↻ Off The Record ↺
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.
More Posts from Sirxaibs and Others
Sunday HSR X Reader
꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ Get used to it ꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱
masterlist
part 2
a small drabble with him as a passenger of the astral express…… and march being a fangirl
˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ The Astral Express gym wasn’t exactly high tech, but it had everything you needed: open space, training mats, and just enough echo to make your footsteps sound cooler than they actually were. Sunday stood on the mat already, stretching his arms slowly. He was always composed. polished words, a little distant but never unfriendly. A recent addition to the Express, still settling in. You figured sparring would be a good way to break the ice. Or, at the very least, make him sweat a little.
“You ever sparred before?” you asked, rolling your shoulders as you stepped onto the mat across from him.
“Once or twice,” Sunday replied, giving you a look that was polite. “I assume you’ve done this more than that.”
You shrugged. “Yeah, a bit. We do it sometimes, just to stay sharp. Helps keep my mind quiet too.”
That made him pause for a moment. “I can understand that.” There was a brief stretch of silence as you both settled into your stances. You smiled.
“Alright. Light spar. First to three taps?”
“Fair enough.”
Then you moved. Sunday was careful. Precise. He didn’t rush or overstep, but you could tell he was reading you watching how you shifted your weight, how fast you reacted. You responded in kind, your movements smooth and quick, not showy like usual. This wasn’t about flair. It was about rhythm, connection, learning someone without needing words. The first tap came when you managed to slip behind him and brush his shoulder. He looked surprised. The second came quickly after his palm barely grazing your side as he dodged your next strike.
It was fun. Quietly fun.
Somewhere in the middle of the third round, things shifted. You both moved at the same time your foot angled to pivot, his shifting forward for a counter. It wasn’t anything dramatic, no wild kick or spin, just a split second misstep.
You felt your foot catch his. His arm moved quickly, instinctively reaching to steady you. Too late. Your balance tipped forward, his backward, and gravity did the rest.
The two of you landed with a dull thud on the mat. For a second, neither of you said anything. You opened your eyes to find yourself sprawled over him, chest pressing lightly against his, palms braced on either side of his shoulders. His arm was still around your waist where he’d tried to catch you.
Your faces were close. Close enough to count the tiny flecks of gold in his eyes. Close enough that his breath, warm and even, brushed against your cheek.
“Oh.” The sound escaped before you could help it. Not exactly graceful.
Sunday’s eyes didn’t move away from yours. His expression wasn’t annoyed, or embarrassed. If anything, he looked… thoughtful. Still. Like he wasn’t sure what to make of the moment either. You felt the weight of the silence more than the fall.
“I, uh” You shifted slightly, meaning to push yourself up, but your hand slipped against the mat, and you instinctively leaned closer to steady yourself. Now your nose almost touched his.
His hand, still on your back, tensed faintly just a twitch. But he didn’t move it. You laughed under your breath, a little breathless. “This probably looks worse than it is.”
“Maybe,” Sunday said, voice low, not quite smiling but not pulling away either. “But I’m not complaining.”
That made your heart skip a beat. You looked at him again, There was something softer in his face now. you realized you weren’t in a rush to get up. Not yet.
“…You okay?” you asked, quieter this time.
He nodded once. “You?”
You nodded too, eyes not leaving his. “Yeah.”
Another beat passed. You could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing under your hands. Not hurried. Just… calm. You slowly pushed yourself up and off of him, offering your hand once you were upright. He took it without hesitation. His fingers were warm.
Back on his feet, Sunday brushed some dust off his sleeve, but his eyes lingered on you longer than before. There was nothing more to say right then. So he just smiled and walked away.
“God I need a cold shower after that”
˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Turns out it wasn’t a cold shower but nevertheless, a shower. The steam from your shower still clung to your skin as you stepped into the parlor car, toweling your damp hair with one hand, dressed in your usual cozy nightwear. You’d taken your time lingering under the hot water, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled in your chest after the spar with Sunday.
It was the way he looked at you. Still. Quiet. And how you hadn’t wanted to move. You exhaled, trying to shove the memory aside. Maybe it was just adrenaline. Heat of the moment stuff. Totally normal when you faceplant into someone’s lap. Right?
As you rounded the corner into the parlor car, voices floated up from the seating area. You paused half curious, half wary.
“…I’m telling you,” came March’s unmistakable whisper. “They were on top of each other. Like, full on dramatic slow motion fall. And neither of them moved for a good ten seconds. It was so weirdly quiet. I thought they were gonna kiss.”
Your stomach dropped. Your face lit up like a reactor core.
“March.” That was Dan Heng. His tone had that deadpan flatness that meant you’re being ridiculous again.
“No, I’m serious!” March hissed. “It was intense. They were looking at each other like… like in one of those cheesy holo dramas. And she totally forgot I was there. I had to back out slowly like I was interrupting something.”
“Maybe you were,” Caelus muttered under his breath.
“EXACTLY,” March said. “I mean, I always thought something might happen, but not this soon. And with Sunday? He’s like… all elegant and mysterious”
“I heard that.”
Three heads whipped around at once. You stood in the doorway, arms crossed, still towel drying your hair, blinking at them like you’d just caught them stealing cookies.
March squeaked and jumped three inches off the couch. “You! When did you get there?!”
“Long enough,” you said flatly, stepping fully into the car. “Long enough to hear my public execution.”
March scrambled to explain herself, hands flailing. “No no no! It wasn’t an execution, it was it was a friendly dramatic retelling! Like bedtime gossip!”
You stared at her. Dan Heng looked like he was rethinking every decision that led him to this moment. Caelus was trying very hard not to laugh.
You pointed at March. “Next time, announce the playbill if you’re gonna perform my personal life in three acts.”
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way!” March said, now clutching a cushion to her face. “Honestly, I thought it was kind of cute!”
“March.”
“Okay! Okay! I’ll stop talking!”
You plopped down into the seat beside her, stealing the cushion from her arms to bury your face in it.
“I hate everything,” came your muffled voice.
Dan Heng finally looked up from his book. “So… did anything actually happen?”
You didn’t answer. When you pulled the pillow away, your face was still pink. You shrugged. You slumped into the seat and closed your eyes.
˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
You walked along the glowing path of the new planet’s market district, your boots clicking softly against the polished stone. Lanterns floated above the crowd, casting a warm shimmer over everything, and strange alien wind chimes tinkled softly in the breeze. It was one of the calmer stops for the Astral Express no explosions, no urgent missions. Just exploration, some research, and a little breathing room.
You sipped your drink a fizzy, spiced thing with a color that probably wasn’t natural and hummed to yourself as you trailed behind March and Caelus. They were arguing about the best souvenir to bring back for Pom–Pom.
You lingered by a street vendor selling constellation shaped pastries when a man tall, smug, and clearly very into himself sidled up beside you.
“You look like you could use some company,” he said, his tone low and confident, like he thought he was the main character in a romance drama.
You blinked, startled. “I’m uh, I’m good, thanks.”
But he didn’t get the hint. He smiled wider, stepping just a little closer. “You sure? Someone like you shouldn’t spend a night like this alone. I know a place nearby quiet, private. Just you and me, maybe some music”
“Wow,” you interrupted, trying to laugh it off. “That’s… forward.”
“Life’s short,” he replied smoothly. “Why waste time pretending?”
You took a step back, now officially uncomfortable. “Really, I’m not interested”
“She’s not.”
The voice came from behind you, calm and steady. Sunday. You turned your head just as he stepped into view, his hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable but voice just sharp enough to cut tension.
“She’s my girlfriend,” he added casually. “She’s not into that sort of thing.”
Your eyes widened. Girlfriend? Oh.
The guy blinked, his confidence faltering. “Oh I didn’t realize…”
“Now you do,” Sunday said, still polite, still calm. “You can move along.”
The man muttered something under his breath and walked off, melting into the crowd like smoke.
You exhaled slowly. “Okay. That was…”
“Uncomfortable,” Sunday finished for you, tilting his head slightly. “He wasn’t taking the hint.”
“No kidding,” you muttered. Then, with a faint smile, “Thanks for the save.”
He looked at you, eyes softening just a little. “You looked like you needed one.”
You nodded. “I did. But also ‘girlfriend?’ Really?”
“Seemed effective,” he replied without missing a beat. “Was I wrong to assume you wouldn’t want to go home with a stranger tonight?”
You laughed, shaking your head. “No, definitely not wrong. Just… caught me off guard.”
He gave a small shrug. “You can correct the record if you want.”
You looked at him, thoughtful now. The lantern light played against the sharp lines of his face, but his gaze was gentle, open.
“Nah,” you said, voice light. “Let them think I’ve got someone.”
Sunday gave the smallest smile. And then, almost too quiet to hear. “Maybe someday they’ll be right.”
You turned to him but he was already walking ahead, hands still in his pockets, calm as ever. You blinked. Then grinned.
˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
March wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. Not really. She had just been browsing one of the cute trinket stalls on the edge of the plaza admiring some heart shaped glass charms when she heard your voice from the next row over. You sounded… awkward. Uncomfortable.
Curious, March peeked around the corner, just in time to see some local guy lean in too close to you. His tone was oily, confident in that blech kind of way that made her want to throw a glowing pebble at his head. You were clearly trying to shake him off.
“She’s my girlfriend.”
March’s soul left her body.
Sunday’s voice was smooth and even, not threatening, but with that finality that made the creepy guy instantly freeze. He stepped up beside you with this casual calm, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable but there was no doubt in his tone.
“She’s not into that sort of thing,” he added coolly. “You can move along.”
The guy mumbled something and slinked away. March’s brain started loding the spinny ball of death.
Girlfriend? GIRLFRIEND?!
She didn’t even mean to gasp aloud, but it happened. Thankfully, no one heard. She ducked back behind the trinket stall, crouching like she was dodging a security drone. Her heart thumped against her ribs. When she peeked again, you were talking to Sunday, flustered and blushing. He stood there like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just set the local rumor mill on fire with one casual sentence.
March didn’t wait another second. She took off sprinting.
“I’M SORRY BUT THIS IS AN EMERGENCY.”
Caelus and Dan Heng both jumped in their seats as March burst into the tea shop, nearly knocking over a decorative lantern in her haste.
Dan Heng put down his cup with a sigh. “Let me guess.”
“No no guessing. Just listen.” March bent over the table, panting dramatically. “Sunday just called her his girlfriend. To a random guy. Who was hitting on her.”
Caelus blinked. “Wait. What?”
“You heard me! He said it without hesitation., ‘She’s my girlfriend.’ Boom. IT WAS SO KNIGHT IN SHINNING ARMOUR.”
Dan Heng raised an eyebrow. “And she didn’t correct him?”
“Not at all! She blushed! She just stood there blushing!”
Caelus slowly grinned. “Huh. I thought we were still in the pining phase.”
“That’s what I thought too!” March wailed, dropping into a seat across from them. “I thought I had time to mentally prepare for the will they won’t they!”
Dan Heng leaned back. “Maybe they skipped to the good part.”
March glared. “This is a story, Dan Heng. There’s a structure.”
Caelus sipped his tea again, amused. “BUT LIKE he did that just to protect her. Im sure we would do the same thing”
“Shhhhh are either of you wanting to marry her and want to look longingly at her.”
Dan Heng muttered, “I don’t think that that matters when you’re watching out for someone”
March just pointed toward the plaza. “Mark my words. Those losers are happening .”
˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
March 7 lay curled beneath her mountain of pastel blankets, one leg sticking out, mouth slightly open, a bubble of drool forming with every breath. She looked… innocent. Unaware. Vulnerable.
Perfect. You stood at the edge of her bed, Caelus beside you, both cloaked in shadows and silence. “She sleeps like someone who hasn’t committed crimes,” you whispered.
“She sleeping like she didn’t fully diss Dan Heng and I for just existing,” Caelus murmured, smirking. “She called me a coward yesterday for not pushing you two together faster.”
You narrowed your eyes at the blissfully unaware March, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “Your time of reckoning is over.”
And then, like a flash of divine vengeance, the pillow came down. WHUMP. March jolted awake with a squeak, arms flailing, hair a tangled mess. “WHAT WHO”
“JUSTICE,” you declared, striking again, this time dual wielding pillows like a vengeful sleep deprived warlord. “FOR PEACEFUL EXISTENCE.”
“TRAITOR!” March screamed as another pillow hit her in the face, this one clearly Caelus’s, who was now leaning against her dresser and howling with laughter. “You were supposed to be neutral!”
“I was never neutral,” Caelus grinned, tossing another pillow into your hands like a loyal arms dealer. “I just picked the winning side.”
“You picked VIOLENCE!”
“You picked CRAZY
Pillows flew. March kicked off her covers and dove behind the mountain of backup pillows she had an arsenal you knew too well. She emerged like a pink haired general, dual wielding plushies shaped like various alien mascots.
“I DID NOTHING TO YOU CAELUS!” she shouted, flinging one at Caelus’s head. “I THOUGHT YOU SHIPPED THIS LIKE ME! AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?!”
“I WAS trying to make it happen, March!” you cackled, blocking her throw with your arm. “but you’re crazy lady.”
“Because SOMEBODY has to!”
The room became a flurry of feathers and yells, the floor littered with fabric casualties. March screamed something about “romantic sabotage” while Caelus used a star shaped cushion as a shield and tried not to collapse from laughter. Eventually, panting and half buried beneath a pile of glittery pillows, March flopped onto her back.
“This isn’t over,” she wheezed. “You might’ve won the battle…”
You sat on the floor, leaning against her bedframe, heart light and cheeks aching from laughing too hard. March peeked at you with a sleepy, dramatic glare.
“Just admit you like him,” she muttered.
You grinned. “No comment.”
Caelus snorted. “So that’s a yes.”
˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
The corridor was quiet, save for the distant, muffled thumps echoing from March’s room. Sunday padded down the hall in soft slippers, wrapped in a navy blue pajama set that still looked oddly regal despite the sleepy looseness of it. The collar was slightly askew, and his curls had lost their typical styling, falling gently across his forehead. He wasn’t sure what had drawn him toward the commotion curiosity, perhaps. Or maybe instinct.
The door to March’s room was open just enough. And there you were. Mid laugh, caught in the middle of a pillow war that had clearly escalated. Caelus was ducked behind a wardrobe like it was a bunker, March stood on her bed like a self declared queen of feathers, and you glorious in your pyjamas were twirling a pillow like a blade of justice.
Feathers floated through the air like snowflakes. Sunday didn’t move. He leaned against the doorframe, half in shadow, just out of your view. And he watched. And he smiled. He’d grown up in rooms where laughter felt rehearsed. Where joy was reserved for ceremonies, and everything had meaning, even the silence. He had known peace, yes but the kind that was still, stagnant. Like a pond reflecting stars instead of the sky itself.
Robin had always tried to shield him. Kept him wrapped in the comfort of his ideals, gave him a dream so beautiful he forgot what real light looked like. Messy, loud, brilliant life. The way your hair stuck to your cheek with sweat, the way your eyes gleamed as you dodged March’s wild throw, the unfiltered, unashamed joy in your voice as you shouted something absurd about “pillow fueled vengeance.”
He’d never seen experienced this feeling. Sunday’s heart thudded quietly in his chest, a rhythm that didn’t belong to the Family or any script he’d ever memorized. He liked that you weren’t afraid to be ridiculous. That you laughed freely. That you made others laugh.
He liked that you didn’t seem to carry your burdens in front of him not because they didn’t exist, but because you chose, for a moment, not to let them define you. he liked that when you were with your friends like this, you looked entirely untouchable. Unreachable. He wanted to reach anyway. But he stayed still. Let the moment stay yours. A feather floated past his cheek. Sunday blinked once, then quietly turned, retreating back down the hall before anyone noticed. He didn’t need to be in that moment to be part of it.
˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Feathers still drifted in your hair. Your arms ached from swinging pillows like weapons of mass destruction. March had declared herself “the rightful queen of shipwide shipping” before collapsing in a pile of her own making, and Caelus was last seen crawling down the hallway muttering something about betrayal and glitter.
You didn’t make it to your room. Your legs had carried you halfway down the train, and then… gave up. The Parlor Car welcomed you with soft lights and the hush of starlight outside the window. It was quiet here. Peaceful. And most importantly there was a couch.
You barely noticed the figure already sitting there. You just dropped into the opposite end of the long velvet seat with a graceless thump, curling onto your side and sighing like the soul had been knocked out of you. Your hair stuck to your forehead. Your shirt was rumpled. You didn’t even bother taking off your socks.
Sleep claimed you within seconds. Sunday, seated near the center of the couch with a book resting gently across his lap, blinked slowly. He hadn’t even heard you come in. His eyes drifted from the page, tracing over your sleeping form. The way your chest rose and fell. The faint smudge of pillow war aftermath still clinging to your cheek. One of your shoes had fallen off somewhere on the way in your foot dangled off the edge of the couch, sock half hanging.
You looked peaceful. He closed the book without a sound. He stood, quietly padded over to the small linen cabinet near the entrance of the car, and pulled out a soft, navy blue blanket. One of Himeko’s spares, likely. He unfolded it carefully, draped it over you from shoulders to toes, and adjusted it so it wouldn’t slip off during the night.
Then he knelt beside the couch, brushing a stray feather from your hair with a light, careful touch. in a voice only the walls heard, he murmured,
“Sleep well. May your dreams never be burdens.”
He lingered for a moment, hand resting just beside your shoulder. Then he moved to the nearby armchair, sat down, and tilted his head toward the stars just outside the wide train windows. His book remained unopened in his lap, forgotten. He didn’t need it. Tonight, the soft rhythm of your breathing was enough.
I was writing while on vacation, and before I knew it, I had 30,000 words down. Then I thought, hmm, why not turn this into a little chapter book? It’ll make editing easier. So, I shall! It won’t be a proper series (unless there’s a demand, I suppose. 😼)
Here I am with a Jujutsu Kaisen fic that was originally meant to be a high school Gojo story. Then it turned into a relationship bet trope with Geto, and suddenly, Nanami showed up. Now, I’m dangerously close to turning this supposedly fluffy story into manga canon.
Anyway, I can’t win. Fuck the creative juices.
Present Mic / Hizashi Yamada x Reader
⋆˚✿˖°Irresistible ⋆˚✿˖°
BACK TO HIM DATING A YOUNGER READER!! hes just so lovely, we are married actually.
Being back at U.A. always felt a little surreal. No matter how many years had passed since your time as a student, the halls still carried the same energy, the same excitement, the same faint scent of ink and sweat, the same distant shouts of students causing trouble. It was nostalgic, sure, but today, you weren’t here as a student.
You’d agreed to be a guest speaker at U.A. today, mainly to share your experience as a Pro Hero with the students. It was a bit of a casual visit, with no intense expectations, just a way to inspire the next generation of heroes. Of course, Hizashi, Present Mic was assigned to show you around for the day.
Today, you were here as Pro Hero: Lumine, a guest for the day. Still, that didn’t mean you couldn’t steal a moment for yourself.
As you walked the halls, Hizashi right beside you, you kept up the act, casual, professional. You were here to speak to a few classes, answer some questions, maybe help out with some training. But right now, with no students or teachers in sight, you saw an opportunity.
You grabbed Hizashi’s wrist and pulled him around a quiet corner, just out of sight.
“Whoa babe?” he blinked, confused for a second, before a slow, knowing grin spread across his face. “Miss me already?”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. “You know I don’t get to see you much when I’m busy with work.”
His grin softened. “Yeah… I know.”
You let your hands rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was rare for the two of you to have moments like this. where the world outside didn’t demand your attention, where you weren’t constantly on duty, where you weren’t Pro Hero Lumine and Present Mic but just… y/n and hizashi.
Hizashi leaned in, resting his forehead against yours, his voice quieter than usual. “You sure we got time for this?”
“Barely,” you admitted. “But I’ll take what I can get.”
He chuckled, sliding his arms around your waist. “Y’know, you’re gettin’ real bold. Pullin’ me into a corner like some kinda secret rendezvous.”
You smirked. “What can I say? I see a tall blonde guy and my mind goes dumb”
“Really now, huh?” His voice dropped just a little, teasing. “So if I kissed you right now, would that be too exciting?”
You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Hmm… depends. Are you gonna be able to keep your voice down?”
“Oh, babe,” he grinned, leaning in just enough that his breath brushed against your lips. “That’s a real big ask.”
You huffed a laugh before finally closing the distance, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against his lips. Hizashi hummed in contentment, pulling you closer as if he could somehow make the moment last longer.
But the sound of voices approaching had you both reluctantly pulling apart. He sighed dramatically. “Duty calls, huh?”
“Duty calls,” you echoed, straightening his tie playfully. “Try not to look too lovestruck, yeah?”
“Pfft—too late for that, babe.” He winked before stepping back, adjusting his glasses like nothing had happened. But you caught the way his fingers brushed his lips, as if memorizing the feeling.
With one last glance, you turned the corner together back to being professionals, back to your roles, back to the world outside of this stolen moment. But as you stepped into the light, you knew you’d both be thinking about it all day. Though Hizashi kept up his usual energy as he led you through the halls, chatting away as he pointed out minor changes to the school since your time as a student. The occasional student would recognize you, whispering excitedly to their friends, but no one interrupted. Not yet, anyway.
Eventually, you both reached Class 1-A’s door. Hizashi grinned, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Ready to meet the little hero’s ?”
You huffed a small laugh. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He clapped a hand on your shoulder. “That’s the spirit!” Then, without missing a beat, he flung the door open and practically bounced into the room. “YEAHHHH! WHAT’S UP, CLASS 1-A?! GUESS WHO I BROUGHT?” a collective gasp followed.
“Wait! that’s Pro Hero Lumine!”
“No way! They’re here?”
“Whoa, they’re so cool in person!”
Hizashi gestured toward you with a dramatic flourish. “That’s riiiiight! The one and only Lumine!” He shot you a look, and you barely held back a smirk.
Aizawa, standing at the front of the class, gave you both a blank stare, then sighed. “I assume you’re not just here to disrupt my class?”
“Aw, c’mon, Eraser, you know we had a guest today!!” Hizashi had a tragic frown on his face. “Lumine here is our guest speaker, remember?”
Aizawa raised a brow at you, and you simply shrugged. “I’m just along for the ride at this point.”
As you stepped forward, Hizashi continued, “Now, listen up, kiddos! Not only is Lumine one of the youngest Top 10 heroes—”
“—he’s really over explaining right now,” you interjected.
“—BUT!” Hizashi continued dramatically, ignoring your interruption, “they also happen to be my—”
You stiffened. Your what?
Luckily (or unluckily), Aizawa cut in smoothly, “Your former student. Yes, we’re aware.”
Hizashi blinked, then coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, yeah, my former student. That’s what I was gonna say.”
The students exchanged looks. Some, like Kaminari and Mina, were eyeing you both very suspiciously.
Mina leaned forward, grinning. “Ooooh, that pause was kinda weird, wasn’t it?”
Kaminari elbowed her. “Right? Like, what was he actually gonna say?”
“Probably something embarrassing,” Jirou muttered, smirking.
You shot Hizashi a look. Really? He gave you a sheepish smile in return. Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we move on?”
You cleared your throat, stepping in to refocus the room. “Right! Anyway, I’m here to answer any questions you have about being a pro hero. So—”
But before you could finish, Kaminari blurted, “How do you know Present Mic so well?”
The whole class leaned in, clearly interested. You deadpanned. “We go way back.”
“How far back?” Mina grinned.
Aizawa sighed. “This isn’t relevant.”
“But it’s interesting!” Mina shot back.
Hizashi, bless him, was absolutely not helping, just standing there grinning like an idiot. You exhaled through your nose, crossing your arms. “Far enough that I have plenty of embarrassing stories about him, but not enough time to share them all.”
The class erupted.
“Oh, we need to hear those!”
“Please tell us at least one!”
You shot Hizashi a look, and he gave you an exaggerated shrug, eyes sparkling with joy.
—-
After the class, as the students trickled out, you turned to Hizashi with a pointed look. “You’re doing a terrible job at hiding our relationship.”
He grinned, entirely unapologetic. “Oh c’mon, babe. You look real cute when you’re flustered.”
You rolled your eyes, but before you could leave, he caught your wrist, fingers warm against your skin.
“Hey.” His voice was quieter now, softer, missing its usual booming energy. He glanced at the empty classroom, then back at you. There was something unreadable in his expression, something almost hesitant. “Got a sec?”
You hesitated, Nezu had mentioned stopping by to check in on you, and you really should be heading to the next class but the way Hizashi’s fingers brushed over yours made it hard to say no.
“…Fine. But just a sec.”
Hizashi wasted no time, tugging you toward the classroom’s small storage area, pulling the door shut behind you. The space was tight, barely enough room for the two of you, and the moment you were alone, his hands found your waist, pulling you in close.
His voice dropped lower, rougher. “You drive me crazy, y’know that?” His thumb brushed over the fabric of your uniform, slow, deliberate. “Havin’ to watch you all day and not kiss you?”
You smirked, fingers slipping up his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt. “Must be so hard for you.”
“You have no idea.”
Then his lips were on yours urgent and deep, like he was making up for lost time. You barely had a second to react before you were melting into it, tilting your head to let him kiss you deeper. His hands slid up your back, one trailing to cup the back of your neck while the other stayed firm on your waist, keeping you pressed against him.
The kiss started slow, teasing, but it didn’t stay that way. The pent up energy from the entire day the lingering touches, the stolen glances, the way he had to hold back in front of the students spilled over into something more intense. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he let out a quiet groan against your lips, the sound vibrating in his chest.
“Babe,” he murmured between kisses, “you’re killin’ me here.”
You smirked against his lips. “You started it.”
Hizashi let out a breathy chuckle, then dipped his head lower, lips trailing down your jaw, then to your neck. The scrape of his teeth against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and your grip on him tightened.
“This is such a bad idea,” you whispered, tilting your head back to give him better access.
“Yeah?” His breath was warm against your throat. “Then why aren’t you stoppin’ me?”
You swallowed hard, knowing he had a point. “Because,” you admitted, fingers slipping up to to the back of his neck, “I missed you.”
That made him pause. Just for a second. Then he let out a quiet sigh, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder before leaning back just enough to look at you.
“I missed you too,” he murmured, voice softer now, more serious. His fingers brushed against your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip. “You’re always runnin’ around, savin’ the world, bein’ a top hero and all. Feels like I barely get time with you anymore.”
You exhaled, hands resting against his chest. “I know. I feel it too.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stood there, in that small, dimly lit space, his arms around you, your bodies still close, the world outside feeling miles away.
Hizashi’s fingers slid down your arms, his grip tightening around your hands. “Maybe after this, we ditch early. Get some real time together.”
You smiled. “You suggesting we cut class, Yamada?”
He grinned, pressing another kiss to the corner of your lips. “A little. Say you had to go save someone and take me with you”
You hummed, pretending to consider it. “Tempting.”
Before either of you could decide, a voice shattered the quiet. “You do realize this school has cameras, right?”
You both froze. Slowly, you turned to see Aizawa standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking utterly unimpressed.
Hizashi, ever the professional, cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, casually stepping away from you like that would somehow erase what just happened. “Hey, Eraser! How long you been standin’ there, buddy?”
“Long enough.”
You exhaled sharply. “Fantastic.”
Aizawa gave you both a long, pointed look, then sighed, rubbing his temples. “Just… keep it out of the classrooms.” Then, shaking his head, he walked away.
As soon as he was gone, Hizashi turned to you with a grin. “Welp. Busted.”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I told you we’d get caught.”
Hizashi just laughed, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Worth it.”
:0
Magnum opus
little star — diluc 。
synopsis!! everyone knows the creator doesn't favor diluc (everyone is wrong).
cw !! gn reader, reader is peak diluc simp 😐 somewhat self-aware characters, mild sagau themes (not too much), reader is recognized as the player, reader is a little shy at first. angst with reverse comfort!
note !! the plot feels a little everywhere but i tried to organize it as best as i can, i think i got carried away eheh honestly doesn't feel up to my standards but it was pretty enjoyable to write
word count !! 2.8k something
"No, it's definitely Outrider Amber, she was the first to ever be favored."
"Are you kidding me? Outrider Amber may be the first, but sir Kaeya was definitely loved. Have you seen the sword he was gifted with?" One growls.
"It's the Acting Grand Master Jean!" Someone slams the table with his beer mug, "Twice was she bestowed with fallen stars of gold."
"I'd say that wolf boy in the woods seem lucky."
"It has to be Bennett. I don't know why but that kid has two crowns! Two!"
"You're all missing out on Miss Lisa!"
"Stop, stop! You rowdy drunks! Every vision holder in Mond has been granted favor, this is just impossible to decide!"
There was a pause. "Well. . . not every." Someone mumbles under their breath.
"Not every? Who's the poor allogene that couldn't even get the Player's favo—" Shushing sounds break his sentence, the men glare at their companion, pointing to the redhead behind the bar.
It's useless, really.
Diluc has been listening in the entire time. He can't really help it when their voices were loud enough to reach where he stood. Still, he was merciful and pretended not to hear. He's not exactly bothered by what they're saying. It was the truth, after all.
For two years, vision holders all around Teyvat were being granted favor.
It often begins with a meteor shower gracing the sky.
A star gently falling into the hands of a vision holder, embracing them in warm light.
They call the ethereal sensation as something akin to "coming home".
The favored would then be given different things; quality weapons, enhanced abilities, beautiful crowns— Some allogenes were even gifted summer apparel (Mondstadt is proud that their Gunnhildr sisters were one of the very first). Even their equipped wings would change into ornamented works of art!
It's been two years, and it seems like every allogene he knows of has received the Player's grace.
He supposed he just wasn't favored. It isn't too difficult to believe that he isn't likable.
He convinces himself it's fine.
It's fine if his summoned weapon is a cheap claymore made of scrap metal. It's still efficient to have the extra blade while he manually carries around another claymore (commissioned from Wagner as the best money could buy). Or that his abilities can only be improved through hardwork, unlike the many who broke the limits of their power through your favor.
It's fine.
As the bar goers leave for the night, as Venti and Kaeya wave around their almost divine-looking five-star weapons to show the crowd, and as he's closing up the tavern and retreating to his upstair quarters for comfort, he convinces himself that the he'll be okay on his own.
•
The arrival of the Creator was festive and grand; The day the sky parted itself and glowed as the brightest of all stars fell with grace into Mondstadt's very own Windrise.
Teyvat rejoices in the ecstatic ideal of being loved.
A meeting of vision holders was quickly held in the Cathedral, discussing immediate plans as some of the most favored (Venti, Jean, Kaeya, Albedo to name a few) went ahead to fetch the Creator from the large tree.
While Diluc was often the center of any other meeting due to his authority and influence, this was something he chose to step back from. Standing by the windows, away from the meeting, he watched on as Eula and the rest conversed around the circular table.
He isn't even sure why he's invited. Perhaps they felt it was obligatory for vision holders, regardless of favorability? Then again, he could always offer a fraction of his mountain-loads of wealth to help with the festivities.
At least he's competent at being a wallet.
As the others pull out their crowns and stars, weapons and artifacts, eager to thank the one responsible for the gifts, an unknown emotion bubbles in his stomach. It's faint, but it's there.
He tries to look away.
"Everyone, everyone! They're entering the gates!" Fischl announces uncharacteristically to the room as her eye glows brightly, undoubtedly looking through Oz's eyes from the sky.
"We should wait by the statue to welcome them, right?" Barbara chirps in, hands clasped and wavy hair bouncing with every step.
Diluc watches as people steadily leave the room, following last as they walk down the steps to greet the approaching group. Some civilians gathered to see the scene, others didn't really understand what a Player or Creator was to a vision holder, while Diluc—
Diluc stood by the steps to see them crowd around you.
You, surrounded with words of gratitude and cheerful squeals. He sees the smile on your face and feels relief that you don't seem too overwhelmed.
He leaves the area without a second thought.
•
He doesn't exactly see you around the next few days. With Mondstadt celebrating a new festival, the taverns were always full and busy with customers (both local and foreign). You were probably busy too, spending time with the different allogenes and entertaining those who came from Liyue to meet you. He's heard of a funeral consultant with three crowns (are consultants that admirable of a job to you?) and an adeptus gifted with various five-star polearms (this was understandable for the adepti, unlike the consultant).
He doesn't expect to see you at all until you leave for the next nation, honestly.
That is, until the tavern settles into a more peaceful atmosphere and Jean rushes in with several other allogenes. It's unusual to see his childhood friend in the tavern; still, he greets her amicably and asks what brings her here.
"(Name) will be coming here soon with Kaeya and a few others. It's a little impromptu, but we were hoping for a place to settle in with drinks. Perhaps try some apple cider." She smiles, taking a seat by the bar.
(Name)? Jean was already on a first name basis with the Creator?
Diluc thinks perhaps Jean truly is the favorite, she does have a few golden stars in her home.
Somehow, it's not surprising at all to know that his apple cider was famous enough to drag you in. At least there's something about the Dawn Winery in your favor. He promptly gets his employees to work, clearing a few tables near the bar, rearranging the furniture to give space good enough for a group.
Your entrance into the bar was just as lively; with your favored allogenes chatting away with you, everyone falling into place at different parts of the tavern, ordering drinks and meals.
He's glad you enjoy apple cider.
•
You're trying to play it cool, really. Trying your best not to get overexcited and glomp everyone and everything.
You're taking things step by step as you converse with Jean, Lisa, and Albedo; as you share meals with Barbara and Sucrose; as you play with Klee and Diona; tour the city with Fischl and Bennett. There's plenty of time to meet everyone and your schedule has been filled to the brim with all the fun your having.
You'll see that glimpse of red hair again— one that was lingering by the Cathedral staircase. Diluc doesn't like crowds, so it's fine that he isn't approaching you. It's also fine that he hasn't visited at least once, unlike the several raging from Liyue to Sumeru who took the journey to meet you early.
Diluc is too busy a person to meet you; whether it's because of the winery or his darknight hero duties, you wouldn't dare take his time.
— but when are you supposed to give him all the gifts you've brought for him???
Your determination to build him up in one go, from Talent levels to Constellations to Artifacts and Weaponry, all came down to this moment — and the man was simply nowhere to be seen!
An unknowingly loud sigh escapes your lips, catching the attention of the Cavalry Captain next to you.
"Now, what's got our (Name) so down in the dumps?" Kaeya hums, glancing at your face as you stutter a response.
"Aah it's not that, it's just. . ."
Your brother is too busy, I just want to meet him!!
"I'm thirsty." You deflect, looking around for a stall. The streets of Mond were nothing like the minimized version you see in the game; with the city being ten times larger than what you remembered it to be.
"Oh! Oh! Klee suggests apple cider!" The little girl giggles, running around your legs in excitement, "Angel's Share is nearby and big brother Albedo alwaaays takes me there for apple cider!"
Angel's Share. Bartender. A great idea has appeared!
At the excited look on your face, Jean walks up ahead of you.
"Why don't I go and inform the tavern to prepare us a space first, it would save us the waiting time."
"That would be great, Jean!"
•
You hope you aren't being too obvious.
With the way your eyes would linger on him, casting side glances and hoping he would greet you to strike up a conversation, the way most allogenes do. You didn't want to abruptly disturb his work, nor do you want seem desperate, so you waited for his initiative.
Yet, Diluc lingers just a little outside your group's circle. Your food and drinks were refilled by Charles, you've talked with nearly everyone but the person you want to talk to.
"It's getting pretty late, we should head home for the night." Someone suggests.
What?
No!
"Hm? Do you still have something in mind?" Kaeya asks. You realized you said it out loud, catching the attention of nearby patrons.
With a frantic glance around the tavern, your eyes make contact with Diluc's. He pauses as well, wondering what caused your little outburst.
You are definitely not leaving, not when you don't know when you could catch Diluc in his free time again! You'd be leaving for Liyue by then!
Hands slamming the table to stand up and with a small burst of courage, you approach the bartender who turns away from Charles. He raises an eyebrow at your approach. It's odd the way you feel flustered and nervous, finally facing him.
Pausing just in front of him, he looks on curiously.
"Would you like a refill?" He asks.
"A-ah no, I mean, yes but that's not why I'm here. I. . ." You stutter, stumbling over your words as you try not to behave awkwardly. Should you start with a casual topic?
"You seem to be quite busy." You say.
Diluc blinks. He isn't sure what you're implying. Neither is Kaeya or Jean, who stopped to look at the exchange of words.
"I suppose. . . but as a winery, we do thrive in impromptu festivities." He replies curtly before realizing, was it rude that he never visited the Creator?
"Ah, is it my lack of visit? I apologize, I would have visited but it seems that you were quite satisfied with your favorites and-"
"No, no, no," You wave your hand, cutting him off, "I understand you're busy. You don't have to visit at all! How could I take your time— wait," You pause, recalling his words.
"Favorites?" You tilt your head, "What do you mean I seemed satisfied with my favorites? What do you mean by favorites?"
"Your favorites... allogenes who received your favor. Those you have granted gifts."
Your jaw laxes. Favorites? They decided you play favorites based on how much you've built them?
"You think. . ." You say carefully, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, "That I offer gifts to my favorites?"
Diluc nods slowly, unsure of your questioning.
Although it would be a lie to say you didn't have your personal favorites, it would still be inaccurate that it's based on gifts. After all, you built everyone who came home by chance. As an avid player, you did your best to farm and push everyone to their full potential.
Diluc, however, never came home no matter how much you wanted him to. It can't be possible that he doesn't know how much he is loved, right?
"Then what about you?" You blurt out, "How do you think I view you?"
He stares at you oddly. At this point, many around you had stopped to tune in. Everyone knew Master Diluc never received your favor, so why are you conversing with him?
Meanwhile, Diluc wonders if you want him to admit it. Must he say it in front of everyone how he never received gifts?
"I suppose. . . I'm not one of them. It's quite understandable. I don't intend to question your judgement—"
"What?" You exclaim, a look of shock crosses your face, "You think I don't like you?" Voice raised in disbelief, you feel the eyes of many turning to watch the scene.
Diluc mirrors your confusion.
"I can't believe you would– no, that isn't it at all!" You stutter over your words, a frantic need to prove him wrong goes through you, "You— you of all people!"
"Me?" He repeats.
"I've always wanted you!"
A silence settles over the tavern. Did you have to put it so bluntly? You freeze in shock at your own words. Diluc's expression of disbelief turns flustered, face turning as red as his hair.
Explain yourself.
"I- I mean, I've always wanted you to come home. Ever since the start, really! It's just that you never did-"
"Hmm... so it implies that it's out of your control, correct?" Kaeya piqued, looking on curiously. He's been listening in the entire time. You nod your head.
"Yes! It's a game of chance for me as well. It's not to say that favor is an accident, I truly wanted everyone to come home! It's just that—" You turn to Diluc, "You never did, no matter how much I wanted you to. How was I supposed to give you your gifts?"
Diluc snaps out of his shock, blinking at you, "Gifts?"
"Yes, gifts! I've been saving them up for you, ever since the start." You pause, shyly looking away, "When I said I wanted you since the beginning I meant it. I came here for you, after all."
He looks at you in disbelief, and probably half the tavern as well. You can't help the small chuckle from your lips. With an outstretched hand, something materializes between you. It glows a blinding golden light, before settling to reveal–
"Wolf's Gravestone. It's a weapon for you."
You didn't have to say it— anyone with eyes could see how it was practically made for Diluc. With large handles and a color scheme that matches his own, Wolf's gravestone doesn't look as divine or ethereal as the other weapons you've gifted, but it looked just as powerful, if not menacing.
With a gesture, Diluc grips the handle.
"Fits like a glove." Kaeya whistles, impressed. As does the rest of the tavern who stopped to stare.
Suddenly, flames burst forth from the weapon. It sears and glows red. Unlike the common claymore that can't handle the the prowess of Diluc's flames, Wolf's Gravestone embraces it. Like an extension of his own hand.
He breaks his gaze away from the weapon to look at you.
"Thank you. . ." He mutters softly, but it's genuine. You smile.
"That's not the last of it, you know."
"What?"
With another flick of your hand, artifacts and talent books materialize. They flow around him like a dance as more and more begin to appear, lighting up the tavern like the night sky.
"I told you I brought gifts!"
All the days spent farming for him and other pyro characters finally paid off. The glimmering artifacts reflected in his own red eyes as he stares, entranced.
Favor did not come to him in meteor showers like it did to the other allogenes; rather, it came to him in your form. Proof of him being loved. The spectacle continued— after the artifacts and talent levels were the constellation (the crowd ooh'ed and aah'ed at the sight), then came the five star apparel (a nostalgic sight to him, and it changed his flames to a darker red), and the ascension materials you passed off as trinkets.
By the end of it, he had a hand over his lower face, his red bangs hid just the ends of his eyes. "I just thought I wasn't that favorable. . ." He muttered and you leaned in to peek at his covered face, wondering why he was shying away.
But it was evident to the tavern— the pink dusted ears, the flushed cheeks, and the overwhelming emotion in his eyes. Diluc Ragnvindr was flustered, and it's a sight enough to make even the drunks place down their beers for a closer look.
You bit your lip, trying to prevent the widest of smiles, "Do you believe yourself loved now?" You ask and he gives the faintest of nods.
"Thank you," He says, "For favoring me."
m.list 2 || consider supporting me on ko-fi ! || sagau m.list
note !! THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE a very short brainrot that became a fic huhuhuhu
I don't often write creator sagau themes but here we are! this is like peak diluc simpery idk ive never been this down for a man. i wrote this immediately after getting his skin i just got so excited 😅 I wanted to spoil him so bad (but i gave all his mats to thoma before he came home :< )
taglist !! @absolut-wildflower @boundedbyfate @sadlonelybagel @eissaaaa @ladycoleigh @nejibot @milkypompon @bloodreaper08 @irethepotato @x-zho @roriver @mich-cola @mxsomn @ackrylik @nicebonescomrade @starforecasts @stygianoir @yuminako @eccedentesiast-sapphic @nebulaera @nuttytani @klutzkat @shizunxie
Touya Todoroki X Reader
✮⋆˙ I Am Here ✮⋆˙
‼️Genuine trigger warning. ‼️ If you have a hard time with people lashing out and if panic attacks trigger you, Do Not Read.
masterlist
Does Dabi get the chance to be happy and normal? It’s after the war and he was taken back in. He really doesn’t deserve it. or so he thinks.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
The world was healing. Slowly but surely, people were rebuilding their lives, picking up the broken pieces, and shaping them into something better. The war had left scars on the land, on the people, on their souls but even scars could fade with time. Dabi, or how he’s been going by since he got back, Touya, wasn’t sure if his ever would.
He watched from a distance as his family talked and laughed together. It was strange. Foreign. A sight he never thought he’d see. Natsuo nudged Shoto, who rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away. Rei placed a gentle hand on Endeavor’s arm, and even though he still looked guilty, even though he knows she shouldn’t even go near him, he let her. And then there was you.
You fit into the Todoroki family like you had always belonged. You stood beside Fuyumi, laughing at something she said, your eyes bright with warmth. You were always like that light, warmth, love. The things Touya had never believed in. The things he had never thought he deserved. Until you.
You had been his contradiction. A pro hero who should have seen him as nothing but a villain, yet you had looked at him like he was human. You had never made excuses for him, never pretended he hadn’t done terrible things, but you had seen him. And because of you, he had started to believe, just for a moment, that maybe he wasn’t beyond saving. That maybe he could be more than destruction.
But that was back then. Now, everyone was moving on. You were happy, smiling, growing. And yet, he wasn’t. He felt stuck, caught between his past and a future he wasn’t sure he had a place in. Watching you get along with his family should have made him feel… something. Hope, maybe. Comfort. Instead, all it did was remind him of how much he didn’t belong.
Years of resentment didn’t just disappear. The hatred, the anger, the loneliness. he had fed off of it for so long. Letting go of it felt like losing a part of himself. How was he supposed to just sit with them, talk with them, pretend like there weren’t decades of pain between them? And yet… he wanted to.
He wanted to be what you had been for him. A reason to believe in something better. He wanted to learn how to be a part of this family, to see if love could exist here the way it had existed with you. But it was terrifying. What if he wasn’t capable of it? What if, in the end, he was still the same broken, angry person who would never fit?
His hands clenched into fists. Maybe it was okay if he wasn’t moving on as fast as everyone else. Maybe it was okay if healing took time. Because at least now, he had a reason to try.
Touya wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching from a distance. The laughter, the conversations, the warmth it all felt like something happening in another world, one he had no right to step into. But then you saw him. Your smile didn’t falter, didn’t hesitate. It was the same as it had always been steady, real. You said something to Fuyumi, and then, without a second thought, you started walking toward him.
Touya considered leaving. It wouldn’t have been hard. Just turn around, disappear before you could reach him. But his feet didn’t move. he was just tired of running. You stopped in front of him, tilting your head slightly, studying him the way you always did, like you were waiting for him to say something. But when he didn’t, you just sighed and reached out, grabbing his wrist with an easy familiarity.
“Come sit with us.” It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t a demand, either. It was just you, offering him a choice.
He scoffed, looking away. “not sure if i’m wanted”
The world was healing. Slowly but surely, people were rebuilding their lives, picking up the broken pieces, and shaping them into something better. The war had left scars on the land, on the people, on their souls but even scars could fade with time. Dabi, or how he’s been going by since he got back, Touya, wasn’t sure if his ever would.
He watched from a distance as his family talked and laughed together. It was strange. Foreign. A sight he never thought he’d see. Natsuo nudged Shoto, who rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away. Rei placed a gentle hand on Endeavor’s arm, and even though he still looked guilty, even though he knows she shouldn’t even go near him, he let her. And then there was you.
You fit into the Todoroki family like you had always belonged. You stood beside Fuyumi, laughing at something she said, your eyes bright with warmth. You were always like that light, warmth, love. The things Touya had never believed in. The things he had never thought he deserved. Until you.
You had been his contradiction. A pro hero who should have seen him as nothing but a villain, yet you had looked at him like he was human. You had never made excuses for him, never pretended he hadn’t done terrible things, but you had seen him. And because of you, he had started to believe, just for a moment, that maybe he wasn’t beyond saving. That maybe he could be more than destruction.
But that was back then. Now, everyone was moving on. You were happy, smiling, growing. And yet, he wasn’t. He felt stuck, caught between his past and a future he wasn’t sure he had a place in. Watching you get along with his family should have made him feel… something. Hope, maybe. Comfort. Instead, all it did was remind him of how much he didn’t belong.
Years of resentment didn’t just disappear. The hatred, the anger, the loneliness. he had fed off of it for so long. Letting go of it felt like losing a part of himself. How was he supposed to just sit with them, talk with them, pretend like there weren’t decades of pain between them? And yet… he wanted to.
He wanted to be what you had been for him. A reason to believe in something better. He wanted to learn how to be a part of this family, to see if love could exist here the way it had existed with you. But it was terrifying. What if he wasn’t capable of it? What if, in the end, he was still the same broken, angry person who would never fit?
His hands clenched into fists. Maybe it was okay if he wasn’t moving on as fast as everyone else. Maybe it was okay if healing took time. Because at least now, he had a reason to try.
Touya had spent so many years convinced that warmth wasn’t meant for him. That love was something distant, a thing he could only witness from the outside but never hold. But there you were right in the middle of it, smiling, laughing, belonging. And it hurt. Because it should’ve been him.
He should’ve been the one sitting at that table, the one making his mother smile, the one who could joke with his siblings like they hadn’t spent years with an ocean of silence between them. But instead, it was you someone who hadn’t grown up in their house, who hadn’t carried their burdens.
And somehow, you made it look effortless. Touya thought he could handle it. Thought he could ignore the sharp ache twisting in his chest, the way his fingers curled into his sleeves like he could claw his way through the feeling. But then your eyes found him.
Even from across the yard, even with the voices and laughter around you, you saw him. And without hesitation, you excused yourself and walked toward him. He should’ve looked away. Should’ve turned and left before you could get too close. But you were always good at pulling him in.
“Hey,” you said, stopping in front of him. The way you looked at him was so unbearably soft, so tender, it made his throat tighten. He swallowed, glancing past you at the scene behind you. “…You’re doing good with them,” he muttered.
You tilted your head. “With who?”
He huffed out a dry laugh. “My family.”
You didn’t say anything right away, just watching him like you were waiting for him to say what was really on his mind. like always, he caved under your gaze. “They like you,” he said, voice quieter this time. “Better than me, probably.”
The words felt bitter, heavy. He hadn’t meant to say them, but once they were out, he couldn’t take them back. Your brows furrowed, and before he could pull away, your hand found his wrist. Your touch was warm, grounding, and he hated how much he leaned into it.
“Touya,” you said, voice gentle but firm. “That’s not true.”
He scoffed. “Isn’t it?” His gaze flickered toward the table, toward the people who had spent years without him. “I don’t even know if they want me here.”
Your grip tightened. “They do.”
He let out a slow breath, staring at you. “And how do you know that?”
You smiled, small but sure. “Because I do. And if I do, then I know they do, too.”
Something in his chest cracked. He didn’t know how you did that. how you always knew what to say, how you could make him believe in something better, even when everything inside him screamed that he shouldn’t.
“…You’re annoying,” he muttered.
You grinned. “And yet, here you are.”
He sighed, long and slow. The weight in his chest didn’t disappear, but it felt a little easier to carry with you standing there, holding onto him like he was worth something.
“Come sit with me,” you said, voice quieter now, more personal. A request just for him. And this time, he let you lead him forward. “I think you’d be surprised.” Your voice was soft, patient. You always had too much of that when it came to him. He wanted to argue, to push you away like he had done a thousand times before. But he didn’t. Maybe it was because he was tired. it was because, deep down, he knew you wouldn’t stop until he at least tried. it was because a part of him wanted to believe you were right. With a heavy sigh, he let you pull him forward. The conversation stilled slightly as the two of you approached. He could feel the weight of their eyes on him. his family, the people he had spent years hating, resenting, fighting. His shoulders tensed on instinct, waiting for something to go wrong. But nothing did.
Fuyumi was the first to speak, her voice light but careful. “Touya, do you want anything to eat? We made enough for everyone.”
He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. A dinner invitation, like this was normal. Like he was just some estranged brother finally coming home. He hesitated, glancing at you. Your fingers were still wrapped around his hand, a quiet anchor.
“…Yeah,” he muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Sure.”
Natsuo smirked slightly, but there was no malice in it. “Guess miracles do happen.”
Touya rolled his eyes but didn’t snap back. The tension in his chest eased just a little. You smiled at him, giving his wrist one last squeeze before letting go. The absence of your touch made something inside him twist, but he ignored it. This wasn’t easy. It wasn’t comfortable. But maybe it didn’t have to be.
————————————
days weren’t always easy, there’s always a breaking Point. You could feel it before it happened the way the tension in his body coiled too tight, his breathing coming in sharp, uneven pulls. It was like standing beside a storm, knowing the winds were about to tear through everything in their path. Touya had been unraveling all day.
It started with the small things. His hands shaking when he thought no one was looking. The way he flinched at casual touches, like his own body didn’t know how to exist in this space. How his words had grown quieter, like he was sinking further into himself. You had been here before. You knew the signs. So when night fell and the house was quiet, you didn’t leave him alone. You sat beside him in his room, letting the silence stretch between you. Not pushing, not forcing just being there.
But then his hands went to his head, fingers digging into his hair as his breathing hitched, and you knew it was starting. “Touya,” you murmured, reaching out slowly, carefully.
He let out a sharp, ragged breath, shaking his head. “I—I can’t—” His voice broke, and then it all came crashing down. He folded in on himself, arms wrapping around his body like he could hold himself together, but it wasn’t working. His shoulders trembled, his breath came too fast, too shallow.
“Hey, I’ve got you,” you whispered, placing your hands over his. “You’re okay. Just breathe with me, alright?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head violently. “I don’t— I don’t know how to do this,” he gasped. “I don’t know how to be here.” His voice cracked on the last word, and it hit you like a punch to the chest.
You moved closer, gently pulling his hands away from his hair before he could bruise himself. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” you said softly. “Just stay with me. Just for this moment.” His body shook, his breaths ragged and uneven. He looked lost. Broken. And it killed you.
And then the door creaked open.
“Touya—?”
Shoto.
Touya’s entire body went rigid. His breath hitched, and the raw vulnerability in his expression shattered into something unreadable. Panic. Shame. Fear. Shoto froze in the doorway, eyes wide with uncertainty. He hadn’t meant to intrude. He had probably just been checking in, but it was too late.
Touya ripped himself away from you so fast it nearly knocked you back. He stumbled to his feet, fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his skin.
“Get out,” he rasped, voice wrecked.
Shoto didn’t move. His gaze flickered to you, then back to his brother. He took a hesitant step forward. “Touya, I—”
“Get out!” Touya roared, voice cracking under the weight of it. His breathing was harsh, erratic, like he was barely holding himself together. His entire body was trembling, and you could see it that look in his eyes. He was spiraling. You stood quickly, placing yourself between them before things could get worse. “Touya, look at me.”
He didn’t. He just stared past you, chest rising and falling too fast, hands shaking like he didn’t know whether to run or lash out.
“They don’t want me here,” he whispered, voice breaking apart. His gaze was unfocused, distant. “They never did. I should’ve just—” He cut himself off, but you knew what he was about to say. I should’ve just stayed gone.
Shoto’s expression twisted, something like hurt flashing across his face. “That’s not true.”
Touya let out a hollow, bitter laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. You turned back to him, slowly reaching for his hands. “You’re not alone in this,” you said softly. “I promise.”
For a moment, he didn’t move. His hands twitched, fingers curling slightly like he wanted to believe you. But the storm inside him was still raging, and you weren’t sure if he could hear you over the roar of it.
Shoto took another step forward. “Touya—”
“Stop saying my name like that! YOU have no rig by to be using my name like that” Touya’s voice cracked, and before you could stop him, he stumbled back, pressing his hands to his head. His breathing hitched, and then his knees buckled. You caught him before he could hit the ground.
“Touya, breathe,” you pleaded, holding onto him tightly. His body was shaking so badly it scared you. “Just stay with me. I’ve got you.”
His fingers clutched desperately at your arms, like he was trying to ground himself in something anything. And then, finally, finally, he let himself sink into you. You looked up at Shoto, who still stood frozen in the doorway, conflict and concern written all over his face.
“Give us a minute,” you murmured, your voice steady but gentle.
Shoto hesitated, then nodded, stepping back and quietly shutting the door behind him.
You turned your attention back to Touya, running a hand through his hair as he buried his face against your shoulder. His breath was uneven, but it was slowing, bit by bit.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered, voice hoarse, exhausted.
“I know,” you murmured. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”
He didn’t say anything, but the way he clung to you told you enough.
You held him tighter, whispering quiet reassurances into his hair.
Touya didn’t move for a long time. His breathing was still uneven, his body still trembling, but he didn’t pull away. He just stayed there, curled against you like he was afraid to let go.
You kept running your fingers through his hair, slow and steady, grounding him. “I’m here,” you murmured, voice soft. “I’ve got you.”
His grip on your shirt tightened. “I don’t—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
You pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face. His eyes were red rimmed, unfocused, still swimming with emotion. Still hurting. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now,” you said gently.
He exhaled shakily, looking past you. “I’m never gonna be what they want.”
Your heart twisted. “You don’t have to be anything for them. You just have to be here.”
He scoffed, but there wasn’t as much heat behind it. “Yeah? Shoto doesn’t even want me here.”
You sighed. “Shoto’s just awkward. You know he’s already bad at approaching people in general.”
Touya let out a breath, something that wasn’t quite a laugh, but not as bitter as before. “That’s not fair. He tries.”
You raised a brow. “So now you’re defending him?”
He frowned slightly, but you could see the shift. The way his hands weren’t shaking as much. How his breath wasn’t quite as ragged.
“He just, he’s got a lot of shit to figure out too, alright?” Touya muttered. “It’s not like this is easy for him either.”
You couldn’t help it you smiled. Because there it was. He cares. Touya caught the look on your face and immediately scowled. “What?”
You shook your head, amused. “Nothing.”
His frown deepened. “That was not a ‘nothing’ face.”
You just kept smiling, squeezing his hand. “I’m just glad you’re here.” His breath hitched, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to argue. But then he exhaled, letting himself lean into you again, just slightly.
“…Yeah,” he muttered. “Okay.”
He just sat there, pressed against you, his breath slow and uneven but gradually steadying. The weight of everything still hung heavy between you, but the worst of the storm had passed.
You didn’t rush him. You didn’t try to force him to talk or move before he was ready. You just stayed there, one hand resting in his hair, the other loosely intertwined with his fingers. Eventually, his grip tightened.
“…You always do this,” he muttered, voice quiet, hoarse from earlier.
You hummed. “Do what?”
“Stay.” His fingers twitched in yours, like he was trying to put more words to it but couldn’t.
You smiled softly, pressing your forehead against his temple. “Of course I do.”
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t?”
His shoulders tensed. “You. This. Us.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, blue eyes searching yours, raw and unguarded. “I was a villain. I hurt people. I” He swallowed hard. “I hurt you.”
Your heart ached, but not for the reasons he probably thought. “Touya,” you murmured, cupping his face in your hands. He stiffened at the touch but didn’t pull away. You brushed your thumb along the rough, scarred skin of his cheek. “I know who you were. But I also know who you are.”
His breath hitched. His hands curled around your wrists, holding you there, like he was afraid you’d slip away.
“You love so much,” you whispered. “Even when you try not to. Even when you don’t realize it.”
He let out a shaky exhale, leaning into your touch despite himself. “I don’t know how to be what you deserve.”
You smiled, soft and certain. “You already are.”
His eyes widened, and for a second, something in them cracked open something vulnerable, something real. Then, slowly, carefully, he pressed his forehead against yours. His hands slid up to cup the sides of your face, fingers trembling slightly, like he was still afraid this wasn’t real.
“…I love you,” he murmured, the words barely more than a breath.
Your chest tightened. Not because you doubted it, but because you had always known. Even when he was fighting it. Even when he thought he wasn’t capable of love at all.
You smiled, tilting your head just enough to brush your nose against his. “I love you too.”
He let out a shaky breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. Then, without another word, he closed the space between you, pressing his lips to yours gentle, uncertain, but there.
And for the first time in a long time, Touya let himself believe in something good.
The Next Step
The morning was quiet.
The house had settled into a strange kind of peace—the kind that only comes after a storm. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fixed. But it was something.
You stood off to the side of the courtyard, watching as Touya—Dabi—approached Shoto. His movements were tense, like he was forcing himself forward before his instincts could tell him to run.
Shoto, for his part, had been lingering outside as well. He had been expecting this. You could tell by the way his posture straightened when he noticed Touya walking toward him.
You stayed back, letting them have their space.
Touya shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders stiff. “Look, I—” He sighed, tilting his head back like he hated every second of this. “I was a dick last night.”
Shoto blinked, clearly caught off guard by how fast that came out. “You were upset,” he said simply.
Touya huffed. “That’s not an excuse.” He kicked at the ground. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
Shoto studied him for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”
Touya’s eye twitched. “Okay?”
Shoto shrugged. “I accept your apology.”
Touya stared at him, as if waiting for something else—for Shoto to fight him on it, to dig into him like their father would have. But he didn’t.
And that was probably more jarring than anything.
You watched as the tension in Touya’s shoulders lessened, even if just slightly.
“…Alright then,” he muttered.
Shoto hesitated before glancing your way. “Did they put you up to this?”
You grinned, resting your chin on your hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Touya rolled his eyes, shoving past Shoto. “I’m going inside before this gets any more sentimental.”
You clapped your hands together, stepping forward before he could escape. “Actually, I was thinking we should go get ice cream.”
Both brothers froze. Shoto blinked at you, as if trying to process whether he heard you correctly. Touya turned back slowly, brow furrowing. “What?”
“Ice cream,” you repeated cheerfully. “You know, that sweet, frozen treat people eat when they need to cool off? I think we all deserve some after last night.”
Touya’s nose scrunched. “That’s what?” He glanced at Shoto, who looked equally at a loss. “girl i swear to god-”
You shrugged.
Shoto shifted awkwardly, clearly not opposed to the idea but also not sure how to respond. “…I like ice cream,” he said after a long pause.
Touya narrowed his eyes at him. “You would.”
Shoto frowned. “What does that mean?”
Touya just sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s just go before you start making this worse.”
You beamed, throwing your arms around both of them before they could protest. “Great! My treat.”
Shoto stiffened slightly at the sudden contact, while Touya made a noise of protest, trying to wiggle out of your hold.
“…This is already worse,” he muttered.
You only grinned wider.
——
The three of you stood in front of the ice cream display, the cold air from the freezer fogging up the glass as you debated your choices. “This place has too many options,” Touya muttered, staring at the menu like it had personally offended him. “Why do people need this many flavors?”
Shoto, scanning the choices with an alarming level of concentration, replied, “Variety is good.”
“Not when it makes decisions harder.”
You hummed, tilting your head as you leaned into Touya’s shoulder just slightly. “What, having trouble picking? Want me to decide for you?”
Touya scoffed, but he didn’t move away. “Like hell I’d trust you with that.”
You smirked. “Come on, I’d pick something good.”
“You’d pick something ridiculous.”
You gasped in mock offense, nudging him with your hip. “I would not.”
He gave you a dry look. “I can literally see you considering the weirdest flavor here.” You grinned but said nothing, because he wasn’t wrong.
Shoto, still deep in thought, finally spoke. “Pistachio is good.”
Both you and Touya turned to look at him.
“That’s a weird choice,” Touya said bluntly.
Shoto frowned. “No, it isn’t.”
“Who even gets pistachio?”
“A lot of people.”
Touya made a face, crossing his arms. “Sounds fake.”
You laughed under your breath, barely stopping yourself from leaning into him again. He was still stiff in public, but the way his arm was just barely brushing yours told you he didn’t mind.
“Well, I think I’m getting cookies and cream,” you said, glancing back at the menu. “What about you, Touya?”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I dunno. Maybe vanilla.”
You gave him a look. “Vanilla?”
“What’s wrong with vanilla?”
“Nothing,” you said, clearly lying. “It’s just… safe.”
Touya rolled his eyes. “Not everything needs to be crazy like you”
“Boring,” you teased, bumping his arm lightly.
Shoto, seemingly ignoring the entire exchange, suddenly said, “We should have gone somewhere that serves soba.”
Both you and Touya turned to him again. Touya stared. “What?”
Shoto looked completely serious. “Soba is good.”
Touya let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You’re a freak.”
Shoto didn’t even flinch. “You just ordered a boring flavour.”
“…Tch.” Touya clicked his tongue but had no argument.
You chuckled, stepping forward to finally place your order. “Alright, alright, let’s get our ice cream. And maybe next time, Shoto, we’ll take you to a soba shop instead.”
Shoto nodded, as if that was the best idea he had heard all day.
Kon-el | Connor Kent X readerbatsis!
⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° Batblood ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ °
uhhh self indulgent bat family stuff
masterlist
This is mostly Batfamily X Batsis. Though I think I had enough Conner Kent X Reader to classify this as a thing.
GUYS I WROTE DAMIENS NAME WRONG THROUGHOUT THIS WAIT
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩ The first thing you learn about your parents is that they are fundamentally incompatible. The second thing you learn is that they will never stop trying anyway.
You don’t remember a time when Bruce and Selina were ever something as simple as together. They exist in contradictions she flirts, he broods; she steals, he stops her; she leaves, he waits. You used to think they would eventually find a middle ground, but you’ve long since given up on that idea.
Bruce and Selina have always been on and off, a constant push and pull. He loves her, but he can’t accept her choices. She loves him, but she refuses to change for him. You grew up watching them dance around their feelings. One moment, she’s draped over his desk in the Batcave, teasing him, and the next, she’s gone without a trace, leaving only a cryptic note behind.
Still, they make sense, in a way that defies logic. And despite all their back and forth, they both love you just in completely different ways. The truth is, Bruce and Selina will never be able to give you the same kind of love.
⸻
“Again.”
You grit your teeth, clenching your fists as Bruce circles you in the Batcave’s training area. You’ve already gone through this drill a dozen times. Your muscles ache, your ribs are sore from earlier blows, but he’s relentless.
You feint left, then pivot sharply, throwing a kick at his side. He blocks it easily. Too easily. His expression remains unreadable, but you can feel his disapproval.
“Sloppy,” he says, stepping back. “You’re letting yourself get tired.”
“That’s because I am tired,” you snap. “We’ve been doing this for over an hour.”
He crosses his arms. “On the field, you don’t get to decide when you’re done.”
You roll your eyes. “Oh, but Tim does? Jason does? Even Damian doesn’t get this much micromanaging.”
Bruce’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t about them. It’s about you.”
“No, it’s about me being your daughter.”
His silence confirms it.
You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You trained all of them, let them fight their own battles. You trusted them to figure it out. But me? You’re scared to let me.”
Bruce’s expression darkens. “I’m not scared.”
“Then what is it?” you challenge, stepping closer. “You push me harder than you ever pushed them, but you still won’t let me prove myself. What’s the point of all this if you’re just going to hold me back?”
His voice is quiet when he finally answers. “Because I can’t lose you.”
The weight of those words presses against your chest. You want to be angry, to keep fighting him on this, but the raw emotion in his voice makes it impossible.
You don’t know what to say, so you settle for the only truth you have.
“You won’t,” you murmur. “But you have to let me go.”
Bruce doesn’t answer. He just exhales slowly, tension still radiating from his stance. You don’t expect him to change overnight, but at the very least, he doesn’t call for another round. That’s something.
⸻
Selina finds you hours later, sprawled out on the balcony of her penthouse. You weren’t planning on coming here tonight, but after your fight with Bruce, you needed air. And if there’s one thing Selina understands, it’s the need to escape.
She slides the glass door open, stepping onto the rooftop with effortless grace. “I thought I’d find you here.”
You don’t turn to face her. “Bruce is being impossible.”
She chuckles, settling beside you. “He’s still your dad don’t call him bruce, though when isn’t he?”
You sigh, tilting your head back against the cool metal railing. “I just… I don’t know how to make him see me as more than just his kid. He acts like I’ll break if I take one wrong step.”
Selina hums thoughtfully. “That’s what he does. He builds walls around the things he loves, convinces himself it’s the only way to keep them safe.”
You glance at her. “And you?”
She smirks. “Oh, I’d never keep a bird in a cage. I’d teach her to fly.”
There’s something appealing about that. With Selina, there are no rules, no suffocating restrictions. Just a quiet, unwavering confidence in your abilities. Even if you don’t approve of the way she lives, you can’t deny that she makes you feel free.
She pulls a small velvet pouch from her pocket and tosses it into your lap.
You raise a brow. “Do I want to know?”
She grins. “Just a little something I picked up.”
You groan, shoving it back at her. “I told you to stop giving me stolen jewelry.”
Selina only laughs. “It’s not stolen technically. I swapped it for something better.”
“That’s still stealing.”
“Details, darling.”
You can’t help but laugh. She winks, ruffling your hair before standing. “Come on. Let’s get something to eat before you let your father’s brooding ruin your whole night.”
You shake your head but follow her anyway.
For all their differences, Bruce and Selina have one thing in common: they both love you, fiercely.
Your dad will always try to protect you from the world. Your mom will always remind you that it’s yours to take. You exist in the space between them.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩
Patrol had been standard until it wasn’t. You and Tim had been watching an arms deal go down from the rooftops of Gotham’s East End. The intel from Oracle suggested this was a simple exchange one that didn’t require much interference. The plan was to observe, gather intel, and report back if things escalated. But you weren’t convinced.
Something felt off. You crouched beside Tim, scanning the warehouse below. The deal was happening inside, but your eyes were locked on a figure slipping through a side entrance, unnoticed by the others.
“Tim, we’ve got movement,” you whispered.
He barely glanced at the figure before shaking his head. “Not our priority. We wait and”
“I’m going after them,” you interrupted, already moving.
Tim grabbed your arm. “That’s not the plan.”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” you insisted, shaking him off. “Cover me.”
And before he could protest, you were already gone.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
The side entrance led you through a narrow corridor, crates stacked high along the walls. You moved quietly, using the shadows to your advantage.
The man you were following a mercenary by the look of his armor spoke softly into an earpiece. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the urgency in his tone sent a chill down your spine.
You pressed closer, peering around a crate. Then you saw it.
This wasn’t just an arms deal. There were bombs. Crates of them. Military grade explosives, lined up and ready to be moved.
Your stomach dropped.
“Oracle,” you whispered, touching your comm. “We have a problem.”
“I see it,” her voice came through your earpiece. “I’m running facial recognition on the men inside. This isn’t just some street gang these guys are mercenaries.”
“Figures.”
Tim’s voice suddenly crackled through. “You were supposed to wait.”
“I’d say ‘I told you so,’ but I’m a little busy.”
A movement caught your eye. The mercenary was reaching for a detonator.
Shit.
You sprang from cover, knocking him back with a swift kick to the ribs. The detonator clattered across the floor.
“Got company,” you muttered.
“On my way,” Tim responded.
But it was already too late.
The other mercenaries had heard the commotion, and within seconds, you were surrounded.
⸻
Fighting in the Fire
You moved on instinct, blocking the first blow aimed at your head and countering with a knee to the gut. The second merc swung at you with a baton, but you ducked, sweeping his legs out from under him.
The fight was brutal there were too many of them, and you were alone.
A blade sliced across your side, and you hissed, twisting to avoid a deeper wound. Blood soaked into your suit, but you ignored it, focusing on staying alive.
Then the explosion hit.
A grenade thrown from somewhere behind you detonated against one of the stacked crates. The force sent you flying, crashing through a pile of debris. Your ears rang, and your vision blurred.
Somewhere in the distance, you heard Tim’s voice in your earpiece. “Hold on I’m almost there!”
Gritting your teeth, you forced yourself to move.
You weren’t dying here.
When the dust settled, the mercenaries were either unconscious or retreating. The explosives were still intact, and Tim arrived just in time to secure them.
But you were wrecked.
He looked at you, taking in the blood seeping from your side. “You’re an idiot.”
You gave a weak smirk. “Yeah. But at least I was right.”
Tim muttered something under his breath before helping you out of the warehouse.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩
The moment you step off the platform, you feel him before you see him.
Bruce is waiting. Arms crossed. Silent.
He’s still in the Batsuit, the cowl pulled back, his expression unreadable but you know better. You’ve seen that look before.
Tim doesn’t say a word. He just gives you one final glance and walks off, leaving you alone with the inevitable.
You brace yourself, but Bruce doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. His disappointment is a physical weight in the air.
“You abandoned your partner,” he says, voice like stone.
“I chased a lead.”
“You disobeyed orders.”
You grit your teeth. “It was the right call.”
He steps forward, and suddenly, you feel small. Not because you’re afraid Bruce would never hurt you but because his presence alone is suffocating.
“The right call?” His tone sharpens. “You were injured. You could have been killed.”
“But I wasn’t,” you argue, though the sting in your side says otherwise.
Bruce exhales slowly, his jaw tightening. “You’re reckless.”
“You don’t say that when literally anyone else is on a mission,” you snap.
He doesn’t answer immediately, and that silence stings. Because you already know the truth. You’re different. You’re his daughter. And that changes everything. but it doesn’t Damien is younger than you. You don’t get it.
“You’re dismissed,” he finally says, voice cold.
You hesitate, fists clenched, but there’s no point in arguing. Not when his mind is already made up.
You turn and head toward the med bay, fuming the entire way.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩
You’re half out of your suit, sitting on the medical table while Alfred patches up your side, when Jason storms into the Batcave like a force of nature.
“The hell happened tonight?”
You groan. Of course he found out.
Bruce, still near the Batcomputer, barely glances up. “Jason”
Jason ignores him, turning straight to you. His eyes flick to the bloodstained bandages, and his expression darkens. “Who did this?”
“Relax,” you sigh. “It’s just a scratch.”
Jason scoffs. “A scratch?” He turns to Bruce, eyes blazing. “What the hell was she doing in a situation where she could end up like this?”
“I made the call,” you interject. “It was my decision.”
Jason looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “That’s not a good thing, dumbass.”
You scowl. “It’s part of the job.”
Jason shakes his head, pacing. “Nah. No. You shouldn’t be out there like this. He shouldn’t be letting you”
“I let her do nothing,” Bruce interrupts, his voice a low warning.
Jason laughs humorless, sharp. “Oh, really? Because it looks to me like you’re putting her through the same damn cycle we all went through. How long before she ends up dead in an alley too?”
“Jason”
“No, screw that,” Jason snaps. “You’re just letting her walk into this life like it’s fine. Like it’s not gonna chew her up and spit her out like the rest of us.”
You push yourself up from the table, ignoring the sharp sting in your side. “I chose this, Jason. No one forced me.”
Jason turns his glare on you. “You don’t get it, do you? You think this is just about being a hero, about doing good?” He scoffs. “It’s a death sentence.”
You clench your jaw. “So what, you expect me to just sit at home and do nothing?”
“I expect you to be smarter than this,” he snaps.
Before you can fire back, his eyes narrow, and suddenly, the conversation takes a sharp turn.
“Speaking of dumb decisions,” Jason mutters, crossing his arms. “You’re still with Superboy, right?”
Your frustration spikes. “Oh my godseriously?”
Jason gives you a deadpan look. “knock off superman? Really? You could do better.”
You throw your hands up. “Why does everyone have a problem with me dating Conner?”
Jason rolls his eyes. “Because he’s a walking red flag wrapped in blue spandex.”
You glare. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Jason scowls. “I don’t trust him.”
“You don’t trust anyone.”
He doesn’t deny it.
You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “Look, I’m tired, I’m injured, and I don’t have the energy for this right now.”
Jason studies you for a moment, then sighs, running a hand through his hair. His anger hasn’t faded completely, but the sharp edge of it has dulled.
“Fine,” he mutters. “But if he ever screws up, I will break his face.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of something warmer underneath the annoyance. Jason will never say it outright, but you know what this is.
It’s not just anger. It’s fear.
Bruce was right about one thing losing people leaves scars. And Jason? He has more than most. He won’t stop you from fighting your battles. But he’ll sure as hell be there when you fall.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩
Dating in the Batfamily was a challenge. Dating Conner Kent? That was practically a declaration of war.
You weren’t an idiot you knew what your family thought of him. Bruce didn’t trust him. Superman’s clone, an unpredictable force of power, a boy with too much strength and too little control. That’s how your father saw him, at least. Jason didn’t respect him. “A knock off in a leather jacket? Come on, you can do so much better.”
Tim was wary. Conner was his best friend, but even he had his doubts when it came to you.
And your mother? Selina raised a delicate brow when she first caught wind of your relationship, a teasing smirk playing at her lips. “Oh, darling,” she had purred. “You know how your father’s going to react, right?”
You had sighed, rubbing your temples. “Yes, Mother, I know.”
She had hummed in amusement. “Well, Im starting to think i’m a bad influence, at least try not to be like me and your dad.”
“Mom.”
She had only laughed.
At first, it was easier to keep it hidden. You and Conner met in the shadows, in places no one else would look.
Abandoned rooftops, dimly lit diners on the outskirts of the city, quiet parks in the dead of night where he could float just above the ground, keeping you wrapped in the warmth of his presence.
He wasn’t like Superman and you weren’t just Batman’s daughter.
That’s what you loved about being with him. When he looked at you, he didn’t see the vigilante, the heir to Gotham’s dark legacy. He didn’t see someone who had to be perfect. He saw you. Your flaws, your fears, your messy, complicated emotions. And he never tried to change them.
“I don’t care about what your dad thinks,” he had told you once, leaning back against the fire escape outside your window. “Or your brothers. Or your mom, even.”
You raised a brow. “Not even a little?”
He grinned. “Okay, maybe a little. But it doesn’t change anything.”
You had smirked. “You are stubborn.”
“Says the girl who won’t admit she likes me.”
You scoffed, but he had been right. Liking him had been the easy part. Accepting that he was yours? That had been harder.
Gotham was a city of ghosts.
Your life had been built on shadows, on silent movements, on always thinking five steps ahead. Mistakes had consequences, emotions were weaknesses, and attachments?
They got you killed.
But Conner… Conner made you feel like you were alive.
He never cared about the weight of your family name. He never expected you to be perfect. He let you be wrong, and he still stood by you.
One night, after a brutal mission, you had been exhausted, bruised, and pissed at your father for another round of overprotection.
Conner had found you on the rooftop of your shared apartment, sitting at the edge, staring out at the skyline.
He had landed softly beside you, his presence warm against the cold night.
“You okay?”
You hadn’t answered right away.
Then, quietly, you had admitted, “Sometimes I think its much more worth it to leave this place”
Conner had been silent for a moment before he shifted closer. “Yeah. I get that.”
And you knew he did. Superman saw him as something broken. A project. An accident to be controlled. Bruce saw you as something fragile. Something not ready.
You had glanced at Conner then, at the way he looked at you not as something to fix, but as someone whole. You had leaned into him, and he had let you.
That was the thing about Conner.
He didn’t just love you. He trusted you to be exactly who you were.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
Your father was the last to acknowledge it.
Bruce had spent months pretending you weren’t sneaking out to see Conner, pretending he didn’t know why your patrol routes started conveniently lining up with the edge of the city.
But Bruce noticed everything. eventually, he noticed him. It started with the little things.
Conner was always near you in battle, always the first to shield you from an explosion, always ready to catch you if you fell.
Bruce watched the way Conner would take the hit for you not because he thought you couldn’t handle it, but because he could. Conner was powerful, but he never used that strength to control you. He never underestimated you.
One night, after a particularly nasty fight against a group of assassins, you had ended up battered and bloody, a knife wound deep in your side.
Conner had carried you back to the Cave.
Bruce had been waiting.
The air had been tense as Conner laid you gently on the med bay table, his jaw tight, eyes burning with barely contained fury.
“She shouldn’t have been alone,” Conner had said, voice sharp.
Bruce had met his glare, unreadable. “Yeah she shouldn’t have.”
“Then act right on this and she wouldn’t have been alone,” Conner snapped. “shes strong but I don’t care like assholes like you neither does she.”
Silence.
Then Bruce had simply turned and walked away. It wasn’t approval. But it wasn’t rejection, either. You supposed, in his way, Bruce was starting to understand.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩
Looking back now, lying in the med bay once again, you let out a slow breath.
The room was empty.
The cave was silent.
Your body ached, your side still throbbing from the mission gone wrong. You stared at the ceiling, letting exhaustion creep in.
Jason’s words still echoed in your head.
“Tights and a cape? Really?”
You sighed.
They’d never understand.
when Conner held you, when he saw you, when he treated you like something more than just Batman’s daughter… It didn’t matter what anyone else thought.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩
Gotham was different when Dick was in town. Maybe it was the way he carried himself loose, easy, like the city didn’t weigh on his shoulders the way it did on everyone else’s. Maybe it was because he didn’t live here anymore, so Gotham’s shadows didn’t cling to him the way they clung to you, to Jason, to Bruce.
Either way, his presence always changed the air. Right now, though? It just made the tension in the Batcave feel even heavier.
Dick had barely been back for a full twenty four hours before he noticed. The way Bruce’s jaw was tighter than usual, how Jason was avoiding both of you, how Tim kept smirking behind his coffee cup like he was enjoying the chaos. And you?
You were just done.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched.
Watched as Bruce checked your gear three times before your patrol. Watched as Jason kept throwing pointed glances your way, muttering curses under his breath like you were the idiot. Watched as Tim leaned back against the Batcomputer with the most entertained expression, like this was his own personal sitcom.
Eventually, Dick just sighed.
“Alright, kid,” he said, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Burgers. Let’s go.”
Bruce barely looked up. “She has patrol.”
Dick raised a brow. “No, she has burgers with her favorite brother.”
Jason scoffed from across the room. “Favorite? Yeah, okay, Nightwing.”
Tim sipped his coffee. “I don’t know, Jay. He is also my favourite.”
You didn’t argue. You just grabbed your jacket and followed Dick out before Bruce could protest.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
The diner was a little hole in the wall place, tucked between two crumbling buildings. Greasy food, crappy lighting, the kind of place that felt like Gotham to its core. You slumped into the booth, arms crossed as Dick slid in across from you.
He didn’t push. Didn’t prod. Just casually unwrapped his burger and took a bite, waiting. It didn’t take long for you to break.
“He treats me like a soldier,” you said suddenly, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Not even a good one. Just one he doesn’t trust to make their own decisions.”
Dick chewed, nodding. “Bruce?”
You rolled your eyes. “Obviously Bruce.”
You picked at your fries. “he’s such an ass, i know he’s had this tough love thing since Jason but god why cant he let me be? Every move I make, he second guesses. Every mission, he reroutes my patrol to keep me ‘safer.’ He acts like I’m some reckless idiot who’s one bad decision away from getting killed.”
Dick hummed. “Jason probably isn’t helping.”
You huffed. “Oh, he’s worse. At least Bruce lets me fight Jason acts like I’m made of glass. Like I need protecting, like I can’t handle myself.”
Dick smirked. “Well, you did almost get blown up yesterday.”
You scowled. “That’s not the point.”
“Mmhmm.”
You ignored him and kept going.
“And then there’s Tim. Who just smirks. Like he enjoys watching me get lectured by dad and chewed out by Jason. Like this is all some kind of entertainment to him.”
Dick laughed. “It is entertaining.”
You threw a fry at him. He caught it without looking.
“It’s just” You exhaled sharply. “Bruce doesn’t trust me, Jason coddles me, and Tim thinks it’s all a joke. And yet Damian gets to do whatever the hell he wants.”
Dick raised a brow. “Ah. So this is about Damian.”
You stabbed your fork into your fries. “It’s not. It’s about all of it. But also? Yeah. It’s about Damian.”
Dick took another bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully. “Bruce would let him get away with murder?”
“Literally,” you muttered. “Meanwhile, I take one risk one calculated risk and suddenly I’m ‘not ready.’”
Dick sighed, setting his burger down. “Okay. So, what’s the actual problem?”
You frowned. “I just told you”
“No, I mean the real problem. You don’t actually care that Bruce is strict. You expect that. You don’t even care that Jason’s overprotective he does that to everyone he loves.”
You looked away. “…So?”
“So,” he said, smirking, “what you actually hate is that they don’t see you as an equal.”
You frowned.
Dick leaned back, crossing his arms. “They see you as their little sister. Their daughter. They see someone they have to protect, not someone they can trust.”
Your grip on your fork tightened. “And that’s not fair.”
“No,” he agreed easily. “It’s not.”
Silence stretched between you.
Then, casually, Dick added, “But hey, at least Conner treats you like an equal.”
You froze mid bite.
Slowly, you looked up at him.
He grinned.
You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.”
He tilted his head. “What?”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying,” he teased. “You could’ve gone for someone normal, but nooo. You had to pick another dark, broody, overpowered meathead”
“Dick, I swear”
“You surround yourself with annoying guys”
You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Never speak again.”
“Oh, absolutely not.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting mischievously. “In fact, I think I should speak more. Maybe bring this up at family dinner. Hey, Bruce, did you know your daughter has a thing for emotionally constipated guys in leather?”
You threw another fry at him.
He dodged it effortlessly, laughing.
“Dick. I will kill you.”
“I kinda want to meet this guy.”
You glared.
He just smiled. But despite your annoyance, despite everything Bruce’s overprotection, Jason’s coddling, Tim’s smirking something about the conversation helped. Because at least one of your brothers saw you.
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩
You regretted ever telling your family now. Dick knowing about Conner means you’ve been introduced to hell.
oh satan over there? yeah he’s on the body of your bug brother.
Not because he was mad not even because he was disapproving but because he was Dick.
Which meant relentless teasing.
Which meant grinning at you like he had the world’s juiciest blackmail material. Which meant the exact sentence that had been haunting you ever since your burger night.
“I want to meet my younger sister’s hero.”
It had been two days. Two. And he would not let it go.
You tried to avoid it. Tried to make excuses. But Dick was persistent.
So now here you were on a Gotham rooftop, arms crossed, glaring at him as he sat on the ledge like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m interested,” he corrected. “I mean, c’mon. I’ve only ever heard about this guy from our brothers, and none of them have anything nice to say.” He smirked. “Figured I should form my own opinion.”
You groaned. “Can you not?”
“Oh, I definitely can,” he said. “I just won’t.”
Before you could argue further, a gust of wind swept through the air, and There he was.
Conner landed a few feet away, hands in his jacket pockets, red cape billowing slightly behind him. His gaze flickered between you and Dick, brows furrowed in mild suspicion.
“You okay?” he asked you first, like he always did.
You exhaled. “Yeah. I just ” You shot Dick a look. “Had a situation to handle.”
Conner raised an eyebrow.
Dick, meanwhile, was grinning.
“Well, well, well,” he said, standing up and brushing off his suit. “The infamous Superboy.”
Conner’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And you’re…?”
Dicks mouth dropped glancing to you “Oh, wow. That actually hurt.” Then he extended a hand. “Dick Grayson. Also known as Nightwing. Also known as best older brother. Nice to finally meet you.”
Conner eyed him for a second before shaking his hand. “…Right.”
Dick’s smirk widened. “So. You’re the little guy my little sister’s been sneaking around with, huh?”
You instantly regretted your entire life.
Conner’s gaze flickered to you before he answered, clearly unsure how to respond. “Guess so…?”
“Oh, I like him already,” Dick laughed. “Got that classic ‘brooding hero’ energy. I see the appeal.”
You glared. “Dick”
“I mean, you do have a type,” he continued, grinning at you. “The whole ‘dark, broody, overpowered’ thing? Classic. keep the family values. I respect it.”
Conner glanced at you, fidgeting slightly as if trying to hold back a laugh. “its not a wrong point.”
You smacked his arm. “Not you too.”
Dick just laughed. “So. How’s the Super life treating you?”
Conner shrugged awkwardly, clearly not sure how to navigate the conversation. “Could be worse.”
“Dealing with my family yet?”
“All the time.”
Dick nodded sagely. “Yeah, that’s rough, buddy.”
Conner gave a quiet, awkward chuckle. “It’s not that bad.” His gaze softened slightly when he looked at you. “She makes it easier.”
Dick raised an eyebrow. Then slowly he grinned.
“Oh, man,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re down bad.”
You groaned. “Dick. it’s gross when you say that. Shut up.”
“I love this,” he continued, delighted. “This is so much better than I imagined.”
Conner crossed his arms and tried to lean against the ledge nonchalantly, but there was a slight stiff tension in his posture. “I wont stop her if she starts fighting”
Dick gasped, hand over his heart. “You’d turn her against me?”
“mmmmm i’m in a Y/n wrongs and right are rights morality,” Conner pointed out with a soft, awkward chuckle.
Dick sighed. “ew you sound like me with women.”
You rolled your eyes. “Okay. We’re done here.”
But before you could drag Conner away, Dick clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Look, all jokes aside,” he said, suddenly more serious, “I get why Bruce and Jason are… difficult about this. You’re powerful. You’re dangerous. You’re not one of us.”
Conner tensed slightly, glancing over at you like he didn’t know how to respond.
Dick met his gaze. “But I see how you look at her. And I see how she looks at you.” His expression softened. “So, for what it’s worth? You’ve got my approval.”
Conner blinked, clearly caught off guard. He cleared his throat, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck. “Wasn’t asking.”
Dick grinned. “Oh, I really like you.”
You groaned. “I hate both of you.”
Conner just took your hand, squeezing lightly, trying to brush off the awkwardness that had started to settle in. “You love me.” he whispered
You muttered something under your breath. Dick slung an arm around your shoulders, still grinning.
“Alright, Superboy. Don’t break her heart. Or I will break you.”
Conner didn’t flinch. “You could try.”
“Ohhh, I really really like him.”
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ ° ✩
The gala was everything you dreaded about Gotham’s elite. The high end designers. The glittering chandeliers. The fake smiles and empty conversations about stock markets and charities you knew were just tax write offs. You were dreading it. But you had no choice. Your dad had insisted.
“You’re going with me,” Bruce had said, his tone one you couldn’t argue with. “Damien’s going too.”
Damien.
You rolled your eyes. If there was one silver lining, it was that Damien would make the night more bearable. Sure, he was insufferable, but deep down, he was your favorite… well one of them.
You didn’t know when it started, but you couldn’t deny it. Every time someone made a comment about you, something snide about being Bruce Wayne’s daughter or how you’d grown up in a world of privilege, Damien was right there. He might have been a bratty little boy, but he had a surprisingly soft spot for you.
He’d bark back at anyone who dared talk down to you. And that always made you smile.
Still, you hated the galas. The whole act of pretending to be someone you weren’t, of feigning interest in the people who rubbed elbows with the most corrupt figures in Gotham. It made you feel like you were just another part of Bruce Wayne’s PR machine, just another Wayne for the rich to admire, the perfect daughter.
You weren’t. At least not in the way they thought you were.
⸻
You stood in front of the mirror in your dress, adjusting the neckline slightly. It wasn’t too flashy. Not as tight or revealing as some of the other dresses you’d seen at these events. It wasn’t your style to try and look like you were above everyone else. There was an elegance to it, sure, but it wasn’t over the top.
You sighed, glancing at the clock. You were almost late. You had not been in the mood to get dressed up and pretend you weren’t itching to leave this stupid party as soon as you walked in.
The door to your room creaked open just a bit, and you turned to see Damien standing in the doorway, his usual scowl plastered on his face.
“Are you done yet?” he demanded, crossing his arms.
You blinked at him. “Are you done yet? You look like a little mini Bruce.”
He shot you a glare. “I’ll have you know, I’m a Wayne too, and I’m far superior to Father in many ways.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Mm. Sure, Damien. If that’s what helps you sleep at night.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed in the way they always did when he was being stubborn. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t embarrass the family again.”
“Again?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
You chuckled. “Whatever, Damien. Just don’t get in my way.”
He huffed, but his expression softened for a second. “You know, you don’t have to act like you don’t belong there. It’s your place.”
The rare kindness from Damien caught you off guard. You almost wanted to tease him about it, but something in the way he said it made you pause.
Before you could respond, Bruce’s voice echoed from downstairs. “Damien, [Y/N], let’s go.”
You rolled your eyes. No escape.
⸻
The gala was in full swing when you arrived, the grand ballroom filled with well dressed Gotham’s elite, all laughing, talking, and pretending to be better than they really were. As you walked in behind Bruce and Damien, you couldn’t help but feel like a fish out of water.
Damien, ever the mini Bruce, stepped confidently beside you, his posture straight, eyes sharp. He barely even looked at anyone around him, already ready to shoot down any attempts at conversation. You, on the other hand, put on your best poker face, walking with your head high, but your mind already halfway to escaping.
Bruce was already surrounded by some of the usual suspects, but it didn’t take long for the first person to notice you.
“You know,” a woman with a glass of champagne in hand said, smiling in that way people did when they thought they were better than you. “It’s nice to see the Wayne family so well represented. A fine, upstanding family, despite… well, you know…”
The pause was intentional, like she wanted to see if you’d react to the snide remark. It was a comment about your family’s history, a little jab that no one dared speak out loud but always found a way to slip into their conversations. Isnt being a woman supposed to be about supporting other women? Damien arguably had the same history as you.
You opened your mouth to say something, but Damien beat you to it.
“That’s quite enough.” He said it flatly, stepping forward with a warning glare. “I’m sure if you don’t have anything productive to say, you’d be better off leaving.”
The woman blinked, surprised by the bluntness, but Damien was already walking away, his weird little aura behind him like he was some miniature Dark Knight.
You couldn’t help but smile at him. You were right. He was your favorite.
Bruce glanced at you both, an eyebrow arched. He had seen the whole exchange. You could practically feel him holding back a smirk.
“Damien,” Bruce said, his voice a little too controlled. “You don’t have to go picking fights.”
Damien didn’t back down. “I’m simply defending Y/n. Some of these people need to remember their place.”
Bruce didn’t say anything, but the faintest glimmer of approval passed through his gaze, and it was enough.
⸻
The night dragged on, but you found yourself less uncomfortable with Damien by your side. His quiet protectiveness, the way he always seemed to catch the smallest slight before you did, made it easier to navigate the pretentious conversations. Every time someone made a comment about your family, you could feel Damien’s posture tense and his eyes narrow. And each time, he defended you.
Despite everything, despite how much you complained about his bratty tendencies, Damien was your brat. the weight of the night began to settle. The glittering lights of the gala still flickered in your mind, but the presence of your father and Damien beside you made the ride back almost bearable. Damien, as usual, sat stiffly, his posture perfect even in the backseat of the car, while Bruce remained uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze focused out the window.
You couldn’t help but glance over at Damien, who was looking out his own window, seemingly lost in thought. There had been a moment earlier when Bruce had shared a look with him, something small but meaningful a look you couldn’t quite place. But it was enough to make you feel something unspoken between the two of them. It wasn’t often you saw your father show a soft spot for anyone, let alone his own kids.
The car pulled up to the Manor, and as it came to a stop, you turned to Damien, the words already spilling out before you could stop them.
“You know, you’re not as bad as you pretend to be,” you said, voice teasing but soft. “I might just like you after all.”
Damien scoffed. “You shouldn’t like me. I’m better than you, after all.”
“Pfft, whatever,” you grinned, ignoring his words. The sudden burst of affection you felt in that moment made you throw all your self control out the window. Without thinking, you lunged at him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.
Damien let out an exaggerated, dramatic gasp, his body going stiff in shock. “Unhand me, woman,” he hissed, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden outburst of affection.
You ignored his protests, squeezing him tighter. “Nope! Not until you admit that you love me.”
Damien scowled, his face flushing just slightly. “I do not love you, you foolish girl.” But there was no hiding the faint blush creeping onto his cheeks as he tried unsuccessfully to push you away.
Bruce, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, cleared his throat from the front seat, as though reminding you both that you weren’t exactly alone. But it was too late to stop now.
You pulled back just enough to look Damien in the eye, still grinning like a cat. “Come on, admit it. I know you love me.”
Damien tried to glare at you, but there was no hiding the slight curve of his lips. “I tolerate you,” he said begrudgingly.
You held him tighter. “Close enough!”
He growled, finally breaking free from your grip. “This is not over,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting his suit with a dramatic flair.
You leaned back, still grinning like an idiot. “Sure, sure, Damien. You can pretend all you want.”
Bruce finally spoke up, his tone surprisingly light. “Alright, break it up, you two. We’ve still got a whole night to get through.”
Damien shot a glare at Bruce. “I’m not the one causing disruptions here.”
You and Bruce shared a look, and for just a brief second, you saw it, something rare and almost tender between the two of them. Damien wasn’t as bad as you’d thought. he had his own way of showing care.
Damien, still grumbling, marched ahead toward the front door, muttering something about how he was going to “train” and “get away from these ridiculous people.” But you knew better. Underneath the bravado, Damien was just like everyone else in this family he cared.
As you stepped out of the car and onto the front porch of Wayne Manor, the cool night air hit your face, carrying the faint scent of rain. You were exhausted, mentally drained from the fake smiles and shallow conversations of the gala, and the weight of the night hung heavy on your shoulders. You couldn’t wait to retreat to your room, get out of this damn dress, and let your thoughts settle.
But as you walked toward the front door, something or rather someone caught your eye. Standing by the door, just under the archway of the Manor, was a familiar silhouette. The figure straightened when he saw you approach, a soft smile appearing on his face.
Conner.
Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected him to be here, but there he was, waiting for you, like he always did.
“Hey,” you said softly, as you run over to him. your exhaustion suddenly lifting at the sight of him.
He tilted his head, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. “You look… very beautiful tonight.”
You let out a small, tired chuckle. “Beautiful? someone is learning how to express his emotions”
Conner’s brow furrowed, his eyes scanning you like he could see the exhaustion beneath your calm exterior. He stepped forward, his large frame nearly blocking the door. “You okay?”
You nodded, but only half heartedly. “Yeah, just… tired of it all. Tired of pretending.”
Conner didn’t say anything at first, but his gaze softened. His next words were simple, but they always meant more than you expected. “you’re done now, don’t have to think about it now.”
You stepped closer to him, letting the tension in your body melt just a little. “Thanks, Conner. It means a lot. I don’t think I could stand much more of these stupid galas if I didn’t know you’d be waiting for me.”
He smiled at that, the kind of smile that made your heart flutter in your chest, as he stepped aside to let you in. “Always. You know I’ve got your back.”
You couldn’t help but grin. “You’re the best.”
Conner chuckled, stepping back as you passed him. “I’m just doing my job, keeping you out of trouble.”
You shot him a playful look over your shoulder. “Really? Keeping me out of trouble?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Well, you seem to find it even when I’m not around.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, but the moment you passed him, you felt his hand gently grasp your arm, a soft but firm hold that pulled you back toward him.
“What?” you asked, confused.
Conner was staring at you, his blue eyes intense but gentle. “You looked like you needed someone tonight. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”
You stared at him for a moment, letting his words settle. But instead of saying anything, you simply let out a long sigh and let your shoulders relax. You didn’t need to talk about it now. Not when Conner was here, offering comfort without the need for words.
Instead, you smiled softly, stepping into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “I think… I think I just need this right now.”
Conner wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as if to shield you from everything outside this moment. “I’ve got you.”
You closed your eyes, letting the familiar warmth of his embrace wrap around you.
The moment of quiet was shattered by the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.
You tensed slightly, already knowing exactly who it was before you even turned your head.
Bruce stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable but his presence alone was enough to make the warmth in your chest falter just a bit.
“It’s late,” he said, voice even, but carrying that weight of authority only he could manage. “You should be inside now.”
You sighed, pulling back slightly from Conner but keeping your hand locked around his wrist. Of course, Bruce had impeccable timing.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” you muttered, turning toward the door but you didn’t let go of Conner. Instead, you tugged him along with you, acting like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Bruce’s eyes flicked down to your hand still gripping Conner’s, his expression barely changing, but you knew he noticed.
Conner hesitated for half a second, casting a glance between you and your father, as if gauging whether it was a terrible idea to follow you inside. But you weren’t giving him a choice.
Bruce let out the tiniest sigh, stepping aside to let you both in, but not without a warning glance at Conner.
“Don’t make me regret this,” Bruce said evenly.
Conner just glared at him, tight lipped smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”
You definitely caught the way Bruce’s brow twitched ever so slightly at the sir, but you didn’t dwell on it. You just smirked to yourself and pulled Conner further into the Manor, past your father, past all the unspoken tension, and straight toward the one place you could finally relax.
Conner leaned in as you walked, voice low and teasing. “You dragged me in here.”
You grinned up at him. “What, scared of my dad?”
Conner huffed. “No. But I am scared of what your brothers are gonna say when they see me here.”
You just laughed. “Oh, you should be.”
As you pulled Conner deeper into the Manor, you moved quickly, knowing full well that the longer you lingered, the higher the chance of getting ambushed by one of your loving brothers.
You practically speed walked through the grand hall, past the dimly lit corridors.
“Ah, welcome home, Miss.”
You skidded to a stop as Alfred appeared seemingly out of nowhere, standing near the bottom of the staircase with his usual composed demeanor.
Conner tensed beside you, standing up straighter like he was about to get scolded. Clearly, even he wasn’t immune to Alfred’s presence.
You shot the butler a quick smile, still keeping a tight grip on Conner’s wrist. “Hey, Alfred. Gala was awful, as expected. Goodnight!”
And before he could reply, you dragged Conner up the stairs.
“Goodnight, Miss. Goodnight, Mister Conner,” Alfred called after you, voice laced with mild amusement.
Conner barely managed to glance over his shoulder to offer a polite, “Uh goodnight, sir,” before he was pulled around the corner and out of sight.
When you finally made it to your room, you threw the door open and all but shoved Conner inside before shutting it behind you with a sigh of relief.
“Okay, safe,” you muttered, leaning against the door.
Conner raised a brow. “You act like we just broke into the White House.”
You pointed a finger at him. “This house probably has better security than the white house.”
Conner snorted, shaking his head as he glanced around your room. He’d been here before, but it was still surreal for him standing in Wayne Manor.
You walked over to your bed, flopping onto it dramatically. “I swear, I love Alfred, but he always pops up at the worst moments. It’s like a sixth sense.”
Conner smirked, stepping closer. “Maybe he was just making sure I wasn’t sneaking in to corrupt his favorite Wayne.”
You peeked up at him through your arms. “Bold of you to assume I’m his favorite.”
He sat down beside you, resting his elbows on his knees. “You definitely are.”
You grinned, nudging him lightly with your foot. “Flatter me more, Superboy.”
Conner just chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t need flattery. You already know how great you are.”
You huffed, rolling onto your side. “Tell that to my dad.”
Conner didn’t say anything right away, just let his hand rest on yours, grounding you. You let out a slow breath, the exhaustion of the day finally settling in.
“Get some sleep,” Conner murmured. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”
You didn’t even think about it before squeezing his hand. “Stay.”
And he did.
Conner sat beside you on the bed, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your wrist. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows across his face, making his blue eyes stand out even more than usual. He was warm, solid, grounding in a way you desperately needed after the night you’d had.
You shifted closer, tilting your head up toward him. He caught the movement instantly, his gaze flicking down to your lips before he leaned in, closing the space between you.
The kiss was gentle at first, unhurried. His lips pressed against yours in a way that made your chest tighten not with nerves, but with something softer, something steady. His hand slid up, fingertips brushing your jaw before cradling your face, pulling you just a little closer.
You sighed against him, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. He kissed you again, deeper this time, as if memorizing the shape of your lips, as if reminding himself that you were here, that you were his.
A loud noise from the window, followed by the distinct sound of fabric rustling, and then.
THUD.
Conner barely had time to pull back before a voice cut through the moment.
“Oh, come on I just ate.”
You both snapped your heads toward the window, where Tim stood, looking absolutely horrified, like he’d just walked in on the worst crime imaginable.
You groaned, flopping back onto the bed. “Jesus Christ, Tim”
Tim pinched the bridge of his nose like he was experiencing actual pain. “You know I tolerate this relationship for your sake, right? Doesn’t mean I need to see it.”
“Theres a reason we’re in my room with the door closed. what did you even want anyways”
“Ok miss shitbag, I was gonna see if you brought any food from the gala”
Conner, looking far too smug for someone just caught making out, leaned back on his hands. “You could’ve knocked.”
Tim made a disgusted face. “Knocked? On her window? I didn’t think I needed a warning before coming in.” He gestured wildly between the two of you. “I thought I was safe! But no, I have to live with the trauma of seeing my best friend all over my sister.”
You threw a pillow at him. “We weren’t even doing anything!”
Tim caught it with one hand, unimpressed. “There was face touching. That’s enough.”
Conner just shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, I think she’s a better kisser than you.”
Tim immediately gagged, doubling over like he’d been physically attacked. “WHY WOULD THAT MAKE ME FEEL BETTER?!”
You burst out laughing, while Conner grinned like he’d won something.
Tim groaned dramatically, shaking his head as he turned toward the window. “I hate this. I hate both of you. I’m leaving.”
“Goodnight, Tim,” you called sweetly.
“I hope you both stub your toes,” he shot back before disappearing out the window.
As soon as he was gone, you turned to Conner, still grinning. “You did that on purpose.”
Conner smirked. “Maybe.”
You rolled your eyes before pulling him back down into another kiss because if Tim was gonna be dramatic about it, you might as well make it worth it.
Can I ask for Sale Fisher x fem!reader that's popular? And could you PLS PLS PLS don't make her mean? Like, I want her to be popular becouse she's one of those poeple that just sthraight up go talk to anyone.
And maybe Sal's friend group thought that shes propably a bitch, but like.
'She sat at our table?.....and didn't make fun of us?.....in fact she gives compliments that don't feel backhandead?......wtf?'
⬆️just an example, you can do whatever with this.
Sorry for possibile grammer errors or speeling mistakes, english isn't my first lenguage. Thank you and I hope you'll have a nice day ♥️
Hey! I THOUGHT THIS COULD BE SO CUTE!! so Ive seen many fics on this and i wanted to take a different approach. I hope you enjoy it. I love Sal and I hope this isn’t too crazy. I wrote a version yesterday and made everyone a little too mean and I don’t believe any of them would be assholes. So! Hopefully this satiates y’all.
masterlist
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Your legs ache from practice, the soles of your sneakers sticking a little to the hallway tile with each step. You smell faintly of sweat and cherry body spray, the cheer uniform still clinging to your skin like it’s part of you now tight pleats, school colors, and all. You could’ve changed, sure, but exhaustion said no. So here you are, hair in a high ponytail, shoes untied, carrying a stack of junk mail and a single envelope that doesn’t belong to you.
You look at it again under the flickering hallway light, flipping it over in your fingers like it’ll magically reroute to the correct mailbox on its own.
SAL FISHER
UNIT 402
You know the name. Everyone at school does. The kid with the face cover. You’ve never spoken to him he doesn’t really hang around the same kind of people you do but he’s always there. At lunch, in the halls, sometimes sitting out near the tree line when no one else is around. You didn’t peg him as the chatty type.
You stare at the letter like it might bite you. Then sigh. “Why not be a good neighbor,” you mutter, dragging your legs toward the elevator.
The ride to the fourth floor feels longer than it should. It shudders a little on the way up. You keep your eyes on the numbers. Three… four. The doors open with a ding that sounds half hearted.
You’ve never actually been up here.
The fourth floor feels… worse. Everything smells faintly of dust and something like mothballs and metal. You don’t know why, but the lights here feel dimmer. You walk slower, steps echoing.
You find the unit: 402. You raise your hand to knock. There was a pause for a few seconds.
A man stands in front of you, tall, a little disheveled, and definitely not Sal. His presence is immediate, like he fills the space just by being in it. You blink.
“Oh hi! Sorry,” you start, holding the envelope out, “I was just dropping this off”
“He’s in his room,” the man says before you finish.
You freeze. “Oh, no, I wasn’t trying to bother him, I just thought I’d–”
“Just go on in. Down the hall, last door on the left.”
You blink again. You’re not even sure he’s looking at you. Just staring somewhere past your head, like he’s already decided this conversation is over.
“I mean, I could just leave it here”
“Last door on the left.”
He steps aside, just enough for you to enter. You do, but not on purpose. Your legs just move. You step into the apartment, and it’s… weird. Not gonna lie, being in any strangers apartment never really felt cool. You walk toward the hallway, clutching the letter, mind screaming at you to stop being so polite.
“Damn old people,” you think, jaw tightening. “I just wanted to drop something off, not go all this way”
The hallway feels longer than it is. The floor creaks behind you, or maybe above you. You don’t look back. You keep walking. Last door on the left.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You knock lightly once, twice then pull your hand back like the door might burn you. A pause. Then the knob turns. The door creaks open slowly, revealing a familiar figure just behind it. Blue pigtails. The mask.
Sal Fisher.
He stares at you. You stare back. Neither of you says a word. And because silence is somehow gnawing at your neck, you blurt, “Hi! Um, I think our mail got mixed up I swear I didn’t just barge in.”
You thrust the letter forward like it’s a peace offering. “This was in my mailbox. For you. I thought I’d, y’know, be neighborly and return it. I didn’t open it or toss it or anything. Your dad sent me over this way”
He takes the envelope slowly, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. His gaze flicks down to it.
“Thanks,” he says. His voice is quieter than you expected. Almost gentle.
You nod. Then freeze. Then nod again. You’re still standing there, very much in his doorway, very much uninvited. His room is in full view behind him. Posters of metal bands you’ve only heard mentioned in passing. Skulls, red and black ink themes. A guitar in the corner. Tiny, vaguely creepy figurines lined up on a shelf.
“Your room’s so cool,” you say before your brain can stop you. You lean forward just a little, peering past him. “Seriously. This is like… Sid and Nancy level. How do you even find posters like that anymore? Oh my god is that an actual cassette player? That’s so sick.”
You wince as the words leave your mouth. “God, sorry, I’m not trying to be weird. I mean that in a good way. Promise.”
Your voice is speeding up. You’re spiraling. And you know it.
Sal just keeps watching you like he’s trying to figure out if this is real or a very strange dream. A cheerleader. In his doorway. Talking about cassette players. You finally cringe so hard your whole body folds in on itself.
“I’m gonna go,” you say, backing toward the hallway. “Sorry for the whole… I don’t know what that was. I was just trying to be a good neighbor and it turned into, like, a monologue of whatever the fuck.”
You turn halfway around to leave when you hear
“You wanna take a look around?”
You glance over your shoulder.
Sal is still standing there, holding the envelope like it might vanish. His posture is stiff, like he’s surprised the words came out of his mouth, too.
You blink. “I mean… sure?”
He nods. “If you’re into the posters, Do you dig that kind of music?.”
Your eyebrows shoot up. “Well I wouldn’t say it’s exactly my style but I’m a all things can be redeemable if you give it a try”
He jerks his head toward the room. “why not give it a try then”
You’re already stepping inside before he finishes, smiling wide. “You had me at ‘cool’ and sealed the deal with ‘band.’ Show me.”
The second you cross the threshold, it’s like entering another world. The bland apartment hallway behind you disappears into a mess of amps, guitars, wires, dark posters, and the faint scent of incense and old vinyl.
Sal gestures toward a small desk setup with beat up speakers and a laptop. He grabs a pair of headphones well worn, slightly cracked along the band and offers them to you.
“You don’t have to pretend it’s good,” he mutters. “Honest opinion’s fine.”
You shoot him a thumbs up and take the headphones like they might unlock the secrets of the universe.
He clicks play.
The drums hit first loud, fast. Then comes the guitar: raw, rich, angry. A distorted voice cuts through the noise melodic under the layers of whatever was happening, but clawing to be heard. Your eyes go wide. You start bobbing your head slowly. Then more. A grin creeps up your face, shoulders bouncing slightly as the music crashes through your ears. You grip the headphones tighter, fully in it like you’ve been dropped into a private punk rock concert in a dream.
When the song fades, you pull the headphones off with a breathless laugh. “That was… so good,” you say, eyes lit up. “Like, very loud but in the best way. I felt like I could punch God in the face. I loved it.”
Sal’s ears what little you can see of them turn just slightly pink. He shifts, crossing his arms. “Yeah?”
You grin. “What, because I’m in a cheer uniform, you think cheerleaders don’t have rage?”
He laughs softly. It’s warm. Unexpected.
You glance at the clock and groan. “Ugh. I should probably head back and pretend I’m responsible or whatever. Homework calls.”
You hand the headphones back, your fingers lingering a second before letting go.
“Thanks for showing me that,” you say. “Seriously. its super sick.”
Sal shrugs, casual, but he still won’t quite meet your eyes. In his head, he’s screaming. Because what the hell. A cheerleader just walked into his room, complimented his taste in music, vibed to Sanity Falls, and then thanked him like he did her a favor.
Respectfully and he does mean that. you’re hot. this whole thing feels like a glitch in the matrix. Like someone else’s life. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Uh. Anytime.”
You flash one last smile before turning to leave. Sal Fisher stands frozen in his room, A pretty girl was in his room.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ the clatter of trays, bursts of laughter, the shriek of a chair scraping too hard against the linoleum. Sal sat across from Larry, Ash, and Todd, picking at the edges of his sandwich more than actually eating it. His thoughts weren’t really on food. Not when they kept drifting back to the night before.
Cheerleader. In his room. Pretty girl. She liked his music.
“Hey,” he said finally, pushing his tray forward and folding his arms on the table. “Do you guys know that new girl who lives on the third floor now?”
Larry paused mid bite, sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Third floor?”
Ash glanced between them, already suspicious. “Wait. Are we talking about that new girl? Y/N something?”
“Yeah,” Sal said, tone casual like he wasn’t rehearsing the question all morning. “she dropped something off last night. Just wondering if you knew her.”
Larry barked a laugh. “The cheerleader? Yeah, she’s definitely one of those girls.”
Sal blinked. “Those?”
“You know,” Ash chimed in, leaning her chin on her hand. “Perfect hair. Always smells like a mall. Probably part of one of those fake bestie cliques that post about how much they loveee each other but secretly hate one another’s guts.”
Larry nodded, already back into his food. “Plastic. The kind that calls everyone ‘babe’ but doesn’t know your actual name.”
Todd, sipping from a thermos, finally looked up. “You guys don’t even know her.”
Ash raised an eyebrow. “And you do?”
“I’ve had class with her. She’s… quiet,” Todd said thoughtfully. “Pays attention. Says thank you when someone passes her a worksheet. She helped a freshman with their locker on the second day.”
“That’s your bar for decency?” Larry said, skeptical.
“I’m just saying, you’re judging her and like Sal was new too once,” Todd said. “You don’t know anything real about her.”
Ash groaned. “You don’t need to know someone to know someone, Todd. Some people just radiate mean girl energy. Trust me.”
Todd narrowed his eyes. “That’s a shallow assumption and you know it.”
Ash muttered something about “cheerleaders being a plague” under her breath, and Larry snorted.
Sal, who had gone unusually quiet, finally spoke again. “She’s not like that.”
All three of them turned to look at him.
Larry’s mouth slowly curved into a smirk. “Wait. Hold up. Why are you asking about her, dude?”
Sal looked down, then up, tone clipped. “I told you. She dropped off mail. That’s it.”
Ash crossed her arms. “why did she just come all the way up to your place to give you a letter?”
Sal shrugged. “Her mailbox got mine by accident. then stayed for a bit”
Larry leaned forward, grinning. “What, did she get lost on the way out?”
Sal blinked. “She liked my music.”
Ash scoffed. “What, like out loud?”
Sal nodded. “Yeah. She tried my headphones. Even headbanged a little.”
Todd smiled slightly. “That’s kind of cool.”
Larry shook his head like he was witnessing a miracle. “Okay, wait a minute. A cheerleader, listened to screamo music, and didn’t run screaming for the suburbs?”
Sal shrugged again. “She said it made her want to punch God.”
Ash froze, lips parting in a mix of confusion and, for the first time, mild interest. “Okay… that’s actually kind of hardcore.”
“She said my room was cool,” Sal mumbled, mostly to his tray.
Larry threw his hands up. “Okay, what the hell, Sal. Are you telling me you Sal ‘I sit by myself and listen to death metal’ Fisher just casually had a cheerleader in your bedroom?”
Sal didn’t reply, but his fingers drummed on the table a little too fast to be casual. Larry leaned in. “Dude. You got a cheerleader in your room. Are you sure this wasn’t a dream? Like a fever dream after one too many gas station burritos?”
Todd tilted his head. “Or maybe… maybe she’s just a person. Like the rest of us. Who happens to like punk and be good at flips.”
Ash scowled. “God, Todd, you sound like a teacher.”
He shrugged. “Just saying.”
Larry still wasn’t over it. “Next thing you know she’s gonna show up in all black with eyeliner and join a band.”
Sal didn’t say it out loud, but a flicker of a smile played under the edge of his mask at the idea. He kinda liked that you were so different. the juxtaposition of your looks and what you seemed interested was very cool to look at.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You strolled through the crowd with your cheer squad flanking both sides laughing, gossiping, spinning their hair around fingers like it was a competitive sport. You listened absently as one of them launched into a dramatic retelling of how her ex “accidentally” liked her finsta post at 2 a.m.
You weren’t really paying attention. Not because you didn’t care, though the first time she talked about it had you engaged. but because your eyes had already locked onto something else across the cafeteria. A short blue haired guy sitting at a table near the back with a group of kids you’d only ever heard about through whispered rumors and cruel nicknames.
There he was. Sal Fisher. without really thinking without asking yourself anything at all you broke away from your group mid laugh. Just veered straight toward him like your legs had made the decision before your brain did.
“Wait, where are you going?” one of your friends asked behind you.
“BRB,” you called over your shoulder. “I want to bother someone.”
Across the cafeteria, at a table meant for the misfits, Sal was in the middle of pushing peas around his tray when a sudden blur of cheer uniform and bounce came into view. He looked up.
You stopped right beside him and sat down immediately grabbing his arm, breathless and grinning. “Okay, so, I’ve been thinking about that song you showed me all night. Like, literally, I couldn’t sleep. I need more. You got a playlist? A mixtape? A USB drive from hell? Gimme.”
For one perfect, cinematic second, the entire table was silent. Larry dropped his fork. Ash’s eyes nearly bugged out of her skull. Todd blinked like you had just walked through a wall.
Sal just stared. “You… what?”
You nodded eagerly, lowering your voice like it was sacred. “You ruined all my playlists. I need more of that noise in my life.”
He blinked again. “You sure?”
“You say that like you thought I wouldn’t.”
“I–” Sal started, then stopped, looking absolutely stunned.
You turned to the rest of the table, realizing they were still staring at you like you’d just sprouted devil horns and declared yourself prom queen of hell. You raised a hand sheepishly. “Hi. Sorry for interrupting. I’m Y/N. just moved this year.”
Ash looked like she was physically holding herself back from combusting. Larry was still open mouthed, and Todd was watching with the kind of intrigue usually reserved for alien encounters.
“If you’re anything like Sal,” you added, offering them a genuine smile, “then I’m sure you’re all cool as hell.”
Larry looked to Sal, eyes wide. “Yeah, he’s crazy cool. Though he did learn from the best” Larry awkwardly replied while pointing himself
Ash leaned toward Todd. “I think i’m on drugs, what’s happening” Todd just smiled quietly.
You turned back to Sal, who was very much glitching out in real time. “I’ll give you my number later,” you said with a wink. “Text me a playlist. Or this time I’m breaking into your room.”
Sal opened his mouth. Closed it. Nodded once like he was in shock. “Okay.” And then you were gone, skipping back to your friends, who were whispering furiously and shooting glances like you’d just fraternized with the enemy.
“what was that?” one of them hissed.
You smiled, tugging your ponytail higher.“you’re the one who told me to make friends here, thats all i’m doing.”
Back at the table, Sal stared down at his tray like it might give him answers.
Larry leaned in, whispering, “Bro. Are you a witch? Did you hex a cheerleader?”
Sal just shook his head.
“I think,” he said slowly, still stunned, “i think its jover for me.”
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You weren’t quite sure how it happened. One second you were joking in the hallway with Sal about your shared hatred for lukewarm cafeteria pizza, and the next you were in his room, cross legged, spinning slowly on his desk chair while he nervously adjusted the volume on his old stereo system.
The room was quiet, save for the soft murmur of some obscure post punk band playing from the corner. You didn’t recognize the lyrics, but it felt like something you wanted to memorize.
“You know,” you said, glancing around, “I kinda expected more skulls. Or like… weird taxidermy?”
Sal laughed soft and surprised. “Yeah, you’re not the first to say that. I think Larry was disappointed when he first came over and didn’t find a Ouija board or something.”
You gave him a playful squint. “Wait, you don’t have one?”
Sal grinned slightly behind the mask. “Okay, I do. But it’s under my bed and mostly for decoration. Larry gets carried away.”
You hopped off the chair and crouched, peeking under the bed like you were on a mission. “You’re telling me there’s a haunted board game down here and you’re not showing me?”
“It’s not haunted,” he replied, clearly amused. “It’s just from a yard sale. Probably cursed with suburban angst at most.”
You laughed, brushing your fingers over a dusty shoebox. “Still cool. You’ve got good taste. I mean, look at this stuff.”
Posters of bands you’d never heard of were plastered across the walls, scribbled notebook pages taped in between like patchwork wallpaper. An old lava lamp flickered halfheartedly in the corner. There were stacks of CDs, cassette tapes, and one particularly weird clay sculpture that looked like it might’ve been made in a sleep deprived art class.
You plopped onto his bed and tilted your head. “This one’s my favorite,” you said, pointing at a crooked drawing of a girl with hollow eyes and messy hair. “She beautiful.”
Sal stepped closer, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. “That was… something I did when I was like, thirteen. Supposed to be a ghost from this dream I had. I kept seeing her for weeks after.”
You looked at him, expression soft. “You see ghosts a lot?”
He hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Sometimes. Not all the time. But yeah.”
“Damn. That’s metal.”
Sal let out another laugh, more comfortable now. “That’s what I told my therapist.”
You leaned back on your elbows, smiling at him from his own bed like you’d done it a hundred times. “So, what else are you hiding in here? Secret dungeon? Portal to hell?”
“Uh,” Sal said, eyes glinting with something playful. “Larry stole all the portals to hell. I’m more of a secret music archive guy.”
You shot up. “Prove it.”
He smirked and crossed the room to a cabinet by his desk, pulling open a drawer to reveal a mess of burned CDs, USBs, old MP3 players, and one tiny cassette player with a sticker that said “Play if you hate the world.”
You gasped like he’d opened the Holy Grail. “Sal. This is the coolest shit I’ve ever seen. You better send me everything.”
He knelt beside you, pulling out a CD with careful fingers. “This one’s the first mix I ever made. It’s super rough.”
You took it from him reverently. “I love rough.”
Sal’s ears went pink. “I, uh, that came out weird.”
“Yeah,” you teased. “but cant a girl say how she feels.”
You glanced at him, and he was already watching you, like he couldn’t believe you actually said that. Like you’d disappear if he blinked too long.
“Hey,” you said, quieter now. “You’re kinda talkative tonight.”
He shrugged, brushing some hair from his face. “You’re easy to talk to.”
That made something flicker warm in your chest.
“Same,” you murmured. Then you nudged him with your shoulder. “Do you like me here?”
Sal tilted his head, mock serious. “People probably that I’ve summoned a demon cheerleader to possess me.”
You grinned. “Yeah? Hope they’re right.”
And he laughed again. You liked that sound. You wanted to hear it more.
You and Sal stayed like that for a while, just talking. The kind of conversation that meandered and curved around strange facts and half finished thoughts. He told you about a ghost that used to knock on his closet door when he was little. You told him about the time you accidentally summoned a raccoon with a ritual you found on Tumblr. Somewhere between laughter and another CD recommendation, you spotted a small, beat up notebook tucked between the mattress and wall. It looked old, like something with secrets.
“Ooooh, what’s that?” you asked, already reclining across the bed to reach it.
Sal looked up, immediately alert. “Wait no, that’s!”
Too late. You stretched out, reaching over him as he sat back against the headboard. Your fingers brushed the edge of the notebook only for your balance to shift, the mattress dipping under your weight.
Thump.
You landed right on top of him. For a moment, neither of you moved. You were nose to nose, your chest pressed against his, hands awkwardly splayed on either side of his shoulders. His mask had tilted slightly, and you could see just a glimpse of the scar beneath it before he quickly adjusted it. His breath hitched so did yours.
Your eyes met.
Sal’s eyes were wide, pupils flicking between yours like he was scanning for some kind of signal. You suddenly became very aware of the warmth radiating off him. Of the way your knee was pressing slightly between his legs. The room, the music, the whole world had gone still.
“Uh,” he said softly, like he was trying not to spook you.
You blinked. “Sorry. Um. .”
“it’s okay,” he said, voice an octave higher than usual. “Totally. You’re all good trust. Yeah.”
You were about to say something maybe a joke, maybe not when the door slammed open with the force of someone who had never knocked in his entire life.
“Yo, Sal HOLY SHIT”
You scrambled off like you’d been hit with a taser, rolling off to the side and nearly falling off the bed. Sal sat bolt upright, stiff as a corpse.
Larry stood in the doorway, a soda can in one hand and a box of cookies in the other, blinking like he was trying to make sure what he was seeing wasn’t a hallucination.
“Dude,” he said, utterly stunned. “Did I interrupt something?”
Sal buried his face in both hands with a groan. “Larry.”
“No, because this is like… well im not going to say. You’re on the bed, she’s on top of you, the music’s playing do you guys want me to turn the lights down? Light a candle or something?”
You threw a pillow at him.
Larry dodged it “I can come back later. Like, waaay later.”
“You weren’t even supposed to come now,” Sal hissed, his voice muffled behind his hands.
Larry grinned. “I felt a disturbance in the force.”
You sat up and crossed your legs, trying to fix your hair and your dignity. “Hey Larry, how’s it going?.”
Larry raised his brows and backed toward the hallway with exaggerated steps. “I meet you once and you’re already over my man right here”
And then he was gone, disappearing down the hall with the sound of crinkling cookie packaging trailing behind him. Sal finally peeked up at you, his face still a little flushed. “…Im sorry about that.”
You smiled, brushing your hair back. “Im not too worried, He seems like a nice guy.”
Sal blinked, then laughed “I think I like having you around,” he murmured, almost too quiet to catch.
You grinned, nudging his knee with yours. “Then send me that damn playlist before I tackle you again.”
“…Not the worst threat I’ve heard,” he replied.
And the music played on.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆You sat criss cross on the grass with your cheerleader friends, your lunch mostly forgotten as you braided strands of your best friend’s hair while another girl animatedly recounted some drama from first period.
“…and then he said, ‘It’s not cheating if we were on a break!’” she shrieked, clutching her phone like it was sacred.
Everyone groaned, gasped, or fake fainted in synchronized horror.
You laughed, tossing a piece of grass in her direction. “He used the Friends defense? God, we need to start handing out red flags on flashcards.”
You were comfortable here. It was loud, messy, dramatic but it was yours. And they loved you because you weren’t just part of the cheer squad, or the new girl, but because you talked to the theater kids, the band nerds, the weird guy in the dinosaur hoodie. You didn’t care about cliques. You liked people. People were weird and interesting.
Eventually the bell rang and everyone stood, gathering their things in a flurry of hair and perfume.
“I’ll see you after school!” someone called. You waved, backing away toward the building with your backpack swinging behind you.
And that’s when you heard it. “Pick it up, you little freak. Or do you need your mommy to do it for you?”
You rounded the corner and froze. A smaller kid, maybe a freshman, was scrambling to pick up their books, hands shaking as a taller guy stood over him. Shaggy hair,, fists clenched like he wanted someone to look. A few papers blew past your feet. You didn’t step in. You knew better. You weren’t built like that couldn’t throw a punch or bark louder than a threat. And you knew the look of someone who’d use that.
But still… once the kid grabbed his stuff and scurried off like a spooked rabbit, you found your voice.
“Hey.”
The guy turned to you, annoyance etched into every line of his face. “What?”
You took a slow breath and tilted your head. “What’s your problem?”
He blinked, like you’d just asked him the square root of an existential crisis. “You wanna go?” he said, stepping toward you with all the bravado of someone who’d been fighting shadows his whole life.
You didn’t flinch. Just crossed your arms and stared. “You seriously pick fights with kids who can’t fight back? What, did your cereal bully you this morning?”
That got him. Just a flicker but it was there. A crack in the tough guy mask. He scoffed. “Don’t act like you know me.”
“I don’t,” you said honestly. “But I know whatever that was back there? Thats fucked, stop being a dick and maybe your mommy would do something about it.” His jaw flexed like he was holding back a hundred things he didn’t know how to say. “I’m not scared of you,” you added softly. “But you being a dick is pointless.”
He stared at you for a long time. Long enough that it should’ve felt uncomfortable. But instead, it felt… tense. Not dangerous. Just tight. Like something holding its breath.
Then, just before turning, he muttered, “Tch. Whatever.”
You watched him go, the anger in his steps still there but dulled, somehow. Like your words had wedged into the gears of whatever rage machine he operated on. You found out later from someone in gym class that his name was Travis. Just Travis. No one knew his last name, just that he was trouble, had a rep, and probably didn’t have many people who called him anything else.
Ash had seen it.
She’d been leaning against the side of the vending machines, chewing on the straw of her empty smoothie cup, eyes darting around the quad like they always did. She wasn’t looking for drama, not really, but if it stumbled into her path, she sure as hell wasn’t going to ignore it.
She watched the whole thing Travis towering, spitting venom, and you standing there, not brave enough to throw hands, but bold enough to ask why. Not backing down. Not even flinching.
When he walked off, still pissed but quieter somehow, she tossed her smoothie into the bin and strolled over like she wasn’t deliberately inserting herself.
“What was that?” she asked, casually, like she’d just seen you pet a lion.
You turned, slinging your backpack higher on your shoulder. “What was what?”
Ash raised a brow. “With Travis. You said something. He didn’t hit you. That’s basically a miracle.”
You shrugged, still feeling the adrenaline buzz in your ribs. “I don’t know. Just… couldn’t walk past it.”
Ash snorted. “People walk past him all the time. He’s an ass. A racist, sexist, homophobic caveman with fists for brains. Trust me, most people are glad to stay out of his way.”
You chewed your lip. “Yeah. I guess. I just. I don’t know. People who are assholes need someone to speak up.”
She tilted her head, considering that for a beat. “You ever get into fights?”
“God, no,” you said quickly. “I’d die.”
Ash smirked. “That checks out. Still, you didn’t run. Didn’t go fake sweet or start crying to a teacher. You just… confronted him. That was kind of bold of you new girl.”
“Thanks?” you offered, unsure.
She walked with you now, matching your steps as you made your way down the hall. It was quiet, the rush between lunch and next period tapering off.
Ash glanced sideways at you. “Y’know, I pegged you as another one of them.”
You didn’t need to ask who them was. You’d seen the way she looked at your cheer friends. Glitter and high ponies didn’t mix with combat boots and smudged eyeliner.
You smiled softly, still looking ahead. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”
She didn’t say anything for a second. Then: “Turns out you’ve got more bite than you let on.”
You turned to her, surprised. “You saying that like it’s a good thing.”
Ash shrugged. “Might be.”
That was it. No over explanation. No emotional dive into friendship territory. Just the Ashley Campbell version of a peace offering. She didn’t invite you to hang out or trade numbers. She didn’t ask personal questions or gush. But the next time she saw you in the hall, she nodded at you instead of looking through you.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ The bell had just rung, and the hallways were alive people yelling across rows of lockers, someone dropping a textbook with a dramatic slam, and the smell of cafeteria pizza already creeping in. You scanned the crowd like a bloodhound on a mission.
Sal Fisher. Quietly standing near the usual corner with Larry, Todd, and Ash. He had his hands in his pockets, head tilted as Todd went off about some new theory, probably ghosts or government tech. Ash was chewing on a straw and nodding vaguely, while Larry interrupted every other word with “Nah, but listen what if?”
You didn’t even think twice.
“Hey!” you called, bounding over like a cartoon character with too much energy and absolutely no sense of personal space. “There you are, Blue.”
Sal looked up right as you reached him. “Blue?”
“You’re wearing blue,” you said, pointing at him. “And your hair’s blue. You’re very committed to the aesthetic.”
He tilted his head. “I wear black more than anything.”
“Technicalities,” you said, grabbing his sleeve. “Come on. We’re doing something.”
Larry raised a brow. “Is this a kidnapping?”
“Definitely,” Ash answered flatly.
“Wait, what are we doing?” Sal asked, laughing under his breath as you pulled him gently away from the group. “Do I get a say in this?”
“You get to walk or be dragged, your call.”
“That doesn’t feel like much of a choice,” he muttered, but he let you lead him anyway.
“Where are you taking him this time?” Todd called out with actual concern.
“To the moon,” you replied without turning around. “Or maybe just the vending machines. We’ll see.”
Ash cupped her hands around her mouth. “Bring him back in one piece!”
Larry shouted after, “AND IF HE COMES BACK MARRIED IM ATTACKING YOU FOR NOT LETTING ME BE BEST MAN!”
You groaned and shot them a look over your shoulder. “Y’all are so dramatic.”
“We’re dramatic?” Ash asked, gesturing wildly. “You swooped in like a caffeinated falcon and stole our boy mid convo!”
Sal laughed beside you, his eyes squinting just slightly with amusement behind the mask. “You kinda did.”
“Okay, but be honest,” you said, bumping your shoulder into his. “You weren’t even really paying attention to Larry’s alien rant.”
“…It was about space cats this time.”
“See? I’m rescuing you.”
He chuckled again, a little softer this time. “Then thanks, I guess. You know, I’ve started looking forward to these.”
You slowed your pace, peeking at him from the side. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, a bit bashful now. “You’re crazy and I am definitely living for it.”
Your smile tugged wider, warmth blooming in your chest. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“You need better friends,” he teased.
“I have you,” you shot back.
And that quiet moment hung between you both for just a second comfortable, kind of sweet, a little electric.
Back at the hallway corner, the trio watched you both disappear down the hall. Ash crossed her arms, a curious look on her face. “Im glad to have found out she’s not just some glitter clone.”
“Nope,” Larry agreed. “She’s cool. Like, actually so cool.”
Todd smiled faintly. “And Sal likes her. That much is obvious.”
Ash gave a small nod, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “Yeah. He really does.” for once, none of them said anything snarky.
⋆˚✿˖° ❝𝗜𝘁 𝗙𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗱𝗲𝗱❞ ⋆˚✿˖°
YOU ARE A COUGAR
────୨ৎ────
Geto Suguru X Reader
Gojo Satoru X Reader
────୨ৎ────
₍^. .^₎⟆ Synopsis: In a world of curses and power struggles take center stage, you’ve always kept to the simple aspects of life. Focussing on your studies, your friendships and life in the dorms. Though everything changes when Geto challenges Gojo that he can’t win your heart and what happens when Geto realizes that Gojo needs to lose.
MASTERLIST
has it been a while since I updated this series? since getting back to canada from the philippines, being a responsible adult and working all the time means i only had time to post my little one shots. BUT I HAVE A FEW CHAPTERS ALREADY WRITTEN IM TRYING
₍^. .^₎⟆ The four of you stood in front of Principal Yaga’s desk, waiting for what was clearly going to be a Very Important Mission. Shoko looked like she was three seconds from falling asleep. Geto had his arms crossed, already preparing himself for whatever was about to come. You just stood there, waiting patiently. Gojo, on the other hand, was leaning back, hands in his pockets, already looking bored. “When was the last time we had a mission with all 4 of us? He knows if im here it doesn’t really matter ”
Yaga exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple like he was already losing braincells with having you all here. Then, with a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and spoke. “Your next assignment is training with the second and first years.”
“…That’s it?” you asked.
“That’s it,” Yaga confirmed.
Gojo blinked, then recoiled like he had just been physically assaulted by the information. “Training with the kids?!”
“Yes,” Yaga said, voice flat.
Gojo turned to Geto, grabbing his shoulders. “We’ve been set up.”
Geto sighed. “It does feel that way.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Gojo turned back to Yaga, waving his hands. “Why do we have to do this? We’re third years! Why are we suddenly getting stuck with mentor duty?”
Yaga crossed his arms. “Because you four have more experience, and they could benefit from learning from you.”
Shoko yawned. “Sounds fake, but okay.”
You tilted your head. “Wait… who exactly are we training with?”
“Nanami Kento and Haibara Yu.” Gojo groaned so loudly it echoed. “NOOOO?!”
“You wouldn’t know them,” Geto said looking towards you. “You’re always running off to other countries.”
Gojo threw his hands up. “Exactly! So why are we getting stuck with this?”
“Wouldnt that be a better reason? For Y/n to know more of the sorcerers?” Yaga deadpanned.
You crossed your arms. “I mean, how bad could it be?”
Gojo turned to you so fast it was a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash. “How bad could it be?!” He grabbed your shoulders, shaking you lightly. “You don’t understand! You weren’t here when we had to deal with Mei Mei treating us like free labor! You weren’t here when Utahime existed in front of us for five hours straight! We’ve been through too much!”
You blinked. “…It’s literally just training and we are the one that are in charge.”
“That’s what they want you to think!” Gojo hissed.
Yaga sighed, rubbing his temple. “Go now. Before I make you babysit panda.”
Geto grimaced. “Ugh. Let’s just get this over with.”
Gojo whined all the way out the door. “This is so unfair.”
Shoko started leaning on gojo and muttered, “We’re already suffering.”
You just shrugged. “Still don’t get what the big deal is.”
Gojo pointed at you, eyes wide. “You will.”
As the four of you walked away from Yaga’s office, Gojo was still pouting, muttering to himself. “This is so unfair,” he repeated, dramatically flicking his hair out of his eyes as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Honestly, how much can we possibly do with those second and first years?” Geto mumbled, clearly irritated but not as loud about it as Gojo.
You shrugged. “I still don’t see the big deal. We’ve all trained as underclassmen before.”
“It’s different when it’s you four!” Gojo whined, flailing his arms. “Do you know how many people would kill for a mission this week? And what do we get? Babysitting wit our other option ALSO being babysitting!”
Shoko, still unfazed,. “We’re not actually babysitting. You’re just dramatic.”
Gojo threw up his hands. “I’ll show you dramatic when I’m stuck with them! You know how I work, I need to be doing something, not sitting around listening to people talk about how to punch a curse!”
You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t help but smile. You were used to Gojo’s over the top complaints. Then, suddenly, Gojo stopped in his tracks and looked at you with wide eyes. “Wait.”
You raised an eyebrow. “What?”
He grinned mischievously, like a lightbulb had gone off in his head. “You!”
“…Me?” you asked, confused.
“Yes, you!” Gojo pointed at you, nearly poking your nose in the process. “You’ve got that magical power of yours, your insane ability to always be on missions! Maybe you can finally get us something good while we’re stuck playing teacher’s pet with the underclassmen!”
You blinked. “You do know I don’t have magical powers, right? Also gojo… do you have something wrong in the head? we’re literally walking there”
“Sure you do! It’s like the luck of the draw or something! You’re always out of the loop when it comes to stuff like this because you’re always on a mission or off somewhere else! That’s your power! You’re the best at missing things!” completely ignoring what you said.
“I don’t miss things on purpose…”
He ignored you completely, grabbing your arm. “You have to get a mission! I’m begging you. Please. Do whatever you have to do. I can’t be stuck with Nanami and Haibara for an entire week!”
You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at how frantic he was. “You’re really asking me to use my ‘powers’ to help you skip out of training with our underclassmen?”
“Yes!” Gojo practically fell to his knees in front of you, hands clasped together like he was praying. “Please, put me in your bag! Take me with you! I’ll do anything! I’ll even”
“No,” you interrupted, laughing harder. “I’m not dragging you around in a bag just to escape training. It’s not going to happen.”
Gojo groaned and flopped on the ground dramatically. “This is the worst.”
Geto rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you two.”
Shoko just shook her head, exhaling smoke. “At least we can relax while they’re busy with the first years. You’ll be fine.”
Gojo lay on the floor with his arms splayed out. “I’ll never be fine again.”
₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆
The girls’ locker room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the overhead lights. You had just finished changing into your towel when it hit you you forgot your gym clothes.
“Seriously?!” you groaned, facepalming in frustration.
You quickly scanned the locker room, hoping to find something, anything, that could help. No luck. All your clothes were neatly folded in your bag, but… no workout gear. Shaking your head, you cursed under your breath. “Great. Just great. I’m going to look like a total mess today.”
But then, you remembered: Gojo. You knew the men’s locker room was just down the hall, and Gojo always kept a spare set of clothes for emergencies like this. Sure, you weren’t supposed to be in the men’s locker room, but he was your best friend. You’d shared stuff since you were kids, this was nothing new. Without hesitation, you marched over to the door to the men’s locker room. You knocked loudly, pounding your fist on the wood like your life depended on it. “Gojo!” you yelled, voice echoing through the hallway. “Gojo! You in there? I need your spare workout clothes!”
You waited a beat. Nothing. You knocked harder, this time adding a few choice words for emphasis. “Gojo! Are you seriously going to leave me stranded here? Come on, I’m not asking for much! Just some spare clothes!”
Still no response. You leaned your forehead against the door, muttering to yourself. “He better not be napping in there or I swear”
BANG! You gave the door one last solid knock, pushing all your frustration into it. “GOJO!!!”
Finally, the door creaked open just enough to reveal a disheveled Gojo, still half dressed in his gym gear, “What?!” he groaned, clearly not thrilled with the interruption.
“Don’t give me that look!” you shot back. “I need your spare clothes. You’re the only one who comes prepared for this kind of stuff.”
Gojo sighed dramatically and ran a hand through his hair. “you crazy lady why am I the prepared one,” he grumbled, pulling a pair of athletic shorts and a plain shirt from his bag. “If it were anyone else, I’d say no. You’ve got some nerve showing up at my door like this.”
You smiled at him sweetly. “You do this for me.”
“Don’t get cocky.” Gojo handed over the clothes with an exaggerated flourish. “Here. Don’t mess them up, okay?”
You raised an eyebrow. “I’m not the one who would be messing up your stuff.”
Gojo leaned against the doorframe, looking far too pleased with himself. “Just remember, I’m a generous guy. And you owe me one now.”
“Oh, please,” you muttered, taking the clothes from him. “Like I’d ever forget you gave me your old stuff.”
Gojo grinned smugly, hands on his hips. “Exactly. You’ll remember this every time you put them on. Now go change and don’t take forever. We’ve got training to do.”
Rolling your eyes, you turned and made your way back to the girls’ locker room, a sense of relief washing over you as you got ready to train. You didn’t even mind that Gojo always seemed to find a way to be both annoying and helpful at the same time. It was just so him.
Though on the Inside the men’s locker room during your knocking crusade, the usual pre training bustle was happening. Gojo and Geto were leaning against lockers, talking about a really annoying bug called utahime. Haibara was rummaging through his bag, searching for his gym shoes, while Nanami stood at the mirror looking at himself.
Gojo, as always, was the first to notice anything out of the ordinary. He smirked and leaned back, eyes hidden behind his blindfold. “You hear that?” he asked, half smiling.
“Knocking?” Geto murmured, looking up from his phone with a raised eyebrow. He wasn’t nearly as fazed by the interruption as Gojo, but he was intrigued nonetheless.
Haibara, hearing the louder than usual knocking, looked over his shoulder. “Is someone outside? Should we check?”
Gojo tilted his head, pretending to consider it before giving a dismissive wave. “Nah, it’s probably nothing. Maybe some cursed spirit knocked on the wrong door. If it were a real emergency, they’d just barge in, right?” Geto rolled his eyes but didn’t look away from his phone. “If someone’s knocking on that door this loudly, it’s definitely not just a mistake.”
The knocking grew more persistent, and then a familiar voice echoed through the room, sending a shiver of realization through everyone. “Gojo! Are you in there? I need your spare workout clothes!”
There was a moment of stunned silence. “Wait a second ” Gojo’s smile widened, a mischievous glint flashing behind his blindfold. “That voice…”
“She’s seriously knocking on the men’s locker room?” Haibara asked, blinking in confusion. He knew you well enough from your shared missions but never thought he’d be hearing you demand clothes from Gojo in such an… unusual way.
“It’s just her,” Gojo said, still grinning. “give me a moment”
Nanami, who had been silently adjusting his uniform, frowned. “hmmm.” He glanced between Haibara and Geto. “Should we do something about it?”
Geto just shrugged, clearly more used to Gojo’s antics by now. “Nah. She’s been doing this kind of thing for years. She and Gojo have no boundaries.”
Haibara snickered under his breath. “I didn’t realize that was a thing…”
Gojo let out a loud sigh as the knocking continued, growing more desperate now. “Gojo!!! I need your spare clothes!”
Haibara couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst out laughing. “Does this happen often?”
Geto raised an eyebrow, his face a picture of nonchalance. “More times than you’d think.”
Nanami sighed, crossing his arms. “She really knows how to make an entrance.”
Gojo, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying himself. “This is gonna be great,” he said, turning to Geto. “You know she’s going to make a scene when she comes in.”
“Yeah, I’m sure we’ll hear all about it during training,” Geto replied dryly, finally setting his phone aside and preparing to grab his gear. “We’ll just pretend we didn’t hear her until she comes storming in here to yell at you, huh?”
Haibara, still laughing, looked between the others. “I feel like I’m missing something here. Why does she keep coming to you?”
“Because,” Gojo said, crossing his arms and grinning widely, “we’ve been best friends forever, and she knows I’ve always got her back. And extra clothes, apparently.”
“Of course, you do,” Geto muttered, knowing full well how often Gojo would come to the rescue with something random, like extra gym clothes.
As the knock echoed one last time, Gojo walked over to the door, his grin widening. “I’ll be right back, boys. Gotta go save the day again.”
With that, Gojo opened the door just enough to pass the clothes through. On the other side, you stood there, looking far too confident, hands on your hips.
“Finally,” you said, clearly relieved.
The guys inside the locker room shared a look. Haibara raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the casual intimacy you and Gojo shared, while Nanami just rolled his eyes, still more focused on his gear.
Gojo handed you the clothes with a flourish, his grin teasing. “There you go. All set, bestie.”
Haibara couldn’t help but laugh, glancing at Nanami. “I think I get it now. It’s like a lifelong partnership or something.”
“Ugh, don’t even start with me,” Nanami muttered, clearly unimpressed by the antics. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand them.”
Gojo, still grinning, turned back to face them. “You’ll get used to it. We’re just that special.”
You strolled in, looking like you were swimming in Gojo’s oversized clothes. The bright white shirt, two sizes too large, hung loosely around your frame, and the athletic shorts were practically falling off, held up only by the drawstring. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up, but still, they almost reached your elbows, and the whole ensemble looked like it could swallow you whole. You had clearly taken Gojo’s extra clothes without a second thought.
The silence lingered for a moment before Geto was the first to break it, raising an eyebrow. “Did you really have to wear that?” he asked, unable to suppress a smirk.
You grinned at him, completely unfazed by the attention. “What? It’s not like I had any other option. Gojo said it’s his ‘emergency backup’ set. his stuff is basically my stuff so it doesnt matter now” You tugged at the fabric, making it bunch up around your waist in a way that could only be described as absurd.
Haibara blinked, completely taken aback by the sight. “Whoa. I didn’t know Gojo’s clothes were that… big.” He stifled a laugh, clearly impressed with your choice of fashions.
Shoko snorted from her spot on the sideline, rolling her eyes as she leaned back. “You look ridiculous.” Her voice was lazy, but you could tell she was trying not to laugh. “But Gojo’s clothes being your option is so stupid, you could’ve just come get me”
“Shut up,” you said, still grinning. “It’s too late now… I’m rolling with it. Besides, Gojo’s just mad because I look better in his clothes than he does.”
“Hey, I’m right here!” Gojo called out from the corner, where he had been stretching. He had a huge grin plastered on his face, though, clearly entertained by the sight of you swaying around in his oversized gear. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not a part of this!”
You turned to face him, hands on your hips, still unapologetically drowning in his clothes. “Well, if you didn’t have such giant clothes lying around, I wouldn’t have to make do with your fancy leftovers.”
Shoko chuckled, her gaze sliding from you to Gojo. “The best part is that he doesn’t mind you wearing his stuff at all. Can you imagine if anyone else tried it? Gojo would probably lose it.”
Gojo just shrugged, a playful smirk on his face as he approached you. “I’m a generous guy. Plus, I have to make sure my best friend is always prepared, right?” He placed a hand on your shoulder, the sleeve of his shirt hanging off his arm in a dramatic way, almost like he was trying to own the moment.
Geto, clearly amused, raised his hands. “Alright, alright, no need to show off. We get it, Gojo. You’re a walking charity case for your best friend.”
“Exactly!” Gojo said, his grin turning teasing. “I’m just too kind for my own good.”
You shot him a playful look. “And I’m way too cute for my own good.”
Haibara laughed, his energy returning as he clapped his hands together.
You rolled your eyes, but the smile never left your face. “Okay, okay. I’m done here.” You threw a quick wink at Gojo before turning toward the training mats. “Let’s get to it before Gojo finds any more of his ‘emergency backups’ for me to wear.”
As you walked toward the center of the training ground, you could hear Gojo calling out to you. “I’m serious! You do look better in them!”
Geto, shaking his head with an amused smile, looked at Shoko. “I think we’re going to be hearing about this for a while.”
“Yeah,” Shoko replied with a lazy grin. “I’ll bet five yen that Gojo’s gonna ask for his clothes back before the day ends.”
“only 5?”
You could hear Gojo’s dramatic sigh from across the field. “I can’t believe you don’t think I look amazing in those clothes,” he shouted, and you couldn’t help but laugh.
It was definitely going to be a long day. Your gaze shifted to the two unfamiliar faces standing across from you Nanami and Haibara. It was clear they were second and first years, respectively, though they carried themselves with maturity and confidence.
Gojo, as always, was casually leaning against a nearby post, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He’d somehow convinced you to show up in his clothes, and now he was basking in the aftermath of his “success.”
“You’re all probably wondering who the new guys are,” Gojo said, interrupting the silence as he gestured lazily toward Nanami and Haibara. “Well, let me introduce you. This is Nanami Kento, secondyear extraordinaire. And this is Haibara, my fun loving first year protege.”
You turned to face them fully, giving them both a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you both! I’m Y/n” You started,
Nanami gave a polite, composed nod. “I’ve heard of you. It’s an honor to work with someone as experienced as you.” His tone was calm and respectful, and you appreciated the sincerity in his voice.
Haibara, on the other hand, gave a bright grin and waved a bit awkwardly, clearly the more approachable of the two. “I’m Haibara! It’s awesome to meet you! I’ve heard all kinds of stories about your missions!” He seemed excited to be working with someone more seasoned.
You chuckled, brushing your hair back with one hand. “Stories, huh? Well, I wouldn’t say I’m that special more like I’m just always on the move for missions.”
You took a step closer to Nanami and Haibara, giving them both an appraising look. “But I’ve got to say, you two are way nicer than Gojo made you sound,” you added with a smirk, casting a sideeye at your best friend who was still standing off to the side, acting like he owned the whole training field.
Gojo made an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest. “Ouch, that hurts! I’m so nice, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He grinned wide, clearly trying to downplay the jab.
Haibara laughed softly at the exchange, clearly amused by the dynamic between you and Gojo. “Yeah, he makes everything sound way more dramatic than it needs to be,” he said, giving Gojo a playful look. “I mean, come on nice is an understatement when it comes to you.”
You nodded in agreement, crossing your arms with a smirk. “Exactly. Look at this guy,” you said, gesturing to Gojo. “He acts like he’s the only one who can be ‘fun,’ but honestly, I think you two are way easier to talk to.” You directed the compliment toward Nanami and Haibara.
Nanami gave a small, almost imperceptible smile, his usual stoic demeanor softening just a little. “I suppose we have our own way of approaching things. We prefer to focus on the task at hand.”
“Yeah,” Haibara chimed in enthusiastically, “but we’re still here to have fun! I think I’ll like working with you.”
You raised an eyebrow, impressed by their reactions. “I think I might too,” you said. “You’re both way less dramatic than Gojo it’s refreshing.”
Gojo, ever the dramatic one, threw his arms in the air. “Why does everyone gang up on me? I’m such a good person!” His voice was full of mock offense, though it was clear he was enjoying the attention.
“Maybe we’ll see how good you are once we start training,” you teased, turning back to Nanami and Haibara. “But seriously, it’s nice to meet you two. I’ve been out of the loop with missions, so I don’t get to interact with many of the underclassmen.”
“We’ll make sure you don’t regret it,” Haibara said with a wink. “And hey, maybe you’ll teach me a few things?”
You chuckled. “I’m sure I’ll learn a lot from you two as well. Though, I warn you, Gojo’s the one with all the dramatic stories, not me.”
Gojo crossed his arms, feigning a pout. “Hey, I’m allowed to be dramatic! It’s part of my charm!”
You rolled your eyes at his antics, earning a small laugh from Haibara and even a slight smile from Nanami.
“Well,” you continued, turning back to Nanami and Haibara, “looks like we’ve got a good team. No drama just pure talent.”
Geto, who had been quiet for most of the exchange, looked between you and Gojo before smirking. “You know,” he said, “if you keep defending Gojo like that, you’re going to make him insufferable.”
Gojo immediately grinned and winked at you. “See? They get me.”
You just shook your head. “I’ll stick with you guys, as long as Gojo doesn’t start talking too much.”
Gojo gasped. “I’ll take that as a compliment, but I’m not sure if you’re actually joking!”
Laughing, you turned to Nanami and Haibara. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. But, seriously, it’s great to finally meet you both in person.”
It was clear that Gojo and Geto were in their usual mood mischievous, but with a hint of cruelty. You had seen this before, especially when they started ganging up on someone, and you could tell that Nanami was in for it. He was a bit too serious for their liking, and you both knew how much they enjoyed poking fun at anyone who didn’t quite fit their mold.
Gojo was the first to break the silence, his grin wide and devilish. He took a slow step toward Nanami, sizing him up with an exaggerated scrutinizing gaze. “So, Nanami, you really think you can handle this, huh? I hope you’ve been training hard, ’cause I don’t go easy on anyone.” He clicked his tongue and raised an eyebrow, feigning disappointment. “I mean, I guess you’re okay for a secondyear, but we both know you can barely keep up with me.”
Nanami, who had been standing calmly with his arms crossed, gave Gojo a cool stare. “I’m not worried,” he replied, his tone neutral but firm. He wasn’t one to back down easily, and that only seemed to fuel Gojo’s amusement further.
Geto leaned in from the side with a knowing smirk, folding his arms across his chest. “You know, Gojo, Nanami might be too uptight for this field. His whole ‘serious’ vibe isn’t exactly the best for fighting. I mean, I can already see you wiping the floor with him, but maybe we should make this fun.” His eyes flickered with mischief, and he made no effort to hide the fact that he was provoking Nanami.
You could already tell they were about to turn this into something personal. Gojo and Geto had a way of driving people insane with their teasing, pushing buttons until it was almost unbearable.
Gojo snickered, tilting his head to the side. “I gotta admit, though, Nanami, it’s pretty cute that you think you can hang with us.” He looked over to you, his grin widening. “Don’t you think so, Y/n? You’ve seen this before. Nanami’s so stiff. I mean, if I wanted someone to train in perfect posture, he’s the guy, but in a fight? Not so much.” He made an exaggerated motion with his arms to show how rigid Nanami seemed.
Geto let out a low laugh, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe we should give him a proper warmup before he gets embarrassed in front of everyone.” His eyes glinted with something darker, something that said he wasn’t going to stop unless someone intervened.
You stepped forward, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, knock it off. You two are really pushing it today. You know Nanami can hold his own.” You threw a protective arm around Nanami’s shoulders, trying to shield him from the escalating teasing.
But Gojo wasn’t having it. “Come on, Y/n. You really think he can handle me?” His voice was loud and dramatic, clearly trying to get a rise out of both you and Nanami. “You know, you are a secondyear, Nanami, but you’ve got a lot to learn. A lot.”
He moved closer, standing right in front of Nanami now. “Maybe you should take notes. I mean, look at me. I’m basically the perfect fighter. And you” Gojo poked Nanami’s chest in mock sympathy, “you’re just… well, Nanami. Not quite as impressive, huh?”
Geto chimed in, his tone more biting now. “Yeah, Nanami, maybe you should just stand to the side and watch. It’ll be safer for you, trust me.” He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “We wouldn’t want you to get too bruised up by the time this is over.”
Nanami’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly. You could tell the teasing was getting under his skin, even if he was trying to hold it together.
You stepped in front of Nanami, this time making sure to get in Gojo and Geto’s faces. “Enough,” you said, your voice firm. “You’re crossing a line.” You were trying to keep things light, but it was becoming obvious that they were being needlessly cruel now.
Gojo clicked his tongue, clearly not used to anyone standing up to him like this. “What’s the matter, Y/n? He’s a secondyear; this is just how we help people grow. You know that, right?” His eyes sparkled with his usual playful glint, but there was an edge to it now.
Geto smirked, pushing his hair back with one hand. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want Nanami to get soft, would we? It’s for his own good, really.”
You felt your irritation building. “You’re not ‘helping’ him. You’re just being assholes.” You turned to Nanami, giving him a small nod of support. “Don’t let them get to you. They like to joke around, but they’ll cross the line if no one stops them.”
Nanami let out a deep breath, seemingly unfazed. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.” But his clenched jaw told you it wasn’t that fine. You could see he was about to snap, and that was exactly what Gojo and Geto wanted to see just how much they could get under his skin.
Before anything else could escalate, you moved in closer, putting a hand on Gojo’s shoulder and giving him a playful but firm shove. “Cut it out, Gojo. You’re not funny anymore. And Geto” You shot a glare at him, “You’re no better.”
Gojo sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine, we’ll be nice. I guess we can’t have any fun around here, huh?” He shot Nanami a wink, his teasing not quite done but pulled back just enough.
“You know, Y/n,” Geto drawled as he leaned back, “You really are soft when it comes to your friends. I didn’t realize you were such a defender.”
You glared at both of them, turning back to Nanami with a more gentle smile. “Ignore them, Nanami. You’re way better than they give you credit for.”
Nanami gave you a halfsmile, clearly grateful for the support. “Thanks. And I can handle them. I’ve seen worse than these two.”
You nodded, but you knew that Gojo and Geto had left their mark, and that meant you’d have to step in even more if they kept going down this path. But for now, it was over at least until they decided to start again.
“Alright, enough talk,” Gojo finally said with a teasing grin. “Let’s get to training. Nanami, I’ll go easy on you maybe.”
“Maybe?” You said, a hint of sarcasm in your tone. “Go easy on him? That’s rich, coming from you.” You looked at Nanami. “He’s full of it, you know.”
Shoko, still lounging around lazily on the sidelines, yelled out, “You’re all too dramatic. Just spar already!”
With the pressure momentarily off Nanami, everyone shuffled into place to start the sparring. The air had a lighter tone, though you knew Gojo and Geto wouldn’t let up entirely. But at least for now, Nanami had you backing him up, and that was enough to keep them in check. you decided it was safer (and more productive) to spar with Shoko.
Lazy as she was, she was no slouch when it came to combat. The moment you threw a strike, she blocked it effortlessly, twisting her body with a smoothness that made it clear she wasn’t just relying on her reversed cursed technique to stay relevant. You had to admit, for someone who complained about effort, she sure knew how to handle herself.
“Damn, Shoko,” you whistled as she sidestepped another attack. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you actually like training.”
She rolled her eyes, exhaling through her nose. “I don’t. But I also don’t like getting my ribs shattered on missions, so here we are.”
You laughed, stepping back before lunging at her again. “That’s a good point. But, you know” You grinned, pivoting midswing to test her reflexes. She blocked it easily, her movements as fluid as ever. “We don’t have to be those doomed yuri tropes.”
Shoko blinked at you, unimpressed, before immediately twisting your arm behind your back and shoving you forward.
“Ah Shoko, please, my pride”
“You’re the one who started flirting midspar,” she deadpanned, finally releasing you with a lazy shove.
Rubbing your wrist dramatically, you turned to her with a smirk. “Can you blame me? You’re cool, capable”
She sighed, shaking her head. “Don’t start. You already have too many love interests.”
You paused, tilting your head. “What?”
Shoko waved a hand vaguely, as if dismissing the entire concept. “In another universe, maybe you’d actually focus on me and the female gender instead of collecting admirers like a shonen protagonist.”
You narrowed your eyes at her. “…What?”
“Nothing.” She yawned, stretching her arms above her head before shooting you a side glance. “Just saying, if you ever wake up one day and decide men are too exhausting, I’m available.”
Your grin widened. “Noted.”
Before the conversation could go any further, a loud thud interrupted you Gojo had just sent Nanami sprawling across the ground, laughing like a maniac. You both sighed in unison.
“…Do we help him?” you asked.
Shoko rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Let’s give him a minute. Maybe he’ll start fighting back and finally shut Gojo up.”
Unlikely, but it was a nice thought.
₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆After parting ways with Nanami and Haibara, the four of you walked back toward the school. It was unusually quiet too quiet. Normally, Gojo would be running his mouth, filling the air with nonsense, but instead, he just sulked beside you, arms crossed, sunglasses slightly crooked like he was deep in thought over something profoundly lifealtering. Whatever. You stretched, feeling the soreness from sparring with Shoko settling into your muscles. “Man…” you sighed. “Nanami has a really attractive face.”
Dead silence.
“COUGAR!” Gojo practically shrieked, spinning toward you with such force that his sunglasses nearly flew off his face. Geto stopped walking altogether, staring at you like you had just committed the ultimate betrayal. Shoko, who had been lazily walking beside you, hummed in amusement but said nothing, clearly just waiting to see where this went.
You blinked. “What?”
“A COUGAR!” Gojo repeated, pointing at you like you were some sort of criminal. “You’re a whole thirdyear and you’re out here checking out a secondyear?! This is a scandal! A DISGRACE! I’m gonna have to tell Yaga that you’re out here preying on underclassmen”
“Oh my god, shut up,” you groaned, shoving his face away. “He’s, like, one year younger than us. I just said he has a nice face. That’s an objective fact.”
“No, no, no,” Gojo shook his head wildly, grabbing Geto’s shoulders for support like he was about to collapse from shock. “Suguru, are you hearing this? Is this real? Is this real life?”
Geto, who had been staring at you like he was still trying to process what you had said, exhaled heavily. “Yeah, I gotta admit, I didn’t think you were capable of acknowledging anyone was attractive.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” Gojo pointed aggressively. “All these years, and Y/n’s never once said anything about me… uh, us! And suddenly, Nanami’s stupid, serious face is worth talking about?”
“His emo blonde hair is kinda nice,” you added, just to get under their skin.
Gojo let out a fullbody gasp, stumbling backward like you had physically struck him. “THE AUDACITY!”
Geto crossed his arms, now fully invested in slandering you. “You’re really out here thirsting over underclassmen, huh? That’s crazy.”
“I didn’t say I was thirsting, I said he has a nice face,” you defended.
“Oh, no, no, no” Gojo wagged a finger at you, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You can’t take it back now. You said it. Out loud. With your mouth. In front of witnesses.”
“Witnesses?” you repeated, deadpan.
“Yes. Three witnesses, in fact,” Geto added, smirking.
“And Y/n, be honest with us,” Gojo said, stepping uncomfortably close. “Was it just his face? Or was it also that cold, brooding, businessmaninthemaking energy? You like ‘em serious, don’t you?”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please, I’ve known you my whole life, and you’re the exact opposite of serious.”
“Exactly!” Gojo threw his arms up. “Yet somehow, Nanami is getting all the love?! I’m beautiful!”
“Yeah, and I’m charming,” Geto added, flicking his hair back. “Yet somehow, you’ve never once looked at us and said anything like that. And then along comes little Nanami Kento with his serious face and his ‘I hate working overtime’ attitude, and suddenly, you’re interested?”
“You two are being so dramatic right now,” you groaned.
“We’re heartbroken, Y/n,” Geto sighed. “Absolutely devastated.”
“Tragic, even,” Gojo agreed.
“Completely betrayed.”
“Oh my god,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “For the last time, I just said he was attractive. That’s literally it. Do you two want me to start commenting on how nice your faces are? Would that make you feel better?”
Gojo and Geto immediately stopped talking. They exchanged glances. Looked at you. Then at each other again. And in unison
“…Maybe.”
You groaned. “Unbelievable.”
Shoko, who had been silently observing the mess unfold, finally leaned over, her voice barely above a whisper. “Y/n, you’re getting so many love interests.”
You shot her a look. “Don’t start.”
She smirked, lighting a cigarette. “I’m just saying. Another universe, maybe you go for me instead. it’ll make tour life easier”
Gojo made another strangled noise, and Geto clutched his chest dramatically like he was about to faint. You, fully regretting everything, walked ahead. This was never going to end.
₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆₍^. .^₎⟆
Gojo’s room was honestly not too horrible today. Clothes were thrown over his desk chair, an empty cup of instant ramen sat on the floor, and at least three pairs of sunglasses were scattered in random places. The sheer mess of it was something you had long since stopped questioning. You sat crosslegged on his bed, phone in hand, lazily scrolling as you replied to a text. Gojo, on the other hand, was lying upside down on the floor, feet propped up against the wall, a lollipop in his mouth as he tossed a ball up and down.
It was peaceful.
“Who are you texting?”
You barely glanced up. “Nanami.” The sound of the ball hitting the floor was immediate.
“WHAT.” Before you could react, Gojo launched himself onto the bed, nearly knocking the phone out of your hands.
“HEY!” you yelped, holding your phone out of reach.
“You’re texting Nanami?!” Gojo shrieked, eyes wide with betrayal.
“Yes?” You raised a brow. “Why are you acting like I committed a war crime?”
Gojo dramatically flopped onto the bed beside you. “Oh my god, Y/n. When did this happen? When did you two become texting buddies?!”
“Literally today.”
“AND YOU DIDN’T THINK TO CONSULT ME?” He rolled onto his stomach, staring at you like you’d personally destroyed his worldview. “What could you possibly have to text Nanami about?”
“Books,” you replied simply.
Gojo stared at you for a long moment. “Books,” he repeated.
“Yes.” “That’s it?” “Yeah.”
He groaned, flopping facedown into the mattress. “You’re so boring.”
“You asked.”
Gojo turned his head dramatically. “Wait. Wait. Hold on.” His sunglasses had slipped down his nose, blue eyes squinting at you. “Are you… flirting?”
You blinked. “I just said we’re talking about books.” “But are you flirttexting about books?”
You stared at him. “What does that even mean?”
“You know, like ‘Oh Nanami, I simply adore the way you analyze classic literature~’” Gojo put on a terrible impression of you, complete with dramatic hand gestures.
You smacked his arm. “Shut up.”
“Oh my god.” Gojo sat up, eyes wide. “You like him. You think he’s hot.”
“I literally already said he has an attractive face,” you deadpanned.
“But that was in the moment!” Gojo gestured wildly. “Now you’re thinking about him. Texting him. This is a whole new level!”
You rolled your eyes, shoving your phone in your pocket. “You’re so dramatic.”
Gojo grabbed his chest like you’d just stabbed him. “I just never thought I’d see the day,” he gasped. “My best friend, my precious best friend, betraying me like this.”
“Oh my god, get a grip.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” He collapsed backward onto the bed. “Go on, text your boyfriend. I’ll just sit here. Alone. Forgotten.”
You stared down at him before shoving a pillow over his face. Gojo immediately started flailing. “HELP! I’M BEING ATTACKED BY A TRAITOR!”
You groaned, shoving him off the bed. “If I knew texting Nanami would get this reaction, I would’ve done it sooner.”
Gojo, lying facedown on the floor, groaned. “I hate you.”
You pulled your phone out again “Nanami’s way more pleasant than you, anyway.”
Gojo screeched. This was never going to end. Gojo groaned dramatically from the floor, limbs sprawled like he’d just been hit by a truck. “I cannot believe this. My best friend, my one and only, has been stolen from me by a second year emo.”
You rolled your eyes, scrolling through your phone. “calm down big guy.”
Gojo peeked up at you, then, with zero warning, launched himself back onto the bed, flopping down beside you. The mattress bounced under his weight, and he made no effort to respect personal space, lying close enough that his shoulder pressed into yours. “I’m being serious,” he whined, dramatically resting his head on your shoulder. “What does Nanami have that I don’t?”
“Selfrestraint,” you said without missing a beat. Gojo gasped. “Excuse me?” He lifted his head to squint at you, affronted. “I have so much selfrestraint.”
“You just threw yourself onto me because I texted someone.”
“Okay, but that’s different,” he huffed, rolling onto his side to face you. “You never text people first.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “Name one person.”
“…Shoko.”
“Shoko doesn’t count. She texts you first.”
“…Geto?”
Gojo scoffed. “You text him, like, twice a week.”
“That’s still texting someone.”
He groaned, rolling onto his back and dramatically covering his face. “Ugh, whatever. I just think it’s suspicious that the first person you suddenly feel like texting is Nanami.”
“You’re just mad I called him attractive.”
“Because you never call people attractive!” He flailed a hand in the air. “You refuse to acknowledge anyone’s hotness! Then suddenly, you meet Nanami, and it’s all ‘Oh, what a nice face he has~’”
“I don’t sound like that.”
“That’s exactly how you sound.”
You let out a sigh, tilting your head toward him. “Okay, would it make you feel better if I said you were attractive?” Gojo immediately sat up, looking down at you with an unreadable expression.
You blinked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m just processing,” he said flatly.
“…Processing what?”
“That was the first time you’ve ever complimented my looks.”
You frowned. “That’s not true.”
“It is true,” he deadpanned. “I compliment you all the time. I tell you you’re pretty, I hype you up”
“And you sound insufferable every time,” you cut in.
“and I get nothing in return,” he continued as if you hadn’t spoken.
“Meanwhile, Nanami shows up for one training session, and suddenly you’re swooning.”
You groaned, rubbing your temple. “I am not swooning.”
Gojo flopped back down beside you, still pouting. “If you start dating Nanami, I’m gonna die.”
You snorted. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah. Just drop dead on the spot.” He sighed dramatically. “My fragile heart won’t be able to take it.”
Rolling your eyes, you turned your attention back to your phone. “You’re ridiculous.”
Gojo tilted his head toward you, watching as you lazily scrolled through your messages. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but then, in a much quieter voice, he said
“…You really think I’m attractive?”
You sideeyed him, unimpressed. “Don’t push it.” He grinned, his usual dramatic energy returning in an instant. “Oh, I’m pushing it. Say it again. Tell me how handsome I am.”
“No.” “Say it.” “Gojo ” “Saaay iiiit.”
You grabbed a pillow and smacked him in the face. Gojo laughed, grabbing his own pillow and swinging back. And just like that, the teasing shifted into fullon mess, the two of you whacking each other like children, the earlier conversation long forgotten.
Gojo had you in a headlock. Not a real one more like a loose, ridiculous mess of tangled limbs and pillows as the aftermath of your impromptu pillow fight. His sunglasses were long gone, lost somewhere in the depths of his disaster of a room, and his snowwhite hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles.
You huffed, lying sprawled out beside him, out of breath from all the laughter. Your head rested against his shoulder, and neither of you had the energy to move. The room was quiet now, save for the occasional sound of Gojo shifting beside you. Then, after a long pause, he murmured, “You know… you never answered me.”
You cracked one eye open. “Answered what?”
“If you think I’m attractive,” he said, voice teasing, but there was something else beneath it. Something more serious.
You closed your eyes again. This was a trap. If you said no, he’d call you a liar. If you said yes, you’d never hear the end of it.…But also. You weren’t a liar. So, with an exhale, you muttered, “Yeah.”
Gojo stiffened. You felt it immediately the slight tensing of his arm beneath you, the way his breathing hitched just a little. Then, because you weren’t about to deal with the consequences of that admission, you immediately went limp against him.
“…Y/n.” You didn’t move. Gojo poked your cheek. “You’re not asleep.” No response. Another poke. “You literally just talked.” Nothing. Gojo groaned, shifting so he could look down at you. “You’re the worst.”
Still, you remained perfectly still, face neutral, pretending to be deep in sleep. For a moment, he said nothing. Just stared at you, his arm still around your shoulder, your body still leaning against him. You weren’t sure what he was thinking, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze, the rare stillness in his presence.
Then, in a voice much softer than before, he said “Go out with me.”
Silence. Your heart did not just skip a beat. That was just… a bodily malfunction.
Gojo nudged your side. “I know you’re faking.” Nothing. “You’re such a coward,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to it. Just amusement. Maybe a little fondness.
He sighed, letting his head fall back against the pillow. Then, instead of pushing you away, he tightened his arm around you, pulling you closer.
“You’re gonna have to answer me eventually,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
You didn’t move. Didn’t react. Didn’t let your face betray anything. But you felt everything. Gojo didn’t let go.
The soft sound of Gojo’s steady breathing filled the room as you slowly woke up, the weight of his arm still draped across your shoulders, pulling you in close. The sunlight had shifted, casting a warm glow through the blinds. You blinked a few times, your mind foggy as you tried to get your bearings. You were lying against Gojo’s chest, his body relaxed, his head resting on the pillow. The way he had wrapped himself around you in his sleep made it feel like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon. His presence usually so present and overwhelming was now replaced by the calm of someone who’d finally let himself rest. You let out a quiet sigh, shifting slightly but careful not to disturb him. His breathing didn’t change, and you realized he was sound asleep. Your thoughts wandered, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.
“…I’m not stupid.” You spoke softly, not intending to wake him up. It was more of a mumble to yourself. But as you muttered those words, something inside you shifted, like a weight that had been hanging in the back of your mind finally settling into place.
“I see it now,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Both of you.”
You let your eyes wander over to Gojo’s peaceful face, watching the way his features softened in sleep. Then, your thoughts turned to Geto. They were always together. The way they acted so close, so constantly wrapped up in each other’s orbit. Too close. It was almost like a competition for your attention, only you hadn’t realized it until now. It wasn’t until they both started acting so ridiculously possessive that the pieces finally clicked together.
You chuckled bitterly, shifting again and trying to untangle yourself from Gojo’s arm without waking him.
“Honestly… how did I not see it sooner?” You muttered to yourself, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “They’re both so obvious about it.”
Gojo shifted a bit in his sleep, his arm tightening slightly around you as if in response to your movements. You stilled, eyes wide for a moment, but then you relaxed, biting your lip.
“You know, it’s honestly kind of embarrassing,” you continued, still not fully processing how much you were revealing to yourself out loud. “Both of them… acting like they’re fighting for my attention. Like I’m some sort of prize.”
You laughed under your breath. “But I’m not stupid. I can see what they’re doing.”
The realization was so simple and yet so unexpected. Gojo’s flirty teasing, his relentless need for validation, and Geto’s cool demeanor that had a little too much weight behind it when it came to you it all clicked. They weren’t just being weird. They were being deliberate. You looked at Gojo again, his face serene in sleep, the playful, arrogant grin from earlier now replaced by a quiet, almost vulnerable expression. He was the same as always, but in a way, he wasn’t. You realized you couldn’t quite figure out what was going on with him, and it made your heart race just a little faster than you wanted to admit. With a sigh, you mumbled to yourself again, though the words felt heavier this time.
“I should be annoyed. I should be, right?”
You let the silence hang for a moment. But you weren’t. Instead, a quiet warmth spread through you, making you feel both frustrated and comforted at the same time. Gojo had always been the one to keep things a mess. But with the way he held you now his fingers loosely tangled in your hair, his breathing soft against your skin it almost felt… intimate.
You knew you couldn’t let yourself fall into the trap of his teasing, not this time. You had to be rational. But then again, you couldn’t ignore it either. You found yourself slowly letting your eyes slip closed again, not yet ready to face the mess of thoughts swirling inside your head. You barely realized you were drifting back into sleep until you felt Gojo’s hand gently rub circles on your back, as if he’d woken up without you noticing.
“…You’re not stupid,” he murmured sleepily, his voice rough with sleep. “I’m just really bad at hiding it.”
You froze, eyes snapping open as you realized he was awake. He shifted again, his arm sliding around you in a way that wasn’t exactly innocent. His face was still soft, though there was an unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes. “You heard all that?” You asked, your voice a mix of shock and mild embarrassment.
He just smirked, the same playful smirk you’d known for years. “I always hear you, Y/n.”
You sat there in Gojo’s room, the weight of everything you’d said hanging between you. Gojo sat next to you, his usual carefree attitude nowhere to be found, though he tried to keep it together. He had his hand resting on the bed beside you, but the tension in his posture was clear. He’d listened quietly as you tried to untangle the mess of your feelings, but there was an undeniable frustration brewing inside him. He couldn’t deny it. A small part of him the selfish part was frustrated. He hated the way you were caught between him and Geto, like some kind of tugofwar. He had always been the one to be there for you. He had always been the one who made you laugh, who kept you grounded. And now, he was sharing you with someone else, someone who didn’t get to be your best friend in the same way he did. He wanted to tell you how much he loved you. How he always had. But instead, he was holding back, trying to be supportive, trying to be the best friend you needed, even though it was tearing him up inside. You weren’t making it easy on him, though. And maybe it was selfish, maybe it was wrong, but the thought of losing you to Geto or anyone else made him feel like his insides were twisting in knots. But Gojo wasn’t going to let that show. Not yet.
“You’re my best friend, Gojo,” you said, your voice quiet. Your words were like a balm, but they didn’t ease the frustration that was bubbling inside of him. Not yet. “You’ve been my best friend for so long, and I I love you. I do. But…” You trailed off, and Gojo held his breath, desperate to hear you continue, desperate for something anything that would tell him you felt the same.
“But then there’s Geto, too,” you finished, and Gojo had to fight the urge to grit his teeth.
His heart was pounding, and for a moment, he had to resist the urge to blurt out everything he had ever wanted to say. But no, he couldn’t. Not yet. He stayed silent, giving you space to work through it. He could hear the quiet pain in your voice, the way you were trying to figure everything out, but it was frustrating. So frustrating.
“Gojo,” you continued, meeting his gaze, and for a brief moment, his mask almost cracked. You looked so vulnerable, so unsure, and he couldn’t help but feel protective of you. But that little selfish part of him still wanted to yell, to make you choose him. “I don’t even know if romance is something I should be thinking about right now. Everything’s so messed up lately. Both you and Geto started, like… vouching for my affection out of nowhere, and it just…” You stopped, looking down, and Gojo swallowed hard, trying to push the frustration aside for now. “It’s made my head spin.”
He wanted to say something. To tell you that it wasn’t like that, that he had always been here for you, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he exhaled deeply, forcing himself to be calm, to just be there for you. He had to, even if it was tearing him up inside. “You’re not alone in this, Y/n,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, even though the jealousy was gnawing at him. “You don’t have to figure it out right now. You never rush into anything. You always take your time. So don’t let all this pressure you.”
You shook your head, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “I know. I just ” You exhaled deeply, turning toward him. “It’s just hard. When I’m with you, I feel… safe and seen. And when I’m with Geto, I also have that feeling. And both of you are important to me.” And there it was. The words Gojo had been dreading to hear. Not that he didn’t understand. He did. He knew what it was like to have different people give you different things, but for him, it was hard to hear that you felt seen by someone else.
“Y/n,” he said softly, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. But his mind couldn’t help but flash to the thought of Geto touching you, of being with you in a way that Gojo couldn’t. He wanted to push those thoughts away. He had to. He was being the best friend you needed. “You’re not going to lose us, okay? Ever. Whatever happens, we’re still your friends. No matter what.”
But his mind was still reeling, and a small, selfish part of him wanted to say, Screw that. I don’t want to be your friend anymore. I want you to choose me. He couldn’t, though. He wouldn’t say it. Not yet. You met his gaze, your expression softening, but there was still that uncertainty there, lingering. Gojo could tell you were still processing everything. And that was fine. He would give you the time you needed, even if it was killing him inside.
But when you spoke again, your voice quieter, more tentative, Gojo felt his heart race, but this time, it wasn’t out of frustration. It was out of something else. “Thanks, Gojo. You’re always there for me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
His chest tightened at your words, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief. It wasn’t everything he wanted to hear, but it was something. He reached out, his hand resting on yours, his fingers curling around your hand gently. “Don’t mention it. I’ll always be here for you. I’m your best friend. That’s what best friends do.”
But deep down, there was still that selfish part of him that wanted more. That wanted to be the one you chose. And maybe, just maybe, he would get that chance. But for now, he could only wait.
Gojo: [leaning casually against your desk] So… when are you gonna realize I’m in love with you?
You: Oh, you’re in love? With who? Tell me! I’ll help you!
Gojo:
Gojo: [wheezing] No one, actually. I’m dead inside.
taglist: @pandabiene5115 @inthedarkshadows000
Sometimes I get Insecure but then remember I’m hot and in my mind i’m married to anime characters
YAYAYAYYA
anyways follow my insta if you perpetually think of hawks @sirxaibs
FIVE TIMES NANAMI WANTED TO PROPOSE BUT DIDN'T - NANAMI KENTO
✴︎ summary: nanami wanted to propose to you so many times - but it was never the right time, and then, there was no time left. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, swearing, ANGST (major spoilers for jjk 120 (probably next week's episode, character death, exploration of grief, if you wish to avoid the major angst: stop reading after part 5), SMUT (fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), panty sniffing, semi public sex, nipple play, creampie, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms), pet names (love, sweetheart), happy ending (sort of?) ✴︎ wc: 10,121 (i have a problem) ✴︎ song: the archer - taylor swift (blame laney for this)
ONE.
The first time Kento Nanami wanted to propose to you shouldn’t count.
And it won’t because it was when he first met you — enrolled into Jujutsu Tech along with the other first years, he first laid his eyes on you at a welcome party that the soon to be menace to his sanity, Satoru Gojo, had organized. Well, he could thank Gojo for one thing it was introducing you to the room — because he may have had to find the words to ask you himself. And he didn’t know if that was possible with his tongue in knots.
But he managed to talk to you — mostly with Haibara leading the conversation. You were reserved, at first, but he saw the spark in your eyes whenever you spoke about something you were passionate about — reading was one, one thing you both shared a love for.
“Yeah hauling my books to Jujutsu Tech wasn’t an easy feat, I had to ask Geto-senpai to have some of his cursed spirits help me haul it up to my dorm,”
“By the way, you still owe me lunch for that,” Geto smirks as he slips past, and the flush that settles on your cheeks is one Nanami wanted to see — again and again.
“Aren’t the upperclassmen supposed to buy lunch?” You grumble, pouting as Gojo interjected himself, resting himself on your shoulder with his arm, making you jump.
“Not here, here the kouhais earn their keep,” he grins, tilting his glasses down, “can you?”
And Nanami opens his mouth to reply, irritation creeping over his senses, before you brush Gojo off, “I’ll buy you lunch, but next time, if that’s what it’s gonna cost me, I’m going to have you two haul my books by hand up those steps,” You stick out your tongue, before your arms curl around his and Haibara, “let’s have cake,” you smile at both of them, gaze lingering on Nanami, “and we can exchange book recommendations?”
That was the moment he wanted to propose — could see himself living in a home with you, filled with both of your books lining the walls of a personal library, but your living room as well. He could see himself falling asleep beside you as you read to him, your fingers carding through his hair.
But no, no, it was irrational, he chided himself, as he talked to you, his lips curled in a smile that had damned him from the moment he saw it. He just had met you — he had barely been ever moved by another person, much less fallen in love. And it shouldn’t happen this quickly — it only happened this quickly in books — not in real life.
But you — he watched you and Haibara chat and laugh — you were someone that might just be the thing of books.
~~~~
TWO.
The second time he wanted to propose, he didn’t care to remember.
And he barely did.
He remembers the facts of the mission. It was supposed to be simple — exorcise a grade 2 curse, simple enough for him and Haibara to handle by themselves. Not that they had a choice. Jujutsu Tech’s resources were already far too spread thin — Gojo himself being sent all over Japan and even overseas to handle things himself that no one should be able to. But their mission? It should have been simple — dangerous still, but simple.
But nothing was simple when it came to curses.
He remembers sensing the curse — the manifestation had frozen him and Haibara for a moment — their bodies taut with fear and adrenaline — but they couldn’t move. Even as the cursed spirit screeched before them, he couldn’t articulate what was happening — it was supposed to be a grade 2, it was supposed to be a grade 2, but no — this was a grade 1.
And then it struck — Kento barely had enough time to react, but he did, pushing Haibara out of the way when it did.
He didn’t remember much after that.
He remembered the squelch of Haibara’s flesh, the blood seeping through his clothes, the way his body crumpled on the ground, and he remembered the next moment was the first time he landed a black flash — stunning the curse enough for him to grab Haibara and escape.
But not enough to save him.
Haibara had made him promise if anything had ever happened to him — he would make sure his sister wasn’t recruited to Jujutsu Tech. And he had to make the call to his family — he couldn’t bear the thought of some higher up taking advantage of their grief to manipulate another into their clutches.
No, he couldn’t let that happen.
And now he sat in the morgue with his body, towel covering his eyes — Geto had come and went — and now he sat waiting for the body to be examined and taken away to be burned. Burned to ash with nothing left — that was the way all sorcerers bodies were disposed of. It was if they never existed in the first place - pawns in a never ending war that would have them piled like corpses on a sacrificial pyre.
What was the point?
Haibara had always told him — if there was something only he could do, he would do it. And for him it was jujutsu — but wasn’t there something else? Something else for him to do that didn’t let him up like this? A body on a metal slab waiting to be incinerated. What was the point?
Was there even a point? People lived and people died. He had lived and Haibara died, but he didn’t know why. Why or how do people live one day and disappear the next? He had seen death before but not of someone so close — someone so precious to him. And the chaos was too much for him. To be killed by another’s twisted feelings manifested into a monster — it was almost poetic if it wasn’t so fucking tragic.
“Nanami?” And he pulls the towel from his eyes, and sees you — your eyes glassy and red tinged — tear streaks you didn’t hide well left on your face, “Nanami—“ and you don’t know what to do with yourself — as you come to him, hesitating, “can I—“
But he’s the one pulling you into his arms, nearly into his lap as his fingers dig into the fabric of your jacket, “I’m sorry — I’m so sorry I wasn’t there—“ your voice breaks, and it’s enough to break him — he hadn’t really cried, not around another person, but tears well at your words, as your fingers card through his hair.
“You have nothing to be sorry for — I’m the one—“ and his voice breaks in turn, as the words stuck in his mind going round and round, until they were nearly had shattered his sanity and skull along with it, “I’m the one who couldn’t save him,”
And you pull back to look at him with tear stained cheeks, “that’s not your fault, Nanami—“
“How is it not?” His words are laced with more venom that he wishes them to be, a little more bite than he wished to chew, and the hurt in your eyes was enough to make him regret speaking altogether, “I’m so—“
“No, it’s not your fault, Kento,” and his eyes find yours, your lips twisted in a frown, and your gaze unwavering, “I know a part of you knows that — knows that…Haibara’s death is nothing but a function of this shitty system we’ve been funneled into. Nothing more. Nothing less. And you know,” your voice grows softer, “you know Haibara wouldn’t want you blaming yourself for this. You know what he’d say?” You almost chuckle, “he’d tell you not to sweat it. To keep going. That you got it, right?”
He gives a terse chuckle in return, shaking his head, as his head tilts into your chest again, “How do we—“
“I don’t know,” you murmur, you don’t need him to say more, “I don’t know how we do this without him, but we have to. We have to for him,” and your hand cups his face, tilting his chin up so he looks up at you, “together?”
And he wants to ask you then — ask you to marry him. He doesn’t know when he would get a chance. You were the only thing that made his life make sense — the only thing that made him feel okay, feel safe, for once. He was so tired of never feeling that way. And he had just lost the one other person who made him feel that way.
He knew you wouldn’t say yes. You couldn’t. You were both so young still, still reeling from Haibara, still stuck in this system that could kill either of you at any time. But still…wasn’t that all the more reason to do it?
But as you pulled him into another tight hug, he knew he wouldn’t last much longer in the Jujutsu world. He couldn’t — he couldn’t take another loss like this. He didn’t know if he could bear it. But as his tears wet your jacket, surrounded by you — your scent, your soft breath, your warm presence — he would try.
He would try for you. And his eyes slid to Haibara’s body covered by a sheet — and for him.
~~~
THREE.
“After graduation, I’m leaving,” it was a late night, a couple days before graduation that he told you. The soft pitter-patter of rain was the only thing heard from int the silence before he spoke. You laid on the foot of his bed, reading a book, while he sat cross legged at the head of it, his eyes fixed on you.
Your gaze lifts from your book, brow furrowed in confusion, “Leaving?”
“I can’t be a jujutsu sorcerer,” his words are as plain as always, “I can’t do it. I’m going to go to college and pursue some other line of study—“
And you sit up slowly, putting your book aside, and he expects protests, expects you to convince him otherwise, expects you to try and stop him, but all you ask is one question, “are you sure?”
It catches him by surprise — as you always seemed to. He could anticipate enemy attacks, analyze their next moves five steps ahead, plan three routes of escape, and even predict what garbage will come out of Satoru Gojo’s obscene mouth, but you — you always could surprise him.
“I am,” he finally answers softly, “this society is shit, you know that. And these past few years have shown me that the difference I make isn’t worth the toll it’s taking, especially when I’m not changing anything,”
“Kento, you do make a difference,” your fingers find his, intertwining with ease, such ease he can’t help but think that’s what it was meant for, “you do — even if you can’t see it, I just want you to know, you do. For the people you help, even if you don’t see them, for the other sorcerers you inspire, and for me,”
And he chuckles, “even you?” And you roll your eyes, pouting — the same pout that makes him want to lean over and kiss you until your lips are utterly ruined.
“Even me,” you toss a pillow at him, and he catches it with ease, and you scowl playfully, “y’know i’m gonna miss you, but I’m not gonna miss that,”
“What? My quick reflex—“ and you smack him with another pillow and giggle, the noise making his lips quirk into a smile even as you laughed at him, hands covering your lips.
“What was that, Mr. Ratio? Your quick—“ and he’s tossing a pillow right back smacking you in the face, making his lips curl in a rare grin (though not so rare when he was with you—“
And you pull the pillow off, your face grim, “Oh, it’s so on—“ you’re tossing a pillow, but it’s only a diversion as you lunge for him, assumedly to mess up his hair, but he’s caught you by the wrist, his other hand around your waist as he’s gotten you pinned to the bed.
Time stops.
He’s breathing heavily, and you are too — from the rise and fall of your chest, but he can hardly hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. Your lips part as you look up at him — you’re dressed in your sleep clothes, a thin tank top and shorts — and it would be so easy to lean down, let his palm slide under his shirt. He sees your eyes flicker down his body the same — climbing back up before pausing at his lips.
It wasn’t a good idea. He was leaving. You both were graduating. Who knows when he would see you again — yet, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Not when this is what he wanted for so long, when he wanted you for so long. But maybe he should — maybe it would be easier, he couldn’t ask you to leave Jujutsu Tech. Just as you couldn’t ask him to stay. He knew you would stay to honor Haibara’s memory, to carry on his legacy — the one thing sorcerers could do for their fallen comrades.
Sometimes the only thing.
And sometimes it was the only thing they couldn’t do.
“Kento—“ your voice pulls him from his reverie, as your fingers brush against his cheek, “are you going to hover over me forever, let me go, or…” and your teeth graze your lip, “are you going to kiss me?”
And he’s blinking, cheeks most assuredly flushing, as your fingers graze the back of his neck, and his mouth is dry, as he looks down on you.
But he doesn’t need to asked twice, as he leans even closer, delighting in how your breath catches, looming over him, “do you want me to kiss you?” And the telltale quirk of his lips makes you gape at him, drawing a laugh from him.
“I hate you,” you murmur, as his lips finally brush yours, swallowing those playfully bitter words with them — and your lips are even softer than he imagined, your fingers settling themselves on the back of his neck, brushing the hair that rested there.
And when he pulls away; his heart squeezes at the sight of your kiss ruined lips parted as you pant slightly, eyes fluttering open to look up at him as if to ask why did you stop? And he can’t help but smile.
“It’s too bad because I love you—“ the words slip from his mouth — but he doesn’t regret it. How can he? When he might not get another chance.
And he thinks his heart will stop at your silence again, the pitter-patter of raindrops ringing in his ears again, before your lips finally curl.
“You love me, huh?” You’re leaning up and kissing him, lips finding his again and again — and how is it that he’s already addicted? You taste like honey, and sunshine, and something headier — sending heat warmer than liquor throughout his body that only made him crave more of you, and you finally pull away, and you’re smiling, “good thing I love you too,”
And he can’t believe his ears, he can’t believe you love him too — all these years he thought it was one-sided, that he was deluding himself with all the times your fingers found his, your eyes met across a classroom with a smile, and the times he found himself falling asleep next to you all those nights neither of you wanted to be asleep, your arm curled around his.
But you did. You loved him. And he loved you.
And as your lips met again, he knew, he knew he still couldn’t ask you. Couldn’t ask you because he knew you maybe wouldn’t say no — and he couldn’t ask that of you. Not when it wasn’t what you wanted. Not when he knew you could do the good he couldn’t bring himself to do. And you would — because you were the best person he knows.
He loves you. And therefore he had to let you go.
But — as he lingered over you on his bed, his body hovering over his as he dragged his thumb over your red, puffy lips, before leaning down for another kiss —
He didn’t have to let you go this second.
~~~~
FOUR.
It’s years before he sees you again.
It wasn’t purposeful. Not exactly anyway.
It was just easier. Easier not to have to think of you still at the place he once was. Still fighting the same curses he would have been fighting with you. Still risking your life day in and day out. While he…he only had money to worry about. To think about. To obsess about.
Money. Money. Money. Money.
How was this somehow shittier than what the jujutsu world? He had considered going into a more humanitarian profession, but when his goal was to retire early, why waste time? If he wanted to help people…he glances at his phone — the one vice he allowed himself, a picture of you that you had sent him when you got promoted to Grade 1 saved as his screensaver — he could have stayed by your side.
No, he wanted to retire. Find himself a nice place to retire to — he hadn’t decided the exact location yet. Somewhere peaceful. With nothing but beaches and sky and sand and books for him to read, to reclaim his life page by page. But to get there — he had to slop through this shit work — making the rich richer.
The same in the jujutsu world, and the same here as well.
And it was one day after he had exorcised a curse from his favorite bakery’s worker, he had felt anything good — anything remotely good — in far too long. Your words rang in his ears — you make a difference.
Was he making a difference by lining the pockets of the rich? Maybe his sorcery wouldn’t change the world, move minds or hearts, pivot the course of history — but maybe he could have his own impact. And not feel like complete shit when he woke up every morning.
And he wouldn’t — he knew he wouldn’t — if he could just see you smile again. Even if he could just see you again. He pulls out his phone, staring at your picture. And maybe…maybe even more.
“Hello, Gojo? I’d like to return to Jujutsu Tech,” and he hears laughter on the other end, “why are you laughing?”
“Kento?” You drop the pen you’re holding, as he steps into your office. And your lips are parted in surprise, your eyes fixed on his, “what are you—“
“I’m coming back, to Jujutsu Tech, I’m going to be a sorcerer again,” and he knows what you’ll ask, he knows you’re going to ask why — you’re going to ask him if he’s sure. And he doesn’t know how to tell you except by saying it’s because of you.
But you don’t say anything, your chair screeches back as you get up, clattering backwards and suddenly as you’re running into his arms. Your face is buried in his chest, and he can feel the tears against his shirt, and his arms curl around you, fingers running through your hair, “I missed you so much,” you murmur, and then you look up at him, fingers tracing his cheeks, gingerly moving his glasses away, “you look tired,”
“I am, but I’m better now,” he’s murmuring — and how is it that you send him right back to where he started, right back to where you always send him. It doesn’t even take a touch — only a glance, a whiff, a second — “I missed you too,” he adds, “a lot,”
And you push him playfully, pouting up at him, “Could have fooled me. You barely ever called or texted me all these years. You talked more to Gojo than you did me,”
“That’s only because that flippant idiot won’t stop calling until I pick up,” he grumbles — Gojo was the last thing he wanted to talk about in his moment — his fingers caress your cheek, tracing the line of your cheekbone, “I wanted to talk to you — I did, I just, I knew if I talked to you, I might say something I’d regret,”
“And what would you regret saying to me?” You raise an eyebrow, and his eyes are sliding away from him.
Asking you to come see him, asking you to leave Jujutsu Tech for him, asking you to be with him — every question that he wanted to ask, but never could.
“It’s not important—” and your hand cups his cheek guiding his eyes back to yours, and he knew you weren’t going to let this go, “If I talked to you, I knew it would end one of three ways — one, I’d ask you to leave Jujutsu Tech; two, I’d come back to Jujutsu Tech; or three, you’d ask me one of these yourself — but I knew I couldn’t do that,”
And your brows knit together, “Why not?”
“Because it had to be our own decision — I couldn’t leave and you couldn’t leave, just because the other asked,” he murmurs, his gaze softening, “it wouldn’t be fair to either of us — or the other — to feel like the only reason we’re together was because of guilt or want for the other, not for ourselves,”
You consider his words for a moment, “I would have left if you asked me,”
“I know, and I would have come back if you had,”
“But we didn’t,” and your fingers cup his face, “you remember what I said to you that night that we kissed?”
And he swallows the lump in his throat, his heart rattling against his chest, “You said, you didn’t want to go further because it would only hurt more when we had to go our separate ways,” and your hand slides up his chest slowly, the other already resting against his neck, and his find their way to you — one hand holding your waist and the other cupping your cheek, “but we’re not separate anymore, are we?”
“I hope the wait was worth it,” you smile, as both close the gap, lips meeting again and again — and you taste the same, but even better somehow — and he’s only pulling you closer, lips curled in a smile so wide that he hadn’t felt in so long, so long.
“Always, when it's you,” he murmurs against your lips, before his lips begin to trail kisses down your jaw and then your neck, his teeth brushing against your pulse, pulling a gasp from your lips, “good girl,” And he feels your knees buckle against his and he’s walking you backwards into the edge of your desk, “is anyone left on campus?” and you’re shaking your head, your eyes flitting to the door, as he makes you sit on your desk, thighs parted for him to settle between.
“The door—”
“Locked,” he replies, drawing back only a moment to take in the image before him — your lips red and ruined, chest rising and falling as you look disheveled at best, sexed at worst, and your eyes — your eyes swirled with lust, half lidded and desperate for his touch— “didn’t want any interruptions,”
Just as he was.
His fingers draw up a strand of your hair and kisses it, and your lips part, “Kento, please—”
“Please, what, my love?” his voice is low and teasing, as his fingers peel back your jacket, pulling it off your shoulders, “you’re going to have to be more specific,” his lips find your neck, soft, wet kisses that has your body leaning into his, “I’m not a mind reader,”
“But you are a tease,” you pout, and he only smiles, leaning down to do the thing he always wanted to — he kisses the pout off your lips, moaning lightly when your lips part for his tongue, his hands dragging down your sides, as your fingers loosen his tie, “I think you will be doing overtime with me today, Nanami-Sensei,”
And he grunts, as your fingers free him of his tie, joining your jacket on the floor, “I’m not going to be a teacher, just a sorcerer,” his teeth graze right under your chin, nibbling, “so you’re the only sensei here — are you going to teach me what you’ve learned the last few years?”
And you toy with the top button of his blue button-up, “Oh, I’ll teach you, Kento,” and you’re starting to undo his buttons, as he busies himself undoing yours, “the question is whether you can handle it,”
“Beautiful,” he murmurs in reverence, and his fingers finally undo the buttons, sliding your shirt off your shoulders, eyes raking over your chest — sharp blue gaze lingering on the erect nipples poking through the fabric for your bra, “You’ve always been the one thing I can’t handle,” his mouth leans down, closing around one clothed nipple, while he teased the other with his fingers, and he delights in your gasp, the noise sending heat right down to his already aching cock, “but I’m willing to try, my love,”
“You still love me?” You murmur, as he shrugs off his own shirt, perfect abs teasing into a v-line, all this muscle hidden under his business attire — and you knew he still must work out, and he did. He did in case he ever needed to come back — come back for you.
“Who says I ever stopped?” His nose buried in the nape of your neck now, as his fingers teasingly snap the strap of your bra, “you smell so good, so perfect,” and his fingers undo your bra and it joins the pile of clothes growing on the floor, “there wasn’t a day I didn’t think about you — a night that i didn’t dream of you, that I didn’t want you,”
“Kento—“ you whimper, as he tugs at your skirt, a quick glance for your nod, and he slides it down your legs, bunching at your ankles until you kick it off. Your cheeks burn as he’s kissing your way down your body, his mouth teasing the other nipple he had neglected, trailing hot kisses down your stomach, until he reaches the fabric of your panties, “I need—“
“Been wanting to taste this for so long,” and he’s kneeling between your parted thighs, still calloused fingers parting your plush flesh, tongue flicking over his dry lips at the sight of the dark wet patch at the crotch of your underwear. And you look down at him, eyes glazed over with unadulterated lust that is almost enough to have him cumming in his pants, “so sweet,” he’s murmuring as he noses your clothes cunt, and you jerk, as he pulls the crotch aside, “wonder if you taste as sweet as you smell,”
“Kento—“ and his tongue drags over the length of your dripping cunt, nose bumping against your clit, as your thighs curl around him, pulling him closer, closer — “fuck—“
“Such a filthy mouth,” he tuts, smiling against your cunt as his tongue teases your folds, “almost as filthy as you are down here,” and his finger begins to part your walls, making your thighs shake and quake, his lips close around your clit, sucking.
You’re a mess of moans and pants, hips grinding against his touch, as one hand tries to muffle your moans, the other is curled in his blonde locks, “taste even better than I imagined — just f’me, only for me,” You’re so close, as he parts your folds with another finger, sinking knuckle deep, as his fingers brush against that one spot that has you parting your lips in a silent moan, head thrown back — and the heat deep in your stomach is going to snap.
KNOCK KNOCK.
You both freeze, your cunt jerking around his fingers, as you bite your lip — maybe if you’re silent, they’ll go away— but Kento clicks his tongue, a smile on his glossy cum covered lips, mouthing, “Speak,” and you gape at him, chest still heaving, as you shake your head, before he’s curling his fingers just right.
Fucker.
You hear Gojo’s voice, calling your name, “You in there?”
You swallow thickly, meeting Kento’s gaze — he’s not backing down, “Yeah, sorry I’m in the middle of something — do you need something?”
“I was just wondering if you heard from a certain salaryman, or should I say, ex-salaryman?” the very one that was burying his face back in your still sensitive pussy, slurping and licking, despite Gojo being right outside.
You have to bite back your moans, swallowing them as you speak, “You mean Nana—ah—mi?” And you feel the very same sorcerer smirk against your abused cunt, a third finger finding its way inside you, “ha-haven’t heard from him, and what do mean ‘ex?’”
You do your best at acting, but it’s hard when his mouth closes around your clit, sucking hard, as your fingers curl in his hair, biting your lip so hard, as he fucks your pussy in earnest with his fingers — how can Gojo not hear the nasty squelch of your cunt?
“He left his job. He’s coming back to Jujutsu Tech,” and he takes a beat, “I’ll take my leave,” and he chuckles, “have fun you two, and Nanami?” You feel your face flush, “don’t be too rough with her — we need our best teacher available to teach tomorrow,”
You hear his laugh all the way down the hall, and you’re covering your face — those fucking six eyes — but Kento’s tugging your hands away, “Pay attention to the one who’s filling you, love,” and he’s burying his face in your cunt, fucking you even harder — hitting that spot over and over, until you cum, back arching, as he’s pulling his fingers out to lap up the slick dripping from you, “delicious,” he murmurs, kissing your still sensitive clit, before he’s looking up at you — all fucked out, your chest rising and falling with every pant, your lips kiss ruined red — “and so beautiful,”
His licks his lips clean of your cum, wiping the rest with the back of his hand, as he rises to your feet, “Kento, please,” you’re murmuring, his hands slide over your body, squeezing your hips, “I need you,”
“What do you need—“ and his words are cut off by your fingers reaching for his buckle, the clink of the metal as you undid it, along with the button, tugging his pants and boxers down.
He hisses as his too sensitive dick slaps his stomach, your lips parting, eyes in a trance, “So pretty, Kento,” your fingers traces one of his veins to his already leaking tip, “and so fucking big,” you murmur, teasing the bead of precum on his slit, making him groan, “can’t wait to have this inside me — been waiting ten years,”
And he’s sliding your hand away, pressing his hips flush to yours, as your legs wrap around his waist, “That long huh?” And his lips find yours again, letting you taste yourself, “and I thought I was the only one pining,”
“So you admit you were pining for me?” And he laughs, as you smile up at him — like all the times he had hoped you would — “I had a crush from almost the moment I met you,”
“You could have fooled me,” he presses kisses up and down your jaw, drawing a moan from both of you as he teases your puffy clit with his aching tip, “I thought you had a crush on Geto,” and you scoff.
“Geto? So you were jealous of him — that’s why you always had that sour look whenever I studied with him,” you grin even wider, “well you had nothing to worry about - I had a crush on very gloomy boy and no one else ever caught my eye,”
And he softly smiles, and it seems to ebb away the years — the trauma and the tiredness — and left only him, your Kento.
“Is that right?” He asks before kissing you again, his fingers finding the back of your neck to deepen the kiss, as you moaned, muffled by his mouth, “I want—“
“I know, me too, please — don’t keep me waiting any longer,” and how could he refuse a request like that?
He’s sinking into you, thick cock parting your dripping folds until he hilts himself fully in you, his fingers digging your hips — and you’re so full, too full. And you’re perfect — perfect walls wrapped around him, so warm and so tight — it’s enough for him to neatly blow his load then and there.
But he can’t, can’t when he’s waited this long to do this. You’re whimpering, “S’good, Kento, too good,” your walls flutter around him as his hips shift lightly, “please, please move—“ his hands find your legs, lifting them higher to find a better angle, fingers digging into your soft thighs.
And his hips slowly thrust into you, edging you with his shallow thrusts, and you’re whining, “Kento—“
“Look at the mess you’re making all over your desk,” he’s guiding your gaze with two fingers on your chin, making you watch where his cock is sunk into you, “taking me so well, practically swallowing me, good fuckin’ girl,” he grunts, “want it harder? Want me to fuck you?”
Your desk is already creaking under your weights and the movements, you’re nodding wordlessly, lips parted, “Kento, please, I need—“ and you watched his cock pull out only to slam back in. Your head falls back, moaning his name again and again.
The squelch of your cunt rang in his ears over and over, as he grunts, barely keeping himself from cumming, especially when you begin to roll your hips into him, “You’re so pretty, and all mine — just mine,” and his lips find yours again, just as your walls flutter at his words, “like that? Like it when I claim you, love with my cock fucking you?” And his vulgar words only makes you tighter, and he grunts, “‘m close, sweetheart,”
“Me too—g’nna cum—“ and his dick reaches that spot right as his thumb bears down on your clit, teasing it in circles, until you’re moaning his name as you cum. Your walls clamp down, soaking his cock, a white ring of cum around his base as he fucks you through your orgasm.
His eyes meet yours as you do, watching your high overcome you, twitching and moaning — and he doesn’t last much longer. His hips stutter against you in shallow thrusts until he’s notching himself deep inside, groaning as he cums, hot seed painting your walls white.
“So perfect,” he murmurs, as he kisses your sweat slicked forehead, “so good,” and he’s grunting as he pulls out, watching your mixed releases trickle out, leaking all over your desk and onto the floor. He drags his cock over your weeping cunt, watching it flutter around nothing.
“Kento,” you murmur, gazing up at him, utterly blissed out as your lips curl, your legs slipping off his waist as he settles down on your desk, “I love you,”
And his heart squeezes — is he dreaming? He must be dreaming — because nothing in his life has ever been so good. So wonderful. So perfect. It didn’t happen for him — it never happened for him.
“I love you too,” he murmurs reverently, his fingers trailing over your jaw, “so much — you don’t know how much, darling,”
“Think you can quantify it for me, Mr. Salaryman?” And he snorts, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
“Don’t call me that,” he kisses your neck — you smelled so good, were you real?
“Then what should I call you?”
And he wanted to ask you then — ask you to call him your husband, to marry you, to buy that ring he had looked at from time to time when he thought about marrying you. But you just found your way back to each other — hell, he had just slept with you in your office, not even a bed. It was too soon, but — his lips curled — he was closer than he had ever been before. And he wouldn’t wait, he wouldn’t hesitate, not when it was you. He wouldn’t let you slip through his fingers.
He smiles, “Just call me yours.”
~~~~
FIVE.
Today was the day.
He was finally going to ask. That’s what he thought when he looked at you, still in bed, bathed in the dappled sunlight let in by his parted curtains. You were still fast asleep beside him, body curled up so your body was pressed against him. He ran his fingers through your hair gently not to wake you, “I love you,” he murmurs, as opens his bedside drawer, pulling a ring box and notecard from it — and he stares at it.
He’d ask you. He would ask you to marry him — finally take you on that vacation to Malaysia you both had talked about for too long, read all the books you both had put off, and lounge on the beach — and do much more in your hotel room. And then maybe, maybe he could ask you to retire from jujutsu.
He had always promised himself, promised that he wouldn’t be a sorcerer when he got married. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving a family behind to mourn him — but even more than that, he couldn’t bear the thought to lose you, to call you his wife, call you his soulmate — and have you fall away from him.
He would rather be the one to die.
But this way — he rises, grabbing his clothes for the day, and slipping the ring and the note into his coat pocket — neither of you would have to worry about losing the other. At least to a curse.
“Where are we going?” You giggle as he drags you along the street, packed with people, more than usual. He keeps you close, an arm wrapped around you, especially for a Wednesday evening. What date was it? He had seemingly lost track of everything he had planned.
“It’s Halloween,” you remind him without him asking the question, “explains all costumed people and the packed streets — we should definitely avoid Shibuya — the crowds there would be insane,”
“How’d you know—“ and you tap his forehead with a smile.
“I could see your gears grinding, Kento,” you smile, resting your head against his shoulder, “and it’s just like you to forget it’s Halloween,”
“Is it?” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “well good thing I have you to remind me,”
“Very good thing, and I have you to remind me about everything else,” and he nods, and you elbow him, “you don’t have to remind me of that much!”
“You were leaving the house yesterday and you forgot your wallet, keys, and purse — you almost forgot to put on shoes—“ and you’re covering his mouth his your hand.
“How about you remind me about where we’re going?” And he smiles against your hand, before kissing it gently, pulling it from his lips and kissing the back of your hand as well, making you flush.
“Why ruin the surprise—” and then both of your phones ring — the two of you share a dark look, glancing at your phones and seeing the same message — Emergency: veil has fallen over certain areas of Shibuya. All available sorcerers report.
“I guess we are going to Shibuya,” you sigh, running your fingers through your hair, “we should—”
“We should stop by the apartment — we both left all our equipment there and I need to change,” and you nod, as his fingers toy with the ring box in his pocket, a sigh stuck in his throat. When will he ever get the chance to do this right? Finally, he had worked up the nerve and this—this had to happen.
“Hey,” you cup his cheek, a soft smile on your face, “I’m sorry our plans are falling through, and just when I was going to make you give up this secret surprise,”
His lips curl, as his arm pulls you even closer, “I don’t recall agreeing to give up any secrets,” and you lean up and kiss him, soft and sweet quickly turning heady — neither of you were ones for public displays — but for some reason, it just felt right. And you part, breath warming his lips with a wide grin.
“Oh, you would have,” and he laughs, squeezing your hips, as he rests his forehead against yours, “We’ll pick this up right after we deal with this problem.”
He nodded, leaning down to kiss you again and again, his fingers still toying with the box in his pocket. And he wanted to ask right then, just drop to his knee in the middle of this packed street full of costumed weirdos and freaks, mission be damned, jujutsu be damned — but he didn’t want to do it like this.
He wanted it to be a time where both of you were safe, where you could celebrate without the fear of danger beating down your necks, where he could talk to you, hold you, kiss you — without fear it would be the last. Because he always wondered when it would be the last. But it wouldn’t be — he’d do anything to make it back, to finally take that step with you, the one he’d been waiting for over ten years to take. Take that vacation you both wanted with his ring on your finger, and retirement from Jujutsu around the corner.
And he squeezes your hand, “Promise?” and you lean into him, pulling him along the street back to your shared apartment.
“Promise.”
~~~
He wouldn’t be able to keep his promise.
That’s what kept repeating in his mind with every step he took. He couldn’t really feel much — not anymore. That special grade curse had burned him — burned half of his body to a crisp, he could barely smell the burning flesh anymore. All he could do was keep moving. Moving. Moving. Moving.
But he didn’t want to move anymore — he was tired. So tired. He couldn’t feel much, but he could feel the weight of having to keep going, even if he didn’t want to.
And now, he stands before a swarm of…curses? Transfigured humans? He didn’t know — he could barely see at this point out of his one remaining eye — he could barely keep it open, still drooping even as the monsters loomed before him.
“Malaysia…Yeah, Malaysia…Kuantan would have been nice,” the recommendation he had gotten from Mei Mei when trying to decide on a vacation for you and him to take — who better to ask than the woman with all the time and money in the world, a little brother who’d take her anywhere she wished. You both had settled on Malaysia, still panning out the details of when, but he had planned to surprise you with open ended tickets for the both of you — paid extra for them, in case something came up.
He almost chuckles. Something always came up.
Maybe if you both had liked it enough, he’d have a private home built for the two of you — with the little library nook you always dreamed of having, finally getting around to reading the countless books you both had bought and never read, go through page by page and take back the time you both have lost.
But right now each step felt like an eternity as he walked.
Where was he going again? Oh yes, to help Fushiguro. And what about Naobito and Maki? What had happened to them? There wasn’t much he could do about that.
Tired. He was so tired. I’ve done enough, haven’t I?
Hadn’t he done enough? He thought he had done enough when he left — left it all behind like a nightmare he didn’t care to revisit. Left the loss, the pain, the anger — the curses really — all behind him, in exchange for another set — greed, money, power. What was really the best option? Had he made the right choice?
But then he thought about you.
Your smiles, your touch, your kisses, your laughs — all the times he spent with you — slow mornings spent reading the paper together over coffee and toast from the bakery you always went out of your way to buy his favorites from; lazy evenings spent watching movies or reading, your legs intertwined as you did, his arm around your shoulders, until you plucked the book from his fingers made it so you were only thing his eyes were on; and sleepless but perfect nights spent in each other’s arms. The many times he wanted to ask you — the one question he never got to ask you still burned on the tip of his tongue like a curse unspoken, and he knew if he spoke it now, it would be one.
And so he did what he did best, he dispatched the curses, quick and easy. And his lips curled despite himself — at the thought of you. He could almost feel your lips on his still from earlier, the sweet scent of you instead of the smell of blood or burning flesh, he could almost see you too.
A hand rested on his chest, stopping him in his tracks.
Mahito stared back at him.
Oh. Oh.
It was over.
I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I can’t keep my promise. I’m sorry I can’t propose. I’m sorry I can’t marry you. I’m sorry I can’t have the life we wanted. I’m sorry I came back only to leave you with the worst curse of them all.
“I didn’t know you were here,” Nanami says, staring back at the curse — and it reminds of that time — that time Mahito had him in his domain, he truly had resigned himself to death. Resigned himself to die — and then Itadori had come crashing in, crashing in as he did his life, saving him. Saving him by not only by his very existence as Sukuna’s vessel, but by just his sheer strength.
That kid had really grown on him — he didn’t want him to. Not when he had the same positivity, the same smile, the same kindness…as Haibara. It was illogical. He wasn’t Haibara — he was Sukuna’s vessel, and he wouldn’t acknowledge him, he wouldn’t until he proved himself. But he’d protect him, and he would do what he could. Because being a child isn’t a sin — but perhaps, being a jujutsu sorcerer is one.
“Yup. The whole time,” Mahito replies, lips upturned in a slight smile, “Wanna chat? We go way back, after all,”
Nanami’s eyes shift to the floor, the muddied and bloodied tiles underneath his feet — he didn’t care to divulge his deepest feelings to a curse. There were only two people he could talk to about this — and one of them, he supposed, was now closer to his being than the other.
Haibara, what the hell was I trying to do? He asks in his mind, not even daring to say the words aloud, I ran. Even though I ran away, I came back with the vague reason of finding the work worthwhile.
And then he sees him. Haibara appears in front of him, patented smile on his lips, as he points south — points right at—
“Itadori,” Mahito says, his eyes narrowing.
“Nanamin!” his eyes wide as he takes in his state — oh, he had hoped no one would see him like this, much less Yuji. He had already been through so much, so young — hell, he had already died once. He didn’t deserve to see this. He didn’t deserve to grow up like this — to have his youth ripped away. But, did any of them deserve it?
It was a marathon, a marathon that they found themselves in that headed only towards a pile of corpses — but each time, they had to pass the baton before they stopped.
Could he finally stop?
He had dropped his baton so long ago, dropped and left the track, but he knew it would be picked up by another and another and another — but it was his baton, his baton that Haibara had handed him before he died in his arms.
No, Haibara. That’s not right. I can’t say that to him. It’ll just end up becoming a curse for him.
But it’s a curse every jujutsu sorcerer had to bear — made to bear until there were either no curses or no sorcerers left.
But he couldn’t regret it now.
“Itadori,” his lips curl, smiling for the last time, “you’ve got it from here.”
He couldn’t keep his promise to you — but he kept his one to Haibara.
And you’d pay the price.
~~~
This wasn’t real. Was it?
You stood outside your shared apartment with Kento. Finally a stop to the fighting for a month for everyone to train — enough time for you to retrieve some cursed weapons you had left behind — not knowing the fight would drag on for this long. You had considering sending someone — maybe not Ijichi but someone else to retrieve them, but right now, you couldn’t bear the thought of someone else rifling through Kento’s things. Moving the things that he had placed just so — the last remnants of his life, the marks he left that proved he was there, that he lived — that he had lived.
Lived. Past tense. And now you were still living — living in a world without him.
You inserted your key and turned the lock, opening the door. And it did, just like it had every day. Each day you’d open it — sometimes before Kento, other days after — but each time, there was always a meal Kento had prepped or bought waiting for you.
And this was the first time that there wasn’t.
Not only a meal — there was no one waiting for you. Not here.
You closed the door behind you — no longer a home, just an apartment. You needed to remember the things you needed, your mind was nowhere to be found, and fled the country when you had heard the news. You didn’t cry. Not at first.
Yuji was the one to tell you. He shouldn’t have been the one to see it. You knew it haunted his dreams, you knew he blamed himself, you knew — because Kento had done the same. So you hugged him, let him cry silently into your shirt, comforted him the best you could — because you knew that’s what Kento would have wanted.
He loved Yuji — he loved Ino too, and the other students all held a special place for him, but Yuji — Yuji was a special case. You knew that from the moment he had spoken about him.
“Gojo wants me to mentor Sukuna’s vessel,” he told you one night in bed, having returned from a mission and having a drink with Gojo — not a real drink, Kento had clarified, since it had no alcohol in it — but a drink nonetheless.
“He has a name, Kento. Itadori. He’s sweet,” you smile, you had met him and all the other first years from teaching, “he’s a good kid — very new to all of this, but he has a good heart and some good skills under his belt.”
“A vessel for the ticking time bomb has a good heart? Glad to hear it,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair, “I don’t know — he was a normal kid two minutes ago, and now he’s running around with Gojo feeding him Sukuna’s fingers every second,” he leans back against the headrest, “what am I supposed to make of this? I’m not even a teacher,”
“And what have you been doing with Ino?” you raise an eyebrow, “that kid is constantly after you, dogging your every step — he looks up to you. “And I know a lot of the other students do too, the ones that know you,”
“It’s—”
“You should do this. It would be good for you,” and he’s hesitating, “Yuji needs a sorcerer to guide him — teach him the basics that Gojo has neglected to do, and show him how a proper jujutsu sorcerer who isn’t…a special case like Gojo, operates.”
Kento’s lips curl, “You know you can call him a moron,”
“Why call him that when I have you to call him that for me?” you snort, “now what do you say?”
And he eventually agreed — and it was the best decision for him. It gave him more purpose, more drive — he seemed even more fulfilled — the most you had seen him professionally fulfilled in quite some time.
“You got it from here.”
His last words to Yuji. You almost have to scoff at the poeticness of it all — the same words Haibara had told him. The ones he hadn’t told you for nearly a decade, until one night he had told you what he said.
“And why didn’t you leave any words for me, Kento?” you ask the empty apartment before you, “for so long, we didn’t have each other — we couldn’t. And we finally find our way back, we finally do all the things we said we would — you’re gone, again,” your voice breaks, “I wish, I wish you were here. I wish I could see you. I wish—” and you break off.
There’s no point for wishing for things that can’t happen. You had things to do, and little time to waste. You needed to get stronger too. You needed to be useful. You needed to fight. You couldn’t tarnish Kento’s memory, or — you look at a picture that you had taken of him and Yuji a few days before outside a convenience store you had stopped by after a mission — his legacy.
You searched for the things you needed, placing them in cloth bags and then paper bags for easy and inconspicuous transport, but you needed to label them. You searched your apartment for a pen — but apparently you had misplaced every single one that you had — where the hell were all the pens? A question you’d usually ask Kento and he’d produce one from thin air. No matter what you lost or what you needed — he had it.
He always had it.
If he did always have what you needed, then maybe…you walk into the bedroom, over to his nightstand — he often kept a notebook for thoughts and notes in his bedside table so maybe—-
And there it was — a pen, but it wasn’t the pen that made you pause — it was the two things beside it.
A notecard and a ring box.
A ring box.
Your hands shake, and you almost want to close the drawer. Forget you say anything. Continue with the work you’re doing. It would hurt less.
But you can’t. You can’t.
You reach for the notecard first, fingers shaking as you gingerly pick it up — and you can tell this wasn’t the first he had written on. You could see the indentations from his pen, this card underneath the others as he had wrote. But his handwriting was neat, yet messy at the same time — his patented half print, half cursive scrawl that he hadn’t left.
Your legs buckle and you sit down on the edge of the bed — the side he used to sleep on, his arm wrapped around your waist, face buried in your back, his lips brushing against your skin when he finally stirred. And now it was empty.
My love, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to ask you this. I’ve thought of ways to ask for years — I had to write it down just so I didn’t mince my words or ramble — you know I’m not one to drag out conversations. I love you. I’ve always loved you from the moment I met you — I know you’d tease me for pining for you, but I did pine for you and I’ve pined for you every second we’re apart. The other times I’ve wanted to ask you, the timing never worked out. But we have the time now, don’t we? Will you do me the honor of being your husband? I’ll spend every second making you happy, because that’s what you deserve, sweetheart. Only the best.
And your tears splatter against the corner of the card, before you put it down, as you let your sobs overcome you, screams you didn’t know you were capable of making— you didn’t even realize it was you, until your throat began to ache.
Why? Why? Why?
It wasn’t real, this wasn’t happening.
And your fingers reach for the ring box now, opening it only to feel more tears well — it was the ring you had showed him. One you had showed him one late night when it had showed up somewhere or another — you hadn’t even thought about the ring again. Until now.
You can’t bear to touch it. You can’t. Not when he wasn’t there to pull it from its box and slip it onto your finger. And he never would be. Not until you saw him again — one way or another.
You snap the box closed, tears slipping down your cheeks as you placed the box and card back into the drawer — noticing something else underneath — a printout? And you pull the papers out, scanning it.
You almost sob. A trip to Kuantan, Malaysia. The trip you two had talked about for months, but never had gone on. The trip was more for Kento than it was for you — and it was for you, in a way, because what you wanted the most was to just be with him. Time was all you wished for with him — all you wanted — but you knew you could have spent every moment with him for the last ten years and it wouldn’t have been enough.
It would never have been enough.
“I miss you,” you speak to the ghosts that fill your mind and haunt your dreams — Kento and Yu, “I hope you’re at peace. I hope you’re lying on a beach somewhere, reading the books you wanted to read, drinking an expensive drink, and eating the bread you love — I promise, I’ll find my way to you, someday,”
And you place the things back in the drawer, and shut it.
For now, you had other things to do. Other people to protect, other curses to exorcise. But — you stare at the picture of the two of you on your nightstand — his love was the one curse you could never give up.
~~
Many months later.
You take that vacation he wanted. Packing the books he always wanted to read. Pocketing the ring he wanted to propose to you with. You’d pack a few shirts of his to wear on the beach, and maybe he would be lying beside you in spirit. You would find that beach he wanted to take you to — the one he had written down and had looked up several times while booking your trip.
You kept the seat beside you on the plane empty but you ordered a glass of wine and a sandwich for him regardless. You know you would have ended up ordering because he likely would have fallen asleep — old man he always was. And if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was sitting in the seat beside you.
He wasn’t dead. Not really, you think as you sit in the beach in one of his deep blue button ups thrown over your swimsuit, reading one of his books page by page, taking back the time that was stolen from him with your own — minutes and hours and days you’d wish you could take off your own and give to him.
He was alive, he was alive as long as you were, as long as the people who he was important to were alive. And he was alive — alive in your head and your heart and your very soul.
You read his proposal aloud as the sun sets, tears slipping down your face as you slip his ring onto your finger. And there it would stay.
Stayed all the seconds, minutes, hours, days, and years you lived -- lived in the house you built in Malaysia when all was said and done for you in the jujutsu world, just as Kento had wanted. Stayed until you finally saw him again. Saw him standing beside Haibara, softly smiling behind him, as your eyes fluttered open as he greeted you. Lips curled in that same smile that damned you from the moment you saw it.
“Don’t keep me waiting, love,” he smiles, the same words you had said to him, “we’ve both waited long enough, haven’t we?”
But neither of you had to wait anymore — as you run into his arms, warm and made of flesh and blood and real, so real — you had forever now.
✴︎ a/n: first, i'm so sorry lol. i don't know how the spirit of gege possessed me but i decided to inflict some pain. i have to thank @laneysmusings for proofing this for me and having to endure this pain. I also want to credit @/tempenensis for their post on haibara / jjk 120 that helped inspire/inform the third to last scene (but they don't like self-insert so i am not gonna tag them, but you should check out their tumblr!
✴︎ taglist: @your-local-simplol, @renawithane, @grooveandshit, @aemondseyesocket, @nitskilanara, @yunchans, @ackermanbby, @luminouslateralup, @multi-fandom3, @idktbhloley, @minteaful, @malleusmybelovedd, @lighttism, @lemonpoppy-seed, @nitskilanara, @wshwshi, @rreborn, @reyy-chanx, @kiradoki, @uroldall, @madam-milf, @elusivemoon
-
5-18-18-15-18 liked this · 3 days ago -
shoopershtar liked this · 4 days ago -
eraserhoksss liked this · 4 days ago -
oceands8 liked this · 4 days ago -
j4ck1323 liked this · 5 days ago -
dipincoco liked this · 6 days ago -
againkari liked this · 6 days ago -
ofriskbitzo liked this · 6 days ago -
melxx4life reblogged this · 6 days ago -
melxx4life liked this · 6 days ago
-
beyondallodds liked this · 1 week ago -
nokytr liked this · 1 week ago -
digitalcat001 liked this · 1 week ago -
djpuppy-kittens liked this · 1 week ago -
123june liked this · 1 week ago -
holyrunawaydonut liked this · 1 week ago -
fluoritecherry liked this · 1 week ago -
wellora liked this · 1 week ago -
deer305306 reblogged this · 1 week ago -
deer305306 liked this · 1 week ago
-
liluzisposts liked this · 1 week ago -
sirxaibs liked this · 1 week ago -
aroaceapocolypse liked this · 1 week ago -
aberrantemery liked this · 1 week ago -
finite--incantatum liked this · 1 week ago -
sirxaibs reblogged this · 1 week ago
