˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊ BIKINI KILL ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊
O read the sal x reader fic you posted where they go to the lake, I'm obsessed. Can I have the same scenario but with Larry x reader? Larry would be exactly like he is in the reffered fanfic but instead of sal, it's him who's in live with reader. Does that make sense?
Sorry for any typos, and thanks in advance :))
Larry Johnson X Reader
˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊ BIKINI KILL ˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊
masterlist
i tried to make this a little different i feel Larry would have a more sillier relationship with the reader.
Legend
PunkGoddess: The reader
Constantine: Sal
Y/n’s Wife : Ash
Homophobe (liar) : Todd
skidmark : Larry
———
Group Chat Name: Ghostbusters ‼️‼️‼️
———
[1:32 PM] punk goddess: GUYS. GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS. Emergency.
[1:32 PM] skidmark: what did u break this time?
[1:33 PM] Y/n’s Wife: If it’s your microwave again, I’m not lending you mine.
[1:33 PM] punk goddess: EXCUSE YOU. that was ONE TIME and the hot dog exploded FIRST.
[1:33 PM] homophobe (liar): I feel like there’s context missing here, but I also don’t want it.
[1:34 PM] punk goddess: Okay okay but LISTEN!! I had a vision. A prophecy. A divine revelation from the universe itself.
[1:34 PM] Constantine: You had a Red Bull, didn’t you?
[1:34 PM] punk goddess: Yes. And also: LET’S GO TO THE LAKE. TODAY. RIGHT NOW. potential skinny dipping if Larry gets too confident let’s do it.
[1:35 PM] skidmark: why am I always dragged into ur crimes also bold of u to assume I’d get too confident i was born confident, baby
[1:35 PM] punk goddess: Oh really?? Confident enough to jump in wearing nothing
[1:35 PM] skidmark: you tryna get me naked or what?
[1:36 PM] Y/n’s Wife: …I feel like I walked into something I shouldn’t be seeing.
[1:36 PM] homophobe (liar): I second that.
[1:36 PM] punk goddess: Don’t act like y’all are innocent. Todd, I saw the way you looked at that mannequin in the mall.
[1:37 PM] homophobe (liar): That was ONE TIME. And it startled me, I thought it was a real person.
[1:37 PM] punk goddess: Sureeeee. Anyway. LAKE. Yes or yes?
[1:38 PM] Constantine: Honestly, it’s not a bad idea. Could be fun to get out of town for a bit. Music, water, no ghosts…
[1:38 PM] skidmark: Speak for urself. I’m bringing my speaker AND a cursed cassette tape.
[1:38 PM] Y/n’s Wife: I’m down. But someone better bring actual food this time. Not just whatever radioactive energy drink Larry always packs.
[1:39 PM] skidmark: ur just jealous of my neon piss
[1:39 PM] punk goddess: I will bring snacks. I’ll even cut up fruit and pretend I’m a responsible adult.
[1:40 PM] Constantine: Make sure to pack sunscreen too. We’re all way too pale for this idea.
[1:40 PM] punk goddess: Speak for yourself. I tan like a goddess. Larry tans like a confused lobster.
[1:41 PM] skidmark: wow stab me harder why dont u
[1:41 PM] punk goddess: KINKY.
[1:41 PM] Y/n’s Wife: EW STOP
[1:42 PM] homophobe (liar): Too late. The damage is done.
[1:42 PM] Constantine: So… we’re actually doing this?
[1:42 PM] punk goddess: HELL YEAH. I’m already putting together a playlist called “Drown the dogs.”
[1:43 PM] skidmark: can’t wait to be blinded by ur trash taste in music
[1:43 PM] punk goddess: Can’t wait to see you shirtless. Wait what? Who said that?
[1:43 PM] Y/n’s Wife: You did. Just now.
[1:44 PM] punk goddess: Suspicious. Anyway, we’re meeting at my place in an hour. Don’t flake or I’ll come to your houses and cry aggressively.
[1:44 PM] homophobe (liar): Noted.
[1:44 PM] Constantine: I’ll bring drinks.
[1:45 PM] skidmark: I’ll bring my devilish charm.
[1:45 PM] punk goddess: That and swim trunks Larry PLEAse.
[1:45 PM] Y/n’s Wife: you both have such a hard on for each other
[1:46 PM] punk goddess: See you soon, you filthy gremlins!
————
Sprawled out sideways on Larry’s bed, you turned over, pressing your cheek against the cool blanket as you glanced at the two boys across the room. Larry was sitting cross legged on the floor, sketchbook in his lap, glancing up at you with one brow raised. Sal was lounging against the wall nearby, hands in his hoodie pockets, quiet and observant as always. The light filtering through the window hit just right, and everything felt kind of… perfect.
You grinned. “guys im shitting bricks im so excited”
Sal smiled faintly under his mask. “I cant say im not, its good to be outside”
“I regret nothing,” you replied, kicking your legs a little. “This lake thing it’s gonna be good, right? Like, really good.”
Larry looked up. “Yeah. It’ll be cool to get out of town for a bit. Been a while since we all hung out like that.”
You sat up, tugging your patched up jacket around your shoulders. “It’s been forever since I went out into the water. Not like, feet dangling off a dock. I mean swimming. ”
Sal gave a small laugh. “You guys definitely have fun with that I still might sit on the side.”
You turned to face them both fully now, eyes bright. “One day ill have you in the water, count your days, l’m seriously so excited. Like absurdly. I didn’t even realize how much I missed this kind of stuff.” Then suddenly, your eyes widened. “Wait.”
Larry blinked. “Uh oh.”
“WAIT,” you repeated, bolting upright like you’d been struck by lightning. “I have to get ready. I gotta oh my god I need to go home right now”. You were vibrating, practically bouncing in place, the tips of your spiked choker jingling with every movement. “I gotta get stuff. I gotta have snacks, floaties, my underwater speaker WHERE’S MY STUPID SPIDER MAN TOWEL?!”
Sal tilted his head. “We’re not leaving yet.”
“Exactly! Which means I have time to overprepare!” you jumped to your feet, pacing toward the door. Oh my god, I need to clean my portable speaker. What if it’s still got sand in it from the last time?!”
“my girl chillax,” Larry said, watching you with amusement.
“I live in a constant state of prepared, thank you,” you replied dramatically, You dashed for the door, but not before stopping in your tracks like a cartoon character slamming on invisible brakes. You whipped around and made a beeline for Sal.
“Come here, Blue Boy.”
He blinked. “Uh what ”
You grabbed the sides of his head with both hands, leaned in, and pressed a kiss to the mouth of his mask with a big dramatic MWAH. Sal just sat there, stunned, eyes wide beneath his bangs. “That’s for being pretty,” you said with a wink, then turned to Larry, who immediately raised his hands.
“Oh no. Nope. Keep those lips away ”
“TOO LATE, BABYGIRL.”
You lunged forward, grabbed his face like he was made of Play Doh, and squished his cheeks so hard his lips puckered like a goldfish. Then you smooched his cheek with obnoxious enthusiasm.
“BLESSINGS UPON YOUR SOUL,” you declared like a cryptid giving gifts before returning to the woods.
“Jesus” Larry wiped his face with his sleeve. “You’re outta your damn mind.”
You shot finger guns at them both as you bolted through the door. “ILL SEE YOU BOTH IN A HOUR! GET PIZZA OR SOMETHING!!! LARRY I TRUST YOULL GET ME THE WHITE MONSTER”
The door slammed behind you, your boots stomping down the hallway like the drums of war. There was silence for a second. Larry and Sal just sat there, blinking.
“…I’m gonna kill her,” Larry muttered.
Sal tilted his head, still a little pink. “You’re smiling.”
“…shut up.”
The sun shimmered on the lake’s surface, soft waves lapping against the shore while the portable speaker played something upbeat in the background. You were out by the edge, ankle deep in the water, sunglasses perched on your head and a towel wrapped around your hips, laughing at something Ash was saying as she lobbed a pebble into the water.
Back up on the grass, Sal and Larry were sitting near the cooler under the shade of a tree, both half watching the others with lazy contentment. Sal sipped from a can of soda, the eyes behind his mask glinting with mischief. “You know,” he said casually, “it’s kinda funny.”
Larry glanced over. “What is?”
“You got a kiss on the cheek…” Sal tilted his head, then lightly tapped the front of his mask. “I got one on the mouth.”
Larry squinted. “Don’t start.”
Sal leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. “I dunno, man. Felt kinda intimate. Real sweet. Thought maybe I should shoot my shot. Might be stealing your girl.”
Larry choked on his own drink. “She’s not my girl!” Sal just hummed. Larry rubbed his hand over his face, groaning. “You’re so annoying.”
“You’re so jealous,” Sal said calmly, smiling behind the mask.
“I am not.” Larry scowled, even though his ears had turned the faintest shade of pink. “It was a joke. She’s like that with everyone.”
“Sure,” Sal said, taking another sip. “Believe what you wanna believe but calls you sexy punk god?.”
Larry blinked. “Wait she said that?”
“No,” Sal said, then smirked. “But I did. In the group chat. Changed her name. ‘Punk Goddess of the Apocalypse.’ Go check.”
Larry grabbed his phone instantly, thumbs flying.
Sal chuckled again. “Told you.”
Larry stared at the screen. Sure enough, her contact had been changed in the group chat to: PUNK GODDESS OF THE APOCALYPSE.
“Okay…” Larry leaned back, trying to act chill but definitely failing. “Okay, but like… that’s fair. Because she is. She’s got the look”
“So you do agree with me,” Sal said, amused.
Larry laughed under his breath, running a hand through his messy hair. “Id have to be on the hard stuff to not believe that but even so I'd still find her beautiful”
“Oh?” He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting back toward the water where you were now trying to balance on a slippery rock and muttering curses under your breath. “She’s the whole damn package you know? Like if a Molotov cocktail wore fishnets and had a laugh that made you think about your life choices”
Sal gave a low hum, listening. “She’s punk in the real way,” Larry continued, tone softening. “Not just the clothes. She doesn’t care what anyone thinks, she’s loud when she wants to be, soft when she feels like it, and she’s got this weird thing where she always knows what to say when I’m spiraling. Like… she gets it. And she’s so goddamn cool it makes me feel stupid.”
Sal tilted his head. “a lot of thoughts right there”
“Dude.” Larry scoffed. “She’s like… cool in a ‘rips cigs on rooftops at 3 a.m. while yelling at the moon’ kinda way. She throws glitter in people’s faces and then tells them to eat shit. That's kind of cool.”
Sal snorted. “That’s specific.”
“I’ve thought about it.”
Larry took another sip, then ran a hand through his hair again. “And she’s hot, man. Like, obnoxiously hot. Those lips? I want those all over me FOR THAT MATTER! i want to be all over her. she always smells like smoke and strawberry lip balm, which shouldn’t be sexy but somehow it is. She wears these stupid little chain belts that don’t hold up anything and her boots could crush me and I’d thank her for it.”
Sal let out a laugh, raising an eyebrow. “You’re really in it,.”
“I’m drowning,” Larry muttered while grabbing sals arms. “I’ve been drowning. She could say my name and I’d bark.”
Sal shook his head, amused. “You ever gonna tell her?”
Larry scoffed. “Yeah, let me just walk up and say, ‘Hey, hot sexy amazing mamacita of my dreams, wanna kiss me on the actual mouth this time instead of my fish lips face squish?.”
“You could try,” Sal offered, almost helpful. “She might surprise you.”
Larry threw his head back. “Nah. I’m the best friend. The face smushing, cheek kissing best friend. That’s my role in the grand narrative.”
Sal tilted his head, watching him. “it doesn't have to be like that I dont think”
Larry’s ears were on fire now. “Shut up.”
“Not judging. Just… interesting.”
“Whatever, man.” Larry tossed a twig toward him. “You’re just trying to mess with me.”
Sal snorted again. Larry looked back toward you, eyes softening. You had finally succeeded in climbing the rock and were now dramatically posing like a pirate with one boot in the air, yelling something about claiming the lake in the name of emotional damage. He laughed quietly to himself. “god theres not a lot to not love about her.”
“You’re pathetic,” Sal said without looking up, fiddling with the speaker’s volume.
“Thanks, man,” Larry muttered, still sprawled in the grass, one arm over his face like the sun itself had betrayed him. “Really appreciate the emotional support.” Before Sal could retort, a shadow passed over them followed by a familiar voice, all sunshine and danger.
“Okay, it’s so hot I’m pretty sure I’m about to melt into soup.”
Larry’s arm immediately dropped from his face. You stood above them, grinning wide, sunglasses sliding down your nose, hands on your hips. Your jacket was already off and your boots half unlaced.
“Water time,” you declared, toeing off the rest of your shoes. “This goth goblin’s about to be a lake nymph.”
Larry blinked once. Then twice. And then you were tugging your shirt up, peeling it off in one smooth, unbothered motion. His brain stopped immediately. You weren’t even doing anything on purpose you were just trying not to trip on your own pants while laughing about how they were sticking to your thighs but Larry was gone. Fully lost. Mentally kicked in the gut. Your bikini was black with silver safety pin accents, and paired with your tattoos and bedhead hair, you looked like the final boss in a sexy horror game.
Sal side eyed him. “Don’t pass out.”
“I’m fine,” Larry wheezed.
“You’re red.” “I’m sunburned.” “It’s only been fifteen minutes.” “Genetics.”
You stretched with a groan, arms overhead, hips swaying slightly as you let the sun hit your skin. Larry stared like he was about to have a heatstroke. Then, suddenly, you turned to him with that familiar little grin, sharp and playful.
“Alright, come on, Trash Prince.” You crouched and tugged at his wrist. “You’re coming in with me.”
“Wha wait hey ” Larry barely had time to sit up before you were already trying to drag him to his feet, hands clutching his.
“I am not letting you sit around being all hot and bothered under this tree while I get lake water up my nose alone.”
“I’m not hot,” Larry blurted, flustered.
“Oh, shut up, you totally are,” you said, eyes glittering as you yanked on his arm again.
Larry stumbled a little, brain short circuiting. “Wait hold on before I go get absolutely murdered by the lake, I, uh ” He dug into the cooler beside him, half panicked. “I brought you something.”
You paused, curious. “For me?”
He pulled out the offering like it was some sacred relic. “White Monster. Your holy grail.” You gasped like you’d been handed a family heirloom made of diamonds.
“No. No way.” You dropped to your knees beside him like it was a goddamn proposal. “You legend. You absolute feral prince.” And without hesitation, you launched yourself forward and hugged him, arms around his shoulders, your bare skin pressed against his shirt as you squeezed him.
Larry’s entire body locked up like a cursed doll.
“Oh my god, I love you,” you mumbled into his neck, practically in his lap now. “You understand me on a spiritual level.”
Larry’s soul left his body. Your thigh was across his, your chest lightly pressed to him, and you smelled like sunscreen and sweat and that fucking hint of strawberry lip balm. His hands hovered awkwardly midair like he didn’t know where to put them without catching on fire.
“I uh I ” he stammered.
You pulled back, cupping his cheeks. “Larry. Lawrence. Lorenzo Von Hot Topic. I am going to cannonball with that Monster in my hand and scream your name.”
Sal, still nearby, snorted so hard he nearly dropped his phone.
Larry, beet red and wide eyed, coughed into his fist. “Y’know, if you wanted to straddle me and yell my name, there are… simpler ways.”
You grinned like a demon. “Down, boy.”
Larry gave a strangled laugh, caught somewhere between aroused panic and blessed euphoria. You winked, then finally stood and popped the Monster open, chugging half of it with a dramatic sigh of relief. “Alright! Now I’m ready to raise hell.” And with that, you skipped toward the lake.
Larry groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”
He stood up slowly, like he’d just been hit with emotional whiplash, and started pulling off his shirt, shaking out his hair and kicking off his boots. He grumbled under his breath the whole time, tossing his wallet chain onto the towel beside Sal. As he tugged off his jeans and stood there in swim trunks, Sal gave a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t know you were packing ‘lake dad’ abs under there.”
Larry shot him a flat look. “Shut up.”
Sal held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying at this rate, you two are gonna end up making out in the lake and I’m gonna need to leave out of respect.”
Larry flipped him off, already walking backward toward the water. “Yaya. Suck my toes, Sal.”
“Hard pass,” Sal called, chuckling.
The lake water was cool against your skin, a sharp contrast to the blazing sun above. It hit just above your waist now, rippling gently around you as you waded in deeper, squinting against the brightness. Behind you, a loud splash erupted as Larry finally threw himself in arms flailing, long hair whipping as he surfaced with a dramatic gasp.
“Hell yeah!” he shouted.“I told you!” you said, spinning to face him. “Nature rules!”
He swam closer, a grin creeping across his face. “You gonna baptize me in lake water now, thou Pope of Punk?”
You narrowed your eyes. “No. I’m gonna drown you.”
And with zero hesitation, you lunged at him. Water sloshed violently as Larry ducked and caught you mid pounce, both of you nearly tipping over in a mess of limbs and splashes. You laughed so hard it echoed across the lake. Back on the shore, Sal, Ash, and Todd sat on a shared towel, watching with amusement. Sal had his knees up, hands resting over them, calm as ever. Ash leaned on his shoulder, chewing on a piece of watermelon, while Todd filmed the chaos on his phone.
“Ten bucks says one of them actually drowns,” Ash said, chuckling.
Sal tilted his head. “I think we’re just witnessing some fucked up version of foreplay.”
Todd didn’t look up. “I’m sending this video to Larry’s mom.”
Back in the water, you were locked in a play fight with Larry, both of you laughing, slipping, pushing each other only to catch one another at the last second. He grabbed your wrist and tried to drag you under gently, only for you to twist away, reach down, and pull up a long, slimy string of lakeweed.
“Oh no,” Larry said instantly. “Don’t you dare.”
You were already laughing too hard to be stopped. With perfect aim, you flung the soggy green mess through the air. It hit Larry right on the head slapping wetly and then staying there like a wig.
“LARRY! You look like a sexy swamp witch!”
“WHY is it sticking?!”
“You’ve been chosen!” You nearly fell over again, clutching your stomach from laughing so hard. “I can’t breathe, it's in your hair!”
Larry flopped forward, grabbing another handful of lakeweed. “You’re gonna regret this.”
“OH SHIT !”
Cue full on water war wrestling, neither of you winning, but neither of you wanting to stop either. Your laughter mixed with his, echoing off the lake surface like music.
Back on the beach, Sal looked to Ash and Todd. “You think they’re ever gonna just admit it?”
Ash shook her head. “Not a chance. We’re gonna have to hold a intervention.”
Todd smirked. “With PowerPoint slides.”
Sal nodded. “Title: ‘Just Kiss Already.’”
And in the water, Larry was still yelling something incoherent about vengeance while you tackled him again, both of you soaked and breathless, but smiling like idiots the whole time. The sun was starting to dip lower now, turning the lake golden. The heat had softened, and a lazy breeze skimmed the surface of the water as the group’s laughter finally died down.
Ash stretched with a yawn from where she lounged near the cooler. “Alright, freaks. I’m officially waterlogged and sun kissed. We’re heading out.”
You stopped halfway through dunking Larry and looked toward shore. “Aww, really? You guys suck.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Todd said as he stood, brushing grass off his shorts. “Try not to summon any demons while we’re gone.”
“No promises!” you called back, saluting with two fingers and a grin.
Sal slung a bag over his shoulder, flashing his usual lowkey smile. “Don’t get arrested. Or possessed.”
“Those are both on you,” Larry shot back, swimming backward toward you.
Ash winked as she turned. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Which, to be fair, isn’t much.”
You flipped her off lovingly. “Love you too, wife.”
One by one, your friends started heading back up the hill, chatting and laughing faintly as they disappeared past the trees. A little bit of quiet settled over the lake. The distant sounds of birds and the ripple of water returned. You turned back to Larry, floating lazily next to you now, hair slicked back and that seaweed still hanging from one ear.
“Well,” you said, drawing your hands through the water. “It’s just us now.”
Larry lifted a brow, his voice all drawl. “So it is. What ever will we do.”
You snorted, lightly kicking water toward him. “Careful. Alone time with me has been known to cause heart palpitations.”
He smirked, but there was something softer under it now something quieter. “I’ll take the risk.” You drifted beside each other for a few moments, water gently moving around your shoulders, both of you letting the silence stretch in that way it only can when it’s comfortable.
Then, you looked over at him, head tilted. “Thanks for staying.”
Larry met your gaze, slower now. “Yeah… ‘course.”
You were both quiet again, but something had shifted. The sun was brushing your cheekbones with gold, making your skin look warm and bright, and Larry found himself biting his cheek to keep from blurting out anything stupid. “I like this,” you said finally, voice a little softer than before. “Just… being here. With you.”
Larry stared for a second. “Yeah. Me too.”
You turned to float on your back, sighing. “It’s been a while since everything felt like… not too much.”
He let his eyes linger on you your silhouette against the setting sun, the little smile on your lips. “With you,” he said under his breath, “everything’s just the right amount of too much.”
You cracked an eye open. “What was that?”
Larry immediately splashed water at you. “Nothing. Shut up.”
You sputtered and lunged at him again, laughing like always but that little warmth stayed tucked between you both, like the lake itself had caught on and wasn’t quite ready to let the day end just yet. The lake was quieter now. The sun had nearly dipped behind the tree line, casting long, warm shadows across the water. The surface shimmered gold, broken only by the lazy ripples around you and Larry.
You swam up behind him silently, arms slipping around his bare waist, resting your chin on his shoulder. Larry blinked, startled for half a second before relaxing into your hold. His heart was pounding like a damn kick drum in his chest. You were so warm behind him, body pressed gently to his, the kind of closeness that meant everything and nothing depending on what it was.
that’s what was killing him. He tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed on the lake horizon. He thought about all the times you teased him. The way you always called him hot. How you clung to him, ruffled his hair, kissed his cheek, left him breathless in a hundred different ways but never said what it all meant.
His fingers flexed a little in the water. He could hear Sal’s voice in his head. “it doesn't have to be like that I dont think”
Larry exhaled, his voice low and careful. “Hey.”
You hummed. “Mmh?”
“What is this?”
You blinked. “What’s what?”
“This.” He shifted just slightly in your hold. “Us. You and me.”
You slowly floated around to face him, confused. “Larry, what are you ?”
“I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck, wet hair sticking to his fingers. His eyes were darting anywhere but you now. “All the flirting. The kissing. Is it just, like… for fun? Just for shits? Or do you actually… y’know… mean any of it?”
You blinked at him for a second. Really looking at him now. His brows were furrowed, his lips tight, but behind all that sarcasm and swagger, he looked scared. Scared of being the only one who’d fallen too hard. You didn’t answer with words at first. Instead, you swam in close, arms sliding up over his shoulders, fingers locking behind his neck. His breath caught instantly, chest stilling beneath the surface of the water.
You looked at him gently now, eyes soft, voice calm in a way he wasn’t used to hearing from you. “Larry… you’re not a joke to me.” He stared. “You’re everything I’ve wanted. Youre so fucking weird. I love the music you play. The dumb little drawings. The way you yell when you lose at Mario Kart.” You grinned. “The way you look at me like I built the whole damn sky.”
His lips parted, but nothing came out. You leaned in a little closer.
“I flirt with you because I can’t help it. I kiss your cheek because I’m not brave enough to kiss your mouth. But I want to. I’ve wanted to for a long time.” Larry was frozen. Staring at you like you’d just flipped the entire planet on its head. “Are you gonna say something,” you teased softly, “or just stand there looking like a drowned deer?”
Larry let out a choked, breathy laugh relieved, still processing.
“I just…” He swallowed. “I thought I was being an idiot.”
“You are an idiot,” you whispered, grinning. “But you’re my idiot.”
He smiled then. Really smiled. The kind he rarely let anyone see.
“Yeah?” he murmured.
You nodded, foreheads nearly touching now. “Yeah.”
And with the sun melting behind you and the water still as glass, Larry leaned in finally closing the space the two of you had been dancing around for years.
More Posts from Sirxaibs and Others
A Not-So-Disastrous Romance
Saiki Kusuo x Non-Binary! Reader
Book 1
Follows the events of Season One
Prologue: Troublesome "Friends"
Chapter One: Girl Problems and Beach Woes
Chapter Two: Ghosts and Guardians
Chapter Three: Sports Festival
Chapter Four: Safety Drills and Clairvoyants
Chapter Five: Ramen Shops
Chapter Six: Christmas Eve
Chapter Seven: New Year's Day
Chapter Eight: Valentine’s Day Chaos and Movie Night Misunderstandings
Chapter Nine: Mothers and Meetups
Chapter Ten: Traveling to Okinawa
Chapter Eleven: Accidents and Reveals
Chapter Twelve: Insecurities and Sweets
Chapter Thirteen: Punk Transfer
Chapter Fourteen: Festival Display
Chapter Fifteen: Festival Problems
Chapter Sixteen: Taking Teruhashi Out (on a Not-Date)
Chapter Seventeen: Delinquent Run-In and Teruhashi’s Home-Visit
Chapter Eighteen: Karaoke Party
Chapter Nineteen: Toritsuka’s Possessions and Club
Chapter Twenty: Crepes and Breaks
Chapter Twenty-One: Adventures in London
Chapter Twenty-Two: Summer Break Days
Chapter Twenty-Three: Rich Transfer Trouble
Chapter Twenty-Four: Celebrations
Book 2:
Follows the Events of Season Two
Prologue: Relationships
Chapter One: Cafes and Clothes
Chapter Two: Saiko's Mansion
Chapter Three: Cold Days and Warm Hearts
Chapter Four: Cute Girls and Ghost Girls
Chapter Five: Competition and Curses
Chapter Six: Seasick
Chapter Seven: Stranded
Chapter Eight: Raft
Chapter Nine: Misinformation and Memories
Chapter Ten: Fortune-Telling Transfer
Chapter Eleven: Mark of Death
Chapter Twelve: Family
Chapter Thirteen: Festival Competition
Chapter Fourteen: Elderly Project
Chapter Fifteen: Dates and Judo
Chapter Sixteen: Teruhashi's Tears and Rifuta's Crush
Chapter Seventeen: Occult Love versus Sweet Loves
Chapter Eighteen: Evil Spirits and Pranks
Chapter Nineteen: Insecurity and Talkative Transfer
Chapter Twenty: Investigative Transfer
Chapter Twenty-One: Culture Festival
Chapter Twenty-Two: Festival Play
Chapter Twenty-Three: New Year's Premonition and Valentine's Day Gift
Chapter Twenty-Four: Clone Trouble
Chapter Twenty-Five: Confessions
Specials:
Pride Specials: 2024
Halloween Specials: 2024
Taglist:
@elaemae, @painstakingly-juno, @characterreaderwriter, @melovepurple, @sleep-7372, @w0mank1sser, @geminigengar, @noodleryworld, @leonardo-dabitchy, @janezee12751275, @xenop0p, @ex160-blog1, @boogiemansbitch, @dmitrytherat, @yuriisclumsy, @sixxze, @constellationguy, @k03ume, @sweatyinternettrash, @paastaboi, @unorthodox-gob, @girlswhopanic, @h-i-g-h-w-a-y-t-o-h-e-l-l-l, @drowningfishy, @rinwho, @izzieg3987, @candylp, @jmclouds, @ittomain1, @justamina-blog, @newtscreatures347269, @digital-dumbass, @chronovala, @yappydoo, @mymomsdisappointment, @lvvcian, @kyliexreads, @b3bybunny, @sle3pyh3ad2, @snowy-violet, @jaguarthecat, @isaacdaknight, @newttheglue250, @thelameone101, @peqch-pie, @rai-xxx, @loverzxi, @s0ggyrats, @introvertathome, @pandaquick, @sleepyk0dyz, @girgal73
𓇢𓆸☾☼ Let me be your wings
Keigo Takami X Reader
This is based on my isekai story, and since I’m having such a hard time writing the chapters (I didn’t plan…I just started writing), HAVE THIS FOR NOW! This might be used for the story later, but for now, it’s just to show how their dynamic will be.
𓇢𓆸☾☼ Hawks had been teasing you for years.
It wasn’t just the usual banter, oh no, he had perfected the art of getting under your skin in ways no one else could. The perfectly timed winks, the way he’d drawl out, “Aww, you miss me?” whenever you texted him for mission details, the relentless nicknames that ranged from “Featherweight” to “Speed Bump” (the latter because, as he put it, you were “always in his way but never slowing him down”). He lived for it.
The mission had been a success, but it left you winded. You stood on the rooftop of a high rise, still catching your breath, while Hawks looked as unbothered as ever, stretching his arms behind his head like he’d just woken up from a nap. His feathers rustled in the evening breeze, the city lights below casting an amber glow on his face.
“You good there, champ?” he asked, smirking as he tilted his head at you.
You shot him a glare, still breathing heavily. “I just ran five blocks at full speed chasing that guy while you took a scenic flight over the skyline.”
He grinned. “Perks of having wings. Maybe you should invest in a jetpack.”
“Maybe you should do more than just provide aerial commentary next time.”
“Ohhh, attitude. Someone’s feisty when they’re exhausted,” he teased. “Tell you what, I’ll carry you next time. if you ask nicely.”
You groaned, pushing your hair out of your face. “If you ever carry me, I’m taking a pair of scissors to your wings.”
“Ouch. That’s attempted murder, y’know.”
Before you could fire back, you caught a flash of something in his hand too quick to react in time.
Your stomach dropped. “Hawks… did you just—”
Hawks flipped his phone around, displaying the screen for you to see. There it was a perfectly timed, completely unflattering shot of you mid wheeze, hair sticking to your forehead, looking like you’d just been through hell and back.
“Oh, I absolutely did,” he confirmed, his golden eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, for posterity. Gotta capture these special moments.”
Your jaw clenched. “Delete it.”
He locked his phone with a dramatic flick of his wrist and tucked it into his jacket. “Nah, I think I’ll keep it. Maybe I’ll use it as your contact photo.”
You took a threatening step forward, but he was already floating just out of reach, laughing.
“Keigo Takami, I swear—”
“Whoa, full name? I really hit a nerve, huh?” He shot you a wink before launching himself into the sky. “See you around, Speed Bump!”
You watched him disappear into the night, fists clenched. Of course working with him was always so fun but god does it make you want to scream. Hawks had just taken off, disappearing into the sky like the show off he was. You watched until he was just a dot in the distance, then sighed, shaking your head.
This whole thing was still weird. Being here, seeing all of them in real life talking, breathing, making stupid jokes at your expense. You had spent years watching them from the other side of a screen, and now you were smack in the middle of it. It was like stepping into a show you used to binge watch, except now the characters had opinions on your coffee order and occasionally stole your fries.
Your eyes drifted back to where Hawks had just been, and you huffed out a laugh. Keigo Takami. You still remembered the first time you saw him in the anime all smug grins, lazy charm, and way too cool for his own good. You also remembered groaning because, of course, he had to be attractive. And a blonde.
You sighed dramatically. “God, my type is so predictable.”
First, it had been fictional blondes. Now? Now it was very real, very smug blondes who took pictures of you at your worst and made everything look effortless. Some things never changed.
Shaking your head, you turned on your heel and headed toward the next rooftop. You had your own agency to get back to top ten heroes didn’t have time to stand around having existential crises about their anime crushes coming to life.
Still, as you leapt off the edge, you couldn’t help but mutter, “At least I have good taste.”
⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆
The sun dipped below the Musutafu skyline, casting streaks of gold and crimson across the sky. The city hummed beneath you and Hawks, the distant sounds of traffic and chatter blending into the cool evening breeze. Perched on the edge of a rooftop, the two of you were supposed to be on patrol, but the quiet lull of the city made it feel more like an excuse to loiter.
Hawks stretched his arms behind his head, wings twitching slightly as he scanned the streets below. “Man, it’s almost too peaceful tonight. I was hoping for at least one car chase to spice things up.”
You smirked, leaning back on your elbows. “You say that now, but the second some villain starts monologuing, you’re gonna be complaining.”
“Pfft, that’s fair.” He shot you a sideways glance, amber eyes glinting with mischief. “Though, I gotta say, spending an evening with you is its own kind of excitement.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “Flattery won’t make me buy you dinner after this, bird boy.”
He gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “Getting chicken together would be such a good idea though, here I thought we had something special.”
“Oh, we do,” you said, pulling out your phone. “And I have just the thing to prove it.”
Without another word, you tapped the screen, and soft, whimsical music began to play. The opening notes of “Let Me Be Your Wings” from Thumbelina drifted into the air, delicate and romantic.
Hawks stiffened immediately.
His feathers ruffled as he slowly turned his head to you, an expression of pure, dawning horror washing over his face.
No. No way. He knew this song. Scratch that, he really knew this song.
It had been stuck in his head more times than he cared to admit. And, worse, he had definitely imagined you singing it to him at least once. Or twice. Maybe five times. But that was beside the point.
“Let me be your wings… let me be your only love~”
You grinned at him like the devil incarnate. “C’mon, Hawks. This is our song now.”
His eye twitched. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I’m deadly serious,” you said, placing a hand over your chest in mock sincerity. “It just fits you so perfectly. The majestic wings, the whole ‘sweeping people off their feet’ thing—”
“—I don’t sweep people off their feet—”
“—and of course, your deep, burning desire to be someone’s tiny fairy prince.”
Hawks groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You suck.”
“is this you asking?” you teased, raising the volume. “Let me take you far beyond the stars~”
His wings twitched violently. He was sweating. You can’t let them know you’ve actually thought about this, Keigo. Play it cool. Play it—
“I hate that I know every lyric to this song.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Your jaw dropped, eyes widening with glee. “Oh my god.”
“Forget I said that.”
“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” You leaned in, voice full of mock realization. “You’ve imagined yourself singing this to someone.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“You so have.”
“I haven’t.”
You gasped theatrically. “Wait… have you imagined someone specifically?”
Hawks shot up so fast he nearly lost his footing on the ledge. “ALRIGHT, THAT’S ENOUGH OUT OF YOU.”
Before you could react, he grabbed the back of your collar and launched into the sky.
“WAIT—WAIT, KEIGO, I DIDN’T MEAN LITERALLY—!”
“TOO LATE, YOU’RE GETTING THE FULL THUMBELINA EXPERIENCE.”
The city blurred beneath you as he ascended, the wind whipping past as he effortlessly carried you into the night. You kicked your legs in protest, but his grip was firm, his wings beating steadily as he soared higher.
Below, your phone now abandoned on the rooftop continued playing the song, the tiny speaker projecting “We’ll see the universe and dance on Saturn’s rings~”
A civilian walking down the street paused, glancing up as your distant scream echoed overhead
“KEIGOOOOOO, PUT ME DOWNNNN—!”
As Hawks soared higher, you flailed in his grasp, wind whipping past as the city blurred below. “I WAS JUST TEASING YOU” you shouted.
“Oh, but you started this,” Hawks shot back, smirking down at you. “C’mon, you started this! You played our new song, and now I’m just giving you the full fantasy.”
“The fantasy doesn’t include me plummeting to my death, KEIGO!”
He gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “Plummeting? Please. You’re in the safest hands in Musutafu.” Then, without warning, he spun you midair.Your stomach flipped.
“KEIGO—!”
“Shhh, Thumbelina, just enjoy the moment,” he teased, effortlessly twirling you again like you weighed nothing. His golden eyes gleamed as he grinned. “Isn’t this romantic? The stars, the city lights, me your dashing, winged rescuer?”
“You’re so lucky I can’t hit you from this angle.”
Hawks only laughed, catching you with ease before adjusting his grip one arm under your legs, the other supporting your back.
“Oh wow, holding me like a bride?” you deadpanned. “Really committing to the bit, huh?”
He smirked, wings shifting as he hovered smoothly above the rooftops. “I’m just staying in character. Besides, Y/n or should I say Thumbelina, in this situation, it’s you. Small, feisty, getting swept off their feet by a very handsome flying man”
“I am not small—”
“—and tragically falling for his irresistible charm.”
You let out the longest, most exasperated sigh of your life. “I hate you.”
Hawks gasped. “You love me.”
Then he twirled you again, and this time, it was slow and dramatic, like he was dancing with you midair, like you really were some fairytale princess in his arms.
“I swear, Takami” you breathed out a little more gently.
“You’re adorable when you’re mad.”
You groaned. “I’m going to fight you when we land.”
“Aw, you wanna spend more time with me?” You smacked his shoulder, and he laughed, finally descending back toward the rooftop.
As soon as your feet hit the ground, you staggered, trying to shake off the dizziness. Hawks landed beside you, grinning like he hadn’t just been the most unbearable person alive.
“Whew, what a rush, huh?” He stretched, wings twitching. “I really think we captured the essence of the song.”
You glared. “You twirled me like a ballerina.”
“Yeah, well, you fit in my arms so nicely, what was I supposed to do?”
You inhaled sharply, pointing a warning finger at him. “If you don’t shut up, i’m telling your fans their favorite pro kidnaps people when he likes them”
Hawks gasped, “That’s so gross, you wouldn’t.”
You sighed dramatically, brushing the wind tangled hair out of your face. “Yeah, yeah. Now c’mon, bird boy, let’s get food before I report you for kidnapping.”
His feathers ruffled in amusement. “Dinner and a song?”
You side-eyed him as you picked up your phone. “Keep dreaming, fairy prince.”
“‘You know, you should make make ‘Let Me Be Your Wings’ your new ringtone for me.” he smiles from across you
You smirked. “I would.”
His eyes narrowed. “…Damn. That’s hot.”
You groaned and turned away. “I’m leaving.”
He fell into step beside you as you made your way back toward the edge of the building, still grinning like an idiot.
Blondes, man. They were gonna be the death of you.
~~~
Batfamily X Batmom!Reader
⁺‧₊˚My Sons Boyfriend⁺‧₊˚
Continuing my tim appreciation, Have a silly overprotective parents to one of their youngest kid
masterlist
Jason tattles that his younger brother has a boy over.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ The TV played some noir film neither of you were paying attention to black and white shadows flickering across the screen, the occasional husky voice of a detective muttering something about dames and danger. It was background noise. Everything was background noise right now.
Your back arched against the couch as Bruce’s lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, his stubble scraping deliciously along your skin. You let out a soft, breathy laugh, tangled up in him, your knees bracketing his hips while his large hands gripped your thighs beneath the hem of your oversized shirt.
His tongue slid against yours again, deep and slow, and the kiss had long since lost any sense of restraint. You tugged at his shirt, fingers skimming up beneath it, palms exploring every inch of familiar skin. Bruce growled low in his throat, the sound rumbling against your lips as he leaned further into you, pressing you back until your spine met the couch cushions with a soft thump.
There were no patrols, no emergency calls, no villains trying to blow up the city and a damn good excuse to indulge in weeks of pent up affection with no one around to ruin it.
“What the fuck?!”
A voice cracked through the air like a gunshot, and both of you froze mid kiss, mouths still a breath apart, panting and flushed. Well no one around to ruin might not work if you have a Jason Todd for a child (even though hes an adult it still applies).
You didn’t even turn around.
“It’s a lazy day,” you said flatly, lips still swollen, one hand still fisted in Bruce’s shirt. “Go away.”
Jason’s voice rose another octave, and you could hear the trauma in it. “Are you two seriously making out like that on the living room couch? In the middle of the day?! seriously making out like teenagers right now?! I’ve seen less tongue in French films!”
You rolled your eyes and finally sat up, sliding off Bruce’s lap with a groan and adjusting your shirt though it didn’t help much. Bruce just rubbed at his face with one hand, exhaling through his nose like a man trying not to start swearing. Jason stormed around the couch, eyes narrowed, nose wrinkled. “You were all over each other! That was full on pre bedroom behavior!”
“Which we would’ve moved to,” you muttered, “we only do stuff out here when you guys for sure aren’t.”
“TMI LADY!! I live here!”
“So do we.”
“I grew up here! Do you know how many times I’ve had to walk in on emotionally scarring things? And now I have to add this to the list?”
You gave him a pointed look and gestured vaguely to Bruce, who was still slouched and half hard under the sweatpants. “You’re twenty something and you’ve walked in on worse. Remember the time you accidentally opened the panic room during our anniversary trip?”
Jason gagged. “Why would you bring that up?! I had finally repressed it!”
You shrugged, completely unfazed. “That’s why I didn’t jump out of my skin when you yelled. You’re one of the oldest. You’re basically numb to it by now.”
“That’s not how trauma works!”
“You’ll live.”
Bruce finally stood, setting a firm hand on your lower back as he stepped forward. “Did you interrupt just to complain, or is there a point?”
“Oh, there’s a point,” Jason said, smirking now, even as he pointedly avoided making eye contact with either of you. “Tim’s upstairs. With Conner. Door closed. Voices low. Lots of awkward pauses and ‘I dunno, what do you wanna do?’s. Figured someone with authority should stop it before I need a bleach rinse for my brain again.”
You and Bruce exchanged a glance. You raised a brow. “You think they’re…?”
“I’m just saying, I’m not doing the awkward sex talk with either of them. That’s your job.”
Bruce sighed through his nose again, rubbing his temples. “We should’ve eloped in Fiji.”
Jason clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “You should’ve invested in a deadbolt and soundproof walls. You’ve got like fifty rooms. Go be gross in literally any other one.”
Bruce groaned, sitting up with the pained weariness of a man who just wanted five uninterrupted minutes with his partner. “I don’t know what’s worse,” he muttered. “You barging in, or the fact that you’re tattling like a six year old.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “You can ground me later. But someone needs to knock before that kid goes full hormonal teenager with Superman’s clone.”
You rubbed your temples and slid off Bruce’s lap. “Can’t we just go one day without something weird happening in this house?”
“Nope,” Jason chirped.
Bruce stood, adjusting his shirt and shooting Jason a tired glare. “You’re not getting a thank you for this.”
Jason grinned. “I’ll settle for watching the fallout.”
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺
The carpet was soft beneath your knees as you crouched near the top of the staircase, one hand gripping the railing and the other latched around your husband’s wrist. Bruce was not thrilled. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, towering behind you in full grumpy dad form.
You shushed him. “Shh. This is important. Our son is dating.”
Bruce arched an eyebrow. “He’s not a child anymore.”
You gasped loudly and dramatically, a feeling attune like he’d just slapped you with a divorce paper. “How dare you say that to a mother’s face.”
“I feel like as a mother you should be letting him have space” he whispered dryly.
“It’s anything and everything for my baby,” you whispered back, “heartbroken.”
Bruce sighed, letting you pull him forward like some six foot tall human leash. He followed behind you, slouched and sulking like a teenager being dragged into a parent teacher conference. But he didn’t resist. Not really. At the end of the hallway, just far enough not to be heard but perfectly in view, Tim was standing awkwardly with his shoulder slightly bumping against the wall, halfway through some rambling sentence that didn’t seem to have an end. Across from him leaned Conner Kent Superboy himself smiling with the easy, confident charm of someone who knew exactly how good he looked.
You gasped again, softer this time. “He’s so nervous. Look at him. Our baby…”
“Don’t start crying,” Bruce warned.
“He’s got no game, Bruce.”
Bruce squinted. “…This is objectively better than his brothers.”
You nearly cackled. “Low bar, sweetheart.”
Tim fumbled again, scratching the back of his neck while trying to not look directly at Conner. Conner leaned in just slightly, arms crossed as he nodded along, totally relaxed. He said something with a grin, and Tim laughed clearly too loud, then looked down at the floor in horror.
You sniffled, eyes shimmering. “Look at our baby flirting…”
“He’s not a baby,” Bruce said, though his voice was quieter now. “He’s nearly eighteen.” And yet, he leaned a little more over your shoulder.
You smirked. “You’re watching.”
“I’m observing.”
“You’re parenting.”
Bruce sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, crossing his arms as he stared harder at the two teens.
“What’s Kent’s clone doing here alone with him anyways?” he muttered, eyes narrowing.
“Ohhh,” you grinned, “now you care.”
“Of course I care,” Bruce snapped, more defensive than he meant to be. “That’s my kid.”
You nudged him with your elbow, whispering proudly, “Our kid.”
He didn’t respond to that but the corner of his mouth twitched. Down the hall, Conner leaned in and brushed something off Tim’s shirt something that wasn’t there. Tim went red, practically short circuiting.
Bruce straightened immediately. “Okay. That’s enough recon.”
“Oh, now it’s enough?”
“I’m getting my Batarangs.”
You caught his wrist before he could march off. “No. No Batarangs. No Bat glare. You said he’s not a baby, remember?”
“He wasn’t getting flirted with then.”
You snorted, still holding his arm. “I think your overprotective thing is hot.”
He paused. “That a fact?”
You smirked, glancing back toward your bedroom door. “Yes. Now let’s go back to our room lights off, no clothes, door locked this time and let the kids be kids.”
Bruce gave Tim and Conner one last skeptical look, then sighed. “If they start kissing, I’m interrupting.”
“No you won’t,” you said, dragging him back down the hall by the wrist again. “Because I’ll be too busy making out with you to let you get up.”
Despite that, the minute you headed to the room. Conner and Tim were happily walking towards the kitchen. making you drag your husband again to watch your boy. The kitchen was dimly lit, the only real noise coming from the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of snack bags. You and Bruce had found your new favorite spot behind the kitchen island, crouching low and trying your best not to make a sound, despite the undeniable excitement of spying on your son.
You had your phone held up, recording through the cabinet doors like a proud wildlife documentarian. Tim and Conner were in the next room, chattering nervously while they raided the pantry for snacks.
Bruce was less than impressed with the situation. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, glaring at you as if you were the one causing trouble.
You smirked, eyes never leaving the scene unfolding in the next room. “I practically raised him. I have the right to witness his first love.”
He grunted, his voice tinged with mild exasperation. “You’re literally crouched next to the coffee machine whispering commentary like it’s National Geographic.”
You held your phone at a slightly different angle, zooming in on Tim as he fumbled with a bag of chips. “And you’re crouched next to me, so what does that make you?”
Bruce looked at you, deadpan. “An unwilling accomplice.”
You shot him a look, trying not to giggle as you saw Tim’s hand hover uncertainly over a box of cookies while Conner casually leaned against the counter, looking way too smooth for someone who was probably still a teenager.
“Conner’s definitely a pro at this,” you whispered, shaking your head in amused disbelief. “Look at him, just leaning there. Like it’s nothing what if he just wants to play woth out boys feelings.”
Bruce sighed dramatically but didn’t move. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“This is serious, Bruce. It’s parental responsibility.”
Bruce looked at you, his eyes softening. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Yeah, well, you love me.” You raised an eyebrow at him.
“I’ve got a lot of regrets today,” he muttered, but his hand brushed against yours in the dim light, soft and reassuring. Just as you were about to comment on Tim’s awkward attempt at getting a cookie into his mouth without looking too desperate, the kitchen door swung open with a familiar creak.
“Are you spying on Tim?” Dick’s voice rang through the space, sharp and amused.
Both you and Bruce froze, immediately making eye contact in a way that could only be described as a guilty deer caught in headlights moment.
Bruce was the first to recover. He straightened up quickly, stepping away from the island and crossing his arms like he was trying to physically distance himself from the ridiculousness of it all. “No,” he said instantly, as if the word would somehow erase the whole scene.
You, on the other hand, didn’t try to hide it. You looked up at Dick with wide, unapologetic eyes. “Yes,” you said, shrugging as though this was completely normal behavior for a concerned parent.
Dick raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe with a smug grin. “You guys are so lame.”
You grinned back, unbothered by his teasing. “You think we’re lame, but when you’re a parent, you’ll understand.”
Bruce, clearly not keen on the whole ordeal, shot a look at Tim and Conner through the kitchen entryway. “I’m just making sure he’s not making any… stupid decisions.”
“Right.” Dick’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Because you’re both really qualified for that.”
You shot him a sideways glance. “Hey, we did the best we could. And this is where you come in. Don’t think I didn’t see you sneak a peek when you thought we weren’t looking.”
Dick’s eyes widened for a second before he cracked a grin. “You two are hopeless.” He turned his attention back to the other room. “What are they even doing, anyway?”
You and Bruce both turned to look through the cabinets again, slightly distracted now that Dick was standing right there. Tim was holding a cookie out to Conner, his fingers trembling slightly, and Conner took it with a grin that could melt even the iciest heart.
“He’s handing Conner a cookie,” you said, your voice dripping with awe and mild concern. “A cookie. They’re not even talking about something deep or meaningful, like… I don’t know, saving Gotham or discussing conspiracy theories. It’s literally just this.”
Dick raised an eyebrow again, his grin widening. “You’re really invested in this?”
Bruce was rubbing the back of his neck, clearly torn between indulging your parental instincts and the embarrassment of being caught in such an absurd situation. “Yeah, we’re not stalking them. Just… observing.”
Dick snorted. “Sure, sure. Watching them like they’re some rare, endangered species.”
You looked at him deadpan. “They are.”
Bruce cleared his throat. “Look, we’ll stop when they stop… getting… weird.”
Dick gave the two of you an incredulous look. “You two are so ridiculous. Seriously.”
And with that, Dick pushed past you both to head upstairs, but not before he paused to make one last comment.
“If I ever catch you two creeping on me like this, I’ll start a family group chat called ‘Creepy Parents.’”
You and Bruce exchanged an amused glance. “We’ll take that risk,” you said,
Dick groaned, clearly not interested in sticking around for the ridiculousness, and disappeared upstairs.
You looked back at Bruce, who was still watching Tim and Conner, now in full parental protective mode. His brows were furrowed, a slight frown tugging at his lips.
“I guess we’re just going to wait this out?” you asked softly, leaning against the island.
Bruce nodded, but his tone was softer now, full of that deep, unspoken love only a parent could understand. “Yeah. But we need to be the ones to have that talk when they’re ready.”
You smiled, leaning into him, the whole world feeling a little less chaotic, even if the kids’ drama would never stop.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺
Tim and Conner were sitting at the kitchen table now, their snack raid completed, with Conner casually leaning back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the seat across from him. Tim, on the other hand, was picking at his cookie, his eyes occasionally flicking nervously around the room.
Conner noticed Tim’s unease and raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong, Drake?”
Tim cleared his throat, his gaze shifting quickly toward the hallway, and then back to Conner, hoping his casual demeanor would mask the slight panic he felt. “Uh, no, everything’s fine.”
Conner smirked knowingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “You sure about that? ‘Cause I can’t help but notice your… parents have been acting a little weird.”
Tim froze. His heart rate quickened as the words hit him. He blinked at Conner, unsure if he’d heard him right. “What?”
“You know, they’ve been hanging around for a while,” Conner said, a slight laugh escaping his lips. “I can’t believe they’re still hiding behind the kitchen island.”
Tim’s face went white, of course he noticed it. his eyes darted toward the kitchen counter, his heart sinking into his stomach. His parents… They had been watching this whole time. He quickly looked away, pretending he hadn’t heard anything, his eyes shifting uncomfortably as if he could pretend that the observation had never been made. “You’re imagining things.”
Conner raised an eyebrow. “Right,” he said, unconvinced. “Maybe I am.”
But before Tim could settle into any sense of relief, he couldn’t help himself. His eyes glanced toward the cabinets, toward the hidden space behind the island where his parents had been crouched like secret agents, but the moment he saw something shift in the shadows, he quickly turned his head away. A blush spread across his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and frustration bubbling up inside him.
He heard a muffled whisper coming from the kitchen, the faintest sound of your voice saying, “Do you think they noticed?”
His heart skipped. He knew they were there. He immediately looked back at Conner, who was now wearing an almost triumphant smirk, clearly enjoying this entire awkward exchange.
Tim’s face reddened even further. “Ugh, I hate you.”
Conner’s grin widened, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms still crossed, looking like he was thoroughly enjoying the chaos Tim was going through. “your family is so weird”
Tim just buried his face in his hands for a second, trying to collect himself. It didn’t help that he could hear the whispering getting louder, still faint, but unmistakable. “No way. I think they didn’t notice. Maybe we can sneak away after they leave…”
“We?” Tim thought he heard Bruce’s voice this time. It made him stiffen.
His face was now a bright red, and he buried his face further into his arms, hoping it might all just go away. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, his pulse racing. This was so embarrassing. Why couldn’t they have just left him alone? Why did his parents have to be so… so overly protective?
As his embarrassment grew, Tim stole another quick glance at the kitchen, only to see a shadow dart behind the cabinets. His stomach flipped, and he quickly turned away, biting his lip to keep from saying something he’d regret.
Conner’s eyes were sharp. “Yeah… they totally noticed,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. “You’re lucky I’m cool with this. You’re lucky I didn’t go tell them they’ve been caught. That would’ve been funny.”
“Conner, shut up!” Tim hissed, but the laughter that followed didn’t make it any better.
Somewhere from behind the cabinets, you whispered again, louder this time, “Maybe they’ll pretend they didn’t see us.”
Bruce’s voice was closer to a growl. “We’re being subtle, right?”
Tim’s body stiffened again, but this time he was ready. He shot up from his chair and took a deep breath. There was no going back now. “I’m going upstairs. You’re all insane.”
Conner chuckled, watching him go, clearly having the time of his life while Tim fumbled his way toward the hallway.
As Tim rushed out of the room, trying to hide the heat in his cheeks, you and Bruce exchanged a glance from your hiding spot, then reluctantly peeked around the corner to make sure your son had left the kitchen.
“We should’ve just went in our room,” you muttered, sounding almost defeated.
Bruce nodded, glancing up at you. “This is why I wanted to go back to the room.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And you couldn’t let that go?”
Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we’ve been caught so many times.”
“But it’s worth it, right?” You flashed a teasing grin at him, clearly finding amusement in the awkwardness.
Bruce didn’t respond immediately, but he didn’t move either. He just kept watching the empty kitchen, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
Finally, he said, “I’d still rather be making out with you right now.”
You grinned. “One thing at a time, Bruce. One thing at a time.”
Bruce didn’t waste a second. The moment the last of Tim’s and conner’s footsteps faded up the stairs, he was on his feet, his usual quiet intensity shifting into something more playful albeit with a touch of authority.
Without a word, he moved toward you, his hand reaching for your wrist. Before you could even fully register his intent, he pulled you into his chest, his other hand gently cupping your chin as he tilted your face up to meet his. His lips were almost on yours, just inches apart, but he hesitated for a fraction of a second, as if savoring the moment.
“As much fun as that was,” he said in a low, husky tone, his voice thick with amusement, “it’s time for mommy and daddy time.”
Your heart skipped. You had to admit, despite the awkwardness of everything that just happened, the sudden shift in Bruce’s demeanor made your pulse spike. The playful tension in the air was thick enough to cut through. You could see the flicker of mischief in his eyes.
“Bruce…” you whispered, half trying to resist, half already giving in.
“Our boy will be fine” His voice was low, but there was a firm edge to it, a reminder that your playful surveillance time had come to an end. “You and me. Upstairs. Now.”
Before you could protest or offer some sarcastic response, he was already guiding you away from the kitchen island, his hand firm around your wrist. The way his grip tightened made it clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer not that you really wanted to resist.
“Bruce, we can’t just…” you started to say, but you were quickly cut off as he kissed you, his lips catching yours in a brief, but intense press that stole your breath away.
He pulled back just enough to murmur, “No more distractions. No more spying. Just us.”
You were about to make a snarky comment, but all the words caught in your throat when he pulled you against him again, his arms wrapping around your waist. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the way his strong frame seemed to draw you in closer.
“I’m not letting you get away that easily,” he said with a grin, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable.
Your breath caught as you felt his touch, suddenly aware of how much you’d been craving this intimate moment. The tension that had been building throughout the entire day between your kids, the spying, the ridiculousness was finally going to melt away, leaving just the two of you.
With a final, teasing smile, Bruce began leading you upstairs, his hand never leaving yours. The world outside your bedroom had faded into the background there was only him and you, and the quiet promise of some much needed time alone.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺
Tim was lying face down on his bed, groaning into the sheets. If he could dig a hole and disappear into it, he would. He’d half expected his parents to hover maybe ask a few awkward questions. But full on mission mode surveillance? That was next level.
The door creaked open, and Tim didn’t even need to look to know who it was.
“I knew they were weird,” Conner’s voice came, all smug and sing songy. “But hiding behind the cabinets? thats weird.”
Tim rolled over with a groan, face still half buried in a pillow. “Can we not talk about it?”
Conner stepped in like he owned the place, casually flopping onto Tim’s bed with zero regard for personal space. “Dude, your mom was crouched like it was recon. I think she even whispered something about your ‘game.’ I’m emotionally scarred.”
Conner, of course, wasn’t far behind. He opened the door without knocking and stepped into the room, his usual easygoing grin plastered across his face. But there was something different in his eyes something softer. Maybe he was trying to ease the tension Tim was still feeling.
“You good?” Conner asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Tim turned his head just slightly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… I dunno, everything’s just kinda weird today.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Conner chuckled, but it wasn’t a mocking laugh. It was more of an understanding one. “Your parents… they’re something else.”
Tim groaned and rolled onto his back, covering his eyes with his arm. “Don’t remind me. I didn’t think they’d go full surveillance mode.”
Conner moved further into the room, sitting at the edge of the bed. “Well, they’re just looking out for you, you know? They’re probably a little overprotective, but… I mean, I guess I’d do the same thing if I were them.”
Tim half smiled at that, finally sitting up. “Yeah, but it’s a little much. I’m almost eighteen, not, like, seven.”
Conner gave him a side glance, his smile still there. “Right. You’re allowed to… y’know, have a life outside of your parents’ radar.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” Tim muttered, but it wasn’t with annoyance more like he appreciated Conner’s effort to lighten the mood. Tim glanced at Conner, his mind wandering as it often did when he was around him. Something about the way Conner carried himself, the way he was always so relaxed, so at ease it was easy to get lost in.
Conner seemed to sense it, his voice dropping a little lower. “So, uh… are you sure it’s just your parents that’s got you flustered? Or is it… something else?”
Tim blinked at him, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
Conner leaned back against the headboard, looking over at him with a teasing smile. “I don’t know, just seems like you’ve got a lot going on in your head. And I mean, I did see how red your face was back there, so”
Tim immediately turned even more red. “Conner, I swear to God”
“Okay, okay, fine,” Conner laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I won’t make it worse. But, uh… you do know you can talk to me, right?”
Tim let out a soft exhale, unsure of how to respond. He didn’t even realize how much he’d needed to hear that until now. “Yeah. I guess I just… didn’t want to make it weird.”
“Making it weird is kind of my thing,” Conner joked, but there was something reassuring about the way he said it like he wasn’t trying to force the conversation, but also wasn’t afraid to be open with him. Tim’s heart skipped a little at the casual warmth in Conner’s voice. He wasn’t sure if it was the way Conner was looking at him now, or just the comfort of knowing someone actually cared, but he found himself letting out a nervous laugh. “I’m definitely not the best at this… flirting thing. I’m just… I don’t know, overthinking it all.”
Conner’s eyes softened, and before Tim could protest, Conner slid closer on the bed. He nudged Tim’s shoulder lightly, his voice quieter now. “You don’t have to be perfect at it. I think you’re doing just fine.”
Tim froze, his pulse racing at the sudden closeness. “Wait, really?”
Conner smirked, but there was something genuine in his smile now. “Really. You’ve just gotta stop trying to be all… cool about it. Just be yourself. If someone can’t see how amazing you are, that’s their loss.”
Tim swallowed, trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. “You’re… you’re the worst, you know that?”
But Conner just laughed, the sound light and effortless. “I know. But you like me anyway.”
Tim bit his lip, trying not to smile too much, but there was no denying the way his heart was beating faster now. Conner had always been the one to tease him, to make him laugh when things were tough. But this this felt different. The way they were sitting there, so close, the unspoken understanding between them it was the kind of connection Tim hadn’t realized he was craving.
“Alright, alright,” Conner said, standing up and giving Tim a teasing grin, “I’ll leave you to think about that. But you know I’m here, if you wanna… talk or whatever.”
Tim nodded, his throat a little tight, but he didn’t know what to say. Conner’s easygoing presence had a way of putting him at ease, and for the first time in a while, Tim felt like he was starting to understand what it meant to really be seen by someone.
“Thanks, Conner,” Tim muttered, his voice soft.
Conner winked as he walked toward the door. “Anytime, small bird. Anytime.”
As the door clicked shut behind him, Tim sank back against the bed, his heart still racing, but now for a different reason.
Conner: So…
Tim: Please don’t.
Conner: Your parents have been following us for like… an hour. I swear I saw your mom dive behind a trash bin.
Tim: If I ignore it, maybe it’ll go away.
Reader, whispering from the kitchen: They didn’t see us.
Bruce, deadpan: They definitely saw us.
Bruce Wayne | Batman X Reader
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ You’re Weird ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ
masterlist
Check it, Bruce sees you’re drowning and wants to make sure you’re ok. Gotham gazette has a few other ideas.
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Your fingers curled around the warm ceramic mug, the heat soothing your skin. “It’s weird,” you mused, glancing around at the clean streets, the laughter of children in a nearby park, the general lack of sirens. “Being here makes Gotham feel like a fever dream. Like I blinked and woke up in a world that doesn’t smell like wet concrete and cigarette smoke.”
The scent of freshly ground coffee beans swirled in the crisp Metropolis air, rich and inviting. You sat across from Bruce Wayne at a quiet café tucked on the corner of Hyperion Avenue, the kind of place that prided itself on being “low key millennial vibe,” though the exposed brick walls and imported furniture suggested otherwise. Still, it was a breath of fresh air from Gotham’s perpetual gloom.
Bruce smiled over the rim of his espresso, the smallest curve of his lips. “I told you Metropolis would be good for you. A different pace. Safer.”
“Definitely safer,” you nodded, chuckling softly. “Though a little… unnerving? Like it’s too perfect. No edge.”
“You miss the unnerving…ness?”
“I feel like Gotham just might have more personality?” You grinned, teasing. “Besides, there’s no challenge in writing about Metropolis. They treat their criminals like punchlines.”
Bruce looked at you then. That quiet intensity in his eyes, the one you always caught glimpses of in rare, unguarded moments. “You like the challenge. That’s what makes you different.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “Different?”
“Just different, you don’t have to think too hard on it”
You looked down, the compliment sinking into your chest a little deeper than you were prepared for. “ahhhh okok whatever mister cryptic. What are we doing in metropolis anyways? you havent even done any work while here”
A pause.
“thats true,” Bruce said softly. “Maybe I wanted to see what it’d be like. Sharing coffee somewhere bright for once.”
Your heart did a little pirouette in your chest. It was nothing nothing, right? Just a moment. A shared breath.
But before you could say anything, a familiar voice called out from the sidewalk.
“Bruce! Well, I’ll be damned!”
Bruce’s smile flattened like someone had stepped on it. You turned in your chair to see a tall man in glasses and a warm beige trench coat strolling up, the sun glinting off his dark hair. Clark Kent. You’d seen him in bylines, youre pretty sure youve seen him carrying a camera around. Mild mannered, curious, somehow always in the right place at the right time. And right now, he looked delighted.
“Clark,” Bruce greeted, standing only because etiquette demanded it. His handshake was brief. You noticed the way his jaw ticked as Clark’s gaze immediately shifted to you.
“And you must be the [Y/N] [L/N],” Clark said, eyes lighting up. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”
You blinked. “You… are?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. That piece you did on Clayface? Incredible. All your stories go into so much depth and extremely captivating.”
You felt yourself flush. “That means a lot. It’s mice to meet you.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed, his cup suddenly very uninteresting as he picked it up for a sip he didn’t take.
Clark pulled out the empty chair beside you and sat before you could protest. “Oh! Im Clark by the way! I’ve always believed there’s more to every story than just the ‘bad guy’ angle. But the way you frame it, like… you make people care. You make them wonder if these villains could’ve been something else in a different world.”
You smiled, glowing under the praise. “That’s exactly what I try to do. Gotham’s complicated. Everyone wants to point fingers, but no one wants to understand the systems that failed them.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Clark nodded. “You ever think of working in Metropolis?”
Bruce’s cup hit the table a little harder than necessary.
“I like Gotham,” you said, glancing at Bruce. “It’s home. And having a indepth understanding makes for good copy.”
Clark laughed. “Fair enough. Still, if you ever need a second pair of eyes or someone to bounce drafts off, I’d be happy to.”
Bruce cleared his throat.
You turned to see him leaning back in his chair, expression unreadable, but his fingers were drumming a silent rhythm on the armrest.
“So, Clark,” Bruce said coolly, “I’m sure the Daily Planet is keeping you busy.”
“Oh, always,” Clark chuckled. “But it’s not every day I bump into old friends… and get to meet such impressive company.”
You smiled politely, but you couldn’t miss the faint twitch in Bruce’s brow. For the first time since you’d met him, he looked rattled. It was almost adorable.
“So, Bruce,” you teased, turning your gaze back to him, “you were telling me about that time you nearly got arrested in Paris for what was it again?”
Bruce straightened. “It was a misunderstanding.”
Clark’s eyebrows rose, amused. “Arrested? Now this sounds like a story.”
“No,” Bruce said flatly.
You laughed and shook your head, the tension easing around the edges. But beneath the surface, you could feel it. Something had shifted. Bruce had invited you to Metropolis under the guise of research, but his eyes said more than that. His gaze lingered when Clark made you laugh, and his mouth set into a thin line every time you and Clark found common ground. You weren’t sure what to do with that yet. But you knew one thing for certain… You kind of liked it.
And Bruce? He looked like he was very much not enjoying sharing the spotlight not when it came to you. Especially not with someone like Clark Kent.
The conversation had drifted into the realm of old journalism war stories. Clark was on his third anecdote about chasing down Luthor’s motorcade on foot in attempt to get an interview completely glossing over how that was physically possible and you were laughing, your eyes crinkled with amusement.
Bruce, meanwhile, was over it.
He had tried. Really, he had. Tried to play nice, tried to keep the conversation moving without outright snarling, tried not to look like a man seconds away from flipping the café table over. But watching you laugh, that genuine, radiant smile that he didn’t get nearly enough of not when you were in Gotham, buried in crime reports and late night stakeouts and watching Clark soak it in like it was sunshine?
It was starting to itch beneath his skin. So, Bruce did what he did best. He weaponized polite.
“You know, Clark,” Bruce said, smoothly interrupting whatever story he was about to launch into next, “as fascinating as your insight is, I’m sure the Daily Planet is wondering where their star reporter has wandered off to.”
Clark blinked. “Oh I’ve got the rest of the day off. Lois has it covered.”
“Of course,” Bruce replied, tone light but laced with something sharper. “But I imagine someone like you never really stops working. Especially with… so many rooftops to jump between.”
There was a beat. Clark’s smile faltered for just a second, and you blinked, confused at the oddly specific phrasing.
Bruce leaned forward, resting an arm casually on the table, expression carved from cool stone. “Besides, I’m sure [Y/N] wouldn’t want to be distracted from the purpose of her visit. Research, remember?”
Clark chuckled, though this time it came out tight. “Right. I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”
You arched a brow. Something was going on between them something that felt like more than old friends catching up. A subtle chess game you weren’t meant to notice. But you did notice. Especially when Clark stood with an exaggerated sigh and adjusted his coat.
“Well,” he said, flashing you another warm smile, “it really was a pleasure meeting you, [Y/N]. Let’s chat sometime professional to professional.”
“Definitely,” you said, nodding.
He gave Bruce a weird glance. “Always a pleasure, Bruce.”
“Likewise,” Bruce said, not even pretending to mean it.
Once Clark was gone, Bruce leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly like the air was finally breathable again. His jaw relaxed. His shoulders dropped an inch. He reached for his espresso and finally took the sip he’d been pretending to take all afternoon.
You watched him with an amused smirk.
“Well, well,” you said, folding your arms over the table. “I wasn’t expecting Gotham’s golden boy to be so antsy.”
Bruce didn’t look at you right away, choosing instead to swirl the contents of his cup. “I’m not antsy.”
“You absolutely are,” you said, grinning now. “Clark was lovely, by the way. Very sweet. You could learn something from him.”
“I’d rather not,” Bruce said flatly.
You laughed, tilting your head at him. “rich boy your spoiledness is coming out.”
He finally met your eyes. There it was again that quiet, smoldering honesty buried beneath the billionaire’s mask.
“I just don’t like sharing good coffee,” he said coolly. “Especially when I invited you here.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was electric.
You leaned in just a little, your voice softer now. “Then maybe you shouldn’t hide behind excuses like ‘research.’ Maybe next time, just say you want my attention.”
Bruce’s lips curved ever so slightly. Not a smirk, not quite a smile something just for you.
“ill hold you too it”
And this time, it was your heart doing pirouettes.
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ
Wayne Tower loomed as it always did, cold steel and glass slicing through Gotham’s ashen sky like a blade. Rain tapped against the windows in soft percussion, blurring the gray city below, but Bruce barely registered it. He sat alone in his office, the lights low, his chair turned just slightly away from the sprawling skyline.
He hadn’t moved in the last ten minutes. Not since that morning paper landed on his desk.
The Gotham Gazette, bold font screaming at him like a damn siren:
“WAYNE WINES AND DINES MYSTERY REPORTER IN METROPOLIS”
Right beneath the headline was a photo of you laughing at something Clark said, sunlight catching in your hair, your posture turned comfortably toward Bruce. Another photo showed the two of you walking side by side, your elbow lightly brushing against his as you reached for your coffee. And, of course, the pièce de résistance: a wide shot of the table, Bruce leaning forward, looking at you like you were the only person in the world.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Goddammit,” he muttered.
It wasn’t the paparazzi he was used to them, expected them. It was Metropolis that caught him off guard. He thought, stupidly, that the clean air and cheerful streets made people less nosy. Less likely to shove a camera lens into his business.
Clearly, he had underestimated how rabid Gotham media could be. Even there, even with you.
And you.
You hadn’t brought it up. Hadn’t mentioned the paper or the photos or the wild headlines speculating you were Gotham’s newest It Girl, or that the elusive Bruce Wayne had finally found someone to tame him.
That was what was killing him. Not the photos. Not the gossip. Not even the implication that the two of you were something more. It was the not knowing how you felt about it.
Bruce rose from his desk, the chair scraping quietly behind him. He paced the room like a caged animal, the newspaper still clutched in one hand, wrinkled from how tightly he’d been gripping it.
He read the headline again and immediately hated himself for how warm it made him feel. Wayne Wines and Dines. He could hear your voice in his head, laughing. God, Bruce, that sounds like a sleazy rom com title.
He wanted you.
He wanted you in the most undignified, unbillionaire like way possible. Wanted to kiss you until the words stopped working in his brain. Wanted to sit next to you again in some sunshine drenched café and actually enjoy your laugh instead of being consumed by it.
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing faster now. He hated this. Hated that he was in a thousand meetings a week with CEOs and board members and city officials, but the second you walked into a room or in this case, a newspaper he felt like a goddamn teenage girl.
What if you didn’t want people thinking you were involved with him?
That’s what haunted him. Not the story. Not the photos. You. Would you hate it? Would you laugh it off? Would you roll your eyes and say, “God, Bruce, you’re so dramatic”?
Or worse would you tell him it was all a misunderstanding, that you didn’t see him that way? The thought made him pause mid step, one hand on the window frame, staring at his own reflection in the glass. His jaw was tense. His eyes darker than usual.
He hadn’t felt this unsure of himself in years. Batman never hesitated. But Bruce Wayne? He was a mess. He looked back at the paper. Back at you.
Back at the way you looked when you laughed, when your eyes crinkled, when you let your guard down just enough for him to wonder what it’d be like to really have you.
He sighed, resting his forehead against the glass.
“Get it together.”
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ
it started out very simple. He became fascinated with you. It had been one of those Gotham nights long, bone tired, the kind of quiet that was never actually silent. Just… tired. The flicker of neon through you ur tiny apartment windows painted the walls in restless color, but inside, it was dim, peaceful.
You were curled up on the couch, oversized hoodie swallowing your form, mug of something warm and sweet nestled in your hands. Bruce sat across from you in an armchair, undone just enough to tell you he wasn’t working anymore tie loosened, cuffs rolled. He was watching you. He always watched you. Not in a creepy way but in fascination.
“You ever get that feeling like everything’s just… pressing in all at once?” you asked, voice quieter than usual.
Bruce blinked. “All the time.”
You gave him a weak smile. “Right. Stupid question.”
“It’s not stupid,” he said immediately. “You’ve been burning the candle at both ends. I’ve noticed.”
You looked away, exhaling through your nose. “Yeah, well. Work’s getting heavy. Not just deadlines or research like, the stories themselves. I think its hard knowing so much about someone’s hurt. Its addicting I cant stop. I know I’m good at telling those stories. I know it matters. But lately, I feel like I’m drowning in it.”
Bruce didn’t respond right away. You weren’t sure you wanted him to not with solutions. You pressed the edge of your mug to your lips, then lowered it without drinking. “And Gotham never stops, you know? Never lets you breathe. I love it. But sometimes, I think it’s eating me alive.”
The silence between you stretched. Then Bruce leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, voice gentle.
“I’m going on a trip.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Business,” he clarified. “Metropolis. Just a few days. Meetings, some board schmoozing. Normally I wouldn’t bring anyone but” He paused, almost like it hurt to admit. “I don’t want to go alone. And I think you need a break.”
Your eyebrows lifted. “You… want me to come with you?”
He nodded once, deliberately. “You need sunlight. Coffee that isn’t brewed by a street vendor in the Narrows. Air that doesn’t taste like exhaust. And I think…” He hesitated again, then met your eyes. “I think it’d be good for both of us.”
You stared at him. “You’re sure this is a work trip?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Mostly.”
You snorted softly, your lips twitching upward. “What, you trying to whisk me away like some overworked intern in a workplace romance?”
“Do you want to be whisked?” he asked, and you knew he was being dry, but the way his eyes softened made it an excellent argument.
You set your mug down, heart thudding a little faster than you were ready for. “Okay.”
He tilted his head.
“I’ll go,” you said, quieter now. “To Metropolis. Maybe a change of pace will help.”
His gaze lingered. “Good.”
You nodded, your smile ghosting. “Good.”
the city outside could rage and howl all it wanted but inside your apartment it was quiet.
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ
There was no such thing as privacy in the Gotham Gazette bullpen. Not when your desk was sandwiched between the copy editor who played music a little too loud and the sports columnist who smelled like energy drinks and cheap cologne. Not when cubicles had walls barely higher than your shoulders. And definitely not when you’d just come back from a suspiciously timed “business trip” with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor.
You hadn’t even set your bag down before the vultures descended.
“So?” came a voice before you even logged into your computer.
You blinked. “So… what?”
“Oh, come on,” groaned Jamie from Features, leaning over your cubicle wall like a hungry hyena. “You and Bruce Wayne disappear to Metropolis for a weekend, and you come back looking relaxed. In Gotham. What did he do, buy you a new nervous system?”
You rolled your eyes. “It was a work trip. You know those things some of us actually do?”
“Honey, you haven’t even opened your email,” Jamie said. “I opened your email. You’re in the email. You’re trending.”
You stopped, staring at him. “What?”
“You haven’t seen the photos?” asked Liz from Editorial, practically hopping in place as she slid around the corner, tablet in hand. “You two at the hotel. At the gala. At the rooftop bar. Looking suspiciously cozy. Very hands on.”
Your blood ran cold. “There were photographers?”
“Babe, there are always photographers. Bruce Wayne doesn’t sneeze without a hundred flashbulbs going off,” Liz said, flipping the tablet around so you could see the image in question.
And there it was.
You and Bruce, laughing at something you couldn’t remember now. His hand was on the small of your back. Yours lingered on his arm like it belonged there. The skyline glittered behind you like it was painted in.
It looked… intimate. Too intimate.
“Great,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s just great.”
“You’re front page gossip,” Jamie sang. “You made Page Six, babe! That’s legacy status!”
You slumped into your chair, praying for spontaneous combustion.
But the hits kept coming.
“Did he fly you out first class or private?”
“Is he as brooding behind closed doors as he is on TV?”
“Do you think he’s going to propose?”
“Oh my God, please shut up!” you snapped.
That earned a few snickers, but also a hush. You didn’t snap often. You never snapped. Which was why every nosy reporter in hearing range immediately began whispering twice as loud.
You opened your inbox to find a stack of notifications you didn’t want: tabloid alerts, social media mentions, subject lines like BRUCE WAYNE: WHO’S THE GIRL? and MYSTERY WRITER GETS WAYNE’S ATTENTION.
Someone even sent a meme of the two of you photoshopped in wedding attire. Wedding attire.
You nearly threw your monitor out the window.
And to make matters worse someone literally just took a picture of you. You turned so fast your chair creaked.
“Did you just?”
“Noooo,” muttered one of the interns, tucking their phone away and walking very quickly in the opposite direction.
You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “This is a nightmare.”
Liz leaned closer. “Okay, but like… is anything happening?”
You peeked at her through your fingers. “Do you really think Bruce Wayne would date someone whose cubicle doesn’t even have walls?”
Liz paused. “You make a fair point. Still. You’d be the first tabloid rumor I’d actually root for.”
You sighed. It was hard to tell if that made you feel better or worse.
The truth? You didn’t know what was happening between you and Bruce. Not really. There had been stolen glances. Quiet words. An almost moment by the elevator that hadn’t turned into a kiss only because you’d chickened out.
And now this circus.
You opened a blank document, willing yourself to work.
But your mind wasn’t on the story. It was on Bruce on how quiet he’d gone since the trip. On how he hadn’t returned your last message.
You were halfway through typing a sentence that didn’t make sense when the crowd got worse.
“I swear, if another person breathes in my direction”
“Hey, superstar!”
You winced.
It was this random guy from Politics loud, nosy, and the worst kind of gossip. He strutted into the bullpen like he owned it, carrying a mug that read ‘World’s Best Journalist’ (he bought it for himself, no one doubted it). Behind him trailed two junior reporters and someone from the digital team, all of them making a beeline for your desk.
“I’m not doing this,” you muttered under your breath.
“Come on, just a few words!” Mark leaned against the edge of your cubicle, grinning like the devil himself. “You know the public’s eating it up Wayne’s mystery date turns out to be a journalist?”
“I didn’t agree to be anyone’s date.”
“That’s not what the pictures say,” someone behind him chimed in.
“I hate the pictures,” you snapped. “And I hate this office.”
“You say that every Monday,” Liz said, now openly eating popcorn like this was her entertainment for the day.
Mark held up a recorder. “I’m just saying, give me the exclusive before the others twist your words. I can paint you as the brilliant writer who stole Gotham’s most eligible bachelor.”
“I didn’t steal anything.”
“Fine, borrowed.”
You stared at him. “Mark, put that recorder down or I’ll throw it in your coffee.”
“I’ll fish it out,” he said without hesitation.
“Oh my God”
Before you could finish, two interns popped up on either side of you like synchronized jack in the boxes.
“Do you like him?”
“What was he like off camera?”
“Did he smell rich?”
“Can you get him to donate to our fundraiser?”
“I’m stopping all of you right there” you said, spinning in your chair and standing, your hands up in surrender. “I’m not answering questions. I’m not giving an exclusive. And I’m not I repeat, not dating Bruce Wayne.”
“But you went with him to Metropolis”
“And it was work! Professional! Boring!”
Liz muttered, “You don’t look like someone who had a boring weekend.”
You grabbed your half finished coffee and nearly spilled it as you tried to retreat.
Mark followed. “Look, I get it, privacy and all, but you’re sitting on a gold mine. Just one quote. Something classy. Like ‘He’s not what I expected’ or ‘Billionaires they’re just like us.’”
You whipped around so fast Mark almost tripped over himself.
“If I give you a quote, will you leave me alone?”
He perked up instantly. “Depends on the quote.”
You leaned in, voice low.
“Here it is: ‘I’d rather be trapped in Arkham with the Joker than give you an interview.’ Print that, Mark.”
The entire bullpen howled. Even Liz nearly choked on her popcorn. Mark gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine. No quote. But if he shows up at the office, I’m interviewing him.”
You sat back down, muttering to yourself. “Not unless I strangle him first.”
And then, as if on cue because the universe had a sense of humor you did not appreciate your phone buzzed.
One name. One message.
Bruce Wayne: “Are you free for lunch?”
You groaned. Loudly.
Liz leaned over again, peeking at your screen. “So…nothing happened eh?”
Your phone buzzed again before you could finish your dramatic groan.
Bruce Wayne: “Already here. Back entrance.”
Your heart did a little flip.
You looked up. Mark was still hovering. Liz was now showing your photo to someone from the tech team, pointing directly at your face and whispering like you were a zoo animal. Someone in the far corner had definitely just snapped another picture of you, and the interns were forming a human wall.
You slid your phone into your pocket, stood up quietly, grabbed your jacket, and turned to Liz. “Tell them I died.”
Liz blinked. “Wait, wha”
You were already moving. Fast. Ducking behind cubicles, practically army crawling past the coffee station, then booking it down the hallway like a fugitive. when you finally slipped out the back entrance of the Gotham Gazette into the cool alley behind the building, there he was.
Bruce Wayne.
Leaning against a sleek black car, sleeves rolled up, looking wildly out of place in the grime of downtown Gotham. He looked up the moment the door opened, concern flickering across his features the second he saw your expression.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
You crossed your arms. “You didn’t have to come all the way here. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” he said gently. “You looked like you are going to strangle someone.”
You rolled your eyes. “That was just Mark.”
“Should I be worried about Mark?”
“Only if you want to see a grown man cry because I didn’t give him a quote about your cologne.”
Bruce huffed a quiet laugh and opened the passenger door for you. You hesitated.
“This isn’t a ‘kidnap the journalist’ situation, right?”
“Not unless you want it to be,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching.
You shot him a look, but the tension eased just a bit. You slid into the seat.
He climbed in next to you. The car was quiet. Luxuriously quiet, compared to the zoo you’d just escaped. It smelled like leather and some subtle, expensive cologne that did make you want to punch Mark for being right.
Bruce glanced over at you. “I really just wanted to check in. I didn’t mean to… make your day worse.”
“You didn’t,” you said, voice softer than expected. “It’s not you. It’s them. People. Eyes. Phones. I feel like I can’t move without being… watched.”
“I know the feeling.”
You turned slightly to look at him. There was something in his tone that made you pause like he meant it more than most.
“You get used to it,” he added. “Eventually.”
You didn’t respond right away. The silence wasn’t awkward, though. It was still, almost warm.
“I didn’t expect you to actually check in,” you admitted after a moment. “Most people would’ve just texted a thumbs up and disappeared.”
He looked at you then, eyes searching. “I’m not most people.”
You were about to respond, something snarky on your tongue to break the intensity but then it happened.
Click.
It was faint, but unmistakable. A camera shutter. Right outside the alley.
Your head fell back against the seat with a loud groan.
Bruce sighed. “is it ok for you to be out of work?.”
“I told Liz to say I died,” you muttered.
“Not sure that’s going to help now.”
You closed your eyes. “God, I’m going to be on some gossip site by noon.”
He hesitated, then reached over and gently touched your hand where it rested on your knee. Just a soft brush of fingers.
“You want me to drive around for a bit?” he asked. “No press. No phones. Just quiet.”
You looked down at where his hand had been, the ghost of the touch lingering.
“…Yeah,” you said quietly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
And with no more words, he pulled the car out of the alley, away from the flashing camera, and into a city that for once felt just a little quieter.
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ
The city passed in a blur of gray and gold as Bruce drove. He didn’t put on music. He didn’t speak. He just let the silence stretch, calm and easy, giving you room to breathe. The engine was barely a hum beneath your feet, and the windows were tinted enough that no one could see you inside. For once, you weren’t on display.
You leaned back against the seat, letting your eyes drift toward the city you loved and cursed in equal measure.
“I used to think about leaving,” you said finally, your voice barely above the sound of tires on pavement. “When I was younger. Before I really understood Gotham. Before I knew I couldn’t.”
Bruce glanced over at you. “Why couldn’t you?”
You smiled faintly. “Because people like us don’t get to run. Not when we know how broken the system is. Not when we can do something about it. We stay. We try.”
He didn’t answer right away. You saw his grip tighten slightly on the steering wheel, like he understood more than you knew.
Then, casually almost too casually he said, “And what if you weren’t trying alone?”
You blinked, turning your head toward him. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “I mean… all of well… this. The gossip. The whispers. The headlines. What if it didn’t have to be something to run from? What if it wasn’t such a bad idea?”
You blinked again.
It took you a second to process what he was saying. Then your heart stuttered. Oh.
“Bruce,” you said slowly, cautiously, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
He faltered. You didn’t need to see his face to feel it. The way his jaw tightened just a fraction. The way the next turn came a little too fast.
And maybe that was what made you soften.
“I would,” you added quietly. “God, I would. I would love it. So much.”
You felt him glance your way again.
“But my whole life… I believed I needed to tell people’s stories. I thought I was supposed to keep myself out of them. Be the one behind the scenes. Not the subject.”
You looked down at your hands in your lap. “I don’t know if I’m ready to be in the public eye like that. I don’t know how to be that kind of person.”
Another beat of silence.
Then his voice, low and steady: “I can be quiet.”
You looked up.
He kept his eyes on the road, but his voice stayed soft, sincere. “I don’t need headlines. I don’t need public. I just need you. However you’ll let me have you.”
It was a crazy thing, the way your heart reacted. Quick and eager and warm. You swallowed down the lump in your throat, caught between laughing and crying.
“That’s not fair,” you whispered.
“I know,” he said.
The car slowed to a red light. He finally turned to look at you, and the honesty in his gaze hit you like a punch to the ribs. There was no pressure. No expectations. Just him, offering.
“I can wait,” he said. “I’ve waited longer for less.”
You didn’t know what to say.
So you reached out and put your hand over his on the gearshift, quiet and certain.
“I’ll get there,” you said.
You watched his profile as the light turned green again. Something about him had shifted softer now, more open. You’d never seen Bruce Wayne so weird. The suit was stripped away, even if the one he wore now was more expensive than your rent.
And then, slowly, a grin curled at the edge of your lips as a realization hit.
“Oh my god,” you said, trying not to laugh. “You were jealous.”
His brows lifted, but he didn’t deny it.
You let out a small laugh, more delighted than you expected. “Clark. That’s what that was about, wasn’t it? You were so sulky that I was talking to him”
Bruce didn’t answer.
“You’re such a child,” you said, but it was affectionate. “Sulking in your tower, giving moody interviews, and then crashing the Gotham Gazette like a bat out of hell…. wait a second…”
You turned in your seat, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re weird. You vanish without notice. And God you could be Batman with how weird you are.”
Silence.
Your laugh trailed off. You stared at him.
“…Wait.”
Bruce didn’t look at you.
He didn’t say anything.
“Bruce?” Your voice dropped into something halfway between suspicion and awe. “You aren’t Batman. Right?”
Still nothing.
You squinted. “Oh my god.”
“Let’s not do this here,” he said finally, quietly.
You opened your mouth to fire off something a question, a scream, anything but he cut in, almost abruptly.
“Why don’t you write about heroes?”
You blinked at the sudden change in tone. “What?”
“In your pieces,” he clarified. “You always follow the criminals. The corruption. Why not write about the ones stopping it?”
You leaned back in your seat, chewing on the thought. “Because that’s not my job.”
“That sounds like a choice.”
“It is,” you said honestly. “Heroes don’t need a microphone. It feels like they feed off it. They’re already being celebrated, idolized, plastered across news stations and cereal boxes. But the ones slipping between the cracks the ones getting hurt, the ones no one’s looking at they need a voice. The ones who don’t make it out. The ones who get silenced.”
You paused, watching the streets pass.
“The heroes are doing the saving. I’m doing the remembering.”
He didn’t interrupt. So you kept going.
“And besides,” you added, your voice softening, “most of the heroes I’ve met… they don’t feel real. They feel like gods pretending to be human. Or humans pretending to be something else.”
Another beat passed.
“But Batman…” you murmured.
Bruce’s hand flexed on the steering wheel.
“I don’t know. He feels different. Gritty. Angry. Sad. The city chews him up and spits him out just like the rest of us, but he stays. Every night, he stays. I think…” you trailed off, trying to find the words.
“I think Batman might be the only hero I really like.”
You looked over at him.
“He feels the most human.”
And that’s when Bruce Wayne flawless billionaire, effortless playboy, Gotham’s golden son turned his head just slightly. The streetlights hit his jaw, shadowing his eyes. And in the flicker of the red glow, he looked haunted.
Bruce turned down a quiet side street, one that wound along Gotham’s upper overlook, where the city glittered like it belonged to someone else. He didn’t say a word as he parked the car.
The engine cut off. The silence wrapped around you like a heavy coat.
You turned to him, half expecting a denial. A smirk. Something to backpedal the idea that he might actually be.
“I’m not going to deny it,” he said quietly. “Not to you.”
Your breath caught.
He looked over at you, eyes tired but so present not a billionaire mask, not a cowl, just a man. And you could see it now, clear as the sky wasn’t: the bruised silence, the late nights, the way he disappeared.
“I meant what I said,” he added, voice low. “I love the way you… make a difference.”
Your brows rose, skeptical. “By being a little shit to the richest man in Gotham?”
He let out a breath of a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly that.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but he kept going.
“The way you dig in, ask the questions no one wants to answer. The way you walk into a room like you don’t care if you don’t belong like you’re going to own it anyway. You’re stubborn.”
You raised a brow. “You’re doing a terrible job at complimenting me.”
Bruce half smiled, glancing down, then back up. There was a flush of pink at his neck, almost like embarrassment.
“And since that gala,” he continued, “when you showed up in a dress that didnt match you at all and tried to sneak out after five minutes…” He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t know. I saw you and… I felt it.”
“Felt what?” you asked quietly.
“That pull. That connection.” He stumbled a little, like the word sat wrong in his mouth. “I’m not good at… this.”
“No shit.”
“I mean it,” he said, tone a little sharper. “I don’t talk about things. I work. I disappear. I do what I have to. And maybe it’s selfish, but I just”
His jaw tensed. You could see him trying to make the words work.
“I want to,” he said finally. “I want to try. With you.”
You sat there, frozen, heart thudding like thunder against your ribs. The man next to you was Batman. And somehow, more terrifyingly, he was Bruce. Vulnerable. Honest. Looking at you like you were the only person in the city worth telling the truth to.
The silence stretched long between you. The kind that didn’t beg to be filled.
You stared ahead for a while, letting the lights of Gotham blur at the edges of your vision. Your heart hadn’t calmed down since the moment he parked the car, and now it was beating so loud you were almost sure he could hear it.
Finally, you tilted your head toward him, the corner of your mouth tugging up.
“So… as much as you basically just called me a little shit…” you murmured, trying to ease the tension with a smirk. “I’ll try. With you.”
His eyes flicked up to yours, something soft blooming there.
You added, quieter now, “But it has to be secret. Just let me keep some part of me mine.”
There was no hesitation.
Bruce reached out slowly, his hand closing gently over yours like he was afraid you’d pull away. And then, without a word, he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.
It was soft. Earnest. You swallowed thickly, eyes locked on his. Something warm and unfamiliar settled in your chest.
“…You really are weird, you know that?” you said, voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t let go. And he didn’t disagree.
You: “Bruce, you’re emotionally constipated.”
Bruce: “That is absolutely not true.”
You: “Then say one feeling.”
Bruce: ”…Vengeance.”
You: ”…Try again, but like, a normal human.”
Bruce: ”…Mild affection…?”
You: ”…You’re lucky you’re rich and weirdly hot.”
Dick Grayson | Nightwing X Reader
ᨒ ོ ☼ Voice on the Line ᨒ ོ ☼
I feel hes a munch. I feel hes a woman lover. He loves women. Him when women. Also did i think about Garcia and Morgan when writing this? yeah…. and what about it?
masterlist
You’re the newest addition to the Batsquad. Cant help if you’re basically forced to talk to eye candy all night. Though what if the eye candy wants you back.
ᨒ ོ ☼ The hum of servers filled the air like a lullaby, soft and steady behind the clack of your manicured fingers dancing across the keyboard. Multiple monitors cast a warm glow against your skin as codes flickered by, surveillance cams blinked into motion, and the Gotham skyline lit up under your careful watch. You chewed on a pink pen cap thoughtfully, then leaned into the mic on your headset.
“Alright, Bat Team, eyes up. Cameras just caught movement on the east perimeter. Looks like our guy’s not late to his own robbery party.” Static.
“Copy that,” came a deep voice laced with just enough sarcasm to make your lips twitch. “And here I was hoping for a quiet night.”
The soft glow of neon lights from Gotham’s skyline bled into the Watchtower’s tech room, giving everything a purple blue hue. The glow reflected off your screens, lighting up your face as your fingers flew across the keyboard. Surveillance cams, thermal feeds, encrypted audio all of it filtered through your custom built comms system. You leaned back in your chair, twirling said pink pen through your fingers. Your voice came through sweet as sugar, laced with a barely hidden smirk.
“Watch yourself Nightwing, I hope you’re wearing something cute under all that kevlar. You’re live on all my cams tonight.”
A low chuckle filtered through your headset, rough around the edges in the way that always made your stomach flip.
“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite guardian angel,” Nightwing drawled, voice dipped in charm he wore like a second skin. “What would I do without your voice whispering sweet nothings into my ear?”
“You’d probably walk into a wall,” you said sweetly. “Or into that very large man standing behind the dumpster on 5th and Main.”
There was a beat of silence, then a soft thwack through the mic.
“You mean that wasn’t a trash can?” he teased, slightly breathless. “How dare you underestimate my night vision, sugar.”
You grinned, propping your cheek in your palm as you tracked his movement across the rooftops. “Sugar now, huh? Is that your new nickname for me?”
“Unless you prefer ‘Sweetheart.’ Or ‘Hot Stuff.’ I’m flexible.”
You let out a melodic laugh, not even trying to hide it. “Wow, your flirting game is tragic tonight. You okay out there, Nightwing? Hit your head on a chimney?”
“I’m just warming up,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Wait ‘til I meet you in person. Then I’m turning the charm up to eleven.”
You opened your mouth to volley back but Barbara’s voice cut in like a whip.
“Alright, you two cut it.”
You both froze.
“Lock in,” Barbara said, her voice firm and dry as dust. “This isn’t a late night radio show. We’ve got multiple armed targets on the ground and a hostage situation developing five blocks south. Thermal (your hero name), patch the thermal overlay to Nightwing’s HUD.”
You straightened in your chair, fingers flying. “Yes, ma’am. Thermal incoming.”
“Nightwing,” Barbara added with the tone of a fed up older sister, “try keeping your tongue in your mouth for five minutes. You’re on mission, not a date.”
“Harsh, Babs,” he muttered.
“I’m just saying,” she continued, “if I had a dollar for every time I had to listen to the two of you flirt in the middle of a crisis, I could afford a better coffee maker.”
You bit your lip to hold back a laugh, then cleared your throat. “Aww, c’mon, Babs. Can’t a girl multitask? I can route power to Nightwings grappling line and boost morale at the same time.”
“I don’t need morale,” Nightwing interjected. “I need a distraction. Preferably wearing those glasses you mentioned last week.”
“You remember that?” you teased.
“I remember everything you say, Sweetheart.”
Barbara groaned audibly. “I’m leaving this room before I’m forced to bleach my ears.”
“I mean,” you added sweetly, “he’s just mad he can’t picture me behind this desk, legs crossed, looking very professional while saving his butt.”
Nightwing whistled. “If I didn’t have to stop a robbery, I’d be scaling that tower right now.”
Barbara’s voice snapped back over the channel like a rubber band. “Focus, both of you.”
“Copy that,” you said, suddenly all business again as you leaned forward and zoomed in on the warehouse entrance. “Three guards posted up. One pacing, one smoking, one with a submachine gun. Interior layout uploaded to your HUD. Entry through the southeast vent is clear. You’re greenlit, Nightwing.”
“See? She flirts, but she gets it done,” he muttered fondly.
You grinned. “I always stand on business, baby.”
“Then I better bring my A game. Wouldn’t want to disappoint my favorite tech goddess.”
You laughed quietly, adjusting your headset as you pulled up the emergency response grid. “Just don’t get shot, Nightwing.”
Barbara let out one final sigh before muttering, “I swear, I should’ve let Batman take this shift.”
But despite her grumbling, you swore you saw a smile tug at the corners of her lips as she turned away.
He grunted, and you could tell it was the kind of laugh he didn’t want you to hear.
“Let’s make a deal,” he said suddenly. “You keep me alive tonight, and I’ll finally let you buy me a coffee.”
You blinked. That was new. “You mean you buy me a coffee? Bold of you to assume you’re that charming.”
“You do call me every night.”
“Because it’s my job, Nightwing.”
Your own heart beat just a little faster as Nightwing’s icon approached the rendezvous point. It was almost always like this. Take the next day where you were thrown completely out of your own loop You were sprawled comfortably in the comms chair, pink converse kicked up on the desk, a bag of sour candy at your side, and at least three drinks within reach because hydration and caffeination were essential for optimal management.
Tonight’s mission? Barely a blip on the Bat Radar. A stakeout near the docks. Zero hostiles so far. Minimal risk. Maximal boredom.
“Nightwing,” you poured into your mic, stretching dramatically, “how’s the air up there on your boring little rooftop? You see anything exciting? UFOs? Pirates? A raccoon that looks like Bruce?”
“Negative on the Bruce raccoon,” Nightwing said through the comms, voice thick with amusement. “But thanks for the nightmare fuel, Sweetheart.”
“I try,” you chirped, popping another piece of candy into your mouth. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”
“You keep me somewhere, alright,” he murmured, just low enough to think you wouldn’t catch it.
You did. You always did. Before you could respond with another flirty jab, a new voice crackled in gruffer, sharper. Dry as sandpaper and twice as moody.
“Are you always like this?” Jason Todd’s voice cut in like a knife through silk. “I’ve been listening for ten minutes and I already want to uninstall my ears.”
You beamed, leaning closer to the mic like he could see your grin. “Red Hood! My favorite grump. Took you long enough to say hi.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he deadpanned.
“Oh, please. You love it,” you teased, swiveling in your chair like it helped transmit your energy. “I’m your emotional support chatterbox. You’d cry without me.”
“Unlikely.”
“Then why are you still listening?” you asked sweetly, tapping into his drone cam and watching as he crouched in the shadows near an old shipping container. “I see you didn’t even mute me. That’s gotta mean something.”
Jason sighed. The tiniest sigh. A truce in breath form.
“…You’re ridiculous.”
“And adorable, don’t forget that part.”
“Why does she talk to you like that?” Nightwing asked suddenly, cutting in with playful suspicion. “She doesn’t call me ‘adorable.’”
“I like to flirt with people who pretend to hate it,” you replied easily. “Keeps ‘em humble.”
Jason made a quiet scoffing noise. “You think I’m humble?”
“No,” you said, smirking. “But I do think you blush when I call you sweetheart.”
There was a long pause.
“…I’m turning off my comm.”
“You won’t,” you sang.
Before Jason could craft a dry comeback or fake a signal cut out, Nightwing returned this time with a tone that could only be described as smug older brother meets possessive flirt.
“Alright, alright,” Dick said, and you could hear his smirk. “Let’s not get carried away, Sweetheart. You do have a date coming up. With me, remember?”
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Oh yeah,” he continued smoothly, “you promised me coffee after our last op. Pretty sure that counts.”
“That was a tactical bribe to keep you alive,” you said quickly, cheeks burning despite your best effort. “Totally not binding.”
Jason actually chuckled at that chuckled. A small miracle.
“Well,” Dick said, clearly enjoying himself, “binding or not, I’ll be at that new café on 7th tomorrow at ten. You’re welcome to back out, but I do know where your candy stash is hidden in the Watchtower fridge.”
Your jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You absolute menace.”
“See you then, Sweetheart.”
Jason exhaled like he was regretting all of his life choices.
“God, you’re both exhausting.”
You smiled, sweet and unbothered. “Don’t be jealous, Jay. I can pencil you in for brunch on Sunday.”
He groaned but didn’t mute you. Which, in your book, meant you weren’t the loser here .
𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓
The room was quiet now.
The static from the comms had faded, the mics had all gone cold, and the buzz of conversation that had filled the Watchtower’s tech room just minutes ago had slipped into silence. You were alone, save for the hum of machines and the low, rhythmic click of a monitor blinking back to standby.
You leaned back in your chair slowly, arms folding over your chest as you stared blankly at the screens. Your bubbly persona so easy to slip into when surrounded by voices, teasing banter, and fast flying intel started to crack beneath the weight of the quiet.
It always did, when the room emptied.
He wanted coffee. Dick Grayson wanted to meet you. A date.
The thought hit you again, more real now than when he first said it in that casual, cocky tone of his. You’d brushed it off, played along, tossed flirtation back like you always did but now? Sitting alone, no distraction, no one listening?
You felt it. That creeping, slow turning anxiety curling in your stomach.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about what he looked like before. Sure, you’d heard his voice, shared late night chatter across missions, and even made him laugh more than once. But imagining him? That was easy. Everyone in the Bat Family was objectively hot. Like, annoyingly so.
And you? You swallowed hard, curling your knees up into your chair and hugging them gently.
You weren’t anything like them. Not tall or sleek or scarred from combat. Not graceful in a catsuit or strong enough to throw a punch through a wall. You weren’t stick thin, but you weren’t curvy in a dramatic way either. You existed somewhere in the middle comfortable in hoodies, always in glasses, a bit awkward when the spotlight came too close. Your brain was your strongest muscle, and it sometimes felt like that was all you had.
Would he be disappointed?
You let out a slow breath, eyes flicking to your reflection in the dark screen across from you. No makeup, hair pulled back, sweater two sizes too big. You looked like someone who blended into a crowd. Like someone no one would stop for a second glance. What if you showed up and he just… didn’t see you the way he did over comms? What if the mystery was the only thing that made you interesting?
Your hand reached out instinctively, pressing your fingers to the edge of the console like you were grounding yourself.
You wanted to meet him. Of course you did. He was charming, and kind beneath all the jokes, and smart in the ways only someone who’d been through hell could be. But a date? That felt like something other people did. People who didn’t feel the need to hide behind tech and sarcasm to feel confident.
You sat there in silence, chewing your lip, wondering if he even knew what he was asking when he said, “see you then.”
Maybe it wasn’t a real date. Maybe he didn’t think of it like that.
But deep down, you knew you wanted it to be. You wanted to be seen. And you were scared of what would happen if you really were.
𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓
Dick Grayson stood in front of the mirror of his Blüdhaven apartment, tugging at the hem of his sweatshirt like it was a tux. Casual. Chill. Low key. That was the goal.
So why the hell did he feel like he was prepping for a mission?
He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it for the third no, fourth time. Dark jeans, clean white sneakers, a navy hoodie that fit just right not too fitted, not too loose. He changed shirts three times before this one finally felt like the right one. He hadn’t been this particular about his outfit since prom.
“It’s not a date,” he told his reflection. “It’s just coffee.”
A pause.
“…With the girl who knows all your safe houses, your secret patrol routes, and who once talked you through stitching your own shoulder at 3 a.m. without flinching.”
Okay. Maybe a little more than just coffee.
He reached for his phone on the counter. One unread text waited at the top of the screen.
Comms girl <3: You sure about this?
Comms girl <3:You don’t have to meet me.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard before he typed back quickly.
bluebird: I’m very sure. You owe me that coffee, remember? I risked my life for that latte.
Your reply came within seconds.
Comms girl <3: You were five feet from the guy. I stalled him with a fake 911 ping. YOU’RE WELCOME.
He chuckled, thumbs flying across the screen.
blurbird : Still counts. Heroics were involved. You agreed to a reward. No backing out now.
Comms girl <3: Still time to change your mind. Could just keep this mystery thing going. It’s fun. Less risky.
He stared at that message a moment longer than he wanted to admit. There was a strange comfort in the way things were. The comms. The banter. The way your voice softened when his breathing grew strained after a tough fight. How you’d scold him for reckless moves and then follow up with, “But also… that flip you did? Sick as hell.”
You were part of the job no, more than that. You were part of him. But only in fragments.
He’d seen the pieces you gave: your voice, your wit, your ridiculous caffeine addiction, the hum of music sometimes playing faintly in the background when you were on shift. But he’d never seen you.
Meanwhile, you’d seen everything.
bluebird: You’ve seen my file, haven’t you?
he typed.
bluebird: I know what color your eyes are. I haven’t even seen yours.
Comms girl <3: Don’t worry. They’re not laser eyes or anything.
Comms girl <3: Still time to run. I won’t be mad.
Dick stared at the screen, thumb resting over the keyboard again. A few moments passed. Then he typed back:
bluebird: I don’t want to run. I want to meet you. For real.
Read. But no reply. He locked his phone, shoved it into the pocket of his hoodie, and grabbed his keys and helmet. Outside, the early evening had begun to spill across the Blüdhaven skyline. Fading light. Long shadows.
For once, he wasn’t slipping into the shadows himself. He was stepping into the sun.
𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓
The café on 7th was a small, tucked away place with mismatched chairs and the smell of cinnamon and roasted espresso clinging to every wooden beam. A warm corner of the city where life slowed down just a little. He arrived ten minutes early. Too early.
The bell above the door jingled, and instinct kicked in. He scanned. Two older women by the window, a guy with earbuds tapping at a laptop, a bored barista pulling espresso shots with dead eyes. No sign of you.
He ordered her drink extra sweet, extra foamy, “liquid sunshine,” you once called it and a black coffee for himself. Settled into a table by the window. Full view of the door. He texted you again.
bluebird: I’m here. No pressure. But I brought your order. It’s waiting patiently.
Nothing.
He flicked the lid of the cup. Checked the time. Tapped his knee beneath the table. Every chime of the bell had him sitting up straighter, breath held in quiet anticipation.
Not her.Not yet.
And that was the thing he didn’t even know what she looked like. No name. No face. Just a voice in his ear, a rhythm in his nights, a lifeline during the chaos. But even without a face, even without a name, he knew you.
He leaned back and watched the doorway like it held all the answers. Maybe it did.
His phone buzzed again.
Comms girl <3: I’m close. Just… taking a second.
He stared at that message. His heart did a quiet, hopeful jump.
bluebird: You nervous?l
Comms Girl: Maybe. You?
He smiled.
bluebird: I’ve fought Killer Croc, Deathstroke, and Jason with a crowbar. This is worse.
You didn’t text back right away. He waited. Sipped his coffee. Looked at your untouched drink and wondered if you’d ever actually take a sip from it. Maybe you’d just show up, apologize, and walk away. Maybe you’d turn around before even walking through the door.
You were already on the sidewalk. One breath away from stepping inside. He turned his eyes to the window, scanning every person who passed. Wondering if one of them might look in, catch his eye, smile.
Waiting. he hoped that mask off, no gadgets, no grappling hooks, no safety net that was enough. So he waited. For you.
𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓
The drink was starting to sweat on the table.
Dick’s thumb spun slow, lazy circles around the lid of the cup you still hadn’t claimed. The café wasn’t busy only a few people trickled in here and there. His eyes lifted every time the door jingled, hopeful… and then dropped just as quickly.
He wasn’t used to feeling this unsteady. With the mask on, he could take a punch. Leap off a roof. Throw himself into chaos without blinking. But right now, sitting at a table with a slowly cooling cup of coffee for someone he’d never even seen before?
He was sweating more than the damn drink. The bell above the door jingled again.
And he looked.
She stepped in like she was trying not to be noticed shoulders drawn slightly inward, a quick glance around the room before her eyes dropped to the floor. She didn’t look out of place, not really. She looked… normal.
Pink Converse. Faded denim jorts hugging her hips. A plain black tank top tucked in just right to show her figure, casual and effortless. Hair pulled back loosely like she’d tried to fix it three times before giving up.
Dick’s eyes lingered…. respectfully. He wasn’t a jerk. But he was a man. And the way she looked, with nervous energy practically rolling off her in waves, had his chest tightening just a little.
Cute. Definitely cute. Attractive, sure. She was cute. Soft around the edges. Eyes wide like she wasn’t used to being looked at too long.
Dick’s gaze flicked down, then back up not lingering too long. A polite once over. Curious. Gentle. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he looked away.
He didn’t know what to expect. For all the times he’d imagined this moment, all the late night banter and daydreams of what she might look like, he’d never settled on a face.
Still watching her from the corner of his eye, Dick slowly reached for his phone and typed out a message.
bluebird: “I’m by the window. Got your sugar bomb of a drink already. You close?”
The girl the maybe you girl jumped slightly when her phone buzzed. Fumbled it out of her pocket. She smiled. Just a little.
Her hand went to her phone. Dick’s screen lit up.
Comms girl <3: Already here. Just… not sure where to go.
His heart stopped. Slowly, his gaze lifted again this time with full awareness. He watched as she read his message, fingers still hovering near the screen.
Like she was laughing at herself and suddenly, everything clicked.
Dick’s breath caught for a beat. His lips tugged upward in a crooked smile as he texted again. Dick forgot how to breathe.
bluebird: Black tank. Pink shoes. You really do own those Converse.
You didn’t even look up from your phone. You were already typing.
Comms girl <3: Ok stalker, stop checking me out
He huffed a quiet laugh.
bluebird: Respectfully. Thoroughly. Definitely.
You lifted your head then, eyes meeting his across the room. Nervous. Hopeful. Your lips curved into something soft and self deprecating.
He stood before he could overthink it, heart thudding as he crossed the short space between your hesitant stillness and his table.
“You’re late,” he said, voice light, teasing.
“Fashionably,” you replied, walking with him as he guided you toward the window seat. “Also, very nearly didn’t come in. I walked past the window twice. You didn’t notice.”
“I noticed,” he said, pulling your chair out like the gentleman he rarely remembered to be. “I just didn’t know it was you. But then you looked at your phone like it offended you.”
You sat, cheeks flushed with something caught between embarrassment and amusement. “That was me realizing I sent three different versions of ‘I’m almost there’ and still sat in my car for ten minutes.”
Dick slid your coffee toward you. “Well i guess in a way you were.”
You took the cup, curling your fingers around it like it might steady you. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I still might run.”
“Do I need to stop you? I’ve got grappling hooks.”
That made you laugh. Really laugh. He liked that sound more than he expected. It wasn’t tinny over the comm. It was full, alive, right in front of him.
“God,” you groaned, lowering your head for a second. “This is so weird.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But good weird.”
You peeked up at him. “You’re not what I expected.”
“Better or worse?”
You grinned, shy but cheeky. “You’re taller than I thought. That’s not fair. I have no defense against tall and charming.”
“Charming, huh?” He took a sip of his coffee, raising a brow over the lid. “You haven’t even heard my best lines yet.”
You rolled your eyes, the way you always did when he flirted too hard through the mic. But now it was real. Now, he could see the way you bit back a smile, the flush that crept to your ears.
“I’m not used to being looked at,” you admitted after a quiet beat. “I’m used to watching. Behind the screens. Behind the noise. I’ve seen your face a hundred times. This is… lopsided.”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, gaze steady and warm.
“Then let’s even it out.”
You blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Let me learn you,” he said, voice low, honest. “No comms. No mission. No static. Just… you.”
You looked away, biting your lip, your fingers tracing the lid of your cup now like he had earlier. “You’re a lot more intense in person.”
“I’m a lot of things in person,” he said, smiling. “Most of them good. Some of them bad. All of them me.”
A silence passed. Not awkward contemplative. Like both of you were quietly adjusting to the weight of seeing each other. Really seeing each other.
“I always see you in your outfit, this feels a little weird” you murmured eventually.
He grinned. “You’ll be happy to know I left the spandex at home.”
“Tragic.”
Another moment of quiet, then
“I’m glad you showed up,” he said.
You smiled down into your drink. “Yeah. Me too.”
Outside, the city moved in its usual rhythm cars, footsteps, noise. But here, at this little table by the window, something new was starting. Not a mission. Not an assignment. Just Dick and you.
𖤓˖⁺‧₊☽𓅨☾₊‧⁺˖𖤓
The coffee was long gone, but neither of them had made a move to go their separate ways.
Instead, they strolled the streets of Blüdhaven, their pace slow, like time had bent around them just for a little while. The sun had started to dip behind the buildings, casting soft golden light on the sidewalks, and the breeze stirred the trees enough to make the leaves flutter like lazy applause.
You walked beside him with your now empty cup in hand, straw still between your lips despite it having been dry for the last ten minutes. Nerves still clung to your skin, thin but persistent. You had no idea where to put your hands or how to keep your voice steady. You weren’t usually like this. Over comms, you were bold, loud, sarcastic, and playful.
But out here, in the open, without a headset and with Nightwing walking beside you in casual clothes that hugged him way too well for your nerves to take? It was different. He was real. And you were suddenly aware of every flaw you’d been trying not to think about since this morning.
“You know,” you said with a light chuckle, trying to keep your voice in that easy, familiar tone, “I honestly expected you to cancel last minute. Or like, show up but wear the mask the whole time and pretend to be mysterious.”
Dick looked over at you, one brow raised, and a smile playing at his lips. “You really thought I’d ghost you after all our late night flirting?”
You shrugged, trying to play it off, but your eyes darted away. “I mean… I dunno. Maybe.”
“You ruined that for you because i would never,” he said dramatically, then bumped his shoulder gently against yours. “I told you I was coming. I meant it.”
His voice was warm, not teasing this time. Just honest. He watched you as you gave a small smile, eyes still scanning the sidewalk like you were searching for something to say. He saw the way you carried yourself. Not shy, exactly just… cautious. Though he saw you and wanted too. All of you.
Not just the confident voice in his ear or the tech genius who could break into encrypted systems like they were open windows. He saw the little things: the nervous hand fidgeting with your cup sleeve, the way you pulled at the hem of your shorts when you thought he wasn’t looking, the practiced jokes you used to deflect any compliments.
So he gave you more of them.
“I like your shoes,” he said casually, glancing down at the worn pink Converse. “its a very you thing, reflective of your personality”
You laughed an actual laugh, not a polite one. “I don’t know if footwear can tell you my life story?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he said, nodding with mock seriousness. “Pink shoes? Total power move. I love when women.”
You shook your head, trying to hide your grin. “you love when women?”
“And the shorts?” he added. “Perfect length. Shows off those legs that have been sitting behind a computer for, what? Ninety percent of your adult life?”
“Oh my God,” you groaned, covering your face with your free hand. “You’re a menace.”
“I’ve been told worse,” he said with a wink.
You both fell into a comfortable rhythm after that. Step for step, laugh for laugh. The tension slowly ebbed away the longer he stayed near you like he was peeling back the nervous layers without ever drawing attention to them.
After a few quiet moments, you nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Okay, so serious question.”
“Hit me.”
“How the hell does this team work? I started hacking stuff and suddenly im here? ”
He laughed, raising both brows. “You tell me. You’ve got this adorable, good vibe going for you, but I’ve read some of those logs. You were wrecking firewalls like they owed you money.”
“I wasn’t that bad,” you defended with a smirk. “Okay, maybe the satellite thing was a little over the line.”
He turned to face you mid step. “Wait. What satellite thing?”
You winced, cheeks flushing. “I… might’ve accidentally hacked into a WayneTech orbital system when I thought it was an old NASA server.”
He stared at you, stunned. “You hacked WayneTech?”
“Allegedly,” you said, grinning now. “And two days later, Babs showed up in my basement. No warning, no badge, just… bam, red hair and righteous fury.”
“She must’ve been so mad.”
“She told me I was wasting potential and recruited me on the spot.”
Dick laughed again, and this time, it was full bodied, the kind that lit up his whole face. “Classic Babs.”
“Honestly? She’s the first person who ever looked at me and didn’t just see a mouthy hacker. She actually saw… me.”
His smile softened. “She does that. Did the same for me once.”
You glanced at him curiously. “Oh yeah?”
He nodded, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. “Back when I was still figuring things out after leaving Bruce. I needed distance from the Bat stuff needed to figure out who I was when I wasn’t under the cape. Babs helped me get there. Helped me want to be more than just Robin.”
“I think you’re doing alright,” you said, bumping his shoulder this time.
“I’m trying,” he said with a shrug. “Still check in on the family though. Bruce, my brothers, Grandpa.”
You blinked. “Grandpa?”
“Alfred,” he clarified with a mischievous grin. “I started calling him that just to piss him off, but I know he secretly loves it.”
You laughed again, shaking your head. “That’s so weirdly wholesome. ‘Nightwing has emotional depth and a soft spot for butlers,’ coming to theaters this fall.”
“Hey, he’s not just a butler. He’s the butler.”
“I stand corrected.”
The sky was blushing now, soft shades of purple and orange painting the horizon. The city buzzed around you, but for once, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt like a quiet pocket of something special.
Dick glanced sideways at you, the wind tugging gently at your hair, and felt that same flicker in his chest again. The one that started when your voice used to crackle in his earpiece during midnight stakeouts. The one that grew stronger every time you made him laugh, or saved his ass from another security lockdown, or stayed on the line with him just so he wouldn’t be alone.
“I’m really glad we did this,” he said softly.
You looked at him, caught a sincerity in his eyes that left no room for doubt.
“Yeah,” you said, voice just as soft. “Me too.”
The air had taken on that evening crispness the kind that whispered promises of something new. The two of you were still walking, slowly now, like neither wanted to reach wherever the sidewalk might end.
Dick glanced at you again, longer this time. Not just quick, playful side glances, but a longing look. One that lingered as the fading sun touched your skin. He could see the way your lashes caught the light, the slight smile tugging at your lips as you sipped from your empty straw out of habit. The way your eyes moved when you were thinking.
You caught him staring.
“What?” you asked, arching a brow.
He shrugged with an easy, boyish grin. “Nothing. Just… you’ve got a good laugh.”
You blinked. “What, like a ‘haha’ laugh or a ‘joker is getting off’ laugh?”
He chuckled. “The kind that’s been in my ear for months, but somehow sounds better in person.”
Your stomach fluttered. You covered it with a sarcastic smile. “Are you flirting with me again, Grayson?”
“Only mildly,” he teased, then glanced ahead. “I mean, I’ve gotta pace myself. You’re kind of… addictive.”
You didn’t answer for a moment. You didn’t know how. And honestly, you were worried your voice would betray how warm your chest suddenly felt.
He didn’t press it. Just kept walking with you in step. But then he said, a little more softly:
“I never really thought about it before… how different things feel when you’re not just a voice in my ear.”
You looked over at him, curious. “Better or worse?”
He gave you a look, deadpan. “What kind of question is that?”
You tried to laugh, to brush it off, but he turned toward you fully now, walking backward a few steps so he could face you as you moved.
“You have this… energy. When we’re on comms, it’s like… controlled chaos in the best way. Keeps me grounded, keeps me alert. But now? Seeing you like, actually seeing you your expressions, your body language, your weird obsession with pink…”
“I do not!”
He smirked. “You do. It’s very cute.”
You shoved his arm lightly, heat rushing to your face. But the smile was genuine now. You were relaxing, piece by piece.
“I guess I just didn’t realize how much I’d been missing until now,” he added, turning back around to walk forward again. “Hearing you’s great. But… seeing you talk? Watching your eyes move when you go on your little tech rants or when you start teasing me? It hits different.”
Your heart thudded hard.
He wasn’t saying “I want to see your face more.” But he was.
You swallowed around the growing smile and said, “Well… good thing I’m not going anywhere.”
He shot you a glance then, something soft and full of unspoken words.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “That is a good thing.”
Bruce Wayne | Batman X Reader
ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ Gotham Socialite ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ
masterlist
I want to make some batman themed oneshots where it explores a relationship between you and him.
EDITED- changed a bit of dialogue and description because I want the reader to be super cool and amazing
High society, meet the reporter reader. Reporter reader, meet Bruce Wayne
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Gotham’s elite are as gaudy as the chandeliers hanging above them. expensive, bright, and utterly useless. The grand ballroom of the Gotham City Opera House is filled with them, men and women draped in designer gowns and tailored suits, sipping champagne as if their wealth isn’t built on the backs of the people suffering outside these marble walls.
You move through the crowd like a ghost, unseen despite being one of the few people here actually worth listening to. They invited you because of your work because your name is attached to articles Gotham’s wealthy pretend not to read but secretly obsess over. You don’t write puff pieces about Gotham’s heroes; you write about its monsters. You dig into their minds, their motivations. Why does Edward Nygma need to prove he’s the smartest man in the room? Why does the Joker turn his suffering into a performance? What makes a villain tick? That’s what you care about.
Not this.
Not the empty smiles. Not the soulless small talk. Not the way these people clutch their designer purses like they contain anything of real value.
You exhale sharply through your nose, taking another sip of your drink just to give yourself something to do. It tastes expensive but meaningless, like everything else here.
As you turn to leave, you accidentally bump into someone a woman in a tight, sequined dress that probably costs more than you’ve made in the last six months.
“Oh, my God,” she snaps, stepping back as if you just assaulted her. “Are you serious?”
Your brows lift. “Oh, relax. You’ll live.”
Her expression twists in outrage, but before she can respond, a man approaches tall, broad shouldered, with a perfectly practiced smile. And just like that, she flips a switch.
“Oh my God, Bruce!” she gasps, laughing like she wasn’t just seconds away from throwing a fit. She rests a hand on his arm the same arm she previously flung up in disgust when you bumped into her. “I didn’t think you’d actually show up tonight! You never come to these things anymore.” You watch with mild disgust as she transforms in real time. It’s like watching an AI desperately try to mimic human emotion.
“Yeah,” you mutter, just loud enough to be heard. “hmmm I might see myself out”
Bruce Wayne glances at you then, his interest piqued. You don’t fawn over him. Don’t preen or attempt to charm your way into his good graces. No, you just look at him like you’re wholly unimpressed. Its not that he wasn’t appealing. Of course you found him attractive. Though finding him attractive felt a little like betraying the people you grew up around. Just because you escaped the extremely poor doesn’t mean you want to abide by it.
“You know,” you say, tilting your head, “for a guy whose while company is built on working with the community , you don’t seem to have much of a grip on reality.”
The woman beside him gasps in horror, clutching Bruce’s arm even tighter, but you’re not done.
“This whole act,” you gesture vaguely at him, “isn’t cute. I mean no disrespect though, go party and go crazy.” Your eyes lock onto his with something sharper than hatred indifference. “I don’t know how you stomach it. It’s honestly an insult to humans.” Silence settles over you like a fog. The woman looks scandalized, staring at you as if you just spit in her drink.
Bruce, on the other hand, just looks intrigued. His usual mask of carefree billionaire playboy falters just for a second. His blue eyes search yours, something thoughtful flickering behind them. Then, just as quickly as it had cracked, the mask slides back into place. He lets out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck in feigned sheepishness. “Well,” he says, flashing that same easygoing smile he always wears in public, “can’t please everyone, I guess.”
The woman beside him giggles like an idiot, but you just roll your eyes. Bruce Wayne is a good actor, you’ll give him that and judging by the look in his eye, he looks a little off put.
You don’t give Bruce another glance as you turn on your heel, moving toward the exit with the same single minded determination as a prisoner inching toward an open cell door. You’ve had enough of this place enough of the fake smiles, the rehearsed laughter, the suffocating air of money and ego pressing in on you from all sides.
Bruce watches you go.
He should just let you leave. He should turn his attention back to whatever mindless conversation he was meant to be entertaining tonight. But he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze follows you, his interest snaring on something he hadn’t expected.
You very evidently don’t belong here. Not in the way these people do, with their polished exteriors and empty souls. He mentally jokes that press training might be on a to do list for your manager.
No, you move like someone who doesn’t care to belong. Which from his relationship woth selina, Its definitely evident that women from the narrows dont care. You weave through the room with an awkwardness that’s both endearing and painfully obvious dodging trays of champagne like they’re landmines, sidestepping small talk with barely concealed irritation. Your distaste is written all over you, from the way your fingers tighten around your glass to the way your shoulders hunch slightly, as if trying to make yourself smaller, less noticeable.
But that’s the thing. You are noticeable. More than anyone here. Bruce takes in the way you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the way you mutter something under your breath when a socialite nearly clips you with a careless turn. He watches as you catch your footing after bumping into a server, your apology quick and sincere so different from the sneering entitlement of the rest of the room.
A quiet chuckle leaves his mouth as he watches you finally get to a corner. Bruce’s lips press together, something flickering in his chest that he doesn’t have time to name.
He should let you go. Instead, he steps forward, slipping through the crowd with the kind of practiced ease that only someone used to wearing masks can manage. You don’t notice him until he’s beside you, his voice cutting through the noise of the room like a knife.
“You’re not very good at this,” he says, amusement lacing his words.
You glance up at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “At what?”
Bruce gestures vaguely to the room. “Blending in.”
A scoff leaves your lips as you finally reach the exit, one hand already pushing against the heavy door. “Yeah, well,” you say, sparing him one last glance, “I’m used to this kind of thing.” And then you’re gone.
Bruce watches the door swing shut behind you, his reflection staring back at him in the glass. For the first time all night, he finds himself smiling.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Bruce barely makes it through the front doors of Wayne Manor before he’s pulling at his bow tie, loosening the suffocating knot that had been pressing against his throat all evening. The moment the silk slides free, he exhales, rolling his shoulders as if shedding the weight of the night along with it.
The grand doors swing shut behind him, the quiet of the manor swallowing the distant hum of Gotham’s high society. The transition is immediate, like stepping out of a suffocatingly bright stage and into the cool embrace of shadow. The mask the one made of careless grins and charmingly vague conversation falls away as effortlessly as the jacket he shrugs off, tossing it onto the nearest chair without care.
From the hall, Alfred watches the display with an arched brow, ever the picture of poised amusement. “Welcome home, Master Wayne. I see the evening was as eventful as anticipated.”
Bruce sighs, running a hand down his face. “That might be an understatement.”
Alfred steps forward, hands clasped neatly behind his back. “I assume you spent the night ok though master wayne?”
“Something like that.” Bruce rolls his neck, loosening the last remnants of his socialite persona. “A lot of people talking without actually saying anything. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”
“The inevitable I hear,” Alfred muses, “you always seem equally miserable every time you return.”
Bruce lets out a humorless chuckle, unbuttoning the top of his dress shirt. “That’s because it never gets any less exhausting.”
Alfred gives him a knowing look before stepping toward the chair where Bruce had carelessly discarded his jacket. He picks it up with practiced ease, shaking his head. “One of these days, you might consider hanging these properly.”
“I consider it every time,” Bruce remarks, already making his way toward the hidden entrance to the Batcave. “Just never quite get around to it.”
Alfred merely sighs, following him with a well worn patience. “Shall I prepare something for you to eat? Or will you be brooding on an empty stomach this evening?”
“Not brooding,” Bruce corrects as he reaches the hidden panel in the wall. The mechanism clicks, revealing the passage leading down into the cave. “Just… following a curiosity.”
Alfred hums, ever perceptive. “Would this curiosity have anything to do with the young woman who managed to offend half the room tonight?”
Bruce pauses mid step, glancing back at him. “You heard about that?”
Alfred gives him a pointed look. “Master Wayne, the moment someone dares to tell off a socialite at an event like that, it becomes the only thing worth discussing. I’d be surprised if her picture isn’t already pinned on some poor soul’s dartboard.”
Bruce huffs out a short laugh before shaking his head. “I’ll be in the cave.”
Alfred merely nods, already knowing there will be no convincing him otherwise.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ The Batcave hums softly with the sounds of running water and flickering monitors, a stark contrast to the suffocating luxury of the ballroom he had left behind. Here, Bruce is no longer Gotham’s golden boy. No longer the playboy billionaire.
Here, he is himself.
He settles into the chair before the Batcomputer, fingers swiftly typing as he pulls up a search. He hadn’t planned on looking you up. At least, that’s what he tells himself. But there was something about you something about the way you moved through that room, awkward yet unyielding. You didn’t belong there, and you didn’t care to. The way you had looked at him, unimpressed and disinterested, had been a rarity in a world where everyone was either too enamored by his wealth or too busy trying to figure out what game he was playing.
His fingers move with purpose, bringing up your name, your records. The first thing he finds is that, unlike many of the people who had surrounded you that night, your life had been anything but privileged.
You were born and raised in the Narrows Gotham’s forgotten underbelly. A place where opportunities were scarce, and survival was a skill honed from childhood. Your record is clean remarkably so, for someone who grew up in the part of Gotham where crime wasn’t a choice but a necessity. No arrests, no notable scandals. You had gone to school, worked through college, and carved out a place for yourself in a city that did everything it could to swallow people whole.
But what catches his attention the most are your writings. Articles. Interviews. Pieces dissecting the minds of Gotham’s most notorious criminals. Not in the sensationalized way tabloids did, but with an analytical depth that spoke of genuine understanding. You weren’t interested in painting them as mere villains or glorifying their crimes you wanted to understand them.
Your work focused not on the spectacle of their actions, but on the why. The motivations. The cracks in Gotham’s system that had allowed them to exist in the first place. You had interviewed ex gang members, street level criminals, and even those who had managed to escape Gotham’s cycle of violence. You wrote about the lives that high society ignored the people who lived in the shadows cast by the city’s towering skyscrapers.
You gave them voices.
Bruce leans back in his chair, studying the screen. You had lived a normal life at least, as normal as someone from the Narrows could. You had no connections to the criminal underworld beyond your work. No secret vendettas, no affiliations.
And yet, your writing showed a perspective that very few people in Gotham ever took the time to understand. You weren’t just observing Gotham’s worst. You were showing that they had stories worth telling.
Bruce’s eyes flicker over the last article on the screen, the words settling in his mind.
“Society has already decided who deserves redemption and who doesn’t. But if you never listen to someone’s story, how do you know they weren’t doomed from the start?”
His fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before he finally leans forward again, exiting the search.
Curiosity, he tells himself. That’s all this is and yet, as the screen fades back to black, he can’t shake the feeling that you might be someone worth paying attention to.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ If you wanted your stories to be heard, you had to be seen. That’s what your publicist told you. That’s what you repeated to yourself as you stepped through the towering entrance of yet another Gotham high society event, where old money mingled with new power, and influence dripped from every word spoken between sips of champagne.
You didn’t belong here. You never did. But belonging wasn’t the point.
This was the price of being heard. If you wanted your work to matter if you wanted people to actually read what you wrote, to listen to the stories Gotham’s forgotten had to tell you had to stand in rooms like this. Not because you cared about these people or their whispered scandals, but because they had the power to shape the city’s narrative, whether they deserved that power or not.
And so, despite the suffocating air of wealth and self importance, you showed up.
The ballroom was an exhibition of excess. A long, lavish table stretched the length of the room, set with gold rimmed plates, crystal glasses, and floral centerpieces so elaborate they could have easily funded an entire year’s worth of rent for a struggling Gotham family. Conversations bubbled up around you hollow laughter, polite murmurs, the occasional hushed gossip passed between sculpted lips.
You found your seat. And nearly laughed. Right beside Bruce Wayne. Of course.
You weren’t sure if this was some kind of twisted joke or if the hosts had simply thrown darts at a seating chart, but there it was your name card placed neatly next to Gotham’s most beloved. Maybe they thought you were more important than you actually were. Maybe they thought Bruce had the patience of a saint. Though you have a feeling after your last stunt, they were trying to see if another PR disaster would come from this. Maybe more publicity for them. Any publicity is good publicity you guess.
Either way, it was too late to change it now. Sighing, you pulled out your chair and sat down, reveling in the last few moments of solitude before the night officially began.
And then, the atmosphere shifted. Even before you turned your head, you knew. Gothams golden boy had arrived.
The energy in the room changed, as if the very air had been pulled toward him. Conversations faltered just slightly, eyes flickered in his direction, and there was a quiet ripple of interest that passed through the gathering like an unspoken current. It was always like this.
The city’s most eligible bachelor. The name that sent tabloids into a frenzy and made socialites tilt their heads just so, hoping to catch his attention. He was power wrapped in effortless charm, an untouchable figure who played the role of the careless heir so well that even the most cynical couldn’t help but watch him.
You risked a glance. Of course, he looked perfect. Dressed in a dark, tailored suit that cost more than your entire apartment’s worth of furniture, he moved through the crowd with the kind of casual grace that made it seem like he belonged everywhere. A relaxed smile curved his lips, and the people surrounding him whether they were whispering behind their glasses or outright gushing were captivated.
It was almost infuriating, how easy it was for him. Why can’t beautiful people feel more im reach?
When then he reached his seat and saw you. For the briefest moment, the mask slipped. Not much just a flicker of something sharp in his eyes before it smoothed over, replaced with something unreadable.
He barely acknowledged the lingering hands on his arm, the voices vying for just another second of his time. His attention had already shifted. To you. You on the other hand are practically clutching your pearls to remain calm. Your publicist told you to absolutely DO NOT fuck up again.
Bruce had been willing to chalk that first encounter up to chance. A passing curiosity. Now he was beginning to think fate had a sense of humor.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he murmured as he sank into his chair, his voice carrying the warmth of amusement.
You exhaled through your nose, already bracing yourself. “Yeah, well. maybe i won the lottery to be seated next to Gotham’s golden boy.”
His lips twitched. “I doubt im anything that special”
You gave him a dry look. “Didn’t take you for a masochist, Wayne.”
He chuckled, low and quiet. “Only selectively.”
You sighed, picking up your menu just to give yourself something to do. “I do want to apologize for last time, I swear im more civilized. I guess that I kinda got thrown off a bit?” Bruce leaned in slightly, his voice dipping just enough that only you could hear.
“Acting all fancy? Where’s the fun in that?”
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ If you had to endure one more second of this sanctimonious drivel, you were going to jam your fork into the back of your hand just to feel something.
The dinner had been dragging on for what felt like an eternity, and the conversation at the table was as unbearable as expected. The hosts, a couple who clearly thought themselves Gotham’s greatest benefactors, were speaking at length about their so called “generosity” and the many ways they had given back to the community. It was all so painfully rehearsed.
“We simply couldn’t sit idly by while Gotham suffered,” the woman declared, holding her glass delicately between her fingers. “Which is why we’ve dedicated ourselves to philanthropy.”
Her husband gave a solemn nod. “Yes. Our foundation has put millions into rehabilitating Gotham’s most… unfortunate areas.”
Unfortunate areas. You took a slow sip of your wine, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from blurting something you’d regret. They were talking about the Narrows. Where you had grown up. Where people still fought to survive every single day, no thanks to the people in this very room.
They spoke as if their generosity was some grand solution to the city’s suffering. As if they had single handedly saved Gotham. You exhaled through your nose, already feeling your patience fraying. It was then that you felt someone shift beside you.
“Did you hear that?”
The words were spoken so casually, so smoothly, that at first, you weren’t sure you had heard them at all. You turned your head slightly, finding Bruce Wayne sitting beside you, his face the perfect picture of polite interest. His voice was quiet, just low enough that only you could hear him.
“Hear what?” you muttered, confused.
He took a sip of his drink, his expression unreadable. “The sound of Gotham being saved.”
You blinked. “what?”
Bruce gestured subtly toward the hosts. “Between the Restoration Project and last week’s fundraiser, I think we can safely say Gotham’s problems have been solved.”
For a moment, you just stared at him. Then, before you could stop yourself, you let out a sharp, amused breath. “Oh, absolutely,” you whispered back. “Crime? Poverty? Completely eradicated. I bet even the Joker is rethinking his entire life’s work.”
Bruce tilted his head, considering it. “Maybe he’ll go into finance. Become a hedge fund manager.”
You snorted. “I’d pay to see that.”
Bruce hummed, pretending to ponder it. “Or accounting. Something low risk. Maybe he’d be great at tax fraud.”
You bit your lip, forcing yourself not to laugh.
“Honestly?” you whispered, leaning slightly closer. “A few more dinner parties and we might even get Two Face to start a nonprofit.”
Bruce’s mouth twitched. “And I hear Penguin’s investing in an animal conservation project.”
You covered your mouth with your hand, shaking your head. How had this happened?You had been so close to losing your mind just minutes ago, and now here you were, whispering snide remarks with Bruce Wayne of all people. The absurdity of it hit you all at once.
You scoffed, shaking your head. “This is ridiculous.”
Bruce arched a brow. “What is?”
You glanced at him, lips twitching. “Didn’t think you were so much of a hater.”
Bruce leaned slightly closer, his voice amused. “Isnt that your job? you haven’t stopped being one.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smirk. “I think it’s a little more nuanced than that. Guess I’m a glutton for punishment.”
He chuckled, his blue eyes sharp with something unreadable. “Funny. Me too.”
Bruce wasn’t sure when it happened. When the night had gone from something exhausting to something… bearable. Enjoyable, even.
He had sat down at this table expecting the usual the same empty conversations, the same mindless flattery, the same performance he had perfected over the years.
You, who had spent the first half of the evening looking like you wanted to crawl out of your skin. You, who had made no attempt to charm him, who had barely acknowledged his presence at all until he had decided to push you just a little. when you had responded, it had been effortless. Natural.
He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had felt that. Since he had been able to talk to someone like this without posturing, without pretending. It reminded him of something. Something old. Something familiar. A woman in a black catsuit, teasing him from the edge of a rooftop. Bruce’s fingers curled slightly against his knee.
Selina had been one of the first people to remind him what it felt like to be real. To be alive and now, somehow, you were doing the exact same thing and you didn’t even realize it.
Bruce glanced at you from the corner of his eye. You were still trying to suppress a smile, still glancing around the table like you couldn’t believe you were actually enjoying yourself. He found himself studying you really studying you. You didn’t belong here, that much was obvious. The way you sat stiffly in your chair, the way your fingers tapped lightly against your wine glass when you were irritated, the way you watched the room rather than participated in it.
You were observing. Just like him. Just like he had been doing since he was a boy, since he had first learned how to read a room, how to pick apart every detail, every lie. for all your sharp observations, you had completely missed the fact that you had captivated him.
Bruce Wayne was staring at you like you were a puzzle he needed to solve.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Your voice cut through the air softly, and Bruce blinked, pulled from his thoughts. You had caught him looking. For a brief moment, he considered deflecting, playing it off with a practiced joke. But he didn’t want to.
So instead, he simply shrugged. “I was just thinking,” he said, voice low, “that this might be the first time I’ve actually enjoyed one of these things.”
You frowned, clearly skeptical. “Bullshit. You go to these all the time.”
Bruce smirked. “Doesn’t mean I like them.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, still not quite believing him. “And I’m supposed to believe this dinner is different?”
His smirk deepened. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”
You blinked, and Bruce almost laughed at the way you processed his words, as if you weren’t quite sure what to do with them. But then, slowly, you shook your head, exhaling a quiet laugh.
“You’re so full of shit, Wayne.”
Bruce grinned. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”
For the first time that night, he didn’t feel like the billionaire playboy. Didn’t feel like Batman. He just felt like Bruce. Which wouldn’t that feel weird? He always believed that Batman was the real him. Right now feeling like a teenage boy meeting a girl.
&&&&
The second the speeches ended, you were on your feet. Not rudely just quickly. The second round of self congratulation had begun, and if you had to listen to one more person pat themselves on the back for “saving” Gotham, you were going to lose your mind.
You made your way toward one of the grand patios, slipping past gilded columns and chandeliers that cost more than your entire apartment complex. The doors were open, the cool night air seeping in just enough to make you crave the quiet outside. The moment you stepped onto the patio, you exhaled.
It was massive of course it was. Probably bigger than some of the city blocks you had grown up on. A perfect marble terrace with pristine railings, overlooking the twinkling skyline of Gotham. You leaned against the stone railing, closing your eyes for a moment. Peace. Finally. But, of course, peace never lasted long in Gotham.
“You know, for someone who doesn’t like high society events, you sure end up at a lot of them.”
You opened your eyes, lips already twitching into a smirk before you even turned around. Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking at you with that same insufferably amused expression. A short, incredulous laugh escaped you. “stalking me now rich boy?”
Bruce stepped further onto the patio, shaking his head. “Just wanted the air, cant blame me”
You rolled your eyes, turning back to the skyline. “Mhm. Right. Sure. Just a coincidence you keep popping up wherever I am.”
Bruce leaned against the railing beside you, his voice casual. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ll be sure to keep a three foot distance from now on.”
You smirked. “Six, just to be safe.”
“Ten, and I might start getting offended.”
You shook your head, biting back a grin. There was something so easy about talking to him. Too easy. The thought was unsettling. “I have to admit,” Bruce mused, tilting his head slightly. “I didn’t expect you to show up tonight.”
You sighed, toying with the rim of your glass. “Believe me, if I could have avoided it, I would have.”
“you can say that again”
You exhaled through your nose, staring out over the city. “Yeah, well. If I want my stories to actually matter, I have to be seen.”
Bruce was silent for a moment, watching you. Then, his voice softened. “Is that why you do it?”
You turned to him, brow furrowing. “Do what?”
“Write the stories you do.” His blue eyes searched yours, something unreadable flickering behind them. “Why villains? Why not the heroes? You’d probably get a lot more recognition if you did.”
You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Because the heroes don’t need me.”
Bruce’s gaze didn’t waver. “And the villains do?”
Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. “The people who get thrown into Arkham, who are labeled as ‘monsters’ and ‘freaks’ and just written off most of them have stories no one ever hears.” You exhaled. “I want people to understand them. Or at least see them. Even if they don’t deserve sympathy, they at least deserve to be known.”
Bruce didn’t say anything right away. He just stared at you. Not in an uncomfortable way, not in the way men at these events usually did. No, Bruce was really looking at you. And for some reason, it made you shift under his gaze.
“…What?” you muttered.
Bruce just smiled slightly, shaking his head. “Nothing. I just didn’t expect that answer.”
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, well. Sorry to disappoint. I know the usual arm candy around here doesn’t have thoughts.”
Bruce snorted. “You really think that’s all I see you as?”
You arched a brow. “What else would I be?”
His expression turned thoughtful. “I dont really know”
You scoffed, shaking your head. “Well, if you’re looking for something interesting, you should probably set your sights somewhere else. I have no interest in being one of the people you “help” from the sidelines”
Bruce’s lips quirked. “help from the sidelines?”
You gestured vaguely. “I want to respect the people in there. the ones who have influence. Though when you’re on the other side of the spectrum its a little rough. The rich like to be seen and not heard.” You turned to him, meeting his gaze directly. “I have no intention of being a footnote in the pretend of gotham.”
Bruce watched you for a long moment, his smirk slowly fading into something softer. Then, finally, he spoke. “I have no intention of making you just a fling or to discard your work.”
The words were said so smoothly, so matter of factly, that they took a second to register. You blinked. Your mind blanked. Your entire brain shut down for a solid five seconds. Because what…what did he mean by that? You weren’t sure what part of the sentence flustered you more.
The fact that he wasn’t denying wanting you, or the fact that he had just so casually implied that you are going to be something more than a just a thought. Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Bruce just smirked, watching you flounder. Then, slowly, he leaned in just a fraction.
“Speechless?” he murmured, voice low.
You snapped out of it, your pride kicking back in. “Please.” You scoffed, turning away. “You wish.”
Bruce chuckled, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
And as much as you hated to admit it… You kind of loved that he had caught you off guard.
The soft breeze ruffled your hair as you leaned back against the stone railing, trying to gather your thoughts. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had left you this disoriented. Bruce’s smirk only deepened as he studied your reaction, clearly enjoying the fact that he had thrown you off balance. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, and no amount of cool air could wipe the warmth from your face.
“So…” he began, his voice far too smooth for your liking. “I take it that wasn’t exactly the response you were expecting?”
You forced yourself to look at him, swallowing back the knot in your throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” His gaze darkened just a little, and for a moment, there was no teasing, just something more genuine. “I think you do.”
The way he said it made your stomach flutter uncomfortably. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to laugh or slap him so you did neither. Instead, you stepped back from the railing, trying to put some distance between you and the overwhelming presence that was Bruce Wayne.
“fucking rich people,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest as if to shield yourself from him.
Bruce didn’t move, his eyes still locked on yours, his lips slightly curled. “Is that a no?”
Your heart skipped a beat. You blinked at him, dumbfounded. “A no?” you echoed, unsure if you had heard him right.
Bruce gave you that damnable, knowing look again. “You know, you don’t have to act all tough. You’re not fooling anyone.”
“I’m not acting tough,” you shot back, despite your nerves. “I just I don’t even know what you’re asking me.”
Bruce tilted his head slightly. “I’m asking you if you’d like to go out with me.”
Your jaw dropped. “Wait. What?”
He chuckled, clearly amused by your reaction. “Yes. That.”
You stared at him, utterly baffled, before glancing at the ground as if it might have the answers to everything you had just heard. You couldn’t tell if you were about to burst out laughing, slap him, or just walk away and pretend none of this happened.
“…You’re serious?” you managed to croak out after what felt like an eternity.
Bruce simply gave you a shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Dead serious.”
For a long, torturous moment, all you could do was blink at him, trying to make sense of the situation. Bruce Wayne Gotham’s richest, most infamous playboy was asking you, the rebellious daughter of the shadows, on a date and you couldn’t even think of a single coherent response.
Finally, you let out a frustrated breath and turned your head away. “You’re insane.”
Bruce’s smirk softened into a more genuine smile. “I try.”
You shook your head, not knowing whether to feel mortified or weirdly elated. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Well, you could say yes,” Bruce offered casually, his voice now a little more sincere.
You looked back at him, your heart still racing from the unexpected turn of events. “…I’m going to need a lot more time to process this.”
Bruce raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough. I’ll give you time. But just so you know… I’m not going anywhere.”
The tension between you two was still there, thick in the air. But for some reason, it didn’t feel uncomfortable anymore. More like the beginning of something unexpected. Something that might change everything. And just like that, you were thrown back into the whirlwind that was Bruce Wayne.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ It was a quiet night as you walked home, the cool breeze against your face, your mind lost in thought. It had been a long day at work reporting, editing, and finalizing a piece about Gotham’s growing underbelly, a story that seemed to sink deeper with every layer you uncovered. You were used to it. You thrived on it. The truth was your domain, and you’d learned how to swim in the darkness long ago. It was something that made you feel connected to your roots, to the people you came from.
The streets of Gotham felt familiar, in a way. No matter how much money flowed into this city or how many pretty buildings sprang up in the skyline, you couldn’t forget the parts of it you grew up in. The darker corners, the alleys, the people who had nothing but each other to survive. They were your people, the ones you understood more than you ever could the high society types you’d been forced to mingle with.
You rounded the corner onto a familiar street, just a few more blocks before you were home. Then, without warning, the atmosphere shifted. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you slowed your pace. Gotham had a way of making you hyper aware, and tonight was no exception.
You felt it before you saw them. The footfalls behind you, too quiet, too steady. Your pulse quickened.
Before you could even react, two men emerged from the shadows, blocking your path. The dark shapes loomed over you, the threat in their eyes clear. One was holding a sharp looking knife, the other a crowbar. The older, taller man grinned, a twisted, unsettling look that made your stomach churn.
“Give us your bag, sweetheart,” he sneered, a rough, gravelly voice edging the threat. “We don’t want any trouble, but we will make it happen if you don’t cooperate.”
You didn’t flinch. You didn’t back down.
“Sorry, I don’t have time for this,” you muttered, trying to side step the bigger man, but he was quick, grabbing your arm with a vice like grip.
“Not so fast,” he growled. “You’re not going anywhere until we get what we want.”
You spun around quickly, your elbow connecting with his ribs in a sharp strike. He grunted, but it didn’t stop him from tightening his grip. The other man stepped forward, the crowbar raised as if to swing.
That was when you knew you were in trouble. But only for a second. You kicked back, slamming your foot into the first man’s knee, hearing the sickening crack as he stumbled backward. He swore, holding his leg in pain. You used the opening to break free, turning to face both men. The one with the crowbar swung at you wildly, but you ducked under his reach and used his momentum against him, redirecting his strike into the side of the nearby wall. Your movements were quick, practiced clean, precise. You didn’t need to fight dirty. You didn’t need to be anything other than efficient. All you needed was enough of an excuse to escape. Within seconds, the two men were on the ground, groaning in pain, incapacitated by your calculated strikes.
Breathing hard, you exhaled slowly, dusting yourself off. That was easy. But when you looked up to check for any more threats, the air around you grew heavy.
Batman was standing at the edge of the alley, his towering form almost blending with the shadows. His cape fluttered slightly in the wind, the symbol of the bat glaring on his chest, and those piercing eyes those damn eyes locked onto yours.
You froze. For a moment, it felt like time slowed down. It was him. Batman. The dark vigilante, the city’s protector, who had always hovered over Gotham’s criminal world like a myth, now staring at you with an unreadable expression.
His eyes narrowed. Recognition flashed across his face, though his expression remained carefully controlled.
You stared at him, blinking rapidly, confusion clouding your mind. You knew him. But how? But you hadn’t had you really? You were too caught up in your own world to truly pay attention to the rumors and gossip. He was, after all, just the Batman to you. That was all you cared about. But in that moment, you realized with an unsettling clarity: He knew who you were.
You laughed awkwardly, feeling a rush of heat to your face. “Oh great, just what I needed tonight,” you muttered under your breath. You quickly brushed a hand through your hair, trying to act like this wasn’t the most bizarre encounter you’d had in a while. “Listen, don’t worry about me. I appreciate what you do for the community though.”
Batman didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His posture remained rigid, intimidating, but his eyes… his eyes seemed to soften for a split second. There was something in them something that spoke volumes. You couldn’t place it, but it felt like something more than just the bat.
“No,” he said, his voice low, gravelly. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.” His words were firm, but there was a thread of concern beneath it. “Gotham isn’t safe.”
“Yeah, well, Gotham doesn’t care about safe,” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “It’s just me out here. If I want to get home, I’ll get home.” You didn’t want to admit it, but there was something about the way he said that it made you feel smaller. But you didn’t let it show. You lifted your chin, defiant. “I can take care of myself. Just like I did with them.”
You gestured to the two men still groaning on the ground, the earlier tension dissipating into the night air. But Batman didn’t reply. His eyes swept over you in a way that sent a chill down your spine. His body language shifted just slightly, enough for you to notice, but before you could say anything more, he was moving.
“Get inside,” he said abruptly, his voice unwavering. “I’m not letting you walk home like this.”
There it was again. The command in his voice. You narrowed your eyes, a little defiant but feeling a strange pull toward the urgency in his tone. “It’s very courteous of you but please. I told you, I’ve got it. I’m fine.”
Batman didn’t even blink, his tone now sharpened. “Get inside, now.”
His words left no room for argument. You were tempted to push back tempted to keep up your independence. But there was something about the way he said it, the way his gaze hardened, that made you swallow your pride. With a small, frustrated sigh, you turned and started walking towards the street, heading home. You could feel his presence lingering behind you, watching, making sure you weren’t followed.
For a split second, you almost wanted to ask him more. But you stopped yourself. You didn’t need him. Not really. He was just Batman, after all. You shook your head. No need to think about it. Sometimes you want to find and interview him for why he punches first and asks later. Though the bias for your work might be interfering with those thoughts.
But somehow, you couldn’t ignore the tight knot in your chest. The tension in the air between you and him felt like more than just a confrontation. It felt like something else. And that something else… well, it lingered.
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Bruce Wayne stood in the Batcave, his back pressed against the cool stone wall, his fingers lightly grazing the edge of the Batcomputer. His cape hung loosely behind him, still damp from the rain soaked night. The adrenaline of his patrol had long since faded, but an odd unease lingered in the pit of his stomach, something he couldn’t quite shake.
He’d spent countless hours in this cave, fighting Gotham’s worst and dealing with the city’s many challenges. His mission had always been clear: protect the innocent, bring justice, and make Gotham a better place. But tonight, something was different. Something about the encounter with you had stayed with him in a way he hadn’t expected. He couldn’t stop thinking about how you had handled yourself, standing tall despite the danger.
He had seen countless people fight back, but there was something unique about the way you did it. You weren’t just trying to survive you were alive in the moment, every move deliberate, confident, and unapologetic. You weren’t waiting for someone to come save you; you were saving yourself. It was rare in Gotham, a city where people often needed help just to make it through the day.
And yet, there was a sadness to it all.
Bruce knew that the city had a way of wearing people down, turning them into something else something bitter or broken. People like you, who had grown up in the shadows, had learned to fend for themselves because Gotham didn’t make it easy. He couldn’t help but wish that you hadn’t had to be so strong. You shouldn’t have had to fight alone.
His thoughts wandered back to the moment he’d seen you in the slums. Despite your strength, despite the control you’d taken of the situation, Bruce felt a pang of sympathy. The city had failed you, just as it had failed so many others. Gotham had a way of demanding too much from its people, and it had never been kind to those who were already struggling.
It was clear you weren’t someone who needed saving. You had made your own way, fought for your own space in a world that hadn’t always welcomed you. Bruce couldn’t help but admire that. It was something he understood well carving out a place for yourself in a city that tried to break you. But it still frustrated him that Gotham had forced you into a corner like that.
He pushed away from the computer, rubbing his eyes as he tried to clear his thoughts. He had a duty to the city, a duty that didn’t leave room for distractions or feelings. Yet, something about the way you carried yourself, how you didn’t let Gotham’s grime get the best of you, lingered in his mind. You were a reminder of the resilience he’d always admired in this city, but also a stark reminder of how much still needed to be done.
Bruce had always seen Gotham as a city to fix, a place in desperate need of change. He’d dedicated himself to that cause, but seeing you, standing strong in the face of everything this city threw at you, made him think what if there were more people like you?
But you shouldn’t have to be like that. You shouldn’t have to fight for your survival in a city that was supposed to be your home. And yet, you had.
Bruce exhaled deeply, leaning back against the stone wall again. It was moments like these that reminded him of how complex Gotham truly was. People like you weren’t just victims or criminals. They were the heart of the city, the ones who kept going even when the world seemed determined to make them quit.
He didn’t have the answers, but seeing you hold your own, standing up to those men like it was just another day, reminded him why he kept doing this. Gotham wasn’t just about fighting crime it was about protecting the people who refused to be broken. People like you.
Bruce let out a slow breath, turning back toward the Batcomputer, but his thoughts were still on you. He wasn’t sure where this would lead, or if it would lead anywhere at all. But for the first time in a long while, he found himself hoping that, somehow, Gotham would be a little less lonely for you.
For all of them.
Alfred: So, how did the gala go, Master Wayne?
Bruce: I think it went well. There was a very pretty woman. She didn’t say no when I asked her out
Alfred: Fascinating. Like watching a car crash in slow motion and calling it a graceful landing.
Bruce: …I’m sensing sarcasm.
Alfred: No, no. I’m very impressed. You managed to express interest without brooding in a corner or vanishing mid conversation. Progress.
Bruce: I hate it when you bully me.
Alfred: And yet, I persist.
⋆˚✿˖° ❝𝗜𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗱𝗲𝗱❞ ⋆˚✿˖°
────୨ৎ────
gojo satoru x reader
geto suguru x reader
────୨ৎ────
5. what kind of woman are you attracted too?
masterlist
I felt I wasnt nurturing the bond between gojo and geto. like they are close friends and I feel the bond that they have would still remain though strained in this trope. Geto and Gojo support each other but are each other’s downfall. Like you know how in the show its the jujutusu kaisen world that was hurting each other. Make it you.
You had barely sat down with your breakfast when Gojo appeared out of nowhere, plopping into the seat across from you with a grin that immediately put you on edge.
“…What?” you asked, eyeing him warily.
Gojo leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “So.” You sighed. “So?”
He wiggled his fingers in your direction. “Tell me.”
You blinked. “Tell you what?”
Gojo tilted his head. “What kind of person you’d date.”
You froze mid bite. “…Huh?”
He tapped his fingers on the table impatiently. “Your type. Preferences. Ideal boyfriend.” He leaned in further, grinning. “Or girlfriend, I don’t judge.”
Your face heated slightly, but you quickly masked it with a deadpan look. “Why do you care?”
Gojo gasped, placing a hand over his heart as if deeply offended. “Excuse me? As your best friend, I need to know these things.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”
Gojo waved a hand dismissively. “Since always.”
You sighed, going back to your food. “And what are you going to do with this information?”
“Oh, you know.” He twirled his chopsticks between his fingers. “Just… make sure you don’t end up with someone lame.”
You snorted. “Lame?”
“Yes, lame.” He jabbed his chopsticks toward you. “Like some guy who doesn’t get your jokes, or can’t keep up with you in a fight, or, God forbid is boring.”
You gave him a look. “You realize you’re sounding like you’re hinting at something”
Gojo grinned. “Wow. Can’t believe you’d just admit your feelings like that.”
You groaned, rubbing your temples. “That’s not what I said.” “But it’s what you meant.” “Absolutely not.”
He watched you for a moment, unreadable behind his ever present sunglasses. Then, his smirk softened just a fraction, his voice taking on a more casual tone. “I just think you deserve someone great, y’know? Not some broody guy who thinks too much, or someone who carries the weight of the world like it’s his personal burden. Definitely not someone who overcomplicates things when they could just… I don’t know, be happy.”
Your stomach twisted, and you suddenly you had a feeling you understood exactly who he was talking about. Suguru.
Your throat tightened slightly, but you masked it with an eye roll. “Uh huh. And you’re saying you don’t overcomplicate things?”
Gojo’s grin was immediate. “Please, I’m a simple man. Good food, good company, and looking absolutely amazing at all times? That’s all I need.”
You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Of course.”
Gojo propped his chin in his palm, watching you with something suspiciously close to fondness.
Your stomach flipped slightly, but you quickly masked it. “Why do you care?”
“Because I have to care. What if you end up with a loser?”
You snorted. “I think I can handle myself.”
“Sure, sure, but like…” He gestured vaguely. “I have standards for you, y’know?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Your standards?” He nodded sagely. “Yep. And obviously, only the best will do.”
You rolled your eyes, deciding to humor him. “Alright, then. What are your standards?”
Gojo smirked. “Glad you asked.” He held up a finger. “One, they have to be funny because if they’re boring, I’ll have to personally intervene.” Another finger. “Two, they have to be cool but, like, not cooler than me because that’s just unrealistic.” A third finger. “Three, they have to be strong because if they’re not, then I’ll have to protect both of you, and that’s just exhausting.”
You gave him a deadpan look. “So basically, you just described yourself again.”
Gojo gasped, “Are you saying I would be your perfect match?”
You groaned, shoving his shoulder. “That’s not what I said.”
Gojo grinned, sitting back up. “No, no, I totally get it now.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You’ve just been too shy to admit you’re into me.”
You scoffed. “I promise you, that is not the case.”
He pouted. “Deny it all you want, but the evidence is right there.”
“What evidence?!”
“The fact that you haven’t answered my question!” Gojo leaned forward again, grinning. “Come onnn, what’s your type? Tall? Handsome? White haired?” You picked up your toast and took a pointedly long bite, refusing to answer.
Gojo gasped dramatically. “Silence? That means I’m right.” You chewed slowly, making direct eye contact. “I just don’t feel like feeding your already enormous ego.”
He leaned back, frowning. “C’mon, just tell me. Do you like the cool, broody type? The serious, stoic kind? Or are you more into, like, hilarious, handsome, and incredibly talented men?”
You shot him a flat look. “Gojo.”
“Hmm?”
“Eat your breakfast.”
He pouted. “You’re dodging the question.”
You sighed, standing up with your tray. “That’s because I don’t have to answer it.”
Gojo hummed, watching you go. Then, just as you reached the door, he called out. “You do like me, though, right?” You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response and that was definitely not the reason you left the cafeteria so quickly.
—
You walked down the hall, gripping your tray a little tighter than necessary. What was that? Gojo was always like this annoying, teasing, insufferable. Maybe it was the way he kept pressing the issue, like he needed an answer. Like it mattered to him.
You sighed, setting your tray down at the dish return. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just being Gojo. That was what he did: push buttons, crack jokes, demand attention. But then there was that last question.
“You do like me, though, right?”
You frowned, rubbing your temples. He’d said it so casually, like he was asking if you liked a new snack from the vending machine. But there had been something else beneath it something just a little too expectant, like he cared what you would say. that was the problem. Because if it was just a joke, you could roll your eyes and move on. But if there was even a chance that Gojo was being serious…
You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. Nope. Not going down that road. Gojo was your best friend. He was ridiculous and loud and overwhelming, but he was Gojo. Thinking about him like that would just cause problems. You felt heat rise to your cheeks and groaned. Shoko and Utahime have ruined my brain. Because now, instead of just brushing it off like usual, their teasing from last night lingered. “Geto’s got the slow burn, weird emo thing going for him.”
“Gojo? Oh, he’s a mess over them.” You bit your lip, glancing toward the cafeteria doors as if expecting Gojo to come waltzing through them at any moment. You needed to not overthink this. Maybe Gojo was just being dramatic. Maybe he was just teasing. You shook your head, turning on your heel. Nope. Still not thinking about it. Gojo was just being Gojo. That’s what you kept telling yourself. He teased, he poked, he demanded attention nothing new. But the way he’d said it… the way he looked at you… There was something different about it, something that lingered in the back of your mind like a stray thread you couldn’t stop tugging at. You sighed, pressing your fingers to your temples. Nope. Not doing this. Not overthinking.
You turned a corner, passing by one of the common rooms, when a familiar voice made you pause. Geto.
You hadn’t meant to stop, but something about the way he was talking held you in place. His voice was quieter than usual, thoughtful. Curiosity prickled at you, and before you could think better of it, you took a step closer, peeking around the corner to stay out of sight. Geto stood near the vending machines, his usual relaxed posture leaning slightly against the wall. His expression was softer than usual, absent of the teasing smirks you were used to. Across from him stood a second year student, who was listening intently with a playful grin.
“Yeah, she always forgets to bring water, so I figured I’d keep an extra bottle for her,” Geto was saying, his tone almost casual but laced with something gentler You blinked, confusion stirring in your chest. Who was he talking about? “She never remembers to eat in between training either,” Geto continued, a fond, almost exasperated smile tugging at his lips. “Always running around, taking care of everyone else first.” He let out a small chuckle that sounded far too tender. “So, I just make sure to bring extra snacks. Nothing big. Just enough so she won’t notice I’m looking out for her.”
The second year grinned, nudging his shoulder. “Sounds like you’re practically her caretaker at this point.”
Geto laughed softly, a sound that warmed your chest and left your heart aching. “Nah. She’s plenty capable on her own. But, y’know…” His gaze shifted away, his fingers rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nice. Making sure she’s okay.”
Your mind whirled, trying to piece together what you were hearing. Geto had always been reliable, steady a calming presence when things got too overwhelming. But this… this felt different. It felt deliberate. Personal. You should have stepped out. Made a joke, teased him about his “caretaker” status, anything. Instead, you stayed rooted in place, eyes wide and heart thumping.
“Come on, Suguru,” the second year teased, their tone light. “Sounds to me like you’re a little more invested than just looking out for her.”
Geto rolled his eyes, but the flush on his cheeks betrayed him. “It’s not like that. I just… care about her, okay?” Your breath caught, your chest tightening. Was he really talking about someone like that? Like that?
“Uh-huh,” the second year hummed. “I think you care a little more than you’re letting on.”
Geto hesitated, his gaze lowering. “You’re really that surprised? She’s incredible. How could I not like her?” Your heart stuttered, the air catching in your throat.
The second year laughed, nudging him again. “Wow, you’re seriously gone, huh?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Geto chuckled, a sound that was quieter and self deprecating. “Go ahead and say it. I know I’m obvious.” A beat. “Not like it matters.” The lightness in his voice faltered, and there was a heaviness that weighed the air down. You stared, caught between wanting to stay and needing to leave before your presence was discovered.
“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?” the second year asked, a little more serious now.
Geto sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just bad timing. Or maybe it’s just… not meant to be like that.”
Your chest tightened painfully, a confusing mix of emotions crashing over you. Disbelief, confusion, curiosity something deeper, something raw. The second year seemed to sense the weight of his words, and they shifted awkwardly. “I think you’re overthinking it, Suguru. Maybe it’s simpler than that.”
Geto offered a small, wry smile. “Or it’s just… complicated.”
Your breath was too shallow, your skin too warm. You had no idea what to make of any of this of Geto’s tone, his words, the vulnerability in his voice. Before you could make sense of it all, the sound of approaching footsteps snapped you back to reality. Your heart lurched, panic flooding your veins. You turned on your heel and walked away quickly, leaving Geto’s quiet confession behind. The echoes of his voice lingered in your mind, heavy and impossible to ignore. Who was he talking about? Was it someone you knew? Someone close to him? The questions followed you down the hall, unrelenting and insistent.
—
The library was quiet except for the occasional rustle of pages and the faint scratching of a pen against paper. You sat across from Geto at a secluded table, textbooks and notes sprawled between you. The plan had been to actually study, but as usual, things weren’t going according to plan. “Are you even listening?” you asked, tapping your pen against the open textbook in front of you.
Geto smirked, not looking up from where he was casually spinning his own pen between his fingers. “Hmm? Oh, of course. Every single word.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Okay. Then tell me what I just said.”
Geto finally glanced up, resting his chin on his hand. “Something about… the properties of cursed energy reinforcement?”
You deadpanned. “That was twenty minutes ago.”
He chuckled, stretching his arms over his head. “Alright, you caught me. Maybe I got a little distracted.”
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Geto, we actually need to study.”
“I am studying,” he said smoothly, tilting his head. “I’m studying you.”
You blinked. “What?”
His lips twitched into a smirk. “I mean, it’s more entertaining than cursed energy formulas, don’t you think?”
You rolled your eyes. “dont be weird, I kinda would like to pass and never have to be here again.”
He placed a hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “I would never. I’m just making an observation.”
You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Fine, if you’re not going to take this seriously, I’ll just—”
Before you could finish, Geto leaned forward, smoothly plucking your pen from your fingers and twirling it between his own. “Relax,” he said, voice softer now, less teasing. “You’re always so focused on making sure we don’t fall behind, but when’s the last time you took a break?” You opened your mouth, then hesitated. “…That’s what I thought,” he said, giving you a knowing look. “It’s okay to slow down, y’know?”
You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I just don’t want to fail.”
Geto’s smirk softened into something almost fond. “You won’t. You’re way too stubborn for that.”
You snorted despite yourself. “That supposed to be a compliment?”
“Absolutely.” He twirled the pen once more before handing it back to you, fingers brushing yours for just a second too long. “Now, if it’ll help, I promise to actually focus.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
He placed a hand over his heart again. “Scouts honor.” You gave him a skeptical look, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Alright… but im not helping you again if you dont focus”
“Deal,” Geto said, grinning.
And for the next hour, he actually did focus though, every now and then, you caught him watching you with that same quiet, thoughtful look. You chose not to question it. For the next hour, Geto actually kept his promise mostly. He worked through the material, asked the right questions, and even managed to answer a few on his own. But every so often, when he thought you weren’t looking, you’d catch him watching you instead of his notes. You tried to ignore it. Tried. But after the fifth time, you finally sighed and set your pen down. “Okay. What?”
Geto blinked, caught red handed. “What?”
“You keep looking at me,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “And not in the ‘I’m paying attention’ kind of way.”
A slow, amused smile crept onto his face. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”
You rolled your eyes. “. Sure. And maybe I’ll start flunking on purpose just to see if you actually take notes for once.”
He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, alright. No need for extreme measures.” He rested his cheek against his palm, watching you with something unreadable in his expression. “It’s just… nice. Studying like this. Just us.”
You hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “…Yeah,” you admitted, twirling your pen between your fingers. “It is.”
Geto smirked. “See? You do like hanging out with me.”
You scoffed, pushing his book toward him. “I never said that i dont. Now, focus.”
He laughed but finally turned back to his notes. “Yes, yes. Diligent as always.”
But then, as you flipped to the next page of your textbook, Geto suddenly spoke again. “Hey.”
You looked up. “Yeah?”
He hesitated for half a second, like he was debating something, before offering you a small, genuine smile. “Thanks. For always making sure I don’t fall behind.”
Your grip on your pen tightened slightly, not expecting the warmth that spread through your chest at the simple words. You cleared your throat. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta keep you in check.”
Geto chuckled, but there was something softer in his eyes now. “Guess I’m lucky it’s you, then.”
Your breath hitched slightly, but you quickly covered it with a scoff. “Alright, now you’re just trying to distract me again.”
He held his hands up in mock innocence. “Not at all. That was just a bonus.”
You shook your head, trying (and failing) to fight the small smile threatening to break through. “Just focus, Geto.”
And, surprisingly, he actually did. The library had mostly emptied by now, leaving only the faint hum of the lights and the occasional rustle of paper breaking the silence. You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a small groan as you leaned back in your chair.
“We’ve been at this for hours,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes.
Geto smirked, resting his chin in his hand. “Tired already?”
“You say that like you aren’t exhausted, too.”
He hummed noncommittally, flipping his pen between his fingers. “Maybe. But I don’t mind it. This is still better than being out there.”
You glanced at him. “Out where?”
His smirk faded into something quieter, more thoughtful. “With them,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Normal people. Civilians.”
You frowned slightly, sitting up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”
Geto leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “It’s just… I don’t know. Every time we go out on missions, I see it. The way people look at us. Like we’re freaks. Like they can’t decide if they’re grateful or terrified.” His fingers tightened slightly around his pen. “Even when we save them, they still flinch when we get too close.”
You stayed quiet, watching the tension in his shoulders.
“They don’t get it,” he continued, voice softer now. “What it means to live like this. To always have to fight. To put our lives on the line for people who don’t even want to understand us.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Sometimes I wonder if they even deserve us.”
His words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken for a moment. “…I get it,” you finally murmured.
Geto glanced at you, eyes flickering with curiosity. “You do?”
You nodded, running a finger along the edge of your notebook. “I’ve felt it, too. The distance. The way they look at us. Sometimes it’s admiration, but most of the time it’s fear.” You exhaled slowly. “And yeah, it’s frustrating. Knowing we go through so much for people who will never truly see us.”
He watched you carefully, a hint of surprise flashing across his face like he hadn’t expected you to understand, not really. “…But,” you added, meeting his gaze, “I don’t think that means we should stop protecting them.”
His brows lifted slightly, waiting for you to continue.
“They may never understand us,” you admitted, “but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to live their lives in peace. I don’t think it has to be us versus them, it’s just… the way the world is.”
Geto studied you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, slowly, he sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. “You really are too good for this world,” he murmured, almost to himself.
You snorted, nudging his foot under the table. “And you sound like you’re going to start some rebellion.”
He chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “Nah. Not today.”
You rolled your eyes. “if you do, make me your right hand man so I keep you in check. Dont want you to become an evil cult leader.”
And though the conversation moved on, the words lingered between you. Somewhere, deep down, you both knew this wasn’t the last time you’d talk about this.
—
The gym smelled like polished wood and sweat, the faint echo of sneakers squeaking against the floor bouncing off the high ceilings. Gojo and Geto were caught up in an intense one on one basketball match, both far too competitive for a game that wasn’t supposed to mean anything. You, on the other hand, were seated comfortably on the bleachers next to Shoko, sipping on a sports drink and watching them with mild amusement.
“You know,” you said, stretching your legs out in front of you as you lazily sipped your drink, “you’re actually the coolest person I know.”
Shoko, who had been half watching the game and half scrolling through her phone, let out a soft snort. “That so?”
“Mhm.” You nodded, turning to her with a grin. “You’re smart, you’re strong, you don’t take shit from anyone plus, you’ve got this whole ‘mysterious but effortlessly hot’ thing going on. It’s really unfair, honestly.”
Shoko raised an eyebrow, finally glancing up at you. “You flirting with me?”
You gasped, hand over your heart. “Would it work?”
She laughed, a real, genuine one, shaking her head. “Careful. You keep this up, and I might start thinking you actually like women.”
You shrugged. “What can I say? I have good taste.”
Shoko smirked, tilting her head slightly. “Y’know, at this rate, I might just win the bet.”
You blinked, confused. “…What bet?”
Shoko’s smirk widened. “Oh, nothing.”
You narrowed your eyes. “No, not nothing. What bet?”
Before she could answer, Gojo suddenly shouted from across the gym, “DID YOU SEE THAT?! I JUST BROKE GETO’S ANKLES!”
“You tripped me, you bastard!” Geto yelled back.
Shoko took a slow sip of her drink, looking entirely unbothered. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.” You stared at her, completely lost, while she just laughed to herself, enjoying your confusion.
“I don’t even know why they take this so seriously,” you muttered, shaking your head. “It’s just a pickup game.”
Shoko snorted, stretching her legs out in front of her. “It’s them. They can make breathing a competition.”
You both watched as Geto smoothly dribbled past Gojo, dodging his outstretched arms with an easy grace before sinking a three pointer without even looking fazed. Gojo groaned loudly. “UGH, come on!”
Geto smirked, spinning the ball in his hands. “What’s wrong, Satoru? Thought you were the strongest?”
Gojo huffed, jogging to retrieve the ball. “Oh, please. I’m just getting started.”
Shoko turned to you, deadpan. “This game is never going to end.”
You sighed. “Nope.”
She took a sip from her water bottle before giving you a side glance. “So, which one are you rooting for?”
You blinked. “Huh?”
She smirked. “Oh, don’t play dumb. I know they’re both trying to show off for you.”
Your face warmed. “They are not.”
Shoko gave you a look. “Mmm, sure. Gojo has been throwing over the top passes this entire time, and Geto? He never plays basketball this seriously. Tell me I’m wrong.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but at that exact moment, Gojo attempted some ridiculous, unnecessary trick shot spinning mid air before launching the ball at the hoop. He completely missed. Shoko burst into laughter, clapping her hands. “Oh my god, did you see that?” You stifled a laugh as Gojo landed, immediately turning to look in your direction as if to check whether you saw his attempt. You quickly averted your gaze.
Shoko leaned in, whispering, “Yeah, totally not trying to impress you.”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Shoko, please.”
She grinned. “I’m just saying. You’ve got two of the strongest sorcerers wrapped around your finger, and you’re over here acting like it’s nothing.” Before you could respond, Geto casually walked over, spinning the ball on his fingertips. “Shoko, you wanna play next? Might give me more of a challenge.”
Gojo scowled. “Hey!”
Shoko waved him off. “Nah, I’m good. I like watching you two embarrass yourselves.”
You smirked. “It is pretty entertaining.”
Geto arched a brow at you. “Oh? Would it be more entertaining if you played?”
You rolled your eyes. “Absolutely not. I refuse to get caught up in whatever this is.”
Gojo, now recovered from his earlier failure, grinned. “Aw, c’mon, I’ll go easy on you~.”
You deadpanned. “gojo youll still be mean to me” Geto chuckled, spinning the ball once more before tossing it to Gojo. “Alright, alright. We’ll finish this first.”
Gojo smirked. “Good. Because I refuse to lose in front of my favorite person.”
You blinked. “Who?”
Gojo winked. “Guess.”
Shoko gagged. “I’m leaving.”
You laughed, shaking your head as the game resumed, Gojo and Geto both seemingly more fired up than before. Shoko nudged you with her elbow. “So, really, who are you rooting for?” You sighed, watching as Geto smoothly stole the ball from Gojo.
“…I plead the fifth.”
“hoe we’re not in america”
—
Gojo wasn’t nervous. He wasn’t. He was just… mildly aware that this was not going as smoothly as he’d hoped. That was fine. He was Gojo Satoru. He could recover. He could be charming. The problem was, you were making it really difficult. You were just walking next to him after the little game, completely oblivious to the fact that he was actively trying to flirt with you. And sure, maybe that was on him for being bad at it today, but also how were you not picking up on any of this? He had practically draped himself over your chair at lunch the other day. He had called you cool super amazing (which, okay, maybe wasn’t the best line, but he’d panicked). He had literally just suggested hanging out in a way that was clearly date coded. And still, you weren’t getting it.
“Are you okay?” you asked suddenly, shooting him a look.
Gojo immediately straightened up. “Me? Oh, I’m fantastic.” No, he wasn’t. He was fighting for his life.
You narrowed your eyes. “You sure? You look like you’re buffering.”
Gojo felt his eye twitch. Great. Incredible. I am exuding peak attractiveness right now. “Rude.” He tried to sound playful, but even he could hear the strain in his voice. “I was actually gonna ask if you wanted to hang out later.”
You blinked at him. “We always do”
Gojo resisted the urge to grab you by the shoulders. “Yeah, but like, something different. Maybe, I dunno, date adjacent?”
You actually tilted your head at that, confused. “Date adjacent?”
Oh my god, I’m going to die.Gojo groaned. This was so not how he pictured this going. He had imagined you blushing, maybe teasing him back, at least acknowledging what he was doing. Instead, you were just standing there, looking at him like he had two heads.
“…Are you flirting with me?” you asked suddenly.
Gojo froze. His brain short circuited. Oh. Oh no. This is it. This is my moment. Say something cool. Say something.
“…No?” he blurted.
The second the word left his mouth, he wanted to throw himself into traffic. You, meanwhile, burst out laughing. And just like that, he lost to the plot again Gojo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god.”
“I knew something was up with you!” you cackled, nudging him with your elbow. “You’ve been acting so weird.”
Gojo flailed slightly. “I was not acting weird—”
“You totally were.”
Gojo huffed. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was being a little weird—”
“Painfully weird.”
“Rude,” he muttered. He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. This was not how he wanted this to go, but at this point, it was so obvious he was trying, so he might as well just go for it.
“Look, all I’m saying is,” he started, glancing at you, “if I was flirting, which I’m not saying I was” You raised an eyebrow. He ignored you. “hypothetically, if I was flirting, would that be, like… a bad thing?”
You tilted your head, considering. Gojo felt his heart actually skip a beat. He hadn’t meant to phrase it like that, hadn’t meant to actually sound like he cared about the answer (But he did. Of course, he did.) You smirked. “I dunno,” you said, starting to walk again. “Guess you’ll have to try harder if you want an answer.” Gojo blinked. Then he processed what you had just said.
Oh. Oh, you little—
A slow grin spread across his face as he easily fell into step beside you. “So there’s a chance?” he asked, voice light.
You just shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to find out.” Gojo chuckled, shaking his head.
—-
You hesitated, debating whether to keep walking or turn back. Geto’s voice was always smooth, steady like a calm river. But there was something else in it now, something amused yet careful, that made you pause. Curiosity got the better of you, and you leaned subtly against the doorway, just out of sight.
“…and then she just left the cafeteria,” Gojo’s voice came through, animated and exasperated. “Didn’t even answer me!”
Geto chuckled, warm and low. “Maybe she didn’t want to.”
Gojo huffed. “No, no, she was blushing, Suguru. I saw it.” You exhaled slowly. Blushing? Was it really that obvious?
“Maybe you pushed too far,” Geto mused. “You do that a lot.”
“I wasn’t pushing!” Gojo shot back, then hesitated. “Okay, maybe I was, but I had to! They never answer me seriously.”
“Ever wonder why?” Geto asked smoothly.
There was a pause. You could hear Gojo thinking, and for some reason, that made your chest feel tight. “…No?” Gojo finally admitted, and Geto sighed, almost fondly.
“Satoru,” Geto said patiently, “not everything is a game. You joke about everything. Everything. Why would she think this is any different?”
“Because I mean it!” Gojo argued, his voice rising in frustration. “I’m always flirting with her, always giving her chances to say something back”
“And maybe she doesn’t know if you’re being serious,” Geto interrupted, firm but calm. “Maybe they think it’s just a game to you, and she doesnt want to be played.”
Gojo scoffed. “That’s stupid. Why would I waste my time playing games with her?”
“Because that’s what you do,” Geto said simply. “It’s how you are. You make everything lighthearted, everything funny. But it also means that sometimes, people don’t know when you actually mean something.”
Gojo was quiet for a moment before muttering, “I… I don’t know how to not do that.”
Something in your chest twisted. Gojo, struggling with sincerity? it wasn't something that isn't real. It's painfully obvious to anyone who meets him Though if you're assuming right that this is about you, it feels weird. “Well,” Geto said, voice softer now, “maybe it’s time you figured it out.”
Gojo let out a dramatic groan. “Oh, sure, easy. Just suddenly stop being me. That’ll work.”
Geto huffed a laugh. “No one’s asking you to stop being you, Satoru. Just… maybe start showing them that they deserve more than a joke.”
A pause. “…More?” Gojo repeated, like the word didn’t quite make sense. “Yeah,” Geto said, and there was something final about the way he said it. “More. She deserve more, Satoru.” Your breath stilled in your throat. Gojo was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “You really think that’s what she wants?”
Geto exhaled, something thoughtful in his tone. “I think that if you really want to mean it, you should start acting like it.” Then, after a brief pause, he added, “And I think you’re not the only one who’s going to be trying harder.” The weight behind his words made your stomach flip. Gojo let out a low hum, considering. “Huh. That sounds like you mean something too, Suguru.”
There was no teasing in Geto’s response, only certainty. “I do.” Your mind raced. You shouldn’t have been listening, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it not when it felt like you had just witnessed something you weren’t supposed to.
Before you could process it all, a presence settled at your side. You turned sharply, heart hammering, only to find Geto standing there, watching you. His gaze was steady, knowing. A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “Eavesdropping, huh?” The smooth timbre of Geto’s voice sent a shiver down your spine before you could even turn to face him. When you did, he was already watching you with that lazy, knowing smirk, the kind that made it clear he had caught you red handed.
Your heart lurched. “I absolutely wasnt, me walking down the hall and loud voices means inevitably someone wi—”
Geto chuckled, warm and low, like he had all the time in the world. “Relax. I won’t tell.” Your shoulders slumped slightly, though your mind was still spinning. “I didn’t mean to listen”
“Wanted to hear what everyone really thought?” Geto supplied smoothly, his voice quieter now. Your mouth opened, but the words tangled on your tongue. He wasn’t wrong. After a moment of struggle feeling strangely exposed under his gaze.
Geto hummed, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “Satoru can be… a lot,” he said, lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. “But he means well.”
You exhaled slowly, still processing everything. “Yeah, I know.” His gaze lingered, a beat too long. That easy amusement was still there, but there was something else beneath it, something thoughtful, something intent.
“He’s not the only one who cares about what you think, you know.”
Your heart skipped. The air between you shifted, suddenly heavier, like the conversation had turned into something delicate. Something that had to be handled carefully.
“What do you mean?” you asked, though you weren’t sure you were ready for the answer. Geto tilted his head slightly, watching you with that same unreadable expression. “Just that… it’s not always easy, liking someone like you.”
The way he said it sent a rush of heat to your face. You swallowed. “Geto…” His smirk softened into something smaller, “What?”
You didn’t know how to respond. Your mind was still tangled in the weight of his words, the quiet but unmistakable way he had just said it like it was already fact. Geto’s eyes traced over your face like he was memorizing something, his amusement dimming into something quieter. “You’re always looking at him,” he murmured. “But do you ever think about who’s looking at you?”
Your breath caught. “You deserve more than teasing, you know.” His voice was almost casual, but the weight behind it was anything but. “More than jokes and empty flirting.” You stared at him, feeling like you had suddenly stepped into unknown territory. He let out a soft chuckle, almost as if he could hear your thoughts. “I won’t push,” he said easily. “I know you don’t like that.” His fingers brushed against your shoulder a fleeting touch, too light to be an accident. “But just… think about it.”
You couldn’t find your voice. Geto held your gaze for a moment longer before stepping back, hands slipping into his pockets. “Give yourself a chance,” he murmured again but lower, tilting his head slightly. “But don’t forget there are other people who care about you, too.” And then he was gone, walking away without waiting for an answer, leaving you standing there mind reeling, heart racing.
It was complicated. Messy. But as you finally stepped away from the doorway, you found yourself thinking not just about Gojo’s teasing or the way he had fumbled for sincerity, but about Geto’s steady warmth, his quiet certainty. And for the first time, you weren’t just thinking about them. You were wondering what it was you wanted.
——
It had been years since you first walked through the gates of Jujutsu High, and looking back now, it almost felt like another lifetime. The first time you met Geto was a memory etched in the back of your mind, one you revisited often, though it was a little more distant now.
You’d been a first year, fresh and wide eyed, filled with excitement and nerves as you navigated the complex world of Jujutsu sorcery. You’d barely even known what to expect from your fellow students, let alone the upperclassmen. But when you first saw Geto, it was impossible not to be struck by him. Tall, calm, and exuding an effortless coolness, he had a kind of quiet magnetism that seemed to draw people in.
You remembered the first day you saw him, sitting alone in the classroom during the the morning. His dark hair fell just the right way, framing his face, and his eyes those intense eyes never seemed to miss anything. The world seemed to gravitate toward him without a second thought. there was something about the way he carried himself that made it feel like he belonged in the spotlight. You couldn’t help but be a little starstruck. It wasn’t just his looks, though. His demeanor, the way he spoke with such effortless confidence, made you feel like you were standing in the presence of someone who had everything figured out. Even back then, as a shy first year, you found yourself drawn to him. You’d always been a little shy when it came to those kinds of feelings, so you never dared to express how you felt.
You had a crush on him, without a doubt. It was something you didn’t admit easily not to anyone, least of all to yourself. You were just starting to adjust to the world outside of you and gojo, let alone figure out how you fit in it, and trying to sort out your feelings for someone like Geto only made things more complicated. But as time went on, as you became more familiar with him, the crush slowly turned into something else. You began to see the layers beneath the surface. Geto wasn’t just the cool guy who could command attention with a single glance. he was thoughtful, intelligent, and surprisingly perceptive in ways that weren’t immediately obvious. He didn’t just notice people; he understood them, in a way that made you feel like you were more than just another face in the crowd.
You remembered the first time you really spoke to him like REALLY spoke to him. , after a mission where you both ended up working together. You’d been struggling with something either your technique or just how to focus under pressure and Geto had come up to you, casual as always, and offered a few words of advice. It wasn’t anything grand or life changing, just a small adjustment, but the way he said it, the way he made you feel like he truly believed in your potential, had stuck with you.
“Don’t overthink it,” he had said, offering a slight smile. “It’s simple. Just focus on the moment.”
You were surprised by how much that simple comment helped you how much it made you feel seen. From then on, every interaction with him felt different. Instead of a distant rando, Geto became someone you could rely on someone you could talk to about anything, whether it was missions, school, or just life in general. His presence, while still commanding, became comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.
Now, when you looked at him, it wasn’t with the same starry eyed admiration of that first day. He was one of your closer friends, someone you’d come to trust deeply. The crush, though it had remained a part of you in the back of your mind, had shifted into something else, something more meaningful. You appreciate him not for the image of him you had built in your head, but for the person he truly was. The calm, steady support he offered, the way he never judged, and how he always seemed to know when to challenge you and when to step back.
You found yourself often smiling a little as you watched him, lost in thought. He was standing off to the side, talking with some of the others, his usual easygoing demeanor present even now. He had become someone you could confide in, someone who genuinely cared about the people around him. The ease of your friendship, of the way he accepted you, made you realize just how far you had come from those first days of high school.
The crush was a distant memory now, but you couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of gratitude when you thought back to that first meeting. What you had with Geto now was something far more valuable, something real. He was your friend, and in many ways, you had grown together. And as you watched him, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he had always known exactly what you needed before you even realized it yourself.
—
The halls of Jujutsu High were quieter at this hour, bathed in the deep oranges and purples of the setting sun. Most of the students had turned in for the night, and even the teachers had begun to retreat to their rooms. But Gojo sat on the training field, staring up at the sky like it might hold the answers to the thoughts swarming in his head.
Shoko plopped down next to him, stretching her legs out with a quiet sigh. “You look like you’re thinking too hard,” she remarked, tilting her head to look at him.
Gojo huffed a laugh but didn’t turn to face her. “I am the strongest, y’know. That means my brain’s gotta be strong, too.”
Shoko snorted. “That’s not how that works.” A comfortable silence settled between them. Gojo let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. The usual brightness in his voice dimmed slightly when he finally spoke again.
“Shoko…” he started, hesitating in a way that was unlike him. “What does it mean when someone makes your brain feel all… messy?”
Shoko raised a brow. “Are you asking me about feelings, Satoru?”
He groaned, tipping his head back. “Ugh, don’t make it weird.”
“You’re the one making it weird,” she shot back, amused. “What’s going on?”
Gojo was silent for a beat before his fingers dug into his hair. “I really like her, Shoko.” His voice was quieter now, like saying it too loudly might make it real in a way he wasn’t ready for. Shoko blinked, before an easy smirk tugged at her lips. “Yeah, no shit.”
He groaned again. “Come on, be helpful.”
She chuckled but softened a little. “Okay, okay. What about them is making your brain all ‘messy’?”
Gojo exhaled, shoulders slumping slightly. “It’s just… I flirt with them all the time, right? But I don’t think they ever really believe me. Like it’s just some game or whatever.”
Shoko hummed thoughtfully. “You do treat everything like a joke.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Gojo muttered, rubbing his temple. “And then there’s Suguru.”
Shoko frowned slightly. “What about him?”
Gojo hesitated before sighing. “He likes her too.”
Shoko’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes sharpened. Shes heard both sides of her best friends complain about their love for you “And?”
Gojo hesitated again, and that alone was enough to tell her how much this was really messing with him. “It’s Suguru,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.
And in a way, it did. Suguru Geto was his oldest friend, the one who had always been by his side, the one who understood him in ways no one else did. But now, suddenly, there was this… rift. Not spoken, not fought over just there, quietly growing between them.
Shoko let the words settle between them before speaking. “So, what? Are you gonna back off?”
Gojo snapped his gaze to her, eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Of course not.”
Shoko gave a small, knowing smile. “Didn’t think so.”
Gojo exhaled sharply. “But it’s weird, okay? It’s weird because… because he’s Suguru, and he’s never really wanted the same things as me before.” He ruffled his hair, frustration evident. “It’s like I don’t know how to feel about it. He’s my best friend, Shoko.”
“And so is [Y/N],” Shoko pointed out.
Gojo faltered. She sighed, nudging him lightly. “Look, you like her, right? I think it naive to think suguru has never wanted the same as you”
“Yeah,” Gojo muttered, quieter this time.
“And Suguru likes her too,” she continued.
Gojo clenched his jaw but nodded. Shoko studied him for a moment before shrugging. “Then stop thinking so much.”
Gojo stared at her. “That’s your advice?”
She gave a lazy grin. “Yup.”
He scoffed. “Gee, thanks, that helps so much.”
Shoko chuckled, then let her expression turn more serious. “Listen, Satoru. I get it. You don’t like dealing with feelings yours or anyone else’s. But this isn’t about Suguru. And it’s not about some stupid competition.” She held his gaze. “It’s about you and how you feel about them.”
Gojo pressed his lips together. “Yeah,” he murmured, like he was finally letting himself admit it. “I really, really like her.”
Shoko patted his back, standing up with a stretch. “Then do something about it.”
Gojo tilted his head back to look up at her, lips tugged in a lopsided smirk. “You’re really bad at comforting people”
She rolled her eyes. “And you’re a pain in my ass. Just because i chose to be a doctor doesn’t mean psycologist.”
Gojo chuckled, but as she walked away, he let his head drop back, staring up at the sky again.
no one:
Y/n this chapter:
taglist : @pandabiene5115 @inthedarkshadows000
so like i saw this prompt somewhere on here about a reader reaching…. completion and the other saying “i know baby” and im currently longing for the time when I used to play this game all the time
Kaeya Alberich
The night air in Mondstadt is crisp, carrying the faint scent of dandelions and the distant hum of revelry from the city below. But here, within the quiet sanctuary of Kaeya’s room, the only sound that matters is the soft cadence of his voice.
It had started with a drink, just one. A quiet escape from the noise of the tavern, from the ever watchful eyes of the city. Kaeya had offered, his smirk playful, his voice dripping with charm.
“Stay a little longer tonight, won’t you?”
And you’d said yes, because how could you ever say no to him?
Now, the candlelight flickers, casting warm shadows along the walls, bathing the room in a golden glow. Kaeya leans against the edge of his bed, a glass of wine resting in his palm, swirling lazily as he watches you from beneath heavy lashes. His coat had long since been discarded, leaving him in that deep blue shirt, the top buttons undone, exposing of his collarbone.
“You always look so tense,” he murmurs, tilting his head. His voice is smooth, teasing, but there’s something else beneath it something softer. Something meant only for you. “You let everyone else see you so strong, so put together… but I wonder,” he sets the glass down with a soft clink, his gaze locking onto yours, “who do you fall apart for?”
The weight of his words settles deep in your chest, warm and heavy. Your fingers twitch against the fabric of your clothes, a quiet tell you know he doesn’t miss. There’s something thick in the air between you, something unspoken but understood.
Kaeya rises from his seat, slow and deliberate, his movements fluid like the wine in his glass. He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the coolness of his body against the warmth of your own. His gloved fingers reach up, ghosting over your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to meet his gaze.
“Let me, just this once,” he breathes, his voice a whisper between you. His fingers brush against your skin, featherlight, as if testing, waiting for permission. “Let me see you unravel.”
And you do.
—
The room is warm, the scent of candle wax and wine lingering in the air. The flickering light casts shadows over Kaeya’s face as he hovers above you, his body flush against yours, pressing you into the soft mattress beneath him. The usual playfulness in his expression has melted into something deeper something raw.
His breath is uneven, his usual composure slipping with every desperate movement. His lips trace slow, open mouthed kisses down the curve of your neck, his gloved hands roaming over your body, mapping you like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough, hoarse with need.
Your breath hitches, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. He exhales a soft curse against your throat, his forehead pressing into the crook of your neck as he tries to steady himself, to hold on just a little longer. But the way you move beneath him, the way you whisper his name it’s undoing him.
Kaeya groans, a deep, broken sound, his grip tightening around you as he presses you impossibly closer. His body shudders, his breath ragged, his voice barely a whisper as he murmurs against your lips, “It’s okay… Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”
And when you do, when pleasure overtakes you, leaving you trembling beneath him, Kaeya follows soon after. His breath stutters, his arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go, his entire body shuddering against yours as he loses himself completely.
Even when the waves of pleasure fade, he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. He stays pressed against you, his heart hammering against your own, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin. His lips ghost over your temple, pressing soft, lingering kisses against your heated skin.
“I know, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion and something softer something more vulnerable. “I know.”
The night is quiet save for the sound of your breathing, the distant hum of Mondstadt beyond the window. And in that moment, wrapped in Kaeya’s arms, you know neither of you is ready to let go just yet.
VERY SHORT VERY SELF INDULGENT
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!!
Hizashi Yamada / Present Mic X Reader
↻ Off The Record ↺
Masterlist
So like….. this one I really thought of a Batman/ Jason Todd reader…. Also its been a while! whoopie! also this is a lot of tension without resolve. Someone asked for a angst one but then wanted comfort and by the time I was done this I realized it was too late for that. So youll be getting a double angst fic soon for some more comfort.
Synopsis: You and Hizashi had a family. Until one day you didn’t. When is it a point that you can avenge your family.
The camera focuses in on a patch of green where a blanket is spread out. Sitting cross legged in the middle of it is a young woman hair tied up messily, sleeves rolled past her elbows, and wearing an old, oversized band shirt that’s clearly been through more than one laundry battle. She’s got something smudged on her cheek maybe mashed banana and she doesn’t seem to notice or care. Just in front of her, a baby with soft blond hair and a gummy smile is trying to crawl with intense determination. Their chubby little arms slap against the blanket as they inch forward, letting out squeals of delight every time they gain a few inches. From behind the camera, Hizashi’s voice comes through, a little breathless from laughter.
“You’re getting this, right?” the reader calls, glancing up with a grin.
“I never stopped,” Hizashi replies, his voice warm. “I always catch the moments of my beautiful girls”
“You said that last time and then forgot to hit record,” she teases, catching the baby just as they topple forward with a squeak. She lifts them into the air with practiced ease, blowing a raspberry on their tummy that makes them shriek with laughter.
“That was one time,” he defends, shifting the camera a bit to frame her better. “And anyway, you’re the one covered in banana. If anything, I’m preserving art right now.”
The reader sticks her tongue out at him, still holding the baby against her chest. “bleh bleh bleh.” The baby reaches up, curious fingers poking at her face before pressing against her nose. She goes still, cross eyed, then bursts into laughter.
“Oh no. That was a critical hit. Guess I’m down for the count,” she groans playfully, flopping back into the grass and pulling the baby down with her. The baby giggles again, burying their face against her collarbone. Her hand comes up to gently support the back of their head, and her laughter softens into something quieter, more content. The camera zooms in just a little. The sunlight catches the edges of her hair, and even from behind the lens, it’s obvious how peaceful she looks. Hizashi’s voice lowers, more to himself than anything.
“My beautiful beautiful girls”
The camera lingers on the moment the baby nestled against her, her hand cradling them gently, her eyes half closed as she sways slightly in the grass. The wind moves through the trees, and for a moment, everything is still.
[END RECORDING 1]
There’s a small inflatable pool in the center of the yard. The water sloshes gently as a toddler barely old enough to speak in full sentences sits inside, smacking the surface with open palms and laughing at the splash. The reader crouches at the edge of the pool, sleeves rolled up and jeans cuffed just above the ankle. She’s holding a little plastic cup, pretending to sip from it before handing it back to the toddler with exaggerated delight. “Mmm! That’s the best pool water tea I’ve ever had,” she says, wiping fake tears from her eyes. “You really outdid yourself this time.” The toddler giggles and claps, delighted, before refilling the cup by dunking it haphazardly back into the pool. Most of it spills over their arm.
“You want more!” they declare proudly.
“Oh, absolutely. A whole round, chef,” she grins, holding out her hands with mock anticipation. “Let me savor this deluxe pool water blend.”
From behind the camera, Hizashi’s voice breaks in. “You two openin’ a café back there or just giving away five star service to VIPs?”
“You wish you were invited,” the reader calls, not looking back. The camera jerks a little clearly Hizashi’s picking it up now. The view bobs as he walks closer, eventually settling in on the reader and the toddler who’s now attempting to pour the ‘tea’ onto her head. She shrieks and leans back just in time.
“No! We don’t serve it like that! That’s assault!” she laughs. The toddler dissolves into giggles, proud of the reaction. Hizashi kneels beside the pool, one arm visible as he reaches in to push a floating rubber duck toward the baby.
“You’re teachin’ them all your bad habits,” he teases, looking over at her with a crooked grin.
“Oh, yeah?” she says, nudging him with her shoulder. “She got your hair and your voice. you have cursed her.”
“extremely cool and amazing style, you mean,” Hizashi corrects with a wink, then turns the camera back to the toddler who’s now taken the duck and is trying to make it “fly” through the water. There’s a long pause no talking, just the soft splash of water, the toddler’s happy babbling, the creak of a tree branch above them. The camera dips a little, and Hizashi exhales slowly through his nose. His voice is quieter when he speaks again.
“Man… she’s getting so big.”
The reader leans back on her hands, watching the child with that same soft look from the last video. “I know,” she says. “I keep thinking if I blink too long, I’ll miss something.”
The toddler looks up, eyes shining, and yells, “Dada! Look!” holding up a soggy duck triumphantly. Hizashi laughs, hand coming into frame to gently ruffle the baby’s wet hair. “I see ya, little rocker. Ten outta ten splash style.” The screen slowly starts to fade as the camera slips back into the grass, forgotten in favor of joining the moment.
[END RECORDING 2]
The room is dark, lit only by the faint blue glow of a laptop screen. Everything else is still. The walls are lined with old posters and shelves cluttered with memories records, photos, little things that once felt important. But right now, all of that fades into the background. Hizashi sits hunched in front of the desk, elbows on his knees, head bowed low. He’s still in his clothes from the day, shoes kicked off and forgotten beside the chair. The laptop screen flickers as a video ends static for half a second and then begins again.
The reader is sitting in the grass, wind in her hair, laughing as their baby crawls toward her. Her voice echoes faintly from the speakers. “C’mon, c’mon ! You can do it, little storm!”
Hizashi doesn’t speak. He barely blinks. His fingers, curled tight around the laptop’s edges, twitch. He rewinds the video ten seconds. Plays it again. Rewinds. Again. Over and over. The sound of her laugh becomes a loop warm, full of life, a sound that feels so distant now it may as well be from another lifetime. His chest rises with a shallow breath then another. A shaking exhale escapes his throat, and he bites the inside of his cheek as if that might hold something in. His eyes stay locked on the screen.
“C’mon, little storm,” she says again, softer this time.
The baby giggles. He presses pause. The image freezes on her face smiling, eyes glowing with joy. The baby is half lunging forward, caught mid motion. Hizashi swallows hard, jaw tight, knuckles white. He presses play again. Then rewind. Again. Again. There’s no sound in the room now except for the looping of her voice and the faint whir of the laptop fan. His breathing grows uneven, but he doesn’t let himself cry. Not yet. He just sits there, stuck in time with her rewinding the only piece of her that he still had.
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:10 Hizashi’s sprawled on the couch, one leg kicked up over the armrest. He’s wearing his tinted glasses, though they’ve slipped slightly down his nose. In his hands is a sleek, beat up notebook with audio notes scrawled in the margins and ideas circled three times. Across from him, Aizawa sits in a chair, arms crossed, hair pulled back just enough to look like he tried. He’s sipping something that probably started as coffee but has long since gone cold.
“so I was thinking,” Hizashi says, flipping the notebook toward Aizawa with a grin, “for the next episode, I bring in a retired pro hero who’s been doing underground rescue work. You know, off the grid, totally unofficial, but still out there saving people. The guy’s voice is all gravel and chain smoke it’ll sound awesome in post.”
Aizawa raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’re going to platform someone who’s technically breaking the law?”
“It’s inspiring, not incriminating. I’ll edit carefully.” Hizashi grins, waggling his brows. “And I’m not naming names. Just telling stories.”
“You said that last time and still ended up with Nezu calling you in for a ‘polite conversation’ that lasted an hour and a half.”
“He understands.”
Aizawa sighs into his cup. “If it were me, they’d shut the whole thing down.”
“That’s because you sound like dead puppies or something. total buzzkill” A faint twitch tugs at Aizawa’s mouth full of amusement.Hizashi laughs, stretching his arms behind his head. “Hey, what can I say? People like when I talk. It’s either the podcast or every event this place has. If i was bad at what I do they would not ask me to do the things I dooooooo.”
“ew stop.”
Hizashi leans forward, smirking. “You’re just jealous you don’t have a fan club of sleepy office workers who listen to you while folding laundry.”
“Correct,” Aizawa deadpans. “I want none of that.”
Before Hizashi can fire back, the intercom crackles to life, breaking the moment. “Yamada, Aizawa please report to my office at your earliest convenience,” Nezu’s cheerful voice chirps through the speakers. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble!.”
The intercom clicks off. A beat of silence. Hizashi squints up at the ceiling. “I feel like im in highschool again”
Aizawa sets down his mug with a quiet sigh and stands, already reaching for his capture weapon. “He calls you like this all the time”
“Yeah so exactly like highschool” Hizashi follows, grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch.
“I just want to go home.”
“Come on, Shota, don’t be like that,” Hizashi grins, catching up as they head for the door. “Our fearless leader is calling.” “ugggggggh.” And with that, the lounge door swings shut behind them.
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:10 The door to Nezu’s office swings open with a faint creak, the familiar scent of tea and paper drifting out to meet them. Nezu sits perched behind his desk, paws folded neatly, tail swishing slowly as he watches them enter with that ever pleasant smile that somehow always makes people nervous.
“Ah, thank you for coming so quickly!” he chirps. Aizawa steps in first, quiet and unreadable, hands shoved in his pockets. Hizashi follows, a little slower, his usual swagger dialed down into something more neutral though he still offers Nezu a quick two finger salute. Nezu gestures to the chairs across from him. “Please, have a seat. I won’t keep you long.”
The two settle in, Hizashi lounging back while Aizawa sits forward slightly, eyes already narrowed in suspicion. Nezu picks up a folder from his desk and slides it open with practiced ease. “I received a request this morning from a pro hero agency one you both are familiar with.” He lifts his gaze, tone still light. “Lumine’s (Y/n hero Name) agency.”
Aizawa’s eyes flick to Hizashi before Nezu even finishes the sentence. Hizashi goes still. Nezu continues, unaware or simply unbothered by the sudden tension in the air. “They’ve taken on a delicate undercover case. They need more pro heroes involved enough to form the appearance of a cooperative task force, but discreet enough that it doesn’t draw too much attention. They specifically asked if I had any heroes in mind.”
Hizashi’s fingers curl around the arm of the chair. Aizawa’s voice cuts in, cool and even. “Send someone else.”
Nezu blinks, tilting his head. “Oh?”
Aizawa doesn’t look at Hizashi. “There are plenty of capable pros who could play the part. You don’t need us.”
“I’m aware,” Nezu replies calmly, clasping his paws again. “But your teamwork history with her is one of the strongest among U.A. affiliated heroes. There’s a unique rhythm there. And in this case, familiarity might be more useful than sheer numbers.”
“Still,” Aizawa starts again, firmer this time, “it’s a mistake.”
But before he can say more, Hizashi leans forward. “I’ll do it.”
Aizawa finally looks at him. “Yamada ”
“I’ll do it,” Hizashi repeats, more certain now, even though his jaw’s tight. His voice is steady, but his eyes aren’t quite meeting Aizawa’s. “She asked for help. I’m not gonna sit back and pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Aizawa studies him for a long, silent moment. There’s something sharp behind his gaze, something protective. He doesn’t speak again not yet. Nezu nods, pleased. “I knew I could count on you.”
He turns to Aizawa next. “And what about you?”
Aizawa doesn’t answer right away. He looks at Hizashi again, then slowly exhales through his nose. “…Fine,” he mutters, rubbing at the corner of his eye. “But I’m not playing backup if this gets personal.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Hizashi says quietly.
Nezu claps his paws together. “Wonderful! I’ll forward you the brief. You’ll both head out in two days.”
As they stand to leave, Hizashi lingers for a moment, staring down at the folder still resting on Nezu’s desk. His eyes trace the corner of your name just barely peeking from a report inside. His hand tightens once before he forces it to relax. And then he turns, following Aizawa out of the room.
The door shuts behind them with a soft click, sealing off Nezu’s office and all the weight it carried. The hallway is quiet. Hizashi walks a step ahead, hands shoved deep in his pockets, mouth set in a line. His usual energy is gone no humming, no idle chatter, no light bounce in his step. Just silence. Aizawa follows beside him, eyeing the tension in his shoulders, the way he hasn’t said a word since they left the office. They pass a group of first years who pause to wave, but Hizashi doesn’t even notice.
“What was that?”
Hizashi glances sideways. “What?”
“You know what I’m talking about,” Aizawa says, voice low.
Hizashi doesn’t answer right away. They keep walking past empty classrooms, the echoes of their steps filling the space between them. Finally, he exhales, slow and shaky. “It’s just been a while,” he says, too quickly.
Aizawa stops walking. Hizashi slows but doesn’t turn. he he “I’m serious,” Aizawa says. “If this is going to get in your head, I need to know now. You’re not the only one going in. I’m not dragging you out of something you weren’t ready for.”
Hizashi finally stops, his back still to Aizawa. He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it more than usual, then turns halfway just enough to speak over his shoulder. “She asked for help, Shota,” he says quietly. “Whether she meant to or not, she did. I’m not gonna ignore that.”
Aizawa’s gaze narrows. “This isn’t about obligation. Don’t pretend it is.”
Hizashi chuckles once, but there’s no humor in it. “It’s not. But… I need to do this. Maybe for her. Maybe for me. I don’t know yet.”
Aizawa steps closer, voice dropping lower. “You haven’t talked to her since…”
“Yeah,” Hizashi cuts in. He finally turns fully, arms crossed, leaning back against the wall like he’s trying to hold himself up with it.
“I miss her every single day,” he murmurs. “Whether I understand it or not Im going to be there for her”
Aizawa watches him in silence, the faint crease between his brows softening just a little. “Alright,” he says. “If you’re in, I’m in.”
Hizashi gives a weak smile. “Thanks, man.”
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:10 Hizashi and Aizawa step in, both dressed In their hero gear. Hizashi scans the place, mouth a thin line. Aizawa just yawns behind his scarf. “Can I help you?” the receptionist asks, eyeing them both before recognition softens her tone. “Oh Present Mic, Eraserhead. Lumine said to expect you.”
“She mention what this was about?” Aizawa asks, voice low.
“She said she’d brief you personally,” the receptionist replies with a tight smile. “She’s just ”
FWUMP.
A faint rush of wind and a shimmer of light drift in through the skylight above and then you land lightly in the center of the room, boots clicking softly as you straighten. Hair tousled by the wind you offer a nod to the others in the room before your gaze lands on the newcomers.
Your breath catches for a beat. Hizashi. You weren’t expecting him. But you recover quickly. A smile curls at your lips professional, measured, but undeniably a great thing. You brush your hair back and take a few steps forward.
“Thanks for coming,” you say to the room, your voice smooth and sure. “I’ll keep this quick. The mission’s simple. There’s a formal pro hero gala tonight big guest list, all high ranking heroes and agency leaders. Somewhere in that crowd is a contact I need to extract information from.”
You pause and glance around. “Problem is, I can’t make a direct move. Too many eyes. So I need all of you trusted faces to act as cover. Draw attention, start conversations, keep the spotlight off me.”
One of the pros a tall woman with a flame patterned cape raises a brow. “You brought this many people just to run interference?”
The others murmur similar questions. Your smile doesn’t waver. “Sometimes the most valuable thing in a room full of pros isn’t strength. It’s distraction. And trust.”
Still, a few of them exchange skeptical looks. Then, from your left “…Why us?” The voice was one you knew all too well. Hizashi steps forward just a little, arms crossed. He’s not challenging you but his gaze is steady, careful. “Why me?”
The room goes quiet. You meet his eyes those same eyes that used to crinkle when he laughed too hard. Your heart stutters, but your smile remains. “Because Nezu has a good memory,” you say lightly. “he knows what works best.” Hizashi tilts his head, lips parting like he might say something else but you turn toward the rest of the team before he can. “Everyone, get your formal gear ready. The gala starts at eight. I’ll brief you again in the transport. No costumes. No weapons. just please kiss some ass.”
As the others disperse, still murmuring to each other, you linger where you stand eyes trailing Hizashi just a little longer than necessary before turning away. He watches you, silent, that same tension in his shoulders he had in Nezu’s office.
Aizawa quietly steps up beside him and mutters, “This was a bad idea.” But Hizashi doesn’t answer. He just keeps watching you. The corridor glows with warm light from the sunset bleeding through the floor to ceiling windows, streaking gold across polished floors and glass panels. It’s quiet up here. Peaceful. A break from the constant motion of the agency below. You stand near the railing, clipboard in hand, eyes trained on the city skyline but you’re not really looking at it. Your smile is soft, just enough to pass, just enough to say: I’m fine. This is fine. Behind you, footsteps approach. Light, familiar. You don’t turn.
“You always did like ahen things were quiet,” Hizashi says casually, his voice easy, light. “Something poetic about it.”
You turn your head just a little, enough to see him in your peripheral. “Poetic? Did you pick up a new hobby? must have been something I missed while you were off being a radio star?” You make it a joke. You even add a small laugh that feels practiced now.
Hizashi steps up beside you, resting his elbows on the railing, looking out. “Nah. Still can’t write poetry for anything. But I can still recognize when you are hiding.”
Your smile twitches, just slightly. But it doesn’t drop. “If I was hiding, this would be the worst place to do it. Big windows.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you from the side. “I didn’t come up here for the mission,” he says finally.
You nod slowly, still staring straight ahead. “Yeah. I figured.”
“You gonna ask why I did?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” You keep your voice airy. “Everyone missed me. I’m the star attraction around here.”
Hizashi’s laugh is quiet. “You always were in my eyes”
You turn to face him with a too sunny smile. “Anyways Present Mic, what can I do for you?”
That earns a grin from him, but there’s something searching in his eyes like he’s not buying it. Like he never really did. “Just wanted to see you,” he says, voice quieter now. “Cant say that Ive seen you in a while”
Your fingers tighten slightly around the clipboard. “Well, lucky for you, this is it. Ta da.”
But it doesn’t come out with the same flair as usual. The exhaustion slips through the cracks. He catches it. “You don’t have to pretend with me, y’know,” he says gently. “You never did.”
then you laugh small, hollow, just barely a sound. “You say that like it’s easy.”
He tilts his head. “Isn’t it easier than bottling it up?”
You look away again. “Bottling it up got me this far.”
Another silence. You hear him shift closer, just a little. Still not touching, but close enough that you feel the warmth radiating from him. “I missed you,” he says.
You blink. Slowly. The weight of those words settle over your shoulders like a coat you forgot belonged to you. “I missed a lot of things,” you murmur. “Doesn’t mean I know what to do with them now.”
“You don’t have to,” Hizashi replies. “Just… don’t shut the door all the way, okay?”
Your smile fades, softens into something tired and unsure. But you nod. “…Okay.”
He leans a little closer, voice gentle. “And for the record? I didn’t come up here for closure. I came up here because the door’s still open. Even if it’s just a crack.”
You let out a slow breath. Then quietly, more vulnerable than you’d like you say, “Don’t make promises you don’t plan to keep.”
Hizashi smiles “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:10 The room is quiet except for the soft clink of a makeup brush against a ceramic palette and the low hum of distant city traffic. Golden light from the setting sun filters through the tall windows, catching on your vanity mirror. You sit in front of it, barely blinking as you apply a dark line of eyeliner with practiced ease. Your reflection stares back at you. Polished. Perfect. Controlled. Like you haven’t broken a hundred times over. Your hand pauses mid swipe. Lips slightly parted, mascara wand hovering. The image in the mirror doesn’t look like you. Not the version of you who’s been slipping through alleyways in the dead of night. Not the version who helps the desperate and the voiceless when the system turns away. This version? She’s a performance. She’s what the hero system still expects you to be. You press the wand down and exhale shakily. And then your mind drifts to him.
Hizashi.
Of all the people Nezu could’ve sent, of all the names that could’ve landed on that list it had to be his. You grit your teeth, swallowing the rise of emotion burning in your throat. Of course you still love him. You always have. From his dumb jokes to his reckless optimism. From the way he held your baby like the world might fall if he didn’t… to the way he shattered when it actually did. But that love lives under the ash of everything you lost. The system said you couldn’t move your child. Protocol. Civilians were to shelter in place while pros handled the threat. And what happened? He escaped again. Again. Again.
How many people did it take before they actually locked him away? Too late. Always too late. Your hand trembles against the vanity. They told you to trust the law. To wait. They said justice would come. It did but only after blood. So you stopped trusting them. You still wear the hero name, still hold the title because it’s useful. But when the uniform comes off, you become you. The one who helps where the law won’t go. The one who tracks the ones the system forgets. The one who avenges. You sacrificed everything to live that life. Even him. Even love. Because the hero system let you bury your child. And now… now you’re here again, curling your lashes, dabbing soft shimmer onto your eyelids, pretending you’re whole. Pretending you’re going to a party. Pretending you’re just another hero at a gala with a mission.
You click the lipstick shut, the final touch complete. The woman in the mirror stares back beautiful, unreadable, deadly. No one in that room tonight will see anything else. You rise slowly, smoothing out the fabric of your dress midnight blue, sleek and elegant, with a slit that hides your knives and your scars. Another mask. You glance once more at your reflection.
“…Let’s get this over with,” you whisper.
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:10 The gala glows beneath chandeliers and camera flashes, a swirl of polished shoes, clinking glasses, and hero agency logos gilded in gold along the walls. Music hums soft and jazzy beneath the polite roar of conversation, laughter.
Hizashi Yamada is in the center of it all, exactly where he knows you need him to be. His suit is sharp dark green with golden accents, the kind of color that catches the light just enough to make him pop. His hair’s tied back neatly, but the grin on his face is pure Present Mic: loud, magnificent , effortless.
“C’mon, c’mon!” he says, waving his drink with a flourish as a small circle of heroes gathers around him. “You haven’t lived until you’ve been in a karaoke bar in Osaka with Gang Orca and Fat Gum. I swear Orca screamed ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ like his life depended on it!”
The circle bursts into laughter, even the stiffer heroes cracking smiles. A few paparazzi hover near the edge of the group, lenses trained on him, capturing every animated gesture and flashy grin. Exactly as planned. If he was going to do this help you with this mission he was going to do it right. Draw the spotlight. Drown out the background. Let you move like a shadow behind the scenes.
“You’re really working this room,” comes Aizawa’s voice, low and unimpressed, as he appears beside him with a glass of water in hand and his long coat thrown over the more traditional black suit.
“Course I am,” Hizashi says through a grin, only just glancing at him. “Isn’t that the job?”
“You’re being loud even for you.”
“People like loud,” Hizashi replies, motioning around the room. “Loud means attention babygirl”
Aizawa physically recoils at the nickname ans follows his gaze. Your figure is barely visible, cutting clean through the crowd in a sleek dress, slipping between clusters of distracted pros with silent precision. You’re already at the far end of the room, unnoticed. Unbothered. Just like you wanted.
Aizawa hums, eyes flicking back to Hizashi. “So, what happens if they start looking for you when the lights go down?”
Hizashi’s grin softens, just a little.
“Then I keep being the one people hear.”
And with that, he throws an arm around a nearby hero, dragging them into the conversation, voice booming again like nothing’s changed. But behind the volume, behind the show, his eyes keep darting toward the edges of the room where he knows you are. And he prays they keep looking at him, just a little longer.
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:10 The room spins in soft gold and velvet shadows as the band shifts into something slower strings and piano, romantic and dangerously timed. Laughter hushes to murmurs as couples begin to gather at the polished dance floor, gliding in practiced steps.
He sees you. You step out from the fringe of the crowd, no longer a shadow. No longer just the woman on a mission. You’re standing beneath a chandelier, its light bathing you in soft firelight. Midnight blue silk wraps around you like the night itself, slit high enough to whisper of the weapons hidden beneath, and yet all he sees is you. like the memory he’s never been able to rewrite. Hizashi’s mouth parts, breath catching in his throat. For a second just a second he forgets what he’s supposed to be doing. He forgets the crowd, the mission, the weight of years between you.
All he sees is the love of his life.
You’re scanning the room, eyes sharp but you feel it the burn of a gaze that cuts deeper than the others. When you meet it, your chest tightens. Of course he’s looking at you like that. Like it’s the first time. Like it’s the last time. Like it’s always been you. Your jaw ticks slightly, but before you can move away.
He’s already in front of you. You feel it before you see him. His hand on your waist. Warm, firm. Familiar. His other hand gently, reverently, slides into yours. Your breath stutters. “Dance with me,” he says, voice low, the wild energy of his public persona stripped away.
You look up, annoyed just a little. “This isn’t part of the plan.” But there’s no venom in your tone. There never is, not with him.
His thumb brushes your hip, soft. “Maybe not. But I’ve waited years for five minutes with you that weren’t shadowed in grief.” He leans down, hand still clasping yours, and presses a kiss to your wrist. Then another, up your arm. Slow. Like he’s memorizing the pieces of you he thought he’d never touch again. You say nothing. You don’t pull away. Because your heart is screaming. He leads you gently toward the floor. The crowd shifts, moving out of your path, and the room seems to hush, the music rising as the two of you step into its rhythm. You dance. Bodies close, breath shared. His touch is careful, not possessive never possessive but like he’s holding something fragile. You’re stiff at first, guarded, but then your fingers curl tighter in his hand, your other hand brushing his shoulder. It feels like coming home and stepping into a fire, all at once.
Neither of you speaks. You don’t need to. His hand squeezes yours. you let yourself rest your cheek against his shoulder for just a moment. One song. That’s all he asked for. And for the first time in what feels like forever… You let him have it.
The music wraps around you like silk smooth and slow, the kind of song that sways rather than marches. You move with him, step for step, breath for breath. But your posture is rigid. Not cold, not cruel just closed. Hizashi doesn’t push. His hand remains at your waist, guiding you gently across the floor, fingers warm against your lower back. You’re dancing, but your eyes keep flicking away over his shoulder, past the crowd, toward your objective. He doesn’t mind. He’s just watching you. Fully. Softly. Like he doesn’t care who sees.
“Its been so long,” he murmurs, his voice low enough only for you. “you still look like a rockstar as much as the last time i've seen you”
You glance at him, unamused.
“Don’t start.”
He grins. “Just sayin’. It’s cute.”
Your brows tighten, your gaze cutting to the side. The rhythm doesn’t falter, but your walls stay up. You keep moving like a soldier dressed as a socialite. He chuckles softly, not deterred. “This dress, though…” His fingers graze the silk at your hip, reverent. “Do you know how beautiful you look”
You say nothing. You just breathe in through your nose, shoulders sharp.
“I mean it,” he goes on, shameless. “You look like a star. Like the kind that burns out entire galaxies”
You roll your eyes, lips twitching into a ghost of a smile. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Yeah, well. I’m allowed to be,” he says, eyes on you like you’re a masterpiece. “Haven’t seen you like this in forever. Let me be ridiculous.”
You stare straight ahead, chin tilted just slightly higher. “I’m working,” you say softly.
“I know,” he replies, no protest in his tone. “I’m just dancing. With the woman I love.”
Your chest tightens. You hate the way that lands. The way it splits you open with something soft and aching. But you don’t reply. You just keep dancing. His thumb brushes circles against your spine.
“You’ve always been good at this,” he says suddenly, quieter now. “Ive always liked things loud and fast. But I think… I think I always liked you best when you stayed still. Just for a minute. Just long enough to look at me.”
Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Not yet. He smiles anyway. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… needed to tell you.”
The song fades into its last few notes, and you step back from him, just a little. The space between you isn’t wide but it feels like miles. Still, his hand never drops yours.
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:10 The sun barely filters through the blinds of the teachers’ lounge, casting long stripes across the floor. The coffee in Hizashi’s mug has gone lukewarm. He doesn’t seem to notice. Slouched on the couch in his yellow hoodie and black joggers, he’s staring blankly at the muted TV screen as the early news drones on in the background. Aizawa stands near the counter, dark hair tied back, arms folded across his chest, his cup untouched. The room feels heavy like something is waiting to drop. Then the news breaks.
“We interrupt your regular programming with breaking news. Last night, the body of Daigo Nishida was discovered in a private lounge of the Pro Hero Gala. Authorities report the man had been dead for several hours before staff discovered the scene.”
Both men turn their heads.
Hizashi’s eyebrows pull together. “Wait what?”
Aizawa is already narrowing his eyes, moving toward the remote to turn the volume up.
“Initial speculation assumed it was a heart attack, but the situation has taken a drastic turn. Investigators have confirmed that Daigo Nishida had been under covert surveillance for months. Allegations include child trafficking, harassment, and laundering funds through hero support firms. Authorities are now treating the death as a possible homicide.”
A still photo of Nishida appears on the screen, taken at some formal event. He’s smiling. Glass raised in a toast.
Aizawa’s jaw clenches. “He was at the gala.”
Hizashi blinks slowly, sitting forward. “He was there. We were there. We were what, fifteen feet away the whole damn night?” They sit in stunned silence as the anchor continues listing charges, connections to known black market labs, even a supposed deal that fell through with a hero firm overseas. Hizashi scrubs a hand through his hair. “You’re telling me all that was happening and we were out there charming sponsors and spinning small talk?”
“I didn’t even see him in the crowd,” Aizawa mutters.
“Same.” Hizashi leans forward, elbows on his knees. “You’d think I’d catch a guy like that. Especially at that kind of event.” A beat of silence. He stares at the screen, face unreadable. “Can’t say I’m shedding tears over it, though.” Aizawa gives him a look but doesn’t disagree. Hizashi shakes his head, muttering, “Guy like that getting away with that much, that long… Makes you wonder who else was looking the other way.”
But he isn’t angry about that. Not really. His mind is already somewhere else circling you. He remembers the tension in your shoulders. The way you never quite softened, even when you danced with him. The way your eyes kept drifting always watching, always calculating. You’d known something. Or someone. And if you were close to it if you were even near whatever happened in that room Hizashi’s jaw tightens. I should check in on her, he thinks, quietly.
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:10 Your fingers move fast, scribbling notes, signing documents, flipping pages without hesitation. There’s always more to do. There always has to be more to do. A knock breaks through the silence. You don’t look up. “Come in,” you call, already bracing yourself. Another pro. Another secretary. Another bright eyed intern wanting advice. Your voice shifts instinctively preparing the familiar bubbly tone, the one people expect from you now. But when the door opens, and you finally glance up Your heart stutters. Hizashi stands in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, the other tucked into his jacket pocket. His usual energy is dulled still him, still tall, still magnetic in the way only he is but quieter. He’s in his casual wear again: yellow hoodie layered under his bomber jacket, hair loose and a bit windswept from being outside. Your throat tightens. You immediately look back down at your papers, flipping to the next sheet like it’s more interesting than the man you once shared a life with. He steps inside slowly and closes the door behind him. You speak first, flat but polite. “Need something for the report?”
Hizashi doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he studies you. The way your jaw clenches. The way your pen stills just slightly before moving again. The way you’re not looking at him really refusing to. “…Are you okay?”
The question hangs there, heavier than it should be. You don’t flinch, but your fingers tense around the pen. “Why wouldn’t I be?” you reply, still not meeting his eyes.
“Because,” he says softly, stepping closer, “a man was killed at the gala last night. You were off on your own when it happened. who wouldnt be scared after that?.”
You finally stop writing. The silence stretches. He waits. You take a breath shallow, careful. Then say, “I’m fine.” And maybe if it were anyone else, they’d believe it. You’ve made a second career out of pretending to be fine.
But Hizashi isn’t anyone else. He watches you for another beat before quietly asking, “Can I sit?”
You finally look up at him again, reluctant. Just tired of trying to guard things he already knows. You gesture to the chair across from your desk. The air between you both feels thinner now. Hizashi leans forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, hands loosely folded, eyes never leaving you. His voice cuts through the quiet, softer than usual. No booming theatrics. No playful edge.
“…I miss you,” he says.
You blink, your chest tightening.
“I miss us.” He smiles faintly, almost bitterly. “There’s not a single day I don’t think about the life we had. About ” His voice catches for half a second. “ about our baby.” That word still feels sacred. Shattering. Whole. Your hand stiffens where it rests on the desk. But you don’t speak. “I still hear her laugh sometimes,” Hizashi says, his voice rougher now. “In my dreams. The little squeal she used to do when she saw you. The way she’d hold my finger with that tiny hand like she thought I could protect her from the whole damn world.”
You still say nothing. But you move. You get up slowly, walk across the room without a word, and turn the lock on the door with a soft click. Then, instead of sitting back behind the desk you perch on top of it. Facing him. Closer. A little more honest.
“I miss you too,” you say quietly and tiptoeing around the edges. “God, Hizashi… of course I miss you.” He looks up at you, eyes aching. You exhale a long, shaky breath. “But I couldn’t do it anymore. Not when the same system that asked us to stand for justice told me I wasn’t allowed to take my daughter to safety. Told me to wait. Told me it wasn’t protocol. Told me he’d be caught eventually.” Your voice wavers. “I needed to protect her. That’s all I ever wanted to do.”
“I know,” Hizashi whispers. There’s a beat. Then, he sits up straighter, eyes searching yours, like he’s stepping to the edge of a cliff. “…Come back,” he says. Your heart lurches. “Come back to me. Please.”
You look at him and the ache in his voice, the longing behind his words, it shreds through every wall you’ve tried to rebuild. Your gaze softens. “It’s too late,” you whisper. And yet your feet move before your mind can stop them. You slide off the desk, stepping between his legs, and lower yourself slowly into his lap. His hands hover at your sides, unsure, until your arms slide around his neck and your face finds the crook of his shoulder. Hizashi exhales shakily, like he’s been holding his breath for years. His arms curl around your waist, firm but reverent, pulling you impossibly closer. One hand presses flat against your back while the other slides up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading into your hair like he needs to remind himself this is real. You’re here. You’re his again, even if only for this moment. He buries his face against your shoulder, and you can feel it his breath catching, the way his chest rises like he’s trying not to break down.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this,” he murmurs into your skin, voice barely holding steady. “What I’d say… what I’d do if I ever got to hold you again.” Your grip around his neck tightens, and your eyes sting, but no tears fall. Not yet. You’ve cried enough behind closed doors. You’ve mourned in silence long after the world moved on. “I thought letting you go would be what you needed,” he continues. “But I never stopped waiting. I never stopped hoping you’d come back. Or… or maybe you’d let me come to you.”
You stay quiet, your nose brushing the side of his neck, breath warming his skin.
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:10 The city hummed beyond the cracked walls of the abandoned parking structure, its sound dulled by distance and the encroaching dark. Sunset spilled its last rays through broken slats, casting jagged lines of orange across the concrete. The air was heavy with dust and the ghosts of burned rubber. Years of neglect stained the ground with oil and time, and now it bore the tension of a battleground. Hizashi’s boots struck the floor in rhythmic strides as he entered, his silhouette framed by the last bit of daylight. His voice rang out, echoing between the pillars with confident bravado, that trademark flair he never quite dropped. “C’mon, man,” he called, scanning the shadows. “You’ve got a good quirk, slick moves, and bad taste in timing! But you picked the wrong night to stir the pot.”
He could’ve waited for the rest of the team outside. Could’ve played it safe. But something in the reports had itched at the back of his brain, and he wanted to see this vigilante for himself. A sharp motion sliced through his peripheral. He pivoted instinctively, ducking just as a metal pipe came sailing through the air and smashed against a pillar with a shriek of impact. Hizashi spun on his heel, already shouting. “YEAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
The Voice Pulse detonated like a cannon. A wave of sound surged forward, cracking the air and hammering into the attacker. They flew backward, slammed into the ground with a sickening thud that echoed like thunder. The impact threw up a cloud of dust and debris, choking the air in a fog of grit. Hizashi didn’t wait. He launched forward, every muscle braced, boots skidding as he weaved between the pillars. Another attack came this one closer. The vigilante had recovered faster than he expected. A shockwave burst from their palm, hurling a chunk of concrete at him with kinetic force. Hizashi ducked, rolled, and came up swinging his voice again, a controlled blast meant to knock them off balance without killing. The two clashed in rapid bursts strike, dodge, counter, repeat. Sparks flared as a baton scraped metal. Energy hissed against sonic force. It was messy, fierce, personal. The vigilante moved like someone who didn’t care about pain, only results. Hizashi fought like someone who had to win but didn’t want to destroy the person in front of him. Eventually, a low kick swept the vigilante’s legs out. Hizashi lunged forward, slamming his shoulder into their chest, sending them sprawling. They hit the ground hard, a choked gasp escaping as they slid across the cement and into a low wall.
Dust swirled again. Silence returned. A groan followed. Breath ragged, Hizashi jogged over, eyes narrowed behind his visor. The vigilante was pushing themselves up on one elbow. Their mask stark black with jagged red lines was cracked along the edge. Their body was wrapped in mismatched, tactical gear, not a hint of official regulation in sight. No hero would wear that. But the way they moved the way they flinched when he approached it twisted something in his gut, something he couldn’t quite name.
“You talk a big game,” he muttered, crouching beside them, keeping a cautious distance. “But your moves? yeah I can just guess thats all it is. All talk.”
The vigilante laughed, low and bitter, blood at the corner of their mouth. “You heroes,” they rasped, “you think you’re saving people by playing by the rules. But all you’re doing is running alongside the tracks, hoping the train’ll stop before it kills someone.”
Hizashi’s eyes darkened. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know the trolley problem?” they asked, spitting blood to the side. “If one life saves ten, you pull the lever. If it saves a hundred, you run to pull it. But heroes?” They coughed, the sound dry and broken. “You wait for backup. For clearance. For someone to sign the damn form. You’re not saving anyone. You’re just dragging it out while more people get hurt.”
“Funny way to justify hurting people,” Hizashi said, quieter now. There was something about that voice. The cadence. The way they spoke like they’d already lost something they couldn’t get back. It echoed too close to home.
They didn’t answer. Didn’t move. He hesitated, then reached forward with a slow, steady hand. “You’re done,” he murmured. Fingers curled around the edge of the mask. A tug. It slipped free. Time stopped. The mask fell from his hand and hit the ground with a hollow clatter, echoing louder than it should’ve. His eyes widened. His breath caught halfway through his throat and never made it out. His heart slammed against his ribs like a prison break.
“No…” You were staring up at him. Your face was streaked with dirt, blood dried at your temple, lips cracked and trembling. But your eyes your eyes were the same. Hizashi staggered back a step, almost tripping over himself. “You?”
The word barely left his mouth. His voice, always so loud, now a broken whisper. Everything around him dust, darkness, the mission blurred into nothing. His hands shook. And then, you smiled. Faint. Wounded. Soft in a way that felt like the end of the world.
“Hello,” you whispered, voice hoarse but steady. Your eyes didn’t waver from his. “Hello, my love.” And just like that, Hizashi’s heart split clean down the middle.
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:10The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead. The walls are sterile, lined with gray panels. A single metal table sits in the center, bolts securing it to the floor. Across from the table is you handcuffed, ankles crossed, posture relaxed like you’re waiting for a friend at a café. You’re smiling. The interrogator across from you flips a page in their file, eyes narrowed.
“You’re a pro hero. Top ten, even,” he says, frustration threading through his voice. “What made you throw all of that away?”
You lean forward a little, a glint of amusement in your eye. “I didn’t throw anything away,” you say cheerfully. “I just started picking up where everyone else left off.”
“Don’t play games. We’ve connected your movements to multiple incidents. Incidents where people wound up dead. Or disappeared.” His voice is harder now. “You were supposed to protect the system, not act like you’re above it.”
You rest your chin in your palm, smile deepening like it’s painted on. “And who exactly is the system protecting?” you ask softly, tone still sugar sweet. “Because it sure as hell wasn’t my kid.” The interrogator falters. You sit back, stretching your shoulders as much as the cuffs allow. “It’s funny,” you continue. “People love heroes until it’s inconvenient. Until they need someone to really fix things. But no one wants to get their hands dirty. No one wants to do anything. Just wait for the paperwork to clear, hope the next press conference goes well.” You laugh light, like a bell. Like none of this matters. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Being the good guy while watching people fall through the cracks.”
You tilt your head, still smiling. “Is it really a crime to protect the people I love?” Then your eyes shift slowly toward the mirrored glass. Behind the glass, Hizashi stands frozen. Shoulders rigid. Jaw clenched. You’re looking straight at him. i… he doesn’t look away. Not from the woman he still loves. Not from the woman he failed to protect. Not from the woman who’s trying to save others the only way she knows how. Hizashi hasn’t moved.
He’s barely breathing. Your words echo in his head “Is it really a crime to protect the people I love?” and they cut deeper than any blast or wound he’s ever taken. The interrogator beside him keeps talking into the mic, flipping pages, preparing more questions. But Hizashi doesn’t hear a word. His eyes are glued to you through the glass. That smile that isn’t really a smile. The light in your eyes that no longer warms. His hands are curled into fists. Then he speaks, voice low and uncharacteristically quiet.
“Let me talk to her.”
The interrogator glances at him. “Mic, she’s in the middle of an official ”
“I said,” Hizashi cuts in, sharper this time, “let me talk to her.”
The silence that follows isn’t long, but it’s heavy. Eventually, the man sighs and gives a short nod. “You’ve got ten minutes.”
Hizashi doesn’t wait. He’s already moving.
The door hisses open. Your eyes flick lazily toward it, the grin on your face sharp and bright an obvious performance, polished to perfection. But the moment you see who steps in, it falters for half a second. Hizashi. Of course. You straighten in your seat, smile shifting into something thinner, more barbed. “Well, if it isn’t Present Mic himself. Come to yell me into a confession?”
He says nothing at first, just closes the door gently behind him. His shoulders are rigid, but his eyes his eyes are soft. Too soft. You hate that. He takes a step toward the table. You don’t let him get close.
“Don’t,” you warn. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” he asks, voice low.
“Like you still can love me.” That silence is the kind that suffocates. He takes another step, and you narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t need your pity, Present Mic,” you bite, spitting out the name like it burns your mouth. “I’ve made my bed.”
Hizashi flinches at the name. You’ve never had called him that before, opting for zashi even before dating. “Stop acting like you’re surprised,” you continue, leaning back in your chair, chains of the cuffs clinking against the table. “What did you think I was doing when I disappeared? Yoga retreats? This was always coming.”
“I’m not here to judge you,” he says, quietly. “I’m here because I needed to see you.”
“Well. You’ve seen me.” You motion dramatically with your cuffed wrists. “Hope the visual lives up to whatever fantasy you had in your head.”
His jaw tightens. You expect him to argue, to raise his voice, to be the loud, animated man everyone knows. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you achingly quiet. “I’m not here as Present Mic,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’m here as Hizashi. The man who inderstands this more than probably anyone else.”
Your face twitches, the hostility cracking like glass hit with a stone. You look away, blinking hard, gripping the edge of the table like it’ll keep you grounded. “You don’t get to say that,” you whisper.
“Why not?”
“Because you got to move on. You still get to be the hero. You didn’t have to become this.” You gesture to yourself worn down, tired, a mask made of bright smiles that hide nothing.
Hizashi takes the seat across from you, slow and careful like he’s afraid you’ll bolt if he moves too fast. “I didn’t move on,” he says. “I just survived. Without you. Without our kid. Every damn day I woke up and wished everything played out different. Wished I’d fought harder. For both of you.”
You grit your teeth, eyes stinging. You won’t cry. You won’t cry in front of him. “You think this was easy for me?” you murmur. “You think I wanted this?”
“Then why didn’t you let me help?” he asks, and his voice breaks just a little. “Why did you shut me out?”
You finally meet his eyes. They’re glassy now. He’s holding everything in by a thread. “I didn’t want you to have to choose,” you say. “Between me and a normal life”
He leans forward. “I would’ve chosen you. Every time.”
You laugh once, sharp and bitter. “Yeah? Even if it meant losing your hero license? Even if it meant turning your back on everything you fought for?”
“If it meant protecting you?” Hizashi swallows hard. “If it meant protecting our kid?”
“There was never even a question.”
Your breath catches, chest tightening painfully. You blink down at your hands.
Hizashi: I miss you.
Reader: That’s unfortunate.
Hizashi: …I deserved that.
Reader: You really didn’t. I just have unresolved feelings and sarcasm is easier than tears.
-
iloveherandonlyher liked this · 3 days ago -
durtie030 liked this · 4 days ago -
slientgirl28 liked this · 4 days ago -
tory0yxx liked this · 5 days ago -
choripanconchimichurri liked this · 6 days ago -
fluoritecherry liked this · 1 week ago -
66rockid liked this · 1 week ago -
aliensexygirl liked this · 1 week ago -
kassia-kahler liked this · 1 week ago -
xjesterxjacksx liked this · 1 week ago -
ghostlytheoristcoffee liked this · 1 week ago -
ghostlytheoristcoffee reblogged this · 1 week ago
-
random-fandom-headcanons liked this · 1 week ago -
lovebtsfangirl03love liked this · 1 week ago
-
msinkwell liked this · 2 weeks ago -
inesemijor liked this · 2 weeks ago -
minaaah liked this · 2 weeks ago -
creative-mang00 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
desire4575 reblogged this · 2 weeks ago -
desire4575 liked this · 2 weeks ago
-
frogsandcookies10 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
library-viking liked this · 2 weeks ago -
zombieesrkool liked this · 2 weeks ago -
lesnydziadek liked this · 2 weeks ago -
girlie-ghost liked this · 2 weeks ago -
zomiiii15 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
heyomayo101 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
thatghostonthestairs liked this · 2 weeks ago -
driedmangoslices6 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
vanillaab liked this · 2 weeks ago -
kimsongmanju03 liked this · 2 weeks ago
-
lilmiss-kaix liked this · 2 weeks ago -
grlblogger888 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
galaxymaddraw liked this · 3 weeks ago -
vivicathestrange liked this · 3 weeks ago -
marina27826 liked this · 3 weeks ago
-
sirxaibs reblogged this · 3 weeks ago
