harry chortles.
“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?”
He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically.
“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”
It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name.
“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now.
“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?”
James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”
Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.”
Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right?
Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.”
“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily.
Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.”
Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.”
“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable.
“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced.
“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear.
“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.”
Harry’s eye twitches.
IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.”
Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly.
Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”
You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.”
The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?”
Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.”
James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.”
“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.
Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.”
“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading.
“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands.
“In your dreams!” You shrill.
You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.”
Harry nods. “Is it time already?”
“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.”
“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?”
Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.”
Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?”
Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?”
“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat.
You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.”
Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this.
“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes.
To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.”
“One date, then.”
You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?”
Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.”
“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.”
“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you.
“And I want to—”
“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.”
You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—”
“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.
“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration.
“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases.
“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”
“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words.
“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.”
“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.”
“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.
(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.)
“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance.
“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.”
“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm.
“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.”
“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.”
(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.”
“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth.
“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”
Remus doesn’t even have to think about it.
He falls in love.)
FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.
“Oi.”
The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?”
“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.”
Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.”
You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.”
Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.”
Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.
She stiffens.
Oh.
part two
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
⋆˚✿˖° ❝𝗜𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗱𝗲𝗱❞ ⋆˚✿˖°
────୨ৎ────
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Geto Suguru x Reader
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Gojo Satoru x Reader
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oh there is another guy that’s a love interest? well let’s just let it cook for a bit first
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₍^. .^₎⟆ Synopsis: In a world of curses and power struggles take center stage, you’ve always kept to the simple aspects of life. Focussing on your studies, your friendships and life in the dorms. Though everything changes when Geto challenges Gojo that he can’t win your heart and what happens when Geto realizes that Gojo needs to lose.
⋆˚✿˖° 1. Unintended Study Breaks
⋆˚✿˖° 2. I’ve Played these Games Before
⋆˚✿˖° 3. Men who listen to Mitski
⋆˚✿˖° 4. How it feels to be a girl and do no wrong
⋆˚✿˖° 5. “What kind of woman are you attracted to”
⋆˚✿˖° 6. You are a Cougar!!!
⋆˚✿˖°
⋆˚✿˖°
for my other works-> MAIN MASTERLIST
no hate to yall but someone give a fun teasing, sweet and lighthearted astarion fic. I don’t want smut, I don’t crave the angst (at least at the moment) LIKE SLICE OF LIFE OR SOMETHING. let this man be happy and safe and comforted. Even some scenes within the first week of meeting tav. YALL ARESOMEANTO HIM!!
⋆˚✿˖° ❝𝗜𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗱𝗲𝗱❞ ⋆˚✿˖°
────୨ৎ────
gojo satoru x reader
geto suguru x reader
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5. what kind of woman are you attracted too?
masterlist
I felt I wasnt nurturing the bond between gojo and geto. like they are close friends and I feel the bond that they have would still remain though strained in this trope. Geto and Gojo support each other but are each other’s downfall. Like you know how in the show its the jujutusu kaisen world that was hurting each other. Make it you.
You had barely sat down with your breakfast when Gojo appeared out of nowhere, plopping into the seat across from you with a grin that immediately put you on edge.
“…What?” you asked, eyeing him warily.
Gojo leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “So.” You sighed. “So?”
He wiggled his fingers in your direction. “Tell me.”
You blinked. “Tell you what?”
Gojo tilted his head. “What kind of person you’d date.”
You froze mid bite. “…Huh?”
He tapped his fingers on the table impatiently. “Your type. Preferences. Ideal boyfriend.” He leaned in further, grinning. “Or girlfriend, I don’t judge.”
Your face heated slightly, but you quickly masked it with a deadpan look. “Why do you care?”
Gojo gasped, placing a hand over his heart as if deeply offended. “Excuse me? As your best friend, I need to know these things.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”
Gojo waved a hand dismissively. “Since always.”
You sighed, going back to your food. “And what are you going to do with this information?”
“Oh, you know.” He twirled his chopsticks between his fingers. “Just… make sure you don’t end up with someone lame.”
You snorted. “Lame?”
“Yes, lame.” He jabbed his chopsticks toward you. “Like some guy who doesn’t get your jokes, or can’t keep up with you in a fight, or, God forbid is boring.”
You gave him a look. “You realize you’re sounding like you’re hinting at something”
Gojo grinned. “Wow. Can’t believe you’d just admit your feelings like that.”
You groaned, rubbing your temples. “That’s not what I said.” “But it’s what you meant.” “Absolutely not.”
He watched you for a moment, unreadable behind his ever present sunglasses. Then, his smirk softened just a fraction, his voice taking on a more casual tone. “I just think you deserve someone great, y’know? Not some broody guy who thinks too much, or someone who carries the weight of the world like it’s his personal burden. Definitely not someone who overcomplicates things when they could just… I don’t know, be happy.”
Your stomach twisted, and you suddenly you had a feeling you understood exactly who he was talking about. Suguru.
Your throat tightened slightly, but you masked it with an eye roll. “Uh huh. And you’re saying you don’t overcomplicate things?”
Gojo’s grin was immediate. “Please, I’m a simple man. Good food, good company, and looking absolutely amazing at all times? That’s all I need.”
You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Of course.”
Gojo propped his chin in his palm, watching you with something suspiciously close to fondness.
Your stomach flipped slightly, but you quickly masked it. “Why do you care?”
“Because I have to care. What if you end up with a loser?”
You snorted. “I think I can handle myself.”
“Sure, sure, but like…” He gestured vaguely. “I have standards for you, y’know?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Your standards?” He nodded sagely. “Yep. And obviously, only the best will do.”
You rolled your eyes, deciding to humor him. “Alright, then. What are your standards?”
Gojo smirked. “Glad you asked.” He held up a finger. “One, they have to be funny because if they’re boring, I’ll have to personally intervene.” Another finger. “Two, they have to be cool but, like, not cooler than me because that’s just unrealistic.” A third finger. “Three, they have to be strong because if they’re not, then I’ll have to protect both of you, and that’s just exhausting.”
You gave him a deadpan look. “So basically, you just described yourself again.”
Gojo gasped, “Are you saying I would be your perfect match?”
You groaned, shoving his shoulder. “That’s not what I said.”
Gojo grinned, sitting back up. “No, no, I totally get it now.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You’ve just been too shy to admit you’re into me.”
You scoffed. “I promise you, that is not the case.”
He pouted. “Deny it all you want, but the evidence is right there.”
“What evidence?!”
“The fact that you haven’t answered my question!” Gojo leaned forward again, grinning. “Come onnn, what’s your type? Tall? Handsome? White haired?” You picked up your toast and took a pointedly long bite, refusing to answer.
Gojo gasped dramatically. “Silence? That means I’m right.” You chewed slowly, making direct eye contact. “I just don’t feel like feeding your already enormous ego.”
He leaned back, frowning. “C’mon, just tell me. Do you like the cool, broody type? The serious, stoic kind? Or are you more into, like, hilarious, handsome, and incredibly talented men?”
You shot him a flat look. “Gojo.”
“Hmm?”
“Eat your breakfast.”
He pouted. “You’re dodging the question.”
You sighed, standing up with your tray. “That’s because I don’t have to answer it.”
Gojo hummed, watching you go. Then, just as you reached the door, he called out. “You do like me, though, right?” You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response and that was definitely not the reason you left the cafeteria so quickly.
—
You walked down the hall, gripping your tray a little tighter than necessary. What was that? Gojo was always like this annoying, teasing, insufferable. Maybe it was the way he kept pressing the issue, like he needed an answer. Like it mattered to him.
You sighed, setting your tray down at the dish return. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just being Gojo. That was what he did: push buttons, crack jokes, demand attention. But then there was that last question.
“You do like me, though, right?”
You frowned, rubbing your temples. He’d said it so casually, like he was asking if you liked a new snack from the vending machine. But there had been something else beneath it something just a little too expectant, like he cared what you would say. that was the problem. Because if it was just a joke, you could roll your eyes and move on. But if there was even a chance that Gojo was being serious…
You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. Nope. Not going down that road. Gojo was your best friend. He was ridiculous and loud and overwhelming, but he was Gojo. Thinking about him like that would just cause problems. You felt heat rise to your cheeks and groaned. Shoko and Utahime have ruined my brain. Because now, instead of just brushing it off like usual, their teasing from last night lingered. “Geto’s got the slow burn, weird emo thing going for him.”
“Gojo? Oh, he’s a mess over them.” You bit your lip, glancing toward the cafeteria doors as if expecting Gojo to come waltzing through them at any moment. You needed to not overthink this. Maybe Gojo was just being dramatic. Maybe he was just teasing. You shook your head, turning on your heel. Nope. Still not thinking about it. Gojo was just being Gojo. That’s what you kept telling yourself. He teased, he poked, he demanded attention nothing new. But the way he’d said it… the way he looked at you… There was something different about it, something that lingered in the back of your mind like a stray thread you couldn’t stop tugging at. You sighed, pressing your fingers to your temples. Nope. Not doing this. Not overthinking.
You turned a corner, passing by one of the common rooms, when a familiar voice made you pause. Geto.
You hadn’t meant to stop, but something about the way he was talking held you in place. His voice was quieter than usual, thoughtful. Curiosity prickled at you, and before you could think better of it, you took a step closer, peeking around the corner to stay out of sight. Geto stood near the vending machines, his usual relaxed posture leaning slightly against the wall. His expression was softer than usual, absent of the teasing smirks you were used to. Across from him stood a second year student, who was listening intently with a playful grin.
“Yeah, she always forgets to bring water, so I figured I’d keep an extra bottle for her,” Geto was saying, his tone almost casual but laced with something gentler You blinked, confusion stirring in your chest. Who was he talking about? “She never remembers to eat in between training either,” Geto continued, a fond, almost exasperated smile tugging at his lips. “Always running around, taking care of everyone else first.” He let out a small chuckle that sounded far too tender. “So, I just make sure to bring extra snacks. Nothing big. Just enough so she won’t notice I’m looking out for her.”
The second year grinned, nudging his shoulder. “Sounds like you’re practically her caretaker at this point.”
Geto laughed softly, a sound that warmed your chest and left your heart aching. “Nah. She’s plenty capable on her own. But, y’know…” His gaze shifted away, his fingers rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nice. Making sure she’s okay.”
Your mind whirled, trying to piece together what you were hearing. Geto had always been reliable, steady a calming presence when things got too overwhelming. But this… this felt different. It felt deliberate. Personal. You should have stepped out. Made a joke, teased him about his “caretaker” status, anything. Instead, you stayed rooted in place, eyes wide and heart thumping.
“Come on, Suguru,” the second year teased, their tone light. “Sounds to me like you’re a little more invested than just looking out for her.”
Geto rolled his eyes, but the flush on his cheeks betrayed him. “It’s not like that. I just… care about her, okay?” Your breath caught, your chest tightening. Was he really talking about someone like that? Like that?
“Uh-huh,” the second year hummed. “I think you care a little more than you’re letting on.”
Geto hesitated, his gaze lowering. “You’re really that surprised? She’s incredible. How could I not like her?” Your heart stuttered, the air catching in your throat.
The second year laughed, nudging him again. “Wow, you’re seriously gone, huh?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Geto chuckled, a sound that was quieter and self deprecating. “Go ahead and say it. I know I’m obvious.” A beat. “Not like it matters.” The lightness in his voice faltered, and there was a heaviness that weighed the air down. You stared, caught between wanting to stay and needing to leave before your presence was discovered.
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?” the second year asked, a little more serious now.
Geto sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just bad timing. Or maybe it’s just… not meant to be like that.”
Your chest tightened painfully, a confusing mix of emotions crashing over you. Disbelief, confusion, curiosity something deeper, something raw. The second year seemed to sense the weight of his words, and they shifted awkwardly. “I think you’re overthinking it, Suguru. Maybe it’s simpler than that.”
Geto offered a small, wry smile. “Or it’s just… complicated.”
Your breath was too shallow, your skin too warm. You had no idea what to make of any of this of Geto’s tone, his words, the vulnerability in his voice. Before you could make sense of it all, the sound of approaching footsteps snapped you back to reality. Your heart lurched, panic flooding your veins. You turned on your heel and walked away quickly, leaving Geto’s quiet confession behind. The echoes of his voice lingered in your mind, heavy and impossible to ignore. Who was he talking about? Was it someone you knew? Someone close to him? The questions followed you down the hall, unrelenting and insistent.
—
The library was quiet except for the occasional rustle of pages and the faint scratching of a pen against paper. You sat across from Geto at a secluded table, textbooks and notes sprawled between you. The plan had been to actually study, but as usual, things weren’t going according to plan. “Are you even listening?” you asked, tapping your pen against the open textbook in front of you.
Geto smirked, not looking up from where he was casually spinning his own pen between his fingers. “Hmm? Oh, of course. Every single word.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Okay. Then tell me what I just said.”
Geto finally glanced up, resting his chin on his hand. “Something about… the properties of cursed energy reinforcement?”
You deadpanned. “That was twenty minutes ago.”
He chuckled, stretching his arms over his head. “Alright, you caught me. Maybe I got a little distracted.”
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Geto, we actually need to study.”
“I am studying,” he said smoothly, tilting his head. “I’m studying you.”
You blinked. “What?”
His lips twitched into a smirk. “I mean, it’s more entertaining than cursed energy formulas, don’t you think?”
You rolled your eyes. “dont be weird, I kinda would like to pass and never have to be here again.”
He placed a hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “I would never. I’m just making an observation.”
You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Fine, if you’re not going to take this seriously, I’ll just—”
Before you could finish, Geto leaned forward, smoothly plucking your pen from your fingers and twirling it between his own. “Relax,” he said, voice softer now, less teasing. “You’re always so focused on making sure we don’t fall behind, but when’s the last time you took a break?” You opened your mouth, then hesitated. “…That’s what I thought,” he said, giving you a knowing look. “It’s okay to slow down, y’know?”
You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I just don’t want to fail.”
Geto’s smirk softened into something almost fond. “You won’t. You’re way too stubborn for that.”
You snorted despite yourself. “That supposed to be a compliment?”
“Absolutely.” He twirled the pen once more before handing it back to you, fingers brushing yours for just a second too long. “Now, if it’ll help, I promise to actually focus.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
He placed a hand over his heart again. “Scouts honor.” You gave him a skeptical look, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Alright… but im not helping you again if you dont focus”
“Deal,” Geto said, grinning.
And for the next hour, he actually did focus though, every now and then, you caught him watching you with that same quiet, thoughtful look. You chose not to question it. For the next hour, Geto actually kept his promise mostly. He worked through the material, asked the right questions, and even managed to answer a few on his own. But every so often, when he thought you weren’t looking, you’d catch him watching you instead of his notes. You tried to ignore it. Tried. But after the fifth time, you finally sighed and set your pen down. “Okay. What?”
Geto blinked, caught red handed. “What?”
“You keep looking at me,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “And not in the ‘I’m paying attention’ kind of way.”
A slow, amused smile crept onto his face. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”
You rolled your eyes. “. Sure. And maybe I’ll start flunking on purpose just to see if you actually take notes for once.”
He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, alright. No need for extreme measures.” He rested his cheek against his palm, watching you with something unreadable in his expression. “It’s just… nice. Studying like this. Just us.”
You hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “…Yeah,” you admitted, twirling your pen between your fingers. “It is.”
Geto smirked. “See? You do like hanging out with me.”
You scoffed, pushing his book toward him. “I never said that i dont. Now, focus.”
He laughed but finally turned back to his notes. “Yes, yes. Diligent as always.”
But then, as you flipped to the next page of your textbook, Geto suddenly spoke again. “Hey.”
You looked up. “Yeah?”
He hesitated for half a second, like he was debating something, before offering you a small, genuine smile. “Thanks. For always making sure I don’t fall behind.”
Your grip on your pen tightened slightly, not expecting the warmth that spread through your chest at the simple words. You cleared your throat. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta keep you in check.”
Geto chuckled, but there was something softer in his eyes now. “Guess I’m lucky it’s you, then.”
Your breath hitched slightly, but you quickly covered it with a scoff. “Alright, now you’re just trying to distract me again.”
He held his hands up in mock innocence. “Not at all. That was just a bonus.”
You shook your head, trying (and failing) to fight the small smile threatening to break through. “Just focus, Geto.”
And, surprisingly, he actually did. The library had mostly emptied by now, leaving only the faint hum of the lights and the occasional rustle of paper breaking the silence. You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a small groan as you leaned back in your chair.
“We’ve been at this for hours,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes.
Geto smirked, resting his chin in his hand. “Tired already?”
“You say that like you aren’t exhausted, too.”
He hummed noncommittally, flipping his pen between his fingers. “Maybe. But I don’t mind it. This is still better than being out there.”
You glanced at him. “Out where?”
His smirk faded into something quieter, more thoughtful. “With them,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Normal people. Civilians.”
You frowned slightly, sitting up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”
Geto leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “It’s just… I don’t know. Every time we go out on missions, I see it. The way people look at us. Like we’re freaks. Like they can’t decide if they’re grateful or terrified.” His fingers tightened slightly around his pen. “Even when we save them, they still flinch when we get too close.”
You stayed quiet, watching the tension in his shoulders.
“They don’t get it,” he continued, voice softer now. “What it means to live like this. To always have to fight. To put our lives on the line for people who don’t even want to understand us.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Sometimes I wonder if they even deserve us.”
His words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken for a moment. “…I get it,” you finally murmured.
Geto glanced at you, eyes flickering with curiosity. “You do?”
You nodded, running a finger along the edge of your notebook. “I’ve felt it, too. The distance. The way they look at us. Sometimes it’s admiration, but most of the time it’s fear.” You exhaled slowly. “And yeah, it’s frustrating. Knowing we go through so much for people who will never truly see us.”
He watched you carefully, a hint of surprise flashing across his face like he hadn’t expected you to understand, not really. “…But,” you added, meeting his gaze, “I don’t think that means we should stop protecting them.”
His brows lifted slightly, waiting for you to continue.
“They may never understand us,” you admitted, “but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to live their lives in peace. I don’t think it has to be us versus them, it’s just… the way the world is.”
Geto studied you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, slowly, he sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. “You really are too good for this world,” he murmured, almost to himself.
You snorted, nudging his foot under the table. “And you sound like you’re going to start some rebellion.”
He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “Nah. Not today.”
You rolled your eyes. “if you do, make me your right hand man so I keep you in check. Dont want you to become an evil cult leader.”
And though the conversation moved on, the words lingered between you. Somewhere, deep down, you both knew this wasn’t the last time you’d talk about this.
—
The gym smelled like polished wood and sweat, the faint echo of sneakers squeaking against the floor bouncing off the high ceilings. Gojo and Geto were caught up in an intense one on one basketball match, both far too competitive for a game that wasn’t supposed to mean anything. You, on the other hand, were seated comfortably on the bleachers next to Shoko, sipping on a sports drink and watching them with mild amusement.
“You know,” you said, stretching your legs out in front of you as you lazily sipped your drink, “you’re actually the coolest person I know.”
Shoko, who had been half watching the game and half scrolling through her phone, let out a soft snort. “That so?”
“Mhm.” You nodded, turning to her with a grin. “You’re smart, you’re strong, you don’t take shit from anyone plus, you’ve got this whole ‘mysterious but effortlessly hot’ thing going on. It’s really unfair, honestly.”
Shoko raised an eyebrow, finally glancing up at you. “You flirting with me?”
You gasped, hand over your heart. “Would it work?”
She laughed, a real, genuine one, shaking her head. “Careful. You keep this up, and I might start thinking you actually like women.”
You shrugged. “What can I say? I have good taste.”
Shoko smirked, tilting her head slightly. “Y’know, at this rate, I might just win the bet.”
You blinked, confused. “…What bet?”
Shoko’s smirk widened. “Oh, nothing.”
You narrowed your eyes. “No, not nothing. What bet?”
Before she could answer, Gojo suddenly shouted from across the gym, “DID YOU SEE THAT?! I JUST BROKE GETO’S ANKLES!”
“You tripped me, you bastard!” Geto yelled back.
Shoko took a slow sip of her drink, looking entirely unbothered. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.” You stared at her, completely lost, while she just laughed to herself, enjoying your confusion.
“I don’t even know why they take this so seriously,” you muttered, shaking your head. “It’s just a pickup game.”
Shoko snorted, stretching her legs out in front of her. “It’s them. They can make breathing a competition.”
You both watched as Geto smoothly dribbled past Gojo, dodging his outstretched arms with an easy grace before sinking a three pointer without even looking fazed. Gojo groaned loudly. “UGH, come on!”
Geto smirked, spinning the ball in his hands. “What’s wrong, Satoru? Thought you were the strongest?”
Gojo huffed, jogging to retrieve the ball. “Oh, please. I’m just getting started.”
Shoko turned to you, deadpan. “This game is never going to end.”
You sighed. “Nope.”
She took a sip from her water bottle before giving you a side glance. “So, which one are you rooting for?”
You blinked. “Huh?”
She smirked. “Oh, don’t play dumb. I know they’re both trying to show off for you.”
Your face warmed. “They are not.”
Shoko gave you a look. “Mmm, sure. Gojo has been throwing over the top passes this entire time, and Geto? He never plays basketball this seriously. Tell me I’m wrong.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but at that exact moment, Gojo attempted some ridiculous, unnecessary trick shot spinning mid air before launching the ball at the hoop. He completely missed. Shoko burst into laughter, clapping her hands. “Oh my god, did you see that?” You stifled a laugh as Gojo landed, immediately turning to look in your direction as if to check whether you saw his attempt. You quickly averted your gaze.
Shoko leaned in, whispering, “Yeah, totally not trying to impress you.”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Shoko, please.”
She grinned. “I’m just saying. You’ve got two of the strongest sorcerers wrapped around your finger, and you’re over here acting like it’s nothing.” Before you could respond, Geto casually walked over, spinning the ball on his fingertips. “Shoko, you wanna play next? Might give me more of a challenge.”
Gojo scowled. “Hey!”
Shoko waved him off. “Nah, I’m good. I like watching you two embarrass yourselves.”
You smirked. “It is pretty entertaining.”
Geto arched a brow at you. “Oh? Would it be more entertaining if you played?”
You rolled your eyes. “Absolutely not. I refuse to get caught up in whatever this is.”
Gojo, now recovered from his earlier failure, grinned. “Aw, c’mon, I’ll go easy on you~.”
You deadpanned. “gojo youll still be mean to me” Geto chuckled, spinning the ball once more before tossing it to Gojo. “Alright, alright. We’ll finish this first.”
Gojo smirked. “Good. Because I refuse to lose in front of my favorite person.”
You blinked. “Who?”
Gojo winked. “Guess.”
Shoko gagged. “I’m leaving.”
You laughed, shaking your head as the game resumed, Gojo and Geto both seemingly more fired up than before. Shoko nudged you with her elbow. “So, really, who are you rooting for?” You sighed, watching as Geto smoothly stole the ball from Gojo.
“…I plead the fifth.”
“hoe we’re not in america”
—
Gojo wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t. He was just… mildly aware that this was not going as smoothly as he’d hoped. That was fine. He was Gojo Satoru. He could recover. He could be charming. The problem was, you were making it really difficult. You were just walking next to him after the little game, completely oblivious to the fact that he was actively trying to flirt with you. And sure, maybe that was on him for being bad at it today, but also how were you not picking up on any of this? He had practically draped himself over your chair at lunch the other day. He had called you cool super amazing (which, okay, maybe wasn’t the best line, but he’d panicked). He had literally just suggested hanging out in a way that was clearly date coded. And still, you weren’t getting it.
“Are you okay?” you asked suddenly, shooting him a look.
Gojo immediately straightened up. “Me? Oh, I’m fantastic.” No, he wasn’t. He was fighting for his life.
You narrowed your eyes. “You sure? You look like you’re buffering.”
Gojo felt his eye twitch. Great. Incredible. I am exuding peak attractiveness right now. “Rude.” He tried to sound playful, but even he could hear the strain in his voice. “I was actually gonna ask if you wanted to hang out later.”
You blinked at him. “We always do”
Gojo resisted the urge to grab you by the shoulders. “Yeah, but like, something different. Maybe, I dunno, date adjacent?”
You actually tilted your head at that, confused. “Date adjacent?”
Oh my god, I’m going to die.Gojo groaned. This was so not how he pictured this going. He had imagined you blushing, maybe teasing him back, at least acknowledging what he was doing. Instead, you were just standing there, looking at him like he had two heads.
“…Are you flirting with me?” you asked suddenly.
Gojo froze. His brain short circuited. Oh. Oh no. This is it. This is my moment. Say something cool. Say something.
“…No?” he blurted.
The second the word left his mouth, he wanted to throw himself into traffic. You, meanwhile, burst out laughing. And just like that, he lost to the plot again Gojo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god.”
“I knew something was up with you!” you cackled, nudging him with your elbow. “You’ve been acting so weird.”
Gojo flailed slightly. “I was not acting weird—”
“You totally were.”
Gojo huffed. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was being a little weird—”
“Painfully weird.”
“Rude,” he muttered. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. This was not how he wanted this to go, but at this point, it was so obvious he was trying, so he might as well just go for it.
“Look, all I’m saying is,” he started, glancing at you, “if I was flirting, which I’m not saying I was” You raised an eyebrow. He ignored you. “hypothetically, if I was flirting, would that be, like… a bad thing?”
You tilted your head, considering. Gojo felt his heart actually skip a beat. He hadn’t meant to phrase it like that, hadn’t meant to actually sound like he cared about the answer (But he did. Of course, he did.) You smirked. “I dunno,” you said, starting to walk again. “Guess you’ll have to try harder if you want an answer.” Gojo blinked. Then he processed what you had just said.
Oh. Oh, you little—
A slow grin spread across his face as he easily fell into step beside you. “So there’s a chance?” he asked, voice light.
You just shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to find out.” Gojo chuckled, shaking his head.
—-
You hesitated, debating whether to keep walking or turn back. Geto’s voice was always smooth, steady like a calm river. But there was something else in it now, something amused yet careful, that made you pause. Curiosity got the better of you, and you leaned subtly against the doorway, just out of sight.
“…and then she just left the cafeteria,” Gojo’s voice came through, animated and exasperated. “Didn’t even answer me!”
Geto chuckled, warm and low. “Maybe she didn’t want to.”
Gojo huffed. “No, no, she was blushing, Suguru. I saw it.” You exhaled slowly. Blushing? Was it really that obvious?
“Maybe you pushed too far,” Geto mused. “You do that a lot.”
“I wasn’t pushing!” Gojo shot back, then hesitated. “Okay, maybe I was, but I had to! They never answer me seriously.”
“Ever wonder why?” Geto asked smoothly.
There was a pause. You could hear Gojo thinking, and for some reason, that made your chest feel tight. “…No?” Gojo finally admitted, and Geto sighed, almost fondly.
“Satoru,” Geto said patiently, “not everything is a game. You joke about everything. Everything. Why would she think this is any different?”
“Because I mean it!” Gojo argued, his voice rising in frustration. “I’m always flirting with her, always giving her chances to say something back”
“And maybe she doesn’t know if you’re being serious,” Geto interrupted, firm but calm. “Maybe they think it’s just a game to you, and she doesnt want to be played.”
Gojo scoffed. “That’s stupid. Why would I waste my time playing games with her?”
“Because that’s what you do,” Geto said simply. “It’s how you are. You make everything lighthearted, everything funny. But it also means that sometimes, people don’t know when you actually mean something.”
Gojo was quiet for a moment before muttering, “I… I don’t know how to not do that.”
Something in your chest twisted. Gojo, struggling with sincerity? it wasn't something that isn't real. It's painfully obvious to anyone who meets him Though if you're assuming right that this is about you, it feels weird. “Well,” Geto said, voice softer now, “maybe it’s time you figured it out.”
Gojo let out a dramatic groan. “Oh, sure, easy. Just suddenly stop being me. That’ll work.”
Geto huffed a laugh. “No one’s asking you to stop being you, Satoru. Just… maybe start showing them that they deserve more than a joke.”
A pause. “…More?” Gojo repeated, like the word didn’t quite make sense. “Yeah,” Geto said, and there was something final about the way he said it. “More. She deserve more, Satoru.” Your breath stilled in your throat. Gojo was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “You really think that’s what she wants?”
Geto exhaled, something thoughtful in his tone. “I think that if you really want to mean it, you should start acting like it.” Then, after a brief pause, he added, “And I think you’re not the only one who’s going to be trying harder.” The weight behind his words made your stomach flip. Gojo let out a low hum, considering. “Huh. That sounds like you mean something too, Suguru.”
There was no teasing in Geto’s response, only certainty. “I do.” Your mind raced. You shouldn’t have been listening, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it not when it felt like you had just witnessed something you weren’t supposed to.
Before you could process it all, a presence settled at your side. You turned sharply, heart hammering, only to find Geto standing there, watching you. His gaze was steady, knowing. A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Eavesdropping, huh?” The smooth timbre of Geto’s voice sent a shiver down your spine before you could even turn to face him. When you did, he was already watching you with that lazy, knowing smirk, the kind that made it clear he had caught you red handed.
Your heart lurched. “I absolutely wasnt, me walking down the hall and loud voices means inevitably someone wi—”
Geto chuckled, warm and low, like he had all the time in the world. “Relax. I won’t tell.” Your shoulders slumped slightly, though your mind was still spinning. “I didn’t mean to listen”
“Wanted to hear what everyone really thought?” Geto supplied smoothly, his voice quieter now. Your mouth opened, but the words tangled on your tongue. He wasn’t wrong. After a moment of struggle feeling strangely exposed under his gaze.
Geto hummed, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “Satoru can be… a lot,” he said, lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. “But he means well.”
You exhaled slowly, still processing everything. “Yeah, I know.” His gaze lingered, a beat too long. That easy amusement was still there, but there was something else beneath it, something thoughtful, something intent.
“He’s not the only one who cares about what you think, you know.”
Your heart skipped. The air between you shifted, suddenly heavier, like the conversation had turned into something delicate. Something that had to be handled carefully.
“What do you mean?” you asked, though you weren’t sure you were ready for the answer. Geto tilted his head slightly, watching you with that same unreadable expression. “Just that… it’s not always easy, liking someone like you.”
The way he said it sent a rush of heat to your face. You swallowed. “Geto…” His smirk softened into something smaller, “What?”
You didn’t know how to respond. Your mind was still tangled in the weight of his words, the quiet but unmistakable way he had just said it like it was already fact. Geto’s eyes traced over your face like he was memorizing something, his amusement dimming into something quieter. “You’re always looking at him,” he murmured. “But do you ever think about who’s looking at you?”
Your breath caught. “You deserve more than teasing, you know.” His voice was almost casual, but the weight behind it was anything but. “More than jokes and empty flirting.” You stared at him, feeling like you had suddenly stepped into unknown territory. He let out a soft chuckle, almost as if he could hear your thoughts. “I won’t push,” he said easily. “I know you don’t like that.” His fingers brushed against your shoulder a fleeting touch, too light to be an accident. “But just… think about it.”
You couldn’t find your voice. Geto held your gaze for a moment longer before stepping back, hands slipping into his pockets. “Give yourself a chance,” he murmured again but lower, tilting his head slightly. “But don’t forget there are other people who care about you, too.” And then he was gone, walking away without waiting for an answer, leaving you standing there mind reeling, heart racing.
It was complicated. Messy. But as you finally stepped away from the doorway, you found yourself thinking not just about Gojo’s teasing or the way he had fumbled for sincerity, but about Geto’s steady warmth, his quiet certainty. And for the first time, you weren’t just thinking about them. You were wondering what it was you wanted.
——
It had been years since you first walked through the gates of Jujutsu High, and looking back now, it almost felt like another lifetime. The first time you met Geto was a memory etched in the back of your mind, one you revisited often, though it was a little more distant now.
You’d been a first year, fresh and wide eyed, filled with excitement and nerves as you navigated the complex world of Jujutsu sorcery. You’d barely even known what to expect from your fellow students, let alone the upperclassmen. But when you first saw Geto, it was impossible not to be struck by him. Tall, calm, and exuding an effortless coolness, he had a kind of quiet magnetism that seemed to draw people in.
You remembered the first day you saw him, sitting alone in the classroom during the the morning. His dark hair fell just the right way, framing his face, and his eyes those intense eyes never seemed to miss anything. The world seemed to gravitate toward him without a second thought. there was something about the way he carried himself that made it feel like he belonged in the spotlight. You couldn’t help but be a little starstruck. It wasn’t just his looks, though. His demeanor, the way he spoke with such effortless confidence, made you feel like you were standing in the presence of someone who had everything figured out. Even back then, as a shy first year, you found yourself drawn to him. You’d always been a little shy when it came to those kinds of feelings, so you never dared to express how you felt.
You had a crush on him, without a doubt. It was something you didn’t admit easily not to anyone, least of all to yourself. You were just starting to adjust to the world outside of you and gojo, let alone figure out how you fit in it, and trying to sort out your feelings for someone like Geto only made things more complicated. But as time went on, as you became more familiar with him, the crush slowly turned into something else. You began to see the layers beneath the surface. Geto wasn’t just the cool guy who could command attention with a single glance. he was thoughtful, intelligent, and surprisingly perceptive in ways that weren’t immediately obvious. He didn’t just notice people; he understood them, in a way that made you feel like you were more than just another face in the crowd.
You remembered the first time you really spoke to him like REALLY spoke to him. , after a mission where you both ended up working together. You’d been struggling with something either your technique or just how to focus under pressure and Geto had come up to you, casual as always, and offered a few words of advice. It wasn’t anything grand or life changing, just a small adjustment, but the way he said it, the way he made you feel like he truly believed in your potential, had stuck with you.
“Don’t overthink it,” he had said, offering a slight smile. “It’s simple. Just focus on the moment.”
You were surprised by how much that simple comment helped you how much it made you feel seen. From then on, every interaction with him felt different. Instead of a distant rando, Geto became someone you could rely on someone you could talk to about anything, whether it was missions, school, or just life in general. His presence, while still commanding, became comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.
Now, when you looked at him, it wasn’t with the same starry eyed admiration of that first day. He was one of your closer friends, someone you’d come to trust deeply. The crush, though it had remained a part of you in the back of your mind, had shifted into something else, something more meaningful. You appreciate him not for the image of him you had built in your head, but for the person he truly was. The calm, steady support he offered, the way he never judged, and how he always seemed to know when to challenge you and when to step back.
You found yourself often smiling a little as you watched him, lost in thought. He was standing off to the side, talking with some of the others, his usual easygoing demeanor present even now. He had become someone you could confide in, someone who genuinely cared about the people around him. The ease of your friendship, of the way he accepted you, made you realize just how far you had come from those first days of high school.
The crush was a distant memory now, but you couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of gratitude when you thought back to that first meeting. What you had with Geto now was something far more valuable, something real. He was your friend, and in many ways, you had grown together. And as you watched him, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he had always known exactly what you needed before you even realized it yourself.
—
The halls of Jujutsu High were quieter at this hour, bathed in the deep oranges and purples of the setting sun. Most of the students had turned in for the night, and even the teachers had begun to retreat to their rooms. But Gojo sat on the training field, staring up at the sky like it might hold the answers to the thoughts swarming in his head.
Shoko plopped down next to him, stretching her legs out with a quiet sigh. “You look like you’re thinking too hard,” she remarked, tilting her head to look at him.
Gojo huffed a laugh but didn’t turn to face her. “I am the strongest, y’know. That means my brain’s gotta be strong, too.”
Shoko snorted. “That’s not how that works.” A comfortable silence settled between them. Gojo let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. The usual brightness in his voice dimmed slightly when he finally spoke again.
“Shoko…” he started, hesitating in a way that was unlike him. “What does it mean when someone makes your brain feel all… messy?”
Shoko raised a brow. “Are you asking me about feelings, Satoru?”
He groaned, tipping his head back. “Ugh, don’t make it weird.”
“You’re the one making it weird,” she shot back, amused. “What’s going on?”
Gojo was silent for a beat before his fingers dug into his hair. “I really like her, Shoko.” His voice was quieter now, like saying it too loudly might make it real in a way he wasn’t ready for. Shoko blinked, before an easy smirk tugged at her lips. “Yeah, no shit.”
He groaned again. “Come on, be helpful.”
She chuckled but softened a little. “Okay, okay. What about them is making your brain all ‘messy’?”
Gojo exhaled, shoulders slumping slightly. “It’s just… I flirt with them all the time, right? But I don’t think they ever really believe me. Like it’s just some game or whatever.”
Shoko hummed thoughtfully. “You do treat everything like a joke.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Gojo muttered, rubbing his temple. “And then there’s Suguru.”
Shoko frowned slightly. “What about him?”
Gojo hesitated before sighing. “He likes her too.”
Shoko’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes sharpened. Shes heard both sides of her best friends complain about their love for you “And?”
Gojo hesitated again, and that alone was enough to tell her how much this was really messing with him. “It’s Suguru,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.
And in a way, it did. Suguru Geto was his oldest friend, the one who had always been by his side, the one who understood him in ways no one else did. But now, suddenly, there was this… rift. Not spoken, not fought over just there, quietly growing between them.
Shoko let the words settle between them before speaking. “So, what? Are you gonna back off?”
Gojo snapped his gaze to her, eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Of course not.”
Shoko gave a small, knowing smile. “Didn’t think so.”
Gojo exhaled sharply. “But it’s weird, okay? It’s weird because… because he’s Suguru, and he’s never really wanted the same things as me before.” He ruffled his hair, frustration evident. “It’s like I don’t know how to feel about it. He’s my best friend, Shoko.”
“And so is [Y/N],” Shoko pointed out.
Gojo faltered. She sighed, nudging him lightly. “Look, you like her, right? I think it naive to think suguru has never wanted the same as you”
“Yeah,” Gojo muttered, quieter this time.
“And Suguru likes her too,” she continued.
Gojo clenched his jaw but nodded. Shoko studied him for a moment before shrugging. “Then stop thinking so much.”
Gojo stared at her. “That’s your advice?”
She gave a lazy grin. “Yup.”
He scoffed. “Gee, thanks, that helps so much.”
Shoko chuckled, then let her expression turn more serious. “Listen, Satoru. I get it. You don’t like dealing with feelings yours or anyone else’s. But this isn’t about Suguru. And it’s not about some stupid competition.” She held his gaze. “It’s about you and how you feel about them.”
Gojo pressed his lips together. “Yeah,” he murmured, like he was finally letting himself admit it. “I really, really like her.”
Shoko patted his back, standing up with a stretch. “Then do something about it.”
Gojo tilted his head back to look up at her, lips tugged in a lopsided smirk. “You’re really bad at comforting people”
She rolled her eyes. “And you’re a pain in my ass. Just because i chose to be a doctor doesn’t mean psycologist.”
Gojo chuckled, but as she walked away, he let his head drop back, staring up at the sky again.
no one:
Y/n this chapter:
taglist : @pandabiene5115 @inthedarkshadows000
Can I ask for Sale Fisher x fem!reader that's popular? And could you PLS PLS PLS don't make her mean? Like, I want her to be popular becouse she's one of those poeple that just sthraight up go talk to anyone.
And maybe Sal's friend group thought that shes propably a bitch, but like.
'She sat at our table?.....and didn't make fun of us?.....in fact she gives compliments that don't feel backhandead?......wtf?'
⬆️just an example, you can do whatever with this.
Sorry for possibile grammer errors or speeling mistakes, english isn't my first lenguage. Thank you and I hope you'll have a nice day ♥️
Hey! I THOUGHT THIS COULD BE SO CUTE!! so Ive seen many fics on this and i wanted to take a different approach. I hope you enjoy it. I love Sal and I hope this isn’t too crazy. I wrote a version yesterday and made everyone a little too mean and I don’t believe any of them would be assholes. So! Hopefully this satiates y’all.
masterlist
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Your legs ache from practice, the soles of your sneakers sticking a little to the hallway tile with each step. You smell faintly of sweat and cherry body spray, the cheer uniform still clinging to your skin like it’s part of you now tight pleats, school colors, and all. You could’ve changed, sure, but exhaustion said no. So here you are, hair in a high ponytail, shoes untied, carrying a stack of junk mail and a single envelope that doesn’t belong to you.
You look at it again under the flickering hallway light, flipping it over in your fingers like it’ll magically reroute to the correct mailbox on its own.
SAL FISHER
UNIT 402
You know the name. Everyone at school does. The kid with the face cover. You’ve never spoken to him he doesn’t really hang around the same kind of people you do but he’s always there. At lunch, in the halls, sometimes sitting out near the tree line when no one else is around. You didn’t peg him as the chatty type.
You stare at the letter like it might bite you. Then sigh. “Why not be a good neighbor,” you mutter, dragging your legs toward the elevator.
The ride to the fourth floor feels longer than it should. It shudders a little on the way up. You keep your eyes on the numbers. Three… four. The doors open with a ding that sounds half hearted.
You’ve never actually been up here.
The fourth floor feels… worse. Everything smells faintly of dust and something like mothballs and metal. You don’t know why, but the lights here feel dimmer. You walk slower, steps echoing.
You find the unit: 402. You raise your hand to knock. There was a pause for a few seconds.
A man stands in front of you, tall, a little disheveled, and definitely not Sal. His presence is immediate, like he fills the space just by being in it. You blink.
“Oh hi! Sorry,” you start, holding the envelope out, “I was just dropping this off”
“He’s in his room,” the man says before you finish.
You freeze. “Oh, no, I wasn’t trying to bother him, I just thought I’d–”
“Just go on in. Down the hall, last door on the left.”
You blink again. You’re not even sure he’s looking at you. Just staring somewhere past your head, like he’s already decided this conversation is over.
“I mean, I could just leave it here”
“Last door on the left.”
He steps aside, just enough for you to enter. You do, but not on purpose. Your legs just move. You step into the apartment, and it’s… weird. Not gonna lie, being in any strangers apartment never really felt cool. You walk toward the hallway, clutching the letter, mind screaming at you to stop being so polite.
“Damn old people,” you think, jaw tightening. “I just wanted to drop something off, not go all this way”
The hallway feels longer than it is. The floor creaks behind you, or maybe above you. You don’t look back. You keep walking. Last door on the left.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You knock lightly once, twice then pull your hand back like the door might burn you. A pause. Then the knob turns. The door creaks open slowly, revealing a familiar figure just behind it. Blue pigtails. The mask.
Sal Fisher.
He stares at you. You stare back. Neither of you says a word. And because silence is somehow gnawing at your neck, you blurt, “Hi! Um, I think our mail got mixed up I swear I didn’t just barge in.”
You thrust the letter forward like it’s a peace offering. “This was in my mailbox. For you. I thought I’d, y’know, be neighborly and return it. I didn’t open it or toss it or anything. Your dad sent me over this way”
He takes the envelope slowly, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. His gaze flicks down to it.
“Thanks,” he says. His voice is quieter than you expected. Almost gentle.
You nod. Then freeze. Then nod again. You’re still standing there, very much in his doorway, very much uninvited. His room is in full view behind him. Posters of metal bands you’ve only heard mentioned in passing. Skulls, red and black ink themes. A guitar in the corner. Tiny, vaguely creepy figurines lined up on a shelf.
“Your room’s so cool,” you say before your brain can stop you. You lean forward just a little, peering past him. “Seriously. This is like… Sid and Nancy level. How do you even find posters like that anymore? Oh my god is that an actual cassette player? That’s so sick.”
You wince as the words leave your mouth. “God, sorry, I’m not trying to be weird. I mean that in a good way. Promise.”
Your voice is speeding up. You’re spiraling. And you know it.
Sal just keeps watching you like he’s trying to figure out if this is real or a very strange dream. A cheerleader. In his doorway. Talking about cassette players. You finally cringe so hard your whole body folds in on itself.
“I’m gonna go,” you say, backing toward the hallway. “Sorry for the whole… I don’t know what that was. I was just trying to be a good neighbor and it turned into, like, a monologue of whatever the fuck.”
You turn halfway around to leave when you hear
“You wanna take a look around?”
You glance over your shoulder.
Sal is still standing there, holding the envelope like it might vanish. His posture is stiff, like he’s surprised the words came out of his mouth, too.
You blink. “I mean… sure?”
He nods. “If you’re into the posters, Do you dig that kind of music?.”
Your eyebrows shoot up. “Well I wouldn’t say it’s exactly my style but I’m a all things can be redeemable if you give it a try”
He jerks his head toward the room. “why not give it a try then”
You’re already stepping inside before he finishes, smiling wide. “You had me at ‘cool’ and sealed the deal with ‘band.’ Show me.”
The second you cross the threshold, it’s like entering another world. The bland apartment hallway behind you disappears into a mess of amps, guitars, wires, dark posters, and the faint scent of incense and old vinyl.
Sal gestures toward a small desk setup with beat up speakers and a laptop. He grabs a pair of headphones well worn, slightly cracked along the band and offers them to you.
“You don’t have to pretend it’s good,” he mutters. “Honest opinion’s fine.”
You shoot him a thumbs up and take the headphones like they might unlock the secrets of the universe.
He clicks play.
The drums hit first loud, fast. Then comes the guitar: raw, rich, angry. A distorted voice cuts through the noise melodic under the layers of whatever was happening, but clawing to be heard. Your eyes go wide. You start bobbing your head slowly. Then more. A grin creeps up your face, shoulders bouncing slightly as the music crashes through your ears. You grip the headphones tighter, fully in it like you’ve been dropped into a private punk rock concert in a dream.
When the song fades, you pull the headphones off with a breathless laugh. “That was… so good,” you say, eyes lit up. “Like, very loud but in the best way. I felt like I could punch God in the face. I loved it.”
Sal’s ears what little you can see of them turn just slightly pink. He shifts, crossing his arms. “Yeah?”
You grin. “What, because I’m in a cheer uniform, you think cheerleaders don’t have rage?”
He laughs softly. It’s warm. Unexpected.
You glance at the clock and groan. “Ugh. I should probably head back and pretend I’m responsible or whatever. Homework calls.”
You hand the headphones back, your fingers lingering a second before letting go.
“Thanks for showing me that,” you say. “Seriously. its super sick.”
Sal shrugs, casual, but he still won’t quite meet your eyes. In his head, he’s screaming. Because what the hell. A cheerleader just walked into his room, complimented his taste in music, vibed to Sanity Falls, and then thanked him like he did her a favor.
Respectfully and he does mean that. you’re hot. this whole thing feels like a glitch in the matrix. Like someone else’s life. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Uh. Anytime.”
You flash one last smile before turning to leave. Sal Fisher stands frozen in his room, A pretty girl was in his room.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ the clatter of trays, bursts of laughter, the shriek of a chair scraping too hard against the linoleum. Sal sat across from Larry, Ash, and Todd, picking at the edges of his sandwich more than actually eating it. His thoughts weren’t really on food. Not when they kept drifting back to the night before.
Cheerleader. In his room. Pretty girl. She liked his music.
“Hey,” he said finally, pushing his tray forward and folding his arms on the table. “Do you guys know that new girl who lives on the third floor now?”
Larry paused mid bite, sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Third floor?”
Ash glanced between them, already suspicious. “Wait. Are we talking about that new girl? Y/N something?”
“Yeah,” Sal said, tone casual like he wasn’t rehearsing the question all morning. “she dropped something off last night. Just wondering if you knew her.”
Larry barked a laugh. “The cheerleader? Yeah, she’s definitely one of those girls.”
Sal blinked. “Those?”
“You know,” Ash chimed in, leaning her chin on her hand. “Perfect hair. Always smells like a mall. Probably part of one of those fake bestie cliques that post about how much they loveee each other but secretly hate one another’s guts.”
Larry nodded, already back into his food. “Plastic. The kind that calls everyone ‘babe’ but doesn’t know your actual name.”
Todd, sipping from a thermos, finally looked up. “You guys don’t even know her.”
Ash raised an eyebrow. “And you do?”
“I’ve had class with her. She’s… quiet,” Todd said thoughtfully. “Pays attention. Says thank you when someone passes her a worksheet. She helped a freshman with their locker on the second day.”
“That’s your bar for decency?” Larry said, skeptical.
“I’m just saying, you’re judging her and like Sal was new too once,” Todd said. “You don’t know anything real about her.”
Ash groaned. “You don’t need to know someone to know someone, Todd. Some people just radiate mean girl energy. Trust me.”
Todd narrowed his eyes. “That’s a shallow assumption and you know it.”
Ash muttered something about “cheerleaders being a plague” under her breath, and Larry snorted.
Sal, who had gone unusually quiet, finally spoke again. “She’s not like that.”
All three of them turned to look at him.
Larry’s mouth slowly curved into a smirk. “Wait. Hold up. Why are you asking about her, dude?”
Sal looked down, then up, tone clipped. “I told you. She dropped off mail. That’s it.”
Ash crossed her arms. “why did she just come all the way up to your place to give you a letter?”
Sal shrugged. “Her mailbox got mine by accident. then stayed for a bit”
Larry leaned forward, grinning. “What, did she get lost on the way out?”
Sal blinked. “She liked my music.”
Ash scoffed. “What, like out loud?”
Sal nodded. “Yeah. She tried my headphones. Even headbanged a little.”
Todd smiled slightly. “That’s kind of cool.”
Larry shook his head like he was witnessing a miracle. “Okay, wait a minute. A cheerleader, listened to screamo music, and didn’t run screaming for the suburbs?”
Sal shrugged again. “She said it made her want to punch God.”
Ash froze, lips parting in a mix of confusion and, for the first time, mild interest. “Okay… that’s actually kind of hardcore.”
“She said my room was cool,” Sal mumbled, mostly to his tray.
Larry threw his hands up. “Okay, what the hell, Sal. Are you telling me you Sal ‘I sit by myself and listen to death metal’ Fisher just casually had a cheerleader in your bedroom?”
Sal didn’t reply, but his fingers drummed on the table a little too fast to be casual. Larry leaned in. “Dude. You got a cheerleader in your room. Are you sure this wasn’t a dream? Like a fever dream after one too many gas station burritos?”
Todd tilted his head. “Or maybe… maybe she’s just a person. Like the rest of us. Who happens to like punk and be good at flips.”
Ash scowled. “God, Todd, you sound like a teacher.”
He shrugged. “Just saying.”
Larry still wasn’t over it. “Next thing you know she’s gonna show up in all black with eyeliner and join a band.”
Sal didn’t say it out loud, but a flicker of a smile played under the edge of his mask at the idea. He kinda liked that you were so different. the juxtaposition of your looks and what you seemed interested was very cool to look at.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You strolled through the crowd with your cheer squad flanking both sides laughing, gossiping, spinning their hair around fingers like it was a competitive sport. You listened absently as one of them launched into a dramatic retelling of how her ex “accidentally” liked her finsta post at 2 a.m.
You weren’t really paying attention. Not because you didn’t care, though the first time she talked about it had you engaged. but because your eyes had already locked onto something else across the cafeteria. A short blue haired guy sitting at a table near the back with a group of kids you’d only ever heard about through whispered rumors and cruel nicknames.
There he was. Sal Fisher. without really thinking without asking yourself anything at all you broke away from your group mid laugh. Just veered straight toward him like your legs had made the decision before your brain did.
“Wait, where are you going?” one of your friends asked behind you.
“BRB,” you called over your shoulder. “I want to bother someone.”
Across the cafeteria, at a table meant for the misfits, Sal was in the middle of pushing peas around his tray when a sudden blur of cheer uniform and bounce came into view. He looked up.
You stopped right beside him and sat down immediately grabbing his arm, breathless and grinning. “Okay, so, I’ve been thinking about that song you showed me all night. Like, literally, I couldn’t sleep. I need more. You got a playlist? A mixtape? A USB drive from hell? Gimme.”
For one perfect, cinematic second, the entire table was silent. Larry dropped his fork. Ash’s eyes nearly bugged out of her skull. Todd blinked like you had just walked through a wall.
Sal just stared. “You… what?”
You nodded eagerly, lowering your voice like it was sacred. “You ruined all my playlists. I need more of that noise in my life.”
He blinked again. “You sure?”
“You say that like you thought I wouldn’t.”
“I–” Sal started, then stopped, looking absolutely stunned.
You turned to the rest of the table, realizing they were still staring at you like you’d just sprouted devil horns and declared yourself prom queen of hell. You raised a hand sheepishly. “Hi. Sorry for interrupting. I’m Y/N. just moved this year.”
Ash looked like she was physically holding herself back from combusting. Larry was still open mouthed, and Todd was watching with the kind of intrigue usually reserved for alien encounters.
“If you’re anything like Sal,” you added, offering them a genuine smile, “then I’m sure you’re all cool as hell.”
Larry looked to Sal, eyes wide. “Yeah, he’s crazy cool. Though he did learn from the best” Larry awkwardly replied while pointing himself
Ash leaned toward Todd. “I think i’m on drugs, what’s happening” Todd just smiled quietly.
You turned back to Sal, who was very much glitching out in real time. “I’ll give you my number later,” you said with a wink. “Text me a playlist. Or this time I’m breaking into your room.”
Sal opened his mouth. Closed it. Nodded once like he was in shock. “Okay.” And then you were gone, skipping back to your friends, who were whispering furiously and shooting glances like you’d just fraternized with the enemy.
“what was that?” one of them hissed.
You smiled, tugging your ponytail higher.“you’re the one who told me to make friends here, thats all i’m doing.”
Back at the table, Sal stared down at his tray like it might give him answers.
Larry leaned in, whispering, “Bro. Are you a witch? Did you hex a cheerleader?”
Sal just shook his head.
“I think,” he said slowly, still stunned, “i think its jover for me.”
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You weren’t quite sure how it happened. One second you were joking in the hallway with Sal about your shared hatred for lukewarm cafeteria pizza, and the next you were in his room, cross legged, spinning slowly on his desk chair while he nervously adjusted the volume on his old stereo system.
The room was quiet, save for the soft murmur of some obscure post punk band playing from the corner. You didn’t recognize the lyrics, but it felt like something you wanted to memorize.
“You know,” you said, glancing around, “I kinda expected more skulls. Or like… weird taxidermy?”
Sal laughed soft and surprised. “Yeah, you’re not the first to say that. I think Larry was disappointed when he first came over and didn’t find a Ouija board or something.”
You gave him a playful squint. “Wait, you don’t have one?”
Sal grinned slightly behind the mask. “Okay, I do. But it’s under my bed and mostly for decoration. Larry gets carried away.”
You hopped off the chair and crouched, peeking under the bed like you were on a mission. “You’re telling me there’s a haunted board game down here and you’re not showing me?”
“It’s not haunted,” he replied, clearly amused. “It’s just from a yard sale. Probably cursed with suburban angst at most.”
You laughed, brushing your fingers over a dusty shoebox. “Still cool. You’ve got good taste. I mean, look at this stuff.”
Posters of bands you’d never heard of were plastered across the walls, scribbled notebook pages taped in between like patchwork wallpaper. An old lava lamp flickered halfheartedly in the corner. There were stacks of CDs, cassette tapes, and one particularly weird clay sculpture that looked like it might’ve been made in a sleep deprived art class.
You plopped onto his bed and tilted your head. “This one’s my favorite,” you said, pointing at a crooked drawing of a girl with hollow eyes and messy hair. “She beautiful.”
Sal stepped closer, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. “That was… something I did when I was like, thirteen. Supposed to be a ghost from this dream I had. I kept seeing her for weeks after.”
You looked at him, expression soft. “You see ghosts a lot?”
He hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Sometimes. Not all the time. But yeah.”
“Damn. That’s metal.”
Sal let out another laugh, more comfortable now. “That’s what I told my therapist.”
You leaned back on your elbows, smiling at him from his own bed like you’d done it a hundred times. “So, what else are you hiding in here? Secret dungeon? Portal to hell?”
“Uh,” Sal said, eyes glinting with something playful. “Larry stole all the portals to hell. I’m more of a secret music archive guy.”
You shot up. “Prove it.”
He smirked and crossed the room to a cabinet by his desk, pulling open a drawer to reveal a mess of burned CDs, USBs, old MP3 players, and one tiny cassette player with a sticker that said “Play if you hate the world.”
You gasped like he’d opened the Holy Grail. “Sal. This is the coolest shit I’ve ever seen. You better send me everything.”
He knelt beside you, pulling out a CD with careful fingers. “This one’s the first mix I ever made. It’s super rough.”
You took it from him reverently. “I love rough.”
Sal’s ears went pink. “I, uh, that came out weird.”
“Yeah,” you teased. “but cant a girl say how she feels.”
You glanced at him, and he was already watching you, like he couldn’t believe you actually said that. Like you’d disappear if he blinked too long.
“Hey,” you said, quieter now. “You’re kinda talkative tonight.”
He shrugged, brushing some hair from his face. “You’re easy to talk to.”
That made something flicker warm in your chest.
“Same,” you murmured. Then you nudged him with your shoulder. “Do you like me here?”
Sal tilted his head, mock serious. “People probably that I’ve summoned a demon cheerleader to possess me.”
You grinned. “Yeah? Hope they’re right.”
And he laughed again. You liked that sound. You wanted to hear it more.
You and Sal stayed like that for a while, just talking. The kind of conversation that meandered and curved around strange facts and half finished thoughts. He told you about a ghost that used to knock on his closet door when he was little. You told him about the time you accidentally summoned a raccoon with a ritual you found on Tumblr. Somewhere between laughter and another CD recommendation, you spotted a small, beat up notebook tucked between the mattress and wall. It looked old, like something with secrets.
“Ooooh, what’s that?” you asked, already reclining across the bed to reach it.
Sal looked up, immediately alert. “Wait no, that’s!”
Too late. You stretched out, reaching over him as he sat back against the headboard. Your fingers brushed the edge of the notebook only for your balance to shift, the mattress dipping under your weight.
Thump.
You landed right on top of him. For a moment, neither of you moved. You were nose to nose, your chest pressed against his, hands awkwardly splayed on either side of his shoulders. His mask had tilted slightly, and you could see just a glimpse of the scar beneath it before he quickly adjusted it. His breath hitched so did yours.
Your eyes met.
Sal’s eyes were wide, pupils flicking between yours like he was scanning for some kind of signal. You suddenly became very aware of the warmth radiating off him. Of the way your knee was pressing slightly between his legs. The room, the music, the whole world had gone still.
“Uh,” he said softly, like he was trying not to spook you.
You blinked. “Sorry. Um. .”
“it’s okay,” he said, voice an octave higher than usual. “Totally. You’re all good trust. Yeah.”
You were about to say something maybe a joke, maybe not when the door slammed open with the force of someone who had never knocked in his entire life.
“Yo, Sal HOLY SHIT”
You scrambled off like you’d been hit with a taser, rolling off to the side and nearly falling off the bed. Sal sat bolt upright, stiff as a corpse.
Larry stood in the doorway, a soda can in one hand and a box of cookies in the other, blinking like he was trying to make sure what he was seeing wasn’t a hallucination.
“Dude,” he said, utterly stunned. “Did I interrupt something?”
Sal buried his face in both hands with a groan. “Larry.”
“No, because this is like… well im not going to say. You’re on the bed, she’s on top of you, the music’s playing do you guys want me to turn the lights down? Light a candle or something?”
You threw a pillow at him.
Larry dodged it “I can come back later. Like, waaay later.”
“You weren’t even supposed to come now,” Sal hissed, his voice muffled behind his hands.
Larry grinned. “I felt a disturbance in the force.”
You sat up and crossed your legs, trying to fix your hair and your dignity. “Hey Larry, how’s it going?.”
Larry raised his brows and backed toward the hallway with exaggerated steps. “I meet you once and you’re already over my man right here”
And then he was gone, disappearing down the hall with the sound of crinkling cookie packaging trailing behind him. Sal finally peeked up at you, his face still a little flushed. “…Im sorry about that.”
You smiled, brushing your hair back. “Im not too worried, He seems like a nice guy.”
Sal blinked, then laughed “I think I like having you around,” he murmured, almost too quiet to catch.
You grinned, nudging his knee with yours. “Then send me that damn playlist before I tackle you again.”
“…Not the worst threat I’ve heard,” he replied.
And the music played on.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆You sat criss cross on the grass with your cheerleader friends, your lunch mostly forgotten as you braided strands of your best friend’s hair while another girl animatedly recounted some drama from first period.
“…and then he said, ‘It’s not cheating if we were on a break!’” she shrieked, clutching her phone like it was sacred.
Everyone groaned, gasped, or fake fainted in synchronized horror.
You laughed, tossing a piece of grass in her direction. “He used the Friends defense? God, we need to start handing out red flags on flashcards.”
You were comfortable here. It was loud, messy, dramatic but it was yours. And they loved you because you weren’t just part of the cheer squad, or the new girl, but because you talked to the theater kids, the band nerds, the weird guy in the dinosaur hoodie. You didn’t care about cliques. You liked people. People were weird and interesting.
Eventually the bell rang and everyone stood, gathering their things in a flurry of hair and perfume.
“I’ll see you after school!” someone called. You waved, backing away toward the building with your backpack swinging behind you.
And that’s when you heard it. “Pick it up, you little freak. Or do you need your mommy to do it for you?”
You rounded the corner and froze. A smaller kid, maybe a freshman, was scrambling to pick up their books, hands shaking as a taller guy stood over him. Shaggy hair,, fists clenched like he wanted someone to look. A few papers blew past your feet. You didn’t step in. You knew better. You weren’t built like that couldn’t throw a punch or bark louder than a threat. And you knew the look of someone who’d use that.
But still… once the kid grabbed his stuff and scurried off like a spooked rabbit, you found your voice.
“Hey.”
The guy turned to you, annoyance etched into every line of his face. “What?”
You took a slow breath and tilted your head. “What’s your problem?”
He blinked, like you’d just asked him the square root of an existential crisis. “You wanna go?” he said, stepping toward you with all the bravado of someone who’d been fighting shadows his whole life.
You didn’t flinch. Just crossed your arms and stared. “You seriously pick fights with kids who can’t fight back? What, did your cereal bully you this morning?”
That got him. Just a flicker but it was there. A crack in the tough guy mask. He scoffed. “Don’t act like you know me.”
“I don’t,” you said honestly. “But I know whatever that was back there? Thats fucked, stop being a dick and maybe your mommy would do something about it.” His jaw flexed like he was holding back a hundred things he didn’t know how to say. “I’m not scared of you,” you added softly. “But you being a dick is pointless.”
He stared at you for a long time. Long enough that it should’ve felt uncomfortable. But instead, it felt… tense. Not dangerous. Just tight. Like something holding its breath.
Then, just before turning, he muttered, “Tch. Whatever.”
You watched him go, the anger in his steps still there but dulled, somehow. Like your words had wedged into the gears of whatever rage machine he operated on. You found out later from someone in gym class that his name was Travis. Just Travis. No one knew his last name, just that he was trouble, had a rep, and probably didn’t have many people who called him anything else.
Ash had seen it.
She’d been leaning against the side of the vending machines, chewing on the straw of her empty smoothie cup, eyes darting around the quad like they always did. She wasn’t looking for drama, not really, but if it stumbled into her path, she sure as hell wasn’t going to ignore it.
She watched the whole thing Travis towering, spitting venom, and you standing there, not brave enough to throw hands, but bold enough to ask why. Not backing down. Not even flinching.
When he walked off, still pissed but quieter somehow, she tossed her smoothie into the bin and strolled over like she wasn’t deliberately inserting herself.
“What was that?” she asked, casually, like she’d just seen you pet a lion.
You turned, slinging your backpack higher on your shoulder. “What was what?”
Ash raised a brow. “With Travis. You said something. He didn’t hit you. That’s basically a miracle.”
You shrugged, still feeling the adrenaline buzz in your ribs. “I don’t know. Just… couldn’t walk past it.”
Ash snorted. “People walk past him all the time. He’s an ass. A racist, sexist, homophobic caveman with fists for brains. Trust me, most people are glad to stay out of his way.”
You chewed your lip. “Yeah. I guess. I just. I don’t know. People who are assholes need someone to speak up.”
She tilted her head, considering that for a beat. “You ever get into fights?”
“God, no,” you said quickly. “I’d die.”
Ash smirked. “That checks out. Still, you didn’t run. Didn’t go fake sweet or start crying to a teacher. You just… confronted him. That was kind of bold of you new girl.”
“Thanks?” you offered, unsure.
She walked with you now, matching your steps as you made your way down the hall. It was quiet, the rush between lunch and next period tapering off.
Ash glanced sideways at you. “Y’know, I pegged you as another one of them.”
You didn’t need to ask who them was. You’d seen the way she looked at your cheer friends. Glitter and high ponies didn’t mix with combat boots and smudged eyeliner.
You smiled softly, still looking ahead. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”
She didn’t say anything for a second. Then: “Turns out you’ve got more bite than you let on.”
You turned to her, surprised. “You saying that like it’s a good thing.”
Ash shrugged. “Might be.”
That was it. No over explanation. No emotional dive into friendship territory. Just the Ashley Campbell version of a peace offering. She didn’t invite you to hang out or trade numbers. She didn’t ask personal questions or gush. But the next time she saw you in the hall, she nodded at you instead of looking through you.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ The bell had just rung, and the hallways were alive people yelling across rows of lockers, someone dropping a textbook with a dramatic slam, and the smell of cafeteria pizza already creeping in. You scanned the crowd like a bloodhound on a mission.
Sal Fisher. Quietly standing near the usual corner with Larry, Todd, and Ash. He had his hands in his pockets, head tilted as Todd went off about some new theory, probably ghosts or government tech. Ash was chewing on a straw and nodding vaguely, while Larry interrupted every other word with “Nah, but listen what if?”
You didn’t even think twice.
“Hey!” you called, bounding over like a cartoon character with too much energy and absolutely no sense of personal space. “There you are, Blue.”
Sal looked up right as you reached him. “Blue?”
“You’re wearing blue,” you said, pointing at him. “And your hair’s blue. You’re very committed to the aesthetic.”
He tilted his head. “I wear black more than anything.”
“Technicalities,” you said, grabbing his sleeve. “Come on. We’re doing something.”
Larry raised a brow. “Is this a kidnapping?”
“Definitely,” Ash answered flatly.
“Wait, what are we doing?” Sal asked, laughing under his breath as you pulled him gently away from the group. “Do I get a say in this?”
“You get to walk or be dragged, your call.”
“That doesn’t feel like much of a choice,” he muttered, but he let you lead him anyway.
“Where are you taking him this time?” Todd called out with actual concern.
“To the moon,” you replied without turning around. “Or maybe just the vending machines. We’ll see.”
Ash cupped her hands around her mouth. “Bring him back in one piece!”
Larry shouted after, “AND IF HE COMES BACK MARRIED IM ATTACKING YOU FOR NOT LETTING ME BE BEST MAN!”
You groaned and shot them a look over your shoulder. “Y’all are so dramatic.”
“We’re dramatic?” Ash asked, gesturing wildly. “You swooped in like a caffeinated falcon and stole our boy mid convo!”
Sal laughed beside you, his eyes squinting just slightly with amusement behind the mask. “You kinda did.”
“Okay, but be honest,” you said, bumping your shoulder into his. “You weren’t even really paying attention to Larry’s alien rant.”
“…It was about space cats this time.”
“See? I’m rescuing you.”
He chuckled again, a little softer this time. “Then thanks, I guess. You know, I’ve started looking forward to these.”
You slowed your pace, peeking at him from the side. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, a bit bashful now. “You’re crazy and I am definitely living for it.”
Your smile tugged wider, warmth blooming in your chest. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“You need better friends,” he teased.
“I have you,” you shot back.
And that quiet moment hung between you both for just a second comfortable, kind of sweet, a little electric.
Back at the hallway corner, the trio watched you both disappear down the hall. Ash crossed her arms, a curious look on her face. “Im glad to have found out she’s not just some glitter clone.”
“Nope,” Larry agreed. “She’s cool. Like, actually so cool.”
Todd smiled faintly. “And Sal likes her. That much is obvious.”
Ash gave a small nod, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “Yeah. He really does.” for once, none of them said anything snarky.
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