Male Reader X

Male Reader x Pyrrha Nikos (RWBY)

If you like the chapter, remember to follow me!

You sat and watched.

On the bleachers at the edge of the training space – a gym reserved for the students of the academy. It was empty at this hour of the morning. No young man or woman was silly enough to awaken at the crack of dawn and train their hearts out.

Unless they were her.

Pyrrha Nikos was not just a student – she was the school's idol. A girl who stood head and shoulders above everyone else. Her skill in battle is unmatched, her dedication to the creed of the school constant, and her looks... they certainly draw more than a few stares. Her deep red hair, chiselled body... you were infatuated. But who wasn't? She practically has her own fan club.

She stood still, not a single ounce of struggle in her posture despite the movement's she has already gone through, her muscles not willing to give way and compromise. Every morning Pyrrha would come to the gym and perform a series of combat stances and attacks. And you'd started to come watch her do it.

She moves, her feet letting out loud screeches as they drag against the shiny floor. She thrusts, her spear cutting through the air and stabbing itself into an invisible enemy. She retreats, thrusts, and swings. Over and over. Her dance is perfect. Her body exhumes sweat. She isn't wearing her armor like usual, instead she bares a training bra and leggings.

She stops. The spear retracts and is placed back into an idle position. She stands there and sucks in deep breaths of air. She then turns of her heel and approaches you. "Good morning," she greets curtly, politely, without an ounce of emotion on her face.

"Good morning."

"Did you come here to train?"

You lean back and shrug, "I think I'd just embarrass myself, especially after seeing you do it."

Pyrrha crosses her arms, "Consider it payment for your observation, let me see your form." She sounds halfway between joking and being angry. It's hard to tell sometimes. You lean over and pull your own weapon from underneath the bench. It shimmers in the light. "What is it?" You brush away some dust and debris from the ground below.

"It was my father's; he was a great huntsman. He insisted that I take it and learn to use it... He has a big head, doesn't he?"

Pyrrha seems to disagree, "Perhaps he merely thinks that it will serve you well, like it did him."

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing. He deserves to boast every once in a while." You stood from the bench and unfolded it to it's full form. A mechanical crossbow with two long, curved blades on either side. It was a mockery of a real bow and arrow – with no strings. It could be mounted to the arm or used as a more traditional weapon. The force of the bolts could pin a Grimm to a wall with ease. This wasn't a revolver, not at all.

"My father is a dirty fighter – he says that firing first is the most important thing. You know, the first time I shot this thing - it dislocated my arm."

Her concern is visible and evident, "That sounds..."

"It was my fault, I didn't listen to his advice and tried to use it when I wasn't ready. If I'd listened, we wouldn't have had to travel to the hospital to put it back." That was your first and only lesson in humility from your father.

You mount the weapon on your arm and adopt a basic stance. You begin to go through the forms that he'd taught you. But compared to a more versatile weapon like Pyrrha's lance there was little of interest to see. This was not an elegant weapon, nor was it one with an established history of usage. It was something that your father threw together in his garage.