obsessed sonar x hero reader
Sonar had always been intense—but with you, it was different.
Every morning you arrived at Dispatch HQ to find something on your desk:
a perfectly folded paper crane, a bright silver charm shaped like a shield, a thermos of tea labeled “For your throat. You talk too much mid-mission.”
It was strange, but harmless. Sonar didn’t speak much, so the gifts became his language.
You always thanked him politely, even if you didn’t always understand the meaning behind them.
But lately… he’d been acting off.
Constantly watching you on missions.
Appearing behind you without making a sound.
Stations changing so he’d be near you.
And the gifts… they became more personal.
A scarf in your favorite color.
A notebook with your initials carved by hand.
A hand-stitched patch with your hero symbol outlined in silver thread.
You tried to talk to him—gently—about giving you space, but Sonar only smiled a little and said:
“It’s so you’ll remember who’s always looking out for you.”
His voice was soft, but something in it made you shiver.
The mission that day was already risky—a raid on an underground tech lab hoarding stolen Dispatch equipment. You were leading the front team. Sonar was supposed to stay behind as comm support.
Halfway through clearing the building, your earpiece filled with interference. Screeching static stabbed into your skull, making you drop to one knee.
“Sonar?” you gasped. “What are you—? Cut the frequency!”
But the static only grew worse. Your teammates were shouting your name, but you couldn’t hear them through the piercing noise.
The kind that felt wrong.
You forced your eyes open and saw him.
Standing in the shattered doorway behind you, head tilted, expression unreadable.
“Why are you here?” you demanded, breath shaking.
He walked toward you, slow, controlled. “I told you. I’m looking out for you.”
“You nearly blew my eardrum out!”
“I know,” he said, strangely calm. “I had to disable the enemy comms. Their tech was interfering with yours.
Your team was nowhere in sight.
And Sonar… wasn’t meeting your eyes.
Behind him—your teammates unconscious on the ground, not hurt badly, but clearly taken down.
“Sonar,” you whispered, stomach dropping. “What did you do?”
His jaw tensed. “They didn’t listen when I said you were in danger. They kept pushing you into the fight. You don’t belong on the front line.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out another gift.
A small, velvet-wrapped box.
“It was supposed to be for after the mission,” he said, voice trembling. “Something to keep you safe forever.”
His face cracked—hurt, panic, something darker behind his eyes.
“I did all this for you,” he whispered. “Why won’t you see that?”
Backup arrived before things escalated.
Sonar didn’t resist when the others restrained him—almost like he’d expected it.
He only looked at you the whole time, eyes wide and desperate.
“I’m not dangerous,” he said softly as they led him away. “I just needed you to understand.”
You found the little velvet box later.
Inside was a tracking pendant—designed with Dispatch tech, coded to your exact frequency.
Something he could have used to follow you anywhere.
You closed the box slowly, chest tight.
Sonar hadn’t tried to hurt you.
But the line between devotion and obsession had snapped a long time ago… and you never saw it coming.