#awwrites

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(y/n)

If bad luck were a superpower, I'd be a certified black cat in a human body. You could place me next to the luckiest man alive and I'd drag his stats straight into the negatives.

Last month, I got caught in a bank fire drill that turned out to be an actual gas leak. Last week, a delivery drone mistook my latte for a landing pad.

OH— and today? Today I'm walking in the middle of the street with a reusable bag of groceries while an actual car — MID CAR CHASE MIND YOU — barrels toward me.

"Seriously? Again?!" I shout to no one.

People scatter. Tires screech. The Kia Soul fishtails, shadowing every direction I try to dodge. I step back— only to slip on a rogue orange rolling from my bag. Of course.

Gravity wins. Per usual.

A sharp hiss splits the air, then a splurge of water bursts out between me and the car, glimmering under the streetlights. The car slams into it like a wave hitting glass. A pursuing hero leaps onto the hood, rips the driver's door open. Damn she's strong— and honestly? Stylish as hell.

I land on my ass, soaked, blinking up at a very familiar figure in yellow and blue.

Waterboy kneels beside me, water dripping from his gloves, his hair, literally everywhere. His smile is warm and apologetic.

"You okay? No boo–bruises? Concussion? Or, uh, medical.. injuries?"

I stare up at him. "You again."

He points at himself like he's double-checking the situation. "You remember me?"

"Hard to forget the guy who saved me from a crazy, cyborg creep and then tripped into a fountain immediately afterwards."

His ears instantly flush. "That was—uh—field conditions?"

"Sure it was," I say while squeezing water out of my hair. "You've got impeccable timing though. Every time something catastrophic happens to me, you're just... around. At least it seems that the SDN subscription is worthwhile." I joke, checking myself for any bodily harm.

He lets out a nervous laugh and rubs the back of his neck. "Guess I'm your point of–emergency contact n-now."

I look up at him — tall, dripping, ocean-blue eyes, that awkwardly charming smile. "Could be worse."

His comm crackles a bit. A low and monotonous voice emerges from the earpiece "Target apprehended. Nice catch... Kinda shocked. How's the civilian?"

He cringes at the jab. "It–I–they're fine," he blurts, glancing at me. "Totally fine."

"Barely traumatized," I say brightly. "Ten out of ten rescue. If you ever need me to talk up SDN— I'm your go-to." I throw in a playful wink.

He laughs softly and offers his hand. The moment I grab it, the puddle beneath us ripples and splashes over our ankles.

"Sorry!" he panics, steadying me. "Still getting the hang of uhm, dripping. Less."

"It's fine," I say with a laugh I can't suppress. "I like my rescues a little spontaneous."

Before I can thank him, another hero descends — a woman in a sleek black bodysuit with gold lines and a vibrant, split dye of pink-and-blue hair.

"Waterbitch!" she calls. "Are they hurt at all?"

"Uh, that's not—They're good–Civilian damp but conscious."

Prism smirks at us. "You've got a type, huh? Wet damsel in distress energy?"

Waterboy groans. "Please don't start."

My face heats instantly.

"I'm just fucking with you Pissboy," Prism cackles, raising her phone.

Before either of us registers what's happening, there's a camera click and she's already typing. Their dispatcher's voice crackles from Waterboy's earpiece, audibly scolding her.

"You two look like an old couple already," she teases before taking off, heels clacking as she goes.

Waterboy exhales, defeated. "She's never gonna let that go."

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He insists on walking me home— something about "standard follow-up protocol," which I'm 80% sure he made up.

The city cools after its daily chaos. My shoes squish, but his presence makes everything feel strangely grounded.

"So," I say, nudging him and brushing against his damp elbow, "how many people do you rescue in a week?"

"Hm. Uh, counting you?" He lifts his eyes like he's doing honest math. "One... very specific person, repeatedly." He gives a small, guilty shrug.

I grin. "Lucky me."

He turns pink but amused. "Maybe you're just in the wrong place at the right time."

"Or maybe the universe keeps sending reminders that chivalry still exists—in neon spandex."

"It's tactical gear! Not—okay, yeah, there's some spandex."

I burst into laughter. "Relax, puddle boy. It's a good look."

His mouth opens, then shuts, then curves shyly. "You... really think so?"

"Would I tease you if I didn't?"

"Um... possibly? Yes?"

I can't help laughing again.

We reach my porch, the light flickering like it's conspiring with the insects. Waterboy looks around the neighborhood kind of, concerned? Then he shifts awkwardly, dripping steadily onto my welcome mat.

"Well," he says. "You're safe for now."

"For now," I echo. "Until next Tuesday's disaster."

He chuckles. "I'll keep an eye out. For you–incidents–future incidents."

There's a beat of quiet.

He fidgets. "I, uh, should go—"

"Or," I offer, stepping closer, "you could come in for tea. Surely, you need to rehydrate after using so much water to save me?"

He freezes. "Heh, that's not how my po–Wait. Are you—uh—flirting with me?"

I tilt my head. "Is it working?"

His blush is immediate and devastating. "Possibly. I'm... new at thi–"

"OH MY GODD– I TOLD YALL HE WAS WITH THAT ONE CIVILIAN FROM THE CAR CALL!"

We both whip our heads toward Prism and two other heroes loitering on the sidewalk. Prism's phone is recording? Oh boy.

"What are y– Why are you all h-here?" Waterboy squeaks, shrinking like a startled turtle.

"Roberto wanted us to check on you— but it seems you have everything taken care of," the bat-guy mutters, snickering.

A red lady– A demon-looking woman with an Aussie accent steps forward. "Yeah, and I just came to make sure Sonar didn't go off and huff drugs with Prism—"

"'Scuse me bitch, I don't know who you think you're talking about but I don't do drugs," Prism snaps. "...Anymore."

"Regardless," the demon woman sighs, "it is the end of shift and I think we should give these two lovebirds some time alone, eh?"

Waterboy mouths a grateful "thank you." to her as she scolds the other two.

As they wander off bickering, he turns to me and exhales hard.

"Sorry about them. Uh, they are very–"

"Nosy?" I offer.

"Rude, but that too."

A small silence settles. I fiddle with my fingers, then meet his eyes again.

"Would you like to come inside for tea?" I ask softly.

"I would like–love to," he replies, cheeks warm. "Sorry, I am a bit new at this."

"Same," I whisper. "But I think we're doing okay."

Lightning from a distant storm flickers behind him, reflecting in his eyes like lightning in a bottle.

"Okay," he murmurs. "Just one cup."

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Hours later, rain taps the windows. We sit shoulder-to-shoulder on my plastic-covered couch — inherited, not chosen. Steam rises from our mugs.

He talks about the Z-Team, about Prism's chaos and the bat-guy's weird Vanderstenk obsession. His voice is calm, warm. The opposite of everything he deals with daily.

I listen.

For once, nothing is falling apart.

He glances at me. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I say. "For the first time in a long while."

He nods. "Guess storms can wait."

"Guess they can."

Thunder rolls softly outside.

My cat materializes like a cryptid.

"Oh wha– who? Is this?" Waterboy asks, staring at the sphynx-like creature beneath him.

"My cat—his name is Beerus."

He blinks. "Wait, black cat?"

"Yeah, he used to have fur, but the second I picked him up—lightning struck him specifically. He survived though. Now he just... vibes."

"Like straight out of a cartoon," Waterboy mutters, fascinated.

I laugh. "I named him Beerus after an anime character."

He wiggles his fingers at Beerus. "My uh, grandma— I live with her—She loves cats. I like them too, just... can't really touch them. At all."

Before he can finish processing, I plop Beerus directly into his lap.

Waterboy's hands shoot up like he's being arrested. "Why would you—he's gonna get so—"

He freezes as Beerus rolls onto his back, meowing dramatically.

"Why is he..." Waterboy gently pets him, completely spellbound.

"Beerus loves baths and water," I say.

He keeps petting, smiling like sunlight.

I look at him — really look. If he can be this earnest, this kind, this hopeful... What excuse do I have not to try living life a little more?

"(y/n)?" he asks softly, waving a hand in front of my face.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm fine," I say. "Just admiring a superhero."

I rest my hand lightly on his knee, meeting those hazy blue eyes.

"Would you like to come over and hang out with Beerus more often?"

His breath catches. "Y-Yes! Please—Absolutely!"

He beams.

Maybe he's exactly the kind of hero I need.

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God, it's early.

I wake to the smell of honey and tea.

Not my tea.

His.

I arise from the crinkly couch and look around, hoping he hasn't left yet.

Waterboy stands in my tiny kitchen in his suit — surprisingly not dripping water much, at least what I can see from his face — and he's staring at my electric kettle like it personally offended him.

"Oh—uh—good morning!" he says, scrambling, almost slipping from how damp he still is. "I was... trying to make tea... but the instructions are uh... cryptic."

"It's not plugged in," I inform him.

"Oh."

He stares at it like it has betrayed him on a spiritual level.

Beerus hops onto the counter and meows loudly at him.

"I think he wants you to make breakfast," I tease.

"He thinks I can cook?"

"He thinks you're tall and therefore competent."

Waterboy looks deeply flattered by this unbreakable logic. Slightly blushing and petting the beast screaming at him.

He laughs sheepishly, then hands me something.

A laminated card.

"Emergency Contact: Waterboy."Under it: his real number. Not the SDN hotline.

"You don't... have to use it," he says quickly. "I just— I know weird things happen around you and I figured— I mean— not that you're weird— I just—"

I place my hand lightly over his, stopping the spiral.

"I'm glad you gave it to me."

He goes bright red.

Beerus, sitting on the counter still like a smug gremlin, meowing at Waterboy approvingly.

Waterboy smiles. "I, uh... I like hanging out with you."

I smile back. "Yeah. Me too."

A soft rumble of thunder rolls overhead — a familiar reminder.

But this time?

It doesn't feel like a warning.

It feels like the start of something.

We spend the next hour making tea incorrectly, talking about small things, big things, nothing. When he eventually leaves for his shift, the doorway feels colder.

But he promises — awkwardly, sincerely — "I'll come by tomorrow. If... if that's okay."

It is very okay.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────── BONUS

(y/n) sends a call to SDN for a cat babysitter and specifically requests Waterboy when they have a last-minute job interview.

Also (y/n) and Waterboy/Herman actually went to the same high school, they just never noticed each other– also they live like down the street from each other so. yeah.

Lowkey I forgot I was writing in gender-neutral terms for a second and for Sonar wrote "Damn, what if she lets him see her boobs? Lucky."

from my wattpad story Waterboy Imagines || Waterboy x Reader.

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Arc

Phoenix Program Orientation – SDN, Torrance, CA

The air smells like disinfectant and fake optimism. Every wall screams hope and redemption in bright motivational fonts and cute cat posters. I fucking despise this.

"Welcome to the Phoenix Program," the instructor chirps. "Where villains become vital contributors to society!"

I nearly choke on the word vital.Last week I was on SDN's radar. Now I'm apparently a "recovering asset."

A holographic screen flickers to life beside me, replaying a few highlight reels of my arrest—courtesy of Blonde Blazer and Brainbook, one of SDN's poster duos. The footage is humiliating: me on my knees, half-conscious, nose bloody, and my stupid ass cracking a grin before passing out.

The instructor claps her hands. "You'll each be paired with another hero in the program for integration training. We've found synergy improves rehabilitation outcomes by 60 percent!"

I snort. "What if I don't want to synergize with whatever geeky phenoma-wannabe?"

She beams. "Then we'll find someone patient enough to survive you."

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They directed me to a ship bay. It's humid in a way that makes my skin prickle.

Standing near a tank and coiling hoses is the most awkward hero I've ever seen: ginger hair, neon-yellow suit streaked with electric blue, not to mention the water dripping from his gloves.

"Waterboy," the Robert announces. "This is your new partner, Arc. You'll be running synergy drills."

His head jerks up. "M-me? With them?"

"Congratulations," the Robert says, far too monotonously, and cuts comms.

I raise an eyebrow. "You sure you're old enough to be out here without floaties, sweetheart?"

He blinks. "Uh—yes? I—I have a certification card?"

I grin, leaning closer. "Adorable."

He straightens, trying to sound confident. "I'm—uh—a certified hero. I've handled pressure before."

"Pressure? Sweetheart, please," I coo, flashing a smirk at him, "You haven't seen nothing yet."

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Location: Bay Sector 9 — Cargo Dock 47 Objective: Protect shipment. Avoid homicide.

The air smells like salt and bad decisions. The ship creaks beneath us as waves slap the hull, echoing under the quiet hum of the harbor. Somewhere far off, a gull screams like it's auditioning for a horror movie.

My comm crackles: "Report in, Arc. Visuals clean?"

"Clean enough," I reply, scanning the deck. "Unless we count my partner's fashion choices as a threat."

Waterboy glances up from where he's checking the railing seals, brow furrowing. "You mean the suit? It's a regulation hydro-conductive polymer blend!"

"Yeah," I say, smirking. "Real intimidating. Nothing says 'fear me' like highlighter-yellow spandex."

He blinks. "It's actually lemon—wait, you're teasing me."

"Good catch, puddle boy. Starting to get the hang of social cues?"

He crosses his arms, puffing up a little. "I'm not a puddle boy. I'm an SDN hero with a specialization in water manipulation."

I grin. "You memorized that from your HR file, didn't you?"

His mouth opens, then closes. "...Maybe."

I chuckle, leaning on the railing beside him. The night air buzzes faintly around me, static curling at my fingertips. He's trying so hard to seem composed—adorable, really.

"So," I ask, "how do you usually handle pirates?"

"Uh," he says thoughtfully, "diplomacy? I think?"

"Wrong answer." I crack a grin. "Lightning."

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It starts with a soft pop—like champagne corks. Then the night erupts.

Speedboats cut through the fog, engines roaring. Dark shapes leap onto the lower deck—masked, armed, and yelling. One tosses a flash grenade that fizzles midair. Another has a grapple hook. Cute.

I roll my shoulders, sparks snaking up my arms. "Looks like the rumors were true."

Waterboy steps beside me, eyes bright and calm in the chaos. "Stay behind me."

"Excuse me?" I laugh, already charging up. "You think I'm the one who needs protection?"

"Protocol says—"

"Protocol can choke on a dick."

I vault off the stairs and land right in front of the first thug. Lightning cracks through the fog like a whip, striking a crate beside him and scattering the rest. For a glorious second, it feels too easy.

Then—bang. Something smacks into my side hard enough to knock the breath out of me.

I skid across the deck, narrowly avoiding a stack of barrels.

"Arc!" Waterboy shouts. He's spewing out a pressurized current of water that topples three guys in a splash, but there are at least ten more behind them.

I groan, staggering up. "I'm fine. Just... mildly electrocuted myself. Don't tell HR."

He's flustered, shouting over the chaos. "You shouldn't have gone ahead!"

"Oh, sorry," I yell back. "Didn't realize you wanted to talk it out with them!"

"Communication is key in partnership!" He shouted back.

"You're unbelievable!" I groaned.

"I know!" He grins, stepping backwards as a hook flies past his head. "But it's working!"

He's right—somehow. Between his minorly concussive water barf and my lightning bursts, we're pushing the gang back, but not fast enough. More boats are closing in, headlights cutting through the fog.

I glance around, breathing hard. My energy's draining fast. "There are too many. We fall back, regroup—"

"No," he says, voice firm in a way that makes me blink. "We can do this."

I raise a brow. "You're cute when you're delusional."

He looks at me—really looks—and there's a spark of something fierce behind those icy-blue eyes. "Do you trust me?"

And damn it, I do.

He points toward the deck's center, where the water from his earlier attacks has pooled into a massive puddle spanning half the ship.

"Draw them in," he commanded. "All of them."

"Oh," I grin, "you're thinking what I'm thinking."

"Probably," he responded. "You're gonna like–love it."

He starts deliberately pulling back his waves, leaving trails of shallow water that look like easy paths for the gang to charge through. The pirates cheer, thinking they're winning ground.

I raise my voice just enough for them to hear. "Hey, boys!" Lightning flickers down my arm. "Hope you brought the right boots."

They rush us in a roar of stomping and gunfire. Waterboy spins his arms wide, splurging the tide up just enough to evade their reach—perfect coverage.

I take a deep breath. The static builds, hairs rising along my arms. The deck hums under my boots like a power grid on the edge of overload.

"Waterboy," I shout, "on my mark!"

"Copy that!"

"Now!"

He slams both palms to the deck—water splashing up in a perfect current. I release everything I've got.

The lightning lashes out, racing across the ship like liquid fire. It hits the puddle—and for a heartbeat, the world goes white-blue.

When it clears, every pirate on the deck is twitching, groaning, and very much unconscious. Smoke curls off a few of them. One is still clutching a crowbar that's now magnetized to the railing.

Waterboy whistles softly. "That were–was... shockingly effective."

I stare at him. "Did you just—"

He grins. "What? Too soon?"

I snort, shaking my head. "You're lucky you're cute."

He blinks. "Wait—what?"

"Nothing." I stretch, shaking off the laugh. A slight static sound erupts, immediately followed by a click in my ear.

"Good job guys, I'm actually very impressed you pulled that off." Robert chimes in with praise riddled with condescending tones.

"You're just mad because I'm better than you, though, Bobert," I mimicked, flipping off all cameras in my vicinity.

I turned to Waterboy quickly, and the words came out before I could even process.

"Wanna head back and get lunch?"

"Uh—sure," he stammers, red creeping up his neck. "You wanna try my grandma's pie?"

"Sure, puddle boy. Surprise me."

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Waterboy

They sit across from me in the cafeteria, posture relaxed but eyes constantly scanning the room like they're planning fifty ways to escape. Arc. Ex-villain. Kind of a cool name, like an arc flash. Sharp smile, small scar near their lip, and some scattered on their arms and neck. The kind of person you probably shouldn't trust—but also can't stop looking at.

They're picking at their fries, clearly annoyed by the neon cafeteria lighting.

"You don't like it here," I say quietly.

They glance up, their (e/c) eyes undilated. "Sharp observation. You use that brain or just keep it in water?"

I grin, biting into my sandwich. "I use it sometimes. Usually for filling up people's pools."

That earns a small snort. Heh.. Progress.

"So why'd you join the Phoenix Program?" I ask. "You don't seem the... teamwork type."

"I didn't join," they correct. "Got drafted. PR spin. 'Reform the rogue with a conscience.'" They shrug. "I like my odds better here than in a cell."

"Still," I say, "you're trying. That's gotta count."

They study me for a beat. "You really believe that?"

"I kinda have to," I admit. "Otherwise, what's the point of saving anyone?"

They blink, caught off guard, then look away with a muttered, "You're weird."

"Thanks, I get, uh– told that a lot!" I say brightly.

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Arc

After the shift ends, the Z-Team collectively agrees to go to The Sardine for a night out drinking. We've been here twenty minutes, and Waterboy is nursing a shitty whiskey Robert gave him. I'm pretending I am not already four Jäger shots deep and starting to feel it spark my powers.

"Why'd you join the hero gig?" I asked, slurring more than intended.

He thinks for a second. "Ever since I could compreh– understand my p-powers, I.. uh," He glances down at his glass and shakes his head with a soft grin.

"I've always looked up to heroes, especially like Phenomoman, as of late." He chuckles.

He holds his drink with both hands, swirling the glass slightly.

"I just want to-to do my part– role in society. I want to help others." He trails off.

I glance at him. "A real superhero, you know that?"

He smiles faintly. "Oh– I, uh, no.. I wish. Just someone who's messed up enough t-times to think about it."

Something in my chest shifts—uncomfortably warm. I sip the whiskey. It's so bad. He probably can't even handle it.

He turns to me. "You're not like how they described you, y-you know."

"Dangerous? Volatile?" I sneer, drawing out my last words.

"I was gonna say horrible."

I freeze, heart lurching. "You talk too much Waterdick."

He chuckles. "W-Well, my grandma would prob– maybe, uh, say it's part of the charm."

I shake my head, fighting the grin. "If this is charm, I–"

A glass cup shatters next to my head. Fights erupt all across the bar– started by none other than our very own Robert "The Dick" Robertson.

Shit.

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After the whole bar fight, finding out my twinky dispatcher is THE Mecha Man, and seeing Water– Ahem, Hermie, show a kinda hot display of defending Rob against Flambitch— I think I've fully developed a crush on that dork.

Over the next few calls, they continue to pair us. Training, patrol, public demos. Every mission we learn something new—how to anticipate each other's movements, how to argue about morality and good judgment without losing too much focus.

The synergy peaked. We were something of a weird dream team.Some people think it's some fucked joke. Some people also happen to be getting cut next week because they're getting outperformed by Z-Team heroes– crazy, huh?

Somehow– through it all. Waterboy keeps showing up even when I snarl, even when I fail. And somehow, I start to care whether he's okay.

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Waterboy

Later that night, I'm on Robert's balcony, overlooking a whole sprawl of copy-paste apartment lights. The bass from inside thumps through the sliding doors; somebody's shouting about karaoke; somebody else is crying over a plate of nachos. Typical Z-Team energy.

I weave through the crowd, clutching two neon-blue Buzzballs I got from Invisigal. She said, 'Don't get blue-balled,' then winked, shoved them in my hand, and pushed me towards (y/n). (y/n)'s leaning on the railing, city lights reflecting in their (h/c) hair, sparks flickering at their fingertips like nervous fireflies.

"Brought you a beer," I say, holding one out. "With, uh, vodka."

They smirk, taking it. "So thoughtful, Hermie. You finally embracing your inner party animal?"

"I'm hydrating the team," I say proudly. "Community service– uh, charity."

They laugh, soft and bright, and take a sip. Lightning flickers faintly around their rings when they set the can down.

"Not bad," they say. "I half-expected you to spill both."

"I rehearsed," I admit. "Took practice.. Buzzballs."

That earns me a grin—then silence. The city hums below us. Their shoulder brushes mine, and I swear I can feel their sparks lightly gravitating towards me– my water.

"Y'know, Hermie," (y/n) says finally, voice lower, "I don't usually do this."

"Drink?"

"Flirt." They glance up at me, eyes a stormy gold under the patio light. "At least not when I actually mean it. Usually I just... make people uncomfortable and laugh about it later."

I swallow hard. "You're not making me uncomfortable."

"Oh, good," they say quickly, rambling now. "Because I'm terrible at this. Like—terrible. I start joking, then panic, then end up saying something stupid like 'your face is distracting' when I mean 'I think you're handsome', but only like– in a cute, dorky way.. and now I'm talking too much again, aren't I?"

Their cheeks go warm, words tripping over each other. I don't think; I just move.

I slide an arm around their waist and pull them closer.

They freeze—eyes wide—then melt against me. The kiss starts tentative, soft. Then something slightly shifts in the way they press against me. Their tongue swipes my bottom lip. Then, literal sparks crackle gently against my skin; their fists in my collar. It's warm and dizzying and exactly right.

When we break apart, they blink, dazed. "Okay. Wow."

"Yeah," I breathe. "That was... conductive?"

They snort a laugh and bury their face in my shoulder. "You did not just—"

Before either of us can recover, the sliding door bursts open.

"YO! THEY'RE TONGUE-ING EACH OTHER!" Sonar yells.

Half the Z-Team pours onto the balcony—Invisigal, Prism, even Robert himself. Prism's already got his phone out, camera light on full blast.

"Hold still!" Prism cackles. "This is going on YouTube!"

(y/n) groans, hiding their face in my chest. "I'm killing them all."

My voice cracks, "Technically," I murmur, "that would violate hero code."

They glare up at me, sparks still dancing along their hairline. "You're lucky you kiss well, Hermie."

"Guess we'll have to test that," I whisper, "for data–consistency."

Prism screams, "OH MY GOD THEY'RE DOING IT AGAIN—"

Robert yells, "OFF THE BALCONY, EVERYONE!" and herds the team back inside, still laughing.

(y/n) exhales against my neck, half-laughing, half-mortified. "I hate them."

"Well, I think they're cool– awesome," I say, grinning. "But at least they saw the light."

They elbow me lightly. "Okay, that pun did not hit."

"Whaat," I say, tugging them closer again. "I thought it would shock you."

They roll their eyes—but don't move away. The city glows beneath us, and somewhere inside the apartment, our team is still howling.

For once, I don't care what they think. So, this is what Robert meant.

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Bonus

TBH, there could totally be a spicy scene of this.

Hello! Thank you for reading. I tried out "Hermie" v. "Hermy" and I think I like Hermie better lol.

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Purssian

I'm not ready to go back to work.

Even though I'm technically over my cold, I still feel like I've been steamrolled by fate—and NyQuil.

I yawn and stretch my arms as I walk out of the locker room toward the break area. A few familiar faces—heroes, dispatchers, office staff—wave hello as I pass, all chipper and loud for 8 a.m. I fake a grin and wave back.

Then a heavy arm slings around my shoulders.

"Jeez, what a way to start the morning, huh?" drawls Ranger, the definition of too-much-energy-before-coffee.

"Annnd good morning to you too, Ranger," I answer, giving him a skeptical look.

He smirks. "I mean, if I got stuck with some Z-Team wannabe who looks like he wets himself whenever someone yells 'boo,' I'd be having a crap morning personally."

He laughs, slapping my back like he just said something profound.

I blink. "What are you even—"

He clears his throat and tilts his chin toward the conference room. Inside sits a lanky guy, soake, in a hero suit—bright yellow trimmed with electric blue and black. His ginger hair is plastered to his forehead, and he's fidgeting with his thumbs while staring blankly out the window.

Ranger grins. "That sick day you took? Yeah. Dispatch got a new assignment—some poor soul had to train that guy. Nobody volunteered, so since you were out, bam—your name got slipped in. You're the lucky winner."

I stare at him. Then at the drenched figure. Then back at Ranger.

"You're kidding."

"Nope." He chuckles. "Honestly, to be fair, that stormy day was chaos." "Yeah, thanks to Dispatch sending me out in it," I grumble.

Ranger just laughs, patting my shoulder. "Good luck, Purrsian. Don't drown." He leaves still cackling as his comm buzzes for another job.

I sigh, fix my hair, and try to stand a little straighter. Time to pretend I'm a responsible adult again.

I walk into the conference room and the guy immediately shoots up like he's been hit with a stun gun.

"H-Hi there! Hello—uh—name—my name is—uh—call—me—uh—" He inhales sharply, tries again. "Call me Waterboy."

He laughs nervously and holds out a dripping hand. Actual water trails down his glove. What a dork.

I can't help it—I laugh lightly and give him one of my best smiles. "What a pleasure to meet you, Waterboy," I say brightly. "You can call me Purrsian. I'm excited to work with you today!" I exclaim, ears and tail perked.

His posture softens. Relief, maybe. Then I realize—I have no idea what we're supposed to be doing. I don't check emails much. Or... ever.

"Say, uh," I start, "did anyone tell you what you're doing today, or am I supposed to figure that out?"

"Oh! Uh—the people—uh—the manager? Said I was gonna—uh—shadow! Yeah. Shadow for a day." He stammers through it, cheeks pink.

"Perfect!" I clap my hands. "You'll follow me on my calls. I'll show you the ropes—talking to civilians, problem-solving, maybe not dying. Sorry if that's boring; I just don't want to throw you in the deep end." I grin, aiming finger guns his way. "Pun intended."

He blinks, clearly processing, and then gives a small laugh. "Oh! I—I get it! Because—water—me—boy—yeah." He laughs again, rubbing his neck. "That's good."

He's hopelessly awkward. It's endearing.

My comm crackles. "Purrsian, you're up. Local high school track team requested a hero rep for an event—just PR, no recruiting. Look cool, play nice."

"Got it," I reply, then turn to him. "Alrighty, we're up, Waterboy."

He looks up. "Up?"

"Hop on my back—I'll get us there."

His eyes nearly pop out. "Do you—mean—carry? Like, you're—carrying me?!"

I clear my throat, avoiding eye contact. "It's faster. I have enhanced speed and strength. Totally safe."

He's silent, face red. His hand fiddles with his suit collar like he's airing out heat.

"I won't drop you," I say gently, meeting his eyes. "If I do, you can soak me later."

He blinks, startled, then chuckles nervously. "Okay... I—I trust you. Uh, Purrsian."

"Good. Let's move."

I crouch slightly and let him climb on. He's tall—awkward to balance—but light. I adjust my grip on his legs, plant my heel, and sprint.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Waterboy

Oh my gosh ohmygosh—THEY'RE SO FAST. The world is just a blur of wind, buildings, and light. My hands grip their shoulders, knuckles white. I'm trying so hard not to scream or accidentally turn the entire street into a slip'n'slide.

But even through the chaos, all I can think about are their ears. Sharp, twitching slightly when the wind hits. Reminds me of—

And we're there. I almost slide off their back when we stop.

"W-Woah! That was—the running—and—the—awesome," I manage to choke out.

Purrsian laughs. "Well, thank you! I prioritize smooth rides and happy riders." They even wink.

My brain.. just.. just short-circuits. "O-oh! Right! Uh, yeah."

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Purrsian

He gives me a nervous stare, like he's unsure what to do with himself. Did he just think I was being freaky? Oh no. Oh no.

"Oh my god, no no, I didn't mean like—like an Uber or something—just, uh, forget it." I wave it off. Smooth, Purrsian. Real smooth.

"Anyway!" I clear my throat. "A few quick rules. Try not to splash me too much. I get sick easily—I literally just recovered from being stuck in the rain too long."

He salutes, puffing out his chest. "Aye, captain!"

I laugh, and we head for the track.

Waterboy

The high school's buzzing with noise. Kids swarm everywhere—some in track uniforms, some just gawking at heroes like we're movie stars. Purrsian dives right in, chatting with the coach, posing for selfies, even showing off a vault over the hurdles.

I hang back, filling water coolers and making sure no one overheats. It's not glamorous, but I don't mind. It feels good to be useful.

Every so often, they glance back and wave, and I swear I could melt into the turf. They're confident but kind—the kind of hero who makes the job look easy. Their (e/c) eyes light up the field more than the sun does. When one of the runners trips, they're there instantly, helping him up with a smile that somehow calms the entire crowd.

Yeah. Purrsian is that kind of hero.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

We grab food from a cart outside HQ—a couple of sandwiches, soda, and some peace and quiet. Purrsian leans back on the bench, hair catching the light. I can't stop staring.

They raise an eyebrow. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No, no, you just—uh—you remind me of my grandma's cat."

Their expression freezes. "...Excuse me?"

"Not—like—a bad thing!" I stammer. "She had this cat named Peaches—super fluffy, always headbutted people they liked. You kinda move—act—like Peaches. Confident. Curious. Cute. I mean—uh—cool."

They burst out laughing. "So I remind you of a cat, and that's supposed to be flattering?"

"Yes?" I squeak.

They shake their head, still smiling, cheeks slightly red. "You're unbelievable."

After that, we hit a handful of small calls after lunch—shoplifters, a minor scuffle, even a clown-themed robbery attempt. (Why do villains love clowns?)

Somewhere between stopping a bar fight and helping a lost kid at the carnival, we find our rhythm. I trust their cues; They trust my timing. There are a few unplanned water incidents—their boots are soaked—but they don't care. Purrsian is still smiling and cracking jokes— it's oddly refreshing.

By the time the sun dips low, I realize I've been smiling for most of the shift.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Purrsian

We're walking back toward SDN HQ when he finally speaks up.

"Um, Purrsian?"

"Yeah?"

"Would it be weird if I, uh... treated you to dinner? You know, as an apology for, um, all the splashing. And... I heard you were sick last week, so maybe something fulfilling— good for you? For recovery?"

I blink. "Are you asking me out, Waterboy?"

His face turns scarlet. "I—uh—maybe?"

Before I can answer, our comms explode.

"WATERBOY JUST ASKED PURRSIAN OUT?!" "Z-TEAM'S GOING FOR GOLD!" "GET IT, HYDRATION KING!"

He groans into his hands. "They're never gonna let me live this down."

I grin. "Guess you better commit, then. Come on—burgers on you."

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

We head down to a spot I recommend, The Radar Bar & Grill. The place smells like grilled perfection. We grab a booth in the corner and order way too much food.

"So," I ask, "how was hero training?"

He lights up. "It was amazing! I learned a lot, made a few mistakes, and I'm eager to do better for the Z-Team. And—uh—Robert's awesome. Can't believe he picked me."

"Why's that? You did great."

He shrugs. "Because I had a good mentor." Then instantly hides behind his drink, mortified.

I laugh. "Flattery noted. But seriously—why?"

He fidgets. "I'm... not super confident. Been working on it. Today's the most I've talked to anyone. It's nice to feel relied on."

I nod slowly. "I get that."

He tilts his head. "You do?"

"Yeah. Growing up, people made fun of me. Called me a 'pussy,' said I belonged in a zoo. Eventually, I leaned into it—got loud, funny, a little weird. I started in IT, fixing comms, running diagnostics. One dispatcher told me I handled chaos better than most capes. So I trained. Failed a lot. Worked up the ranks."

He smiles softly. "You make it look easy."

"Trust me," I say with a grin, "it's anything but." I chuckle and brush off the conversation. 

"By the way.. I feel inclined to share this with you now since I  just trauma-dumped on you," I blurt out, clearing my throat, "My name is (y/n)."

I extend my hand out to him. He stares at me in awe and immediately shakes my hand somewhat frantically.

"My name—I'm—I'm Herman, you can c-call me Hermy."

After exchanging names, we awkwardly avert each other's gazes. I stare down at my drink, then I glance up at a passing server. I mouth 'Tequila' and throw up two fingers at him.

The server immediately comes back with two shots of Tequila, and I slide one to Waterboy.

"A toast to you and me, Hermy." I cheer, lifting the glass up in the air.

He looks up at the glass in my hand, and his shot is in front of him. He smiles and quickly nabs it to toast me.

We finish our food, talking about everything and nothing—hero stories, dumb calls, weird snacks at HQ. When we finally leave, the night air's cool and quiet. He walks beside me, a little too close but not close enough to complain.

After a few minutes of awkward silence and pondering. I speak up.

"How about you shadow me again the rest of this week?" I insisted, facing forward, staring down the sidewalk in front of us.

He immediately stops in his tracks and starts freaking out. "(y/n)— Ohmygosh— I would like— love— I absolutely would love to!"

I smile at him, and he cracks a smile while rubbing his neck, and gives me an embarrassed look. Looks like training won't be so bad.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

BONUS

Waterboy actually gets sick, so (y/n) visits him at his grandmother's and takes care of him for a day after receiving a dispatch call from his grandma.