#NOT indicative of his character.. you understand.. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cressidagrey · 15 days ago

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Override: Denied

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary: Five times Bee’s intelligence left kindergarten teachers speechless—and one time they tried to go behind Felicity’s back, only to learn that Oscar Piastri is many things, but a husband who betrays his wife’s trust isn’t one of them.

Warnings and Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

1. The Gruffalo

The whole thing started with The Gruffalo.

Bee had picked it up during free play and started reading it aloud. Slowly, carefully, but without hesitation. Her voice was small, her finger tracking the lines one by one. Half the class had gathered around to listen. One of the assistants had smiled indulgently, assuming she was reciting from memory.

Then she turned the page and kept going.

By the time the final line came — “And now my tummy’s beginning to rumble. My favourite food is—gruffalo crumble!” — the room had gone still.

Apparently, one of the teachers had laughed. Said it was “adorable pretend reading.” Bee had corrected her. Politely. Then read a second book just to prove the point.

Now, Felicity was standing in the cramped hallway outside the kindergarten classroom, still holding Bee’s raincoat, and trying very hard not to lose her temper.

Felicity had never liked the way Miss Caroline looked at Bee.

It wasn’t unkind — not exactly. But it had that edge. That clinical, calculating gleam Felicity knew too well. She’d grown up seeing it in the faces of tutors and family friends, in admissions panels and the polished smiles of dinner guests. The one that said: what can we make of this child?

Like potential was something you could bottle. Like brilliance had to be measured to be made real.

“I think we should consider a formal evaluation,” Miss Caroline said. Tight smile, worried eyes. “It’s highly unusual for a child her age to read like that. We want to make sure she’s getting the right support. Beatrice shows advanced pattern recognition. Abstract language comprehension. Her reading retention is—”

She didn’t say of course I know. She didn’t say I taught her to read before she turned two or I watched her sort herbs in the garden by both function and taxonomy last week. Felicity didn’t say she absorbs the world like light through glass.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Felicity said calmly.

Miss Caroline blinked. “I understand your hesitation, but identifying her cognitive profile early can help us tailor her learning environment. There’s no harm in—”

“There is, actually,” Felicity interrupted. “There is harm in assigning numbers to children before they have the language to understand what those numbers mean.”

“But Mrs. Piastri, don’t you want to know how advanced Beatrice really is? We’re talking about early gifted indicators. She could—”

“She’s a child. She doesn’t need a label. She needs kindness, and structure, and not being treated like a science experiment because she reads well. She’s three,” Felicity repeated. “And intelligence tests aren’t reliable anyway until at least seven. I assume you know that.”

The teacher had the grace to look uncomfortable.

Miss Caroline’s expression pinched. “I understand your concern, but you’re quite young—”

And there it was.

Felicity blinked. Once. Twice. The hallway was full of the shrieking post-nap chaos of pickup. Bee was sitting near the coat racks, legs swinging, chatting happily to a stuffed duck.

“I’m sorry,” Felicity said, tone like ice cracking underfoot. “My age is… relevant how?”

“I just meant—sometimes younger parents don’t realize how early intervention can benefit —”

“My daughter is three,” Felicity said tightly. “You’re not slapping a number on her.”

“Mrs. Piastri—”

“Doctor Piastri,” she said, before she could stop herself. “PhD. Mechanical Engineering. Oxford,” Felicity said, her voice soft and cutting. “I earned it while raising a medically complex toddler and making all of my daughter’s baby food from scratch. Please don’t mistake my age or my trainers for incompetence.”

The teacher flushed deep pink.

Felicity adjusted the strap on her shoulder bag. “I’ve seen what happens to girls who get told their value is how exceptional they are. Who are taught to equate achievement with worth. I will not put Bee through that. I will not let you quantify her.”

Miss Caroline opened her mouth. Closed it again.

Felicity’s tone stayed level, but her words landed like a scalpel. “If Beatrice wants to build rockets when she’s ten, I’ll be first in line with the duct tape and codebooks. But right now, she’s three. She wants to make frog houses in the backyard and eat her weight in strawberries. That is more than enough.”

She stepped past her and crouched beside Bee, gently helping her into her coat. “Ready, baby?”

Bee nodded, duck tucked under her arm. “Did you know frogs have teeth on their upper jaws only?”

Felicity smiled. “I did not know that. Thank you for teaching me.”

She stood, lifting Bee’s backpack and taking her hand.

The teacher tried again: “She really is extraordinary.”

Felicity turned back, her expression softening — not for the teacher, but for the child who’d asked this morning if plants ever got tired of growing.

“She is,” Felicity agreed. “But that’s hers. Not yours to catalogue.”

Then she walked out, head high, daughter in hand.

Because if Bee was going to grow into everything she could be, it would be without a chart. Without a score. Without a number that hung over her like a ceiling.

She’d be brilliant.

And free.

***

2. Music Notes

It started — as it always did — with a well-meaning concern.

“Mrs. Piastri,” said Miss Eleanor at pickup, her cardigan slightly askew and a clipboard clutched to her chest like a shield, “do you have a moment?”

Felicity, who had just arrived after wrestling a leaky chicken feed bag into the boot of the car and still had dirt under her nails, nodded. “Of course.”

“It’s about Beatrice,” the teacher began.

Felicity offered a politely neutral expression, the one she reserved for conversations that were already exhausting before they began. “What about her?”

Miss Eleanor lowered her voice. “During quiet time today, Bee was reading from one of the classroom books — which is lovely, of course — but when I asked what she was doing, she said she was reading the music. Not the words. The sheet music.”

Felicity blinked. “And?”

“Well… it’s just rather unusual, isn’t it?” Miss Eleanor said, shifting uncomfortably. “For a child her age to understand music notation. We just wanted to check she wasn’t, ah… mimicking it, rather than actually reading it. Sometimes gifted children blur the line between memorization and comprehension—”

“She plays the piano,” Felicity said flatly.

Miss Eleanor paused. “I’m sorry?”

“She plays the piano,” Felicity repeated. “She can sight-read simple compositions. Because I taught her. We have a piano in the living room. I have been playing piano and violin since I was two. And we practice for twenty minutes most mornings, because it helps Bee focus.”

The teacher blinked.

“She knows what a treble clef is,” Felicity added. “She can count beats. She prefers Bach to Bartók, and last week she told me Mozart was ‘a bit fussy, but nice.’”

Miss Eleanor gave a slightly strangled laugh. “I see.”

“Do you?”

The words came out sharper than Felicity intended — but she didn’t apologize. She was tired of Bee being treated like a walking warning sign just because she was curious and quick and quiet.

“She’s not showing off,” Felicity said more gently. “She just loves music. It makes her feel steady. And she’s allowed to love it without being flagged for it.”

Miss Eleanor gave a stiff smile. “Of course. Thank you for explaining.”

Felicity crouched down to where Bee was waiting, humming softly and carefully zipping her backpack.

“Ready, sweetheart?” Felicity asked.

Bee nodded. “I was playing the notes in my head. They were from Clair de Lune.”

Miss Eleanor’s mouth twitched.

Felicity stood, offered one last smile — sharp and sweet all at once — and said, “Next time, maybe ask her what she’s doing before assuming it’s a problem.”

She held Bee’s hand as they left the classroom, tiny fingers warm in hers.

“Did I do something bad?” Bee asked quietly once they reached the parking lot.

“No,” Felicity said, squeezing her hand. “You did something beautiful.”

3. The Absence of Tantrums

Felicity didn’t expect much from pick-up anymore. A mild sunburn from the pavement. Bee’s curls plastered to her forehead. Crayons in her pockets and a rock in her sock. Maybe another baffling comment about her “advanced auditory memory” or her “preference for multi-syllabic words.”

What Felicity didn’t expect was to be asked in again.

“Just a quick chat,” Miss Kate said gently, gesturing toward the staff room. “About Beatrice.”

Felicity’s heart stuttered — just a fraction — but she nodded.

Bee, for her part, ran out with her usual boundless enthusiasm, clutching a folded worksheet and humming the melody to some Vivaldi piece she’d overheard last week. Felicity kissed her cheek and passed her a bottle of cold water, then followed Miss Kate inside.

Two other teachers were waiting, seated politely with that expression that said we are deeply concerned and also don’t overreact.

“Bee’s been doing really well,” Miss Eleanor began. “Very well. But we’ve started noticing some things that… well, we wanted to flag.”

Felicity sat. “Such as?”

“She doesn’t… react the way most of the children do,” Miss Kate said delicately. “No tantrums. No outbursts. If someone pushes her, she just… moves. If the class gets loud, she goes quiet.”

“That’s not necessarily a problem,” Felicity said slowly.

“No, of course not,” Moss Caroline jumped in. “But it’s… unusual. Concerning, even. We’re wondering if it might be worth evaluating her emotional range.”

Felicity blinked. “Because she doesn’t scream?”

“Or cry. Or talk over other children. She listens. She waits. She helps clean up when no one asks. At snack time, she shares without being prompted.”

“She’s empathetic,” Felicity said flatly.

“Exceptionally so,” Miss Kate agreed, as if that were a diagnosis.

Felicity’s jaw clenched. “I’m sorry. Are you saying there’s something wrong with her because she’s kind and self-regulates?”

“Not wrong,” Miss Eleanor said quickly. “Just… atypical.”

Felicity had tried. She really had.

She’d bitten her tongue. She had kept her mouth shut.

But this?

“You think something’s wrong with my daughter because she’s quiet?” she asked, voice sharp.

“Children her age are typically more… expressive—”

“She is expressive. Just because she doesn’t throw herself on the floor doesn’t mean she’s emotionally repressed.”

Miss Kate shifted in her seat. “It’s just something we’d like to observe further. Sometimes these traits stem from environment—”

Felicity’s hands curled into fists in her lap. “Let me save you the speculation. She’s calm because we treat her like a person, not a problem. She’s gentle because she’s never had to scream to be heard. And she listens because we listen to her.”

A pause.

Miss Eleanor blinked rapidly, cheeks pinking.

Felicity stood.

“If Bee was loud and unmanageable, you’d call her disruptive. But because she’s quiet, she must be broken. Do you hear how absurd that is?”

Nobody spoke.

Felicity gathered her bag, expression cool.

“I’m not saying she’s perfect,” she added. “But if you’re going to label a three-year-old as suspiciously well-adjusted, then maybe re-read your developmental psych modules. All of them.”

And with that, she turned and walked out — just in time to find Bee gently rescuing a worm from the pavement and moving it to the grass.

“Ready, love?” Felicity asked, her voice soft again.

Bee nodded, slipping her hand into hers.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked quietly.

Felicity crouched and kissed her temple. “Never.”

Because the world might not understand her daughter’s quiet brilliance.

But Felicity? She would fight for it every single time.

***

Felicity had barely made it past the coat hooks when she was intercepted.

“Hi, Mrs. Piastri,” said Miss Eleanor, with the same clipped tone she always used when she thought she was being subtle. “Do you have a minute to chat about Bee?”

Felicity’s spine stiffened. She offered a neutral smile. “Of course.”

Miss Eleanor led her to the side, just out of earshot of the pickup line. “We’ve been observing Bee’s behaviour over the past few weeks and… well, we’re slightly concerned.”

Felicity blinked. “About what?”

“She’s very… mature for her age.”

“She’s three,” Felicity said flatly.

“Exactly!” Miss Eleanor chirped. “And we’ve noticed she doesn’t… well, engage in the typical behaviors we expect at this age. She doesn’t throw tantrums. She doesn’t shout. She doesn’t interrupt. Sometimes we’re not even sure she’s here until we turn around and she’s just… building an alphabet tower or alphabetizing the nature books.”

Felicity stared at her.

“I’m sorry, are you concerned that my daughter is well-behaved?”

“She’s very… compliant,” Eleanor said, with the faintest wince, as if the word tasted wrong. “She listens too well. Doesn’t push boundaries. Never screams or throws tantrums.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Felicity said slowly.

“It’s just… unusual,” Eleanor said, lowering her voice like she was revealing something terrible. “She uses complete sentences. She lines up her toys by material and colour. She thanks the classroom aides without prompting. She doesn’t interrupt story time. She’s never once needed a time-out.”

“And this is… bad?”

“It’s atypical,” Eleanor stressed. “Children this age should still be testing limits. We’re wondering if she’s suppressing emotion. Or possibly masking.”

Felicity exhaled. Hard.

“She’s not masking. She’s self-regulating,” she said flatly. “She has a secure attachment style and a predictable environment at home. She has space to feel safe. She doesn’t need to scream to feel seen.She’s just… happy. We do emotional work at home. We talk. We teach. We model. You don’t see tantrums because she’s not trying to earn attention. She already has it.”

Miss Eleanor blinked.

Felicity crossed her arms. “If you ever do notice her in distress—if she starts withdrawing or acting out or going quiet in a different way—I want to know immediately. But please stop treating her self-regulation as a red flag. Not all children need to be loud to be healthy.”

Miss Eleanor flushed. “Of course. Thank you for sharing.”

“I’m sorry she doesn’t fit your expectations,” Felicity said tightly, “but I am not going to apologize for raising a child who understands her own feelings and trusts her environment.”

There was a long silence.

Then Felicity walked past the clipboard, past the chart of developmental milestones, and straight to Bee—who looked up with bright eyes and said, “Mama! I made you a pigeon out of pipe cleaners.”

Felicity knelt and hugged her tight.

“Best pigeon ever,” she whispered, and meant it.

Bee grinned. “Can we make mushroom soup later?”

“Absolutely.”

She took her daughter’s hand, turned back to Eleanor, and said — as calmly as she could manage — “Please don’t pathologize her calm just because it makes your classroom quieter.”

And with that, she walked out of the building.

4. The Protest

It was nearly pick-up time, and Felicity was early — for once. She lingered outside the classroom with her coat still half-buttoned, scrolling through a work email when Miss Julia waved her over with that careful, tight-lipped smile that meant “We have notes.”

Felicity braced herself.

“Hi, Mrs. Piastri,” Julia began. “Just wanted a quick moment to talk about Bee. Nothing major, just… a few things we’ve been noticing socially.”

Felicity’s eyebrows rose. “Go on.”

“She’s very sweet,” Julia said — the kind of tone people use when they’re about to say but. “She shares well. Listens. Helps clean up. Very mature for her age.”

Another pause.

Felicity waited.

“It’s just — we’ve noticed she lets other kids take toys right out of her hands without standing up for herself. And she doesn’t always speak up when someone skips her turn, or if a game gets too rough. We’re a bit worried she’s not asserting herself. That she’s letting other kids walk all over her.”

Felicity’s mouth tightened.

“Did it occur to you,” she said coolly, “that maybe the other children shouldn’t be walking all over her in the first place?”

Julia blinked. “We just want to make sure she’s building resilience.”

“She is resilient,” Felicity said, voice calm but edged in steel. “She was in the NICU for the first three weeks of her life. She sat through a cardiologist appointment two days before her second birthday without flinching. She’s fluent in kindness, not confrontation — and that’s not a weakness.”

Julia opened her mouth again, but Felicity cut in. “If she’s uncomfortable, she tells me. If she’s overwhelmed, she seeks quiet. She doesn’t scream or shove — she removes herself.”

“I just worry that she’s not developing the ability to self-advocate.”

“She does self-advocate. She just doesn’t do it by yelling. Bee knows her own mind better than most adults I’ve met. And if another child repeatedly ignores her boundaries, maybe the question shouldn’t be about Bee’s assertiveness. Maybe it should be about why that behavior is allowed in the first place.”

Julia frowned. “It’s just important she learns not to be a pushover.”

“She’s not a pushover,” Felicity said, voice cool now. “She’s three, and she has empathy. She doesn’t hit or yell. She shares. She lets things go because they don’t matter to her. But when something does matter — when it’s her stuffed frog or the storybook she loves — she’ll hold her ground.”

“That’s not what we’ve observed—”

“Because she’s smart enough to pick her battles,” Felicity interrupted softly. “And because you don’t see what she’s like at home, when she’s explaining to her father why the frog gets a seat at the table, or insisting we play the same memory game four times in a row until she wins.”

She paused, gaze steady.

“You’re not raising her. We are. And we are teaching her when to hold the line, and when kindness is more powerful than claiming the toy first.”

Miss Julia opened her mouth. Closed it.

Behind them, Bee came skipping down the hall, her curls slightly lopsided from the day, her paper crown from craft time slightly askew.

“Mama!” she beamed. “Guess what? I let Henry borrow my glue stick, even though he never shares his paint.”

Felicity crouched to hug her. “That was generous of you, bumblebee.”

“I think he needed it,” Bee said seriously. “His crown fell apart. Mine didn’t.”

“I bet it didn’t,” Felicity murmured. “Let’s go home.”

She took her daughter’s hand and turned back once, calm and composed. “We’re not raising her to win playground wars. We’re raising her to know her worth doesn’t come from pushing the loudest.”

And that was the end of that.

Bee tugged her hand gently. “Can we go home now?”

“Definitely.”

Felicity stood and gave Miss Julia one final, polite smile.

“She might be soft-spoken,” she said, voice pleasant and sharp as glass, “but make no mistake. Beatrice knows exactly who she is. And that’s not something I’ll ever teach her to shrink.”

Then she took her daughter’s hand and left without another word.

***

Felicity knew something was up the moment she stepped into the classroom. Not from Bee — who was calmly drawing little frogs in a corner with a pink crayon clutched in her left hand — but from the way Miss Julia looked up like she’d been waiting.

“Mrs. Piastri,” she said, that same faux-gentle tone wrapped in tight-lipped concern. “Could I have a word?”

Again?

She nodded, stepping aside as Bee waved from her corner, already announcing, “Mama, I gave Hugo a lecture today!” like that was perfectly normal.

Felicity raised a brow. “Oh?”

Miss Julia’s smile tightened. “Yes, about that.”

They moved near the coat hooks. Felicity braced herself.

“There was a small… altercation,” Julia began.

Felicity blinked. “Bee? My child who apologizes to furniture?”

“Hugo took the magnifying glass she was using during nature station,” Julia said. “And when Bee asked for it back and he said no… she didn’t let it go.”

Felicity nodded slowly. “She asserted herself.”

“She told him, and I quote,” Julia said, checking her notes — her notes — “that it wasn’t kind to take something mid-use, and that he could wait his turn like everyone else. When he laughed, she told him she would be speaking to an adult, and that sharing only works if both people agree.”

Felicity’s mouth twitched. “Sounds reasonable.”

“Well, then she… sat down in front of the nature tray and told everyone that until Hugo returned it, she wouldn’t move.”

“So she staged a protest.”

Miss Julia frowned. “It disrupted the flow of the station.”

Felicity raised an eyebrow. “Because she asked for fairness?”

“She was very firm. Quite… unbending.”

“She asked for something politely. Was told no. Stood her ground. Warned she’d escalate. Then followed through.”

“It’s just that—last time, we discussed how she was too passive.”

“Yes,” Felicity said flatly. “And now she’s too assertive?”

“She could’ve come to a teacher immediately instead of creating a stand-off.”

“She tried to resolve it on her own. Respectfully. Which you flagged as a developmental concern the last time. So now that she’s advocating for herself—politely, might I add—it’s a problem again?”

Julia hesitated. “We just want her to strike a balance.”

“She’s three,” Felicity said, voice low and firm. “She doesn’t need to be perfect at conflict navigation. She needs to feel safe enough to say ‘this isn’t fair’ and be taken seriously.”

Julia looked mildly uncomfortable. “It just caught us off guard.”

“She was taught to speak gently first. Then stand her ground if kindness doesn’t work. And frankly, that’s more emotional regulation than I see in most adults.”

There was a pause.

Felicity reached for Bee’s cardigan. “I’m proud of her,” she added, quieter. “And if your takeaway from this is that she was too composed while being mistreated, then maybe your focus is off.”

5. The Mechanic

The first red flag was Miss Caroline’s tone — that overly careful cadence that meant someone was about to say something profoundly stupid with a polite smile.

“Mrs. Piastri,” she said as Felicity arrived at pick-up, Bee’s hoodie slung over one arm and a spare tyre gauge still in her coat pocket. “Do you have a minute?”

“Of course,” Felicity replied evenly.

Bee darted ahead toward her cubby. Miss Caroline waited until she was out of earshot before stepping slightly to the side, just enough to imply Serious Educational Concerns™.

“It’s about something Beatrice’s been sharing with the class this week. She’s been telling the other children she helps fix cars.”

Felicity raised an eyebrow. “She does.”

“Yes, well…�� Caroline’s smile strained. “Yesterday she said she replaced a belt drive on a Daimler and… recalibrated a carburetor?”

“She did,” Felicity said, already irritated.

“She’s three,” Miss Caroline replied, as though that explained everything.

“And Bee’s been coming to work with me since she was a few weeks old. That particular Daimler is a restoration project I’ve had ongoing with a friend. Bee did most of the bolt placement herself. If you want to test her, you can hand her a ratchet set and ask her to identify sizes in metric and imperial.”

“She told one of the boys that she reassembled a gearbox,” Caroline added, as though accusing Felicity’s daughter of claiming she’d flown to the moon.

“She did that too,” Felicity said. “With my supervision. And torque charts.”

There was a brief pause.

Miss Caroline cleared her throat. “It’s just that… some of the children think she’s making things up. We don’t want her getting in trouble for lying.”

Felicity smiled, thin and tight. “She’s not lying. She has excellent recall and a near perfect memory. If Bee says she did something mechanical, odds are, she did.”

“Right,” Caroline said, clearly still trying to compute. “It’s just… unusual. Most children pretend to be mermaids or astronauts—”

“Bee prefers pretending to be a pit lane engineer,” Felicity said. “She likes impact wrenches. And ballast weights. Her father brings her telemetry data to colour in.”

Caroline laughed awkwardly. “Oh — is he a mechanic too?”

Felicity blinked. “No. He’s a driver.”

There was a beat of silence. Then: “…Like a delivery driver? Or a taxi service?”

Felicity inhaled sharply through her nose.

“No. Like a Formula 1 driver. He drives a McLaren at over 300 kilometers an hour while managing energy deployment and brake migration settings,” she said calmly. “He handles complex race engineering telemetry on a regular basis. So — no. Not quite pizza delivery.”

Miss Caroline turned a frankly amazing shade of pink.

“I see.”

“Do you?”

At that moment, Bee came skipping over, waving a drawing with great enthusiasm. “Mama! I drew the brake system from Uncle Mal’s Jag! It’s accurate! I even did the cross-drilled rotors.”

Jenna peeked at the paper, which did indeed feature what looked like a labelled cutaway of a Jaguar brake disc assembly.

“Can we go home?” Bee asked. “I want to check the tyre pressure on the Peugeot. It looked squishy.”

Caroline made a faint choking sound.

Felicity smiled down at her daughter, then looked back at the teacher.

“Yes, love,” she said sweetly. “Let’s go check our PSI.”

As they walked out, Bee held her hand tight.

“Mama?”

“Yes, bumblebee?”

“Do teachers not know Papa is a race car driver?”

Felicity leaned down and kissed her curls. “I think they’re just catching up.”

+1: Oscar

It started like most drop-offs.

Bee had insisted on wearing her chicken-themed socks and packing three small rocks “for educational purposes.” Oscar had carried her in one arm and her bag in the other, already rehearsing strategy notes in his head for a post-sim debrief. He wasn’t really expecting anything more than a “Have a good day, Papa!” and maybe a small argument about snack order.

Oscar should’ve known something was coming the moment Miss Caroline said, “Mr. Piastri, do you have a moment?”

It was that same tone — the one that made it sound like she was about to gently suggest his child might be possessed.

Oscar turned. Miss Caroline again. Her smile was pleasant, like always — but too polished. Carefully rehearsed. Like the kind PR did before they dropped a ‘concerned’ statement.

He gave her a small nod. “Sure.”

They stepped slightly to the side, out of earshot from Bee, who had already launched herself into a group of kids with all the dramatic flair of a physics demonstration.

“It’s about Beatrice,” she said. “Nothing serious. She’s doing wonderfully — incredibly bright, of course. We’ve just been noticing some recurring markers that suggest she may benefit from formal assessment.”

Oscar blinked, already tired. “What kind of assessment?”

“IQ testing,” she said brightly. “Just to help tailor curriculum options and give us a clearer picture of her developmental profile. It’s quite standard for children who show early gifted tendencies.”

Oscar’s jaw shifted slightly, the muscles tightening.

“She’s three.”

“Yes, and early identification—”

“She’s three,” he repeated, voice low.

“Your wife mentioned she wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about cognitive testing for Bee, which of course we understand—but we were hoping perhaps you might… talk to her about reconsidering?”

Oscar stared at her.

Talk to Felicity.

Like she hadn’t made herself very clear. Like she hadn’t already explained — politely, firmly, and with the weight of her own experience — why she didn’t want Bee tested at three years old.

Oscar smiled. But it was the smile he used in press conferences when someone asked if he thought he should’ve gone for the overtake on Lap 27 and lost his front wing in the process.

“I’m sorry,” he said, tone even. “Are you asking me to override my wife’s decision?”

Miss Caroline blinked. “Not override—just… maybe you could help her understand the benefits—”

“She understands perfectly,” Oscar said, voice still calm. “She speaks three languages, teaches Bee how to calculate G-force with flour, and once wrote a statistical model to predict tomato yields in our garden for fun. If Felicity says no, it’s no. Full stop. Not ‘ask again later,’ not ‘see if her husband agrees.’ Just. No.”

Miss Caroline flushed. “Of course, we didn’t mean—”

“And for what it’s worth?” Oscar said, voice still low but no longer soft. “She’s Bee’s mother. Not just ‘your wife.’ She gets to have the final say.”

A pause.

“Unless Bee needs medical attention or starts dismantling the plumbing system,” he added dryly. “Then I get a vote.”

“Let me be absolutely clear,” he said, voice calm but steady now, like carbon fibre under pressure. “Whatever my wife says goes. She’s not hesitant. She’s informed.”

“She may not realise how helpful a formal measure can be for placement later—”

“She’s got a doctorate,” Oscar snapped, finally. “She’s been teaching Bee how to fix brake calipers since she was two. My wife knows exactly what it means, and she still said no. Which means you don’t get to go around her to try and change that.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I… I didn’t mean to imply she wasn’t capable,” Miss Caroline said awkwardly. “I just thought perhaps coming from you—”

“She doesn’t need me to speak for her,” Oscar said. “She needs people to stop mistaking quiet for weakness and young for unsure.”

He glanced back at Bee.

“My daughter spent the first few weeks of her life hooked up to machines I can’t even pronounce,” he said quietly. “And if my wife says we’re not slapping an IQ score on our toddler like it’s a bloody badge of honour, then that is the final word. From both of us.”

Miss Caroline looked mildly stunned.

Oscar gave her a polite smile that absolutely wasn’t polite. “Thanks for your concern. I drive a car for a living, but my wife holds our life together. You can guess whose opinion wins.”

And then he turned and walked back toward the car, resisting the urge to punch his steering wheel.

He didn’t need a test to tell him what kind of person Bee was.

And anyone who underestimated Felicity?

Didn’t understand the reason Bee was that person at all.

*** The kettle clicked off with a soft pop. Felicity didn’t move.

She was still curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, Bee’s tattered picture book in her lap — the one with the loose page that always made Oscar flinch because he kept meaning to fix it properly. Her fingers were idly tracing the corner of the cover, but her eyes were a thousand miles away.

Oscar poured two mugs, dropped a chamomile teabag into hers, and crossed the living room.

“She’s out cold,” he said quietly, setting the mug beside her. “Didn’t even stir when I carried her to bed.”

“Long day,” Felicity murmured. “She was playing rocket launch with a laundry basket and physics blocks after dinner. Something about thrust-to-weight ratios.”

Oscar huffed a laugh and sat down beside her, shoulder to shoulder.

They didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Then he added, “Your favorite teacher cornered me again.”

Felicity didn’t look away from the book. “Caroline?”

“Mhm.”

Her jaw twitched, just slightly. “What now?”

“She wanted me to convince you about the intelligence test.”

That made Felicity look up, brows knitting. “Seriously?”

“She even smiled when she said it. Like she was doing me a favor.”

“And?”

Oscar leaned his head back against the couch, eyes on the ceiling. “I told her no.”

Felicity arched a brow. “Just like that?”

“Not exactly.” He paused. “I said no. Then I told her that if you say no, that means the answer’s final. And that she could stop trying to go around you because I don’t entertain people who undermine my wife.”

Felicity blinked.

Oscar turned to look at her now, calm and clear. “I don’t care if Bee’s the next Einstein. She’s three. Her job is to eat blueberries and invent words and ask impossible questions about the moon.”

“She asked me yesterday if gravity works on dreams,” Felicity muttered.

“Exactly. You think a test helps that?”

Her shoulders sagged a little. “I just hate the idea of someone putting her in a box she didn’t choose.”

“I know,” Oscar said gently. “And I told her that. I told her that you are Bee‘s mother, and that if anyone gets to decide how Bee grows up, it’s you.”

Felicity let out a shaky breath, half-laugh, half-exhale. “Thank you.”

He bumped his shoulder against hers. “You don’t need to thank me for siding with you. We’re a team.”

“I know. It’s just—some days I feel like I have to justify everything I say to them. Like they’re waiting for me to slip up and prove I’m just… young. Or weird. Or too intense.”

Oscar took her hand and laced their fingers together.

“They don’t get to define what kind of mother you are. You do. And you’re brilliant.”

She went quiet, then leaned her head on his shoulder.

“I didn’t think it would feel like this,” she said after a moment.

“Like what?”

“Like protecting Bee would also mean protecting the version of myself I never got to be.”

Oscar kissed the top of her head. “That’s why we’re doing it.”

And on the table, the tea went cold. But neither of them moved.

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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horrorhot-line · 7 months ago

Text

serendipity

(n.) the occurrence and development of events by chance, in a happy or beneficial way.

➵ pairing: saiki kusuo / immune! reader

➵ word count: 16k

➵ genre: of first meetings and crack

➵ warnings: none

➵ summary: s1 ep 1 & 2. on your first day at pk academy, you witness saiki use pyrokinesis. from that moment forward, you become hell-bent on avoiding him at all costs. it’s easier said than done, especially after you find yourself unintentionally foiling chiyo yumehara’s plans to get close to him.

➵ masterlist (requests are open)

before you read:

‘saiki telepathically communicating with reader.’

‘reader thinking or interacting with saiki through thoughts.’

“saiki talking without moving his mouth.”

“saiki talking using his mouth.”

if you use the above format of speech in your fanfic, please credit as I was the first to come with it, thank you <3

author's notes: this post is a rewrite from my friends to lovers series that I first posted back in 2020, the relaunch you've been waiting for is finally here! it's still pretty much the same with a few changes here and there, hope you all enjoy <3

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

Ever since you could remember, the way the world worked didn't make sense. Your fragile child brain, not yet fully developed, was incapable of understanding that the very universe was shifting before you, at the hands of certain psychic no less.

You were 4 when you realised that other's wounds would go away quickly. Scrapes, bumps, cuts, you name it, they would heal almost instantaneously. You didn't possess such an ability, it seemed. All the doctors were curious as to why you would come to the hospital with bruises and wounds since it was unusual that, unlike everyone else, your injuries wouldn't heal after a day. Looking at the MRIs and Ex-rays on the desk as the adults talked, you pondered the same thing.

You chalked it up to you being weaker than others, despite the lingering at the back of your mind that something was terribly wrong. Then again, it was better to stay quiet than address the questions from said adults, questions you didn’t yet have concrete answers to.

You were 5 when you started sprouting neon green hair at the roots, until a few weeks later— the tone began returning to its natural colour. You grew out the ugly patch of lime until you could chop it off. The worst of it was the fact that no one said anything about changing hair colour practically overnight. It didn't sit right with you. Out of all the classmates in your elementary school, you were the only one with what others considered as abnormal coloured hair— and to top it off, you were sure you were the normal one.

That wasn't all that seemed to be amiss. Individuals could knock others unconscious with just a chop to the neck, clothes could be ripped off while the crotch remained covered, and tiny people could be incredibly strong. None of these applied to you; you couldn't do any of it— the reason still a mystery.

Despite being so young, how was it possible for you to notice these things? Well, it was as simple as— every time it felt like a new phenomenon would occur, a splitting headache would hit you. As a child, your body was unable to handle the strain of whatever was happening with the world, and you would develop a fever as a result. It would leave you bedridden for a week, but as you grew, you found it became easier to handle.

You would have ignored all the weird things happening around you— wouldn't have found it hard not to pay any attention to the unusual phenomena. However, as you aged, it became harder to brush under the rug.

You lived life trying your best not to think of the strange occurrences until your 2nd year of high school. A week before you were about to start afresh as a 3rd year, your family asked if you were excited for your second year at school. You hadn't thought much of it, assuming that they had gotten confused. You didn't bother correcting them and continued with your life as usual.

That was until you resumed classes, only to discover that you were still in your second year of high school.

You would have disputed it with the teachers because you were sure you passed the year with flying colours, but you weren't the only one. Your entire class, no— the whole year group itself, were repeating their year again. Not to mention, there were no new first years. That was when you decided things weren't okay. The world was shifting, bending in impossible ways, defying the laws of nature itself, and you were the only one who noticed.

What was more unfortunate was the fact that you couldn't tell anyone. Couldn't breathe a word of your troubles to your friends, fear of word getting around forcing your lips shut. Worst-case scenario— you would be ostracised by your classmates, effectively sentencing yourself to social death and becoming the school's pariah or sent to a mental institute. No one saw the change or acknowledged the difference— you were alone in your findings, so you kept quiet.

Then, answers came to you in the summer holidays after the repeat of your first year, in the form of an old lady at a stall offering tarot card readings. Personally, you didn't believe in the supernatural or magicians and the like. Still, she was persistent, a true salesman at heart, so to speak. Convinced that you were getting scammed, you tried to refuse, but she had already pulled you into the chair behind her stall.

That was how you found out you were immune when it came to the supernatural. The old lady ignored your protests of how you had no money and tried to see into your future, to reveal to you what lay ahead of you, only for her to tell you she couldn't.

After heavy silence and serious contemplation on her side, followed by a barrage of questions— she theorised that you were blocking her from using her abilities on you. The old woman called it 'natural immunity and the ability to nullify someone's powers'. You weren't impressed, but it did feel like her words held some truth as you caught sight of the bright yellow hair under her hood.

That was when you connected the dots since it explained why you were the only one who noticed the changes in the world. You were immune to the phenomenon going on around you. That caused you to wonder who on earth had been messing with the timeline and warping everyone's perception of the world. You weren’t sure you were comfortable with knowing there was a human alive capable of that.

You had asked the old lady if someone could turn back time on a global scale since that seemed to be the only explanation for the year repeating itself. She had brushed it off, laughing at the thought. She had said that if it were possible, it would have to be someone with unimaginable power. The old woman was convinced no human on earth could possess the ability to pull a stunt like that off, muttering something about how 'everyone would have noticed'.

You had left the conversation at that, giving up on trying to make her understand. If you were being honest, you were more curious to learn about your own talents. The old lady was the one who taught you how to manually turn off your immunity when others used their powers on you. "Visualise a broken string between you and me. Then, try to will it to connect."

Closing your eyes, you followed the shady lady's instructions and found that it took an immense amount of your energy to do so. You ended up with a migraine but discovered that she could use her fortune-telling powers on you after the fact.

The old lady had been pleased with the results as she put her cards away, telling you she had just confirmed a sneaking suspicion she had about you. The two of you realised that you could, in fact, turn off your ability (if you could even call it that) when you put enough effort into it.

After your conversation with her, you felt like at least one of your questions had been answered somewhat, but you refused to pay up after she made grabby hands at you. You simply turned on your heels and left, telling her if she was that good at reading the future like she claimed— she would have known you forgot your wallet at home. She had thrown a fit as you walked off, and you had felt bad somewhat, but it's not like you ever wanted the reading to begin with.

You wondered if you could stop your immunity to the weird phenomena around you; ignorance was bliss after all— maybe then you wouldn't be burdened with the knowledge that someone was trying to play some sort of messed up game of chess with the timeline. Then again— what was the point in pondering when you knew you weren't going to try and be the main character and solve the mystery? You'd read enough fanfic to know where that would lead. Major character death with spoilers across the tags; luckily, you had no interest in turning the genre into horror.

The time on earth turned back three times, or that's what you concluded. You weren't sure about the exact number because you stopped counting after the second time you repeated your year. Repeating the year meant that days blended into each other, and you stopped trying to keep track and make sense of it all.

After redoing the academic year three times in total— you assumed, you finally decided enough was enough. You couldn't handle spending another second in the same classroom, with the same people, the same teachers and the same lessons. It drove you insane, so you begged your family to let you transfer. Trying to convince them took a long time, but they finally gave in to your request.

A month before your second year, again, your family moved to a new neighbourhood. You were enrolled at PK Academy, which meant you would start the upcoming school year.

The downside? Free-mixing. The all-girls school was great since there was no dating drama, and mostly everyone in your year just put their head down to study. The horror stories you had heard so far of boys sneaking cameras into the girl's bathroom in other institutions made it hard to see the upside, considering the boys of today might end up being the perverts of tomorrow. Then again, you didn't have a choice— after all that begging, even if you changed your mind, your application form for your new school and dismissal from your old school meant you had to go.

You didn't mind that you had to commute to the school you currently went to before the holidays hit, satisfied that instead of staring up at the ceiling and still unintentionally wondering 'Who done it', you were worried about getting up in time in the morning.

You held onto the fuzzy feeling in your stomach,

see— even your gut was telling you this was one of your finer decisions, one you wouldn't come to regret.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

Finding your way to your new high school wasn't too hard when you had the curse and blessing that was your phone. When the direction on your maps changed for the 6th time, telling you to go back the way you came— you gave up, instead opting to tail a group of girls who wore the uniform that matched yours in hopes of not getting lost and finding potential shortcuts, deciding that they would know the way since they went to the same school.

You made it to PK Academy with little to no trouble, using your hands to smooth your shirt down and make yourself look more presentable before you stepped past the gate. Students walked into the school building, chatting amongst themselves. You followed suit, and you wouldn't deny the small skip to your step as excitement bubbled in your veins.

All was good— until it wasn't.

As soon as you stepped past the gate after successfully passing uniform inspection, which you gave yourself a mental pat on the back for, a wave of dizziness hit you, vision fuzzing as you caught sight of something pink out the corner of your eye. You felt nauseous, finding it hard to stay upright. You staggered, soon falling to your knees.

It was all going so well, too...

The rough granite coating the ground scraped your palms, but the searing pain you felt in your head stopped you from processing it. It was like someone had pressed a hot iron to your skull, like gravity was working against you to pin you to the ground— or was gravity working rather too effectively? It didn't matter; now was not the time to be thinking about that!

You heard a teacher shout, the one in a gym tracksuit who had been at the front gates with a ruler in hand, making sure students weren't dressed like delinquents. Your vision swam as you tried to look up at the teacher who seemed to be talking to you. Ringing filled your ears, and you winced at the sound. What on earth was happening to you?

You were panting, finding it hard to hear what the teacher was asking of you. The red of his tracksuit hurt your eyes. "—dent! Can... —walk?" Trying to understand what he was saying became increasingly difficult as you squinted your eyes at him.

You tried to focus on his voice, succeeding after putting in enough effort. "Student! Can you walk?!" You shook your head, no— did it look like you could?! You clutched the strap of your school bag as tightly as you could to try and ground yourself.

You furrowed your eyebrows as another wave of nausea hit you, although not as strong as the last. You felt the need to spill the breakfast you had eaten that morning, all over the floor and maybe some on the teacher's pristine tracksuit. All you could think about was how to ease the pain. Would you have to wait it out, or would you pass out before then? You wanted to curl up on the floor, debating it for a hot minute as you started losing strength in your arm.

You didn't get the chance to, feeling the ground shift beneath you as you were picked up. In no time, you were rushed to what you assumed was the nurse's office. The teacher must have decided to escort you to a somewhat safer place, a gesture you probably should have thanked him for. The only problem was�� the pain appeared to worsen the deeper you entered the school building. He should have left you outside.

"Wait here. I'll go find the nurse," The teacher who had escorted you, placed you down on a bed before fetching an ice pack from the freezer. Bold of him to assume you were in any condition to move— but it's not like you were about to say that out loud. "Take this for now." He put the ice pack against your forehead, his arm dropping back to his side when you brought your hand up to hold it.

With that, he took off down the hallway. You would have thanked the teacher for all his help if not for the daze you were in. At least the ringing in your ears had subsided. The headache, however, had become impossible to ignore. You were grateful for the ice pack; its cold helped dull the migraine somewhat.

Great— first day at your new school and you managed to mess it up. You were no doubt missing out on the entrance ceremony— the principal's speech— fantastic! As if things couldn't get better! What had caused you to nearly faint, to begin with? The only time you had felt like this was when weird phenomena would occur, when the way the world worked changed, and you were the only one left to notice. Was there some sort of supernatural activity going on in this school that had caused such a severe reaction in you?

You decided you would try to figure it out later; you were in no shape to play Sherlock. First, you had to deal with the fatigue and nausea. For now, you'd have to focus on getting better— if your condition didn't improve, you'd go home. With a rough plan in mind, at least you had a bit of mental clarity.

Breathing through your nose, you turned to your side to ease the pain you were feeling. You hadn't realised until then that the curtain next to the bed you were on had been pulled, blocking the sight of the door that led to the room. You assumed the teacher had done that, probably to give you some privacy.

Exhaling deeply, you closed your eyes, trying to relax. That proved challenging to do when the peace was disrupted, not even seconds later. You heard a voice coming from afar and ignored it, trying your best to overcome the feeling of nausea that hit you again. Was your condition worsening?

"Huh, is the nurse dead too? That's weird... Guess I'll have to do mouth-to-mouth on you, myself." If you had been in your right mind, you would have laughed, but whoever was speaking just managed to add to your frustrations instead. You furrowed your eyebrows, your eyes still closed. Couldn't these strangers be more considerate so as to not disturb someone who was trying to rest?! Then again, they probably didn't know you were there, so you'd give them the benefit of the doubt.

Your eyes snapped open when you felt the bed shake. Your first thought was earthquake until you saw the curtain move as if someone was right next to it on the other side. If you had to guess, someone had probably slammed into it. You registered the sound of an audible grunt, assuming it was most likely from the stranger speaking before, though you couldn't be sure with the curtain still drawn. Had they fallen, or had someone pushed them?

The noise of water running filled the room. "I don't need mouth-to-mouth, you stupid idiot!" Whoever spoke started to gargle their mouth straight after. You clenched your jaw. Whoever these people were, they were aggravating your headache— and by extension, you "You're better? Well, that's nice to see." Why were they still talking?!

Some luck you had— maybe staying at the nurse's office wasn't a good idea after all. In that moment you wished you had just curled up near the school entrance until an ambulance came to your rescue. "Of course, I'm better! I was faking! Was it worth it, though? Since I got kissed by you!" Was this some backward BL you had been dragged into? You were sure you’d read enough fanfiction to know where this was going... If these people had nothing better to do, you wondered why they couldn't just leave.

You adjusted the ice pack on your head, biting your cheek to stop yourself from getting annoyed further. It didn't work— the mouth gargling continued. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I'm sad too... You were my first kiss." Whoever he was, he whispered the last part as if he was bashful. In any case, you weren't entirely sure that was the best way to go about consoling someone.

You weren't the type to judge over sexual preferences, but why couldn’t they just elope and get married already? Couldn’t they choose a different room to fall over each other and leave you to rest? You rolled your eyes as you gazed up at the ceiling, wondering when they would stop talking and go back to their classes. "Now, everyone's gonna think Nendou and I are in love..."

You nearly snorted at the comment, but not because you found it funny. Typical high school boys with their typical shenanigans. You wished you had stayed home— this was not worth it. No longer did you want to be subjected to listening to either of them go on. You heard someone shuffle angrily across the room. "Hey, you better not tell anyone my fainting spell was a fake! ...Don't tell anyone!"

You decided that enough was enough. To hell with your first day at a new school and good first impressions. You were either going to get those two to leave— or leave yourself and just go home. Whichever was easier in your condition. You sat up and pulled back the curtain roughly, only to realise that there were three people in the room, not two. That's weird; you swore only the two were talking amongst themselves.

The room fell silent as all three boys looked at you in surprise. The one you assumed had slammed into the bed you were resting on, who was still on the floor, had... unique hair. Fashion choice? His mohawk was dyed blonde, while the rest of his hair was weirdly shaved. One of them had referred to him as 'Nendou', that you were sure of.

On closer inspection, you realised he had a scar that ran down his left eye and the most defined butt-chin you had ever seen. It hurt your eyes just to look at him— that's how unpleasant his face was. He resembled a delinquent, but his mannerisms said otherwise. The one you assumed had been faking his sick had green hair and fish-like lips. Both of them were... unsightly, to say the least, and you swore just witnessing them was making you feel even worse.

Your eyes shifted to the one who hadn't talked once the entire time, and the first thing you noticed was his pink hair. Well, that was a new shade of colour you had yet to see. He wore green glasses and antennas on his head. He was the only one who looked marginally attractive, a thought you shoved down the minute you registered it. You wondered how he had managed to get past uniform inspection.

The boy with pink hair was the one who looked the most shocked to see you, his face paling at the sight of you kneeling on the nurse's bed. It was because he hadn't been able to detect you with his powers, a fact still unbeknownst to you.

They continued to stare at you, and you opened your mouth to speak, still holding your icepack against your forehead. "Can you please keep it down? I'm trying to rest—" You didn't get a chance to finish what you were saying, falling silent as you noticed the teacher who rescued you from before standing at the entrance of the nurse's office with a hand on the wall. Said wall cracked as his hold tightened around it, the veins on his forehead popping out in anger.

"I heard it all!" You watched the concrete of the wall around his palm crumble slightly as he shouted, debris falling to the floor. "Matsuzaki!" The green-haired boy spoke first, shocked to see the teacher standing at the door. At least you knew the name of your saviour. "So your fainting was a con job, huh?" The teacher truly was a force to be reckoned with; he looked scary as he— wait, was he growing in size? He nearly towered over the green-haired boy in front of him.

"That's not what happened, sir! It's his fault. He forced me to collapse so he could skip out on the principal's speech, and my sickness is actually a ruse!" The green-haired boy pointed a finger at Nendou before bursting into tears as he cried into his arm. Matsuzaki put a hand on the boy's shoulder to console him before he furiously turned to Nendou.

You watched the scene unfold with a blank face. You should've just pretended to be asleep— maybe then you wouldn't have been subjected to witness such an exchange take place. Was it too late to get back into the bed and pull the covers over yourself? Yes, yes it was.

"Nendou, is that all true?!" So, you were right, that was his name! At least your observation skills weren't failing short because of the migraine. It wasn't his fault, but the green-haired boy had done a pretty good job at acting like it was. He had expertly made up lies to avoid getting into trouble, letting Nendou take the fall for him instead.

Nendou didn't even get a chance to retaliate as Matsuzaki took notice of the pink-haired boy to his right. "Huh? Saiki, what are you doing here?" Come to think of it, you found it weird that the guy had yet to say a word. Was he mute? So, Saiki was his name. The one with antennas only acknowledged Matsuzaki but didn't open his mouth to speak.

Of course, Saiki did reply, but he did so telepathically. Your immunity to the supernatural, without you knowing it, blocked out his ability, which is why you thought he hadn't said anything, even though he had been talking to the others since the moment he had entered the nurse's office.

"Takahashi, is he also a part of this?" Matsuzaki asked the green-haired boy, who you now knew to call Takahashi. Matsuzaki pointed a finger at Saiki, looking at fish lips with an expectant gaze. Takahashi stopped crying abruptly, lowering his arm slightly as he opened his mouth to answer. "Who? Yeah, sure." How was the teacher believing these lies?! You had to question his credibility. You watched Saiki's expression darken at the accusation. This whole situation was getting more and more absurd.

"That's it! I want you both in my office!" How had the teacher, of all people, not realised that Takahashi was faking this entire thing and making up elaborate lies to avoid getting into trouble? And why was the whole exchange going so fast?

At this rate, you were going to get whiplash with how quickly you were looking between the four. At least your headache had died down slightly, just enough for you to think clearly. So long as you didn't get dragged into this whole mess, you'd be just fine. Hah, you wanted to leave.

"Hold on a sec, teach. His feigning is real. Didn't you hear him just say it? Root sickness." Nendou said it so ominously— you nearly believed him. That lasted for a second until you gazed up at the boy in sheer disbelief. Was it possible to be this idiotic? How could someone even be capable of mistaking ruse for roots?

You weren't the only one who thought so, as the other three in the room looked at Nendou in shock and awe. You were sure they felt the same— Nendou was... slow, to say the least. "What? Isn't that right?" Nendou was confident he was correct and— were those stars dancing around him... and, why was he drooling? You would laugh, but you were still trying to process whatever just took place.

"What in the holy heck? What's root sickness— root sickness is a deadly virus that infects the victim through the follicles. Ohh, that one." Halfway through Matsuzaki trying to understand why Nendou brought up such an illness, he started to think out loud before coming to the conclusion that Nendou was right.

Ah.

This whole situation was outrageous! How had you managed to witness such incompetency from a teacher? At least he was reliable in the sense that he cared. You couldn't think too badly of Matsuzaki as he was the one who had gone through the trouble of bringing you to the nurse's office when you fell. He was still as gullible as they come, though.

"Let's take your temperature to see if you have a fever. That's what my mom does for me." Could you leave yet? No one would say anything if you just walked out, right? You weren't too keen on taking a risk, so you decided to stay put for the time being and hope your existence would be background noise. "Are you a new student?" You spoke too soon, Matsuzaki had noticed you.

You stood up from your seat on the bed, staggering slightly as you felt black spots cloud your vision. Maybe getting up abruptly wasn't a good idea. You sighed, wondering what had become of your luck, "Yes, I'm new. This is my first day here." Matsuzaki took note of your confirmation, nodding to himself as he put a hand to his chin. "Do you have root sickness too?"

Not this root sickness talk again— of course you didn't because a disease like that didn't exist. There was no known medical condition dubbed 'root sickness', to begin with. Good luck convincing Matsuzaki of that fact, though. You shook your head, no. "I have a headache, not a fever. I'll be fine if I get some rest." Were you the only one who saw reason in this room? Probably. You did know one thing, and that was that you weren't going to be fooled into believing that you had a made-up illness; you just felt nauseous.

Though the feeling had dimmed, you still wanted to go home to recover. "Is it alright if I take sick leave today? I don't think I'm well enough to stay here." Matsuzaki agreed, muttering how he'd let your homeroom teacher know since he'd already seen you fall like a sack of potatoes near the school's front gates. You exhaled in relief at that, deciding then that you liked this teacher; after all— he was cool.

Matsuzaki then proceeded to get a thermometer from one of the drawers in the room to check Takahashi's temperature. All the while, the boy in question sat at a bench in the corner of the room with one sleeve of his uniform jacket taken off. He was sweating profusely, no doubt because he had been faking this entire time and was about to be caught. Serves him right, you thought to yourself, Takahashi had dug his own grave. Was now a good time to ask for directions?

"98.2 Celcius... Go call an ambulance now!" You quickly turned on your feet to look at Matsuzaki. How was that possible?! That was 40 Celcius too high! The average body temperature for a human was 37! You wondered if Takahashi really did have root sickness. You quickly got rid of the thought, that wasn't possible. Maybe he just had a high fever? No, that didn't make sense either. You let the thought go when you felt your headache return with vengeance.

The ambulance came in record time, with EMTs carrying Takahashi out on a gurney to be loaded into the van with Nendou shouting words of encouragement after him. You watched from the window in the nurse's office, shaking your head. Today had been a disaster. You decided you had had enough of this school for now, turning on your heel so you could head home.

The only other person in the room besides you was Saiki. Surely, he would know the way out of this place, right? You weren't familiar with the layout and didn't feel like getting lost trying to find the main entrance. There was no harm in asking, so why not?

"Do you know how I can get out of here? I'm not sure how since I'm new." Saiki turned to you, his blank face, which was devoid of all emotion, making it hard to read him. This entire time not once had you seen a significant change in his expression. Was he even human?

Silence followed, and the man had the nerve to raise an eyebrow at you. You mirrored his expression, leaning your head forward ever so slightly, expecting an answer. "Hello? Do you know where the main entrance is?" You didn't miss the look of shock that crossed his face. Had Saiki actually been mute like you first assumed? Oh no, how insensitive of you!

Before you could splutter out an apology, he opened his mouth to speak. "First stairs to your left. If you take them all the way down to the ground floor, you'll reach the shoe lockers. That's the way out." You weren't sure what you expected him to sound like, but it certainly wasn't that. Honey— that was the only word that came to mind when you thought of how to describe it. Rich, and smooth, not too deep, but very appealing. You decided you liked the sound of his voice, if nothing else.

You nodded your head, thanking him before you made your move to leave the room. It hadn't even been an hour since you had come to PK Academy, and still, everything had gone downhill the moment you stepped through those blasted gates. You rubbed at your forehead in mild frustration, already missing the icepack you had left in the nurse's office.

Nendou passed you in the hall, moving to walk into the room you had just emerged from. You turned, curious as to why he was going back and that was your downfall. You peeked into the room, and that's when you saw it. Past Nendou's form, which was slightly obstructing your vision, stood Saiki with a thermometer in hand. The same one Matsuzaki had used on Takahashi.

Out of nowhere, it caught on fire in Saiki's palm, and the guy had the nerve to casually crush it in his hand as if the heat didn't affect him. Your body moved before you could think, and you turned to hide. The wall next to the door to the office was enough to keep you from being spotted.

You took note of your heart speeding up in your chest, feeling as though you had seen something you shouldn't have. It hadn't been an illusion. What you had witnessed was not as your imagination. Saiki had set the thermometer on fire with his mind! There was no other explanation. He could use pyrokinesis, the ability to manipulate heat.

This whole situation and the events that took place had set you on edge. Normally, you would have let curiosity get the better of you, which would have led you to confront Saiki about what you had seen, but this time it was different— as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat, and you decided this time satisfaction might not be enough to bring it back. Though you weren't a stranger to the supernatural, you had no interest in becoming 'buddy-buddy' with Saiki or even talking to him in the future, for that matter.

You were already surrounded by strange occurrences, and adding to the list of people you knew who could do things others couldn't, didn't sound appealing at all. Better to just leave it. The last thing you wanted was to get involved with someone like him.

Chances were, you wouldn't run into Saiki. The school was big, and there was no way you would be so unlucky as to end up in the same class as him. With that, you began to walk, following the directions you had received earlier so you could get to the main entrance of the school building.

That was how your first meeting with Saiki Kusuo had gone.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

You had to have the worst luck on earth— surely, you did something to throw your karma out of balance because there was no other way of explaining your predicament. Fate, maybe? Everything happens for a reason, after all. Once you attended your classes for the first time, you discovered you were, in fact, in the same class as the pyrokinetic boy from the day before.

You sighed as you laid down on your bed, resting your eyes as you willed yourself to change out of your uniform. You took the time to think back to the events of the past few days.

Your first official day at PK Academy had been just as eventful as the day you went home early. When you entered the class, the first person who caught your attention was the pink-haired boy with antennas, Saiki.

You had frozen mid-step as soon as you realised you were in the same class as him. What had snapped you out of your thoughts was the home-room teacher announcing that you were the new transfer student. After introducing yourself, you took a seat, coincidentally ending up right behind the person you wanted to avoid most.

The school day went on, and you tried to make the best of your situation. Just because you were in the same class didn’t mean you would interact with each other. Saiki didn’t look like the talkative type either. The rest of the morning was spent trying to calm your nerves.

It was reasonably quiet until the first break.

As soon as the teacher left, you pulled out your phone and plugged in your earphones to tune the world out. You had ignored everyone around you, grateful for the fact that no one had come to bother your peace. Quietly sitting at your desk, you decided to do homework because you had time and knew you wouldn’t do it when you got home.

That was until the class started discussing a snake on the loose after it escaped the zoo, and you overheard. Shame on you for not increasing the volume from the start. A student with light blue hair spoke up immediately, claiming that an evil organisation called 'Dark Reunion’ was behind it.

Ah, you had heard of this before, an awful condition where an individual was convinced they had otherwordly powers, like a girl from your last school who claimed she saw ghosts. Then again, who were you to judge when you were probably every bit as delusional as he was? Was it bad that you thought you could take that snake down with ease? Yes, yes, it was.

You couldn’t bring yourself to listen in closely as he went on with his fantasies. Situations like that usually didn’t end well— and you had been correct. Your classmates had made fun of the strange boy until he left the room when they found out the snake was ordinary and a bunch of 4-year-olds had killed it, his voice trembling as he declared that he had tried to warn them. Your guess was that he was going to the bathroom to cry. Wow, high school kids were ruthless.

Saiki left shortly after, to your relief, and that was when all hell broke loose. The class broke out into screams. When you realised it was over a snake that had somehow gotten into the room, you quickly jumped on top of your desk, accidentally pushing off your books and pens in your haste.

The class collectively lost their minds. The students had exclaimed that someone should get the teacher, but no one moved to do so as the snake blocked the door. Nendou, the one from the nurse’s office who was also in your class, appeared out of nowhere and started to make fun of everyone for being scared. You weren’t concerned with his smack talk, too busy staring at his crotch and not for the conventional reason. The snake had latched itself onto Nendou’s family jewels. Poor guy.

Long story short, Nendou got bitten in the balls by the reptile and proceeded to pass out on the floor. The light blue-haired boy from before with the 'Chuunibyu Complex’ returned and tried to protect the class from the snake, willingly putting himself in danger when the snake launched itself at a girl whose face you probably wouldn’t remember in a week. What a sweetheart— with that, you sent Kaidou your blessings, convinced that he was going to meet his end.

Your first official day, and there was already gonna be a death. What had you done to ask for this? Then it happened, he yelled 'Judgement Knights of Thunder!’ and then there was light— well, lightning. It appeared mysteriously, and music seemingly started playing out of nowhere. 'JUDGMENT KNIGHTS OF— JUDGMENT KNIGHTS OF THUNDER!’

For a second, you had wondered if the author was breaking the fourth wall to talk to you. Had your time finally come? Had the day arrived when a divine power would smite you off this mortal coil? That didn’t seem to be the case— no, it was just Kaidou’s theme song playing.

Even after coming home from school, you had yet to get the tune out of your head. What could you say? The song was catchy.

You had figured that Kaidou also had otherwordly abilities. That meant he had been telling the truth when he claimed to have special powers. A pyrokinetic user and a guy who could control lightning, both of them were in your class. What were the chances?

That wasn’t the only thing you had observed. When you went to town to pick up new stationery, you spotted Saiki. It was a mere coincidence that he and you were in the same place, at the same time, seemingly heading in the same direction.

You had silently walked behind him, praying to yourself that he wouldn’t turn around and notice you. You hadn’t actively been trying to follow him, so why did you feel like you were some type of stalker?

What snapped you out of your thoughts was a girl with navy blue hair crossing the street to say hi to the man before you. Were they familiar with each other? Mid-squint, you realised that the girl was also a classmate of yours.

Kokori was it? Koko— Ah, yes, Kokomi Teruhashi. She was quite popular among the boys in your school for her beauty. Personally, you had thought it was overrated. Perfect was boring. Not to mention, you got the feeling that she was somewhat narcissistic.

Having people compliment her and practically drool all over her would surely get to her head, right? Then you shoved the thought down automatically because it was merely conjecture, and who were you to judge? Assumptions were assumptions and just that at the end of the day. You did wonder for a moment if your immunity worked against her beauty, too.

You stopped when Saiki did, as Teruhashi moved to stand in front of him to greet him, and you went into full panic mode. You hadn’t been keen on walking past him, so you had stayed in place. Critical thinking saved you, and you pulled out your phone to make it look like you were checking something, all the while dying of embarrassment because of how awkward you probably looked.

When you imagined yourself from a bird's eye view, just standing there, you prayed a natural disaster would come and save you from this humiliation. What followed shocked you, all thoughts of mortification thrown out the window at what took place. Out of your peripherals, Saiki had bowed before continuing to walk.

You had been just as baffled as Teruhashi, the girl in question still frozen in place. Why did he avoid her? You couldn’t help but wonder. Any other boy would have melted at the sight of her. Was he gay? Was he in love with someone else? You continued walking when Saiki started to move again, watching as Teruhashi chased after him. It got to the point where he stopped acknowledging her in general.

You wished you could turn around and walk the other way, but you had to get home! Why today of all days? Your life was never this eventful before. All you could do was watch on as Teruhashi called after him, to no avail. She had resorted to a different method after that, reaching out to grab him forcefully, only for Saiki to dodge her expertly every time. Did he have eyes at the back of his head or something? You deserved a pat on the back for not laughing once during the whole exchange.

When Saiki entered the crowd, Teruhashi tried to follow him. It proved to be fruitless, as he seemingly disappeared. That wiped the grin off your face, and you stopped dead in your tracks.

Saiki had teleported; there was no doubt about it. Your eyes were on him, and then he vanished. It was no trick of the light, you knew for sure as you watched the debris settle from where Saiki had just been moments earlier. That had sent you down a spiral. You had known then that he had more than one power. He didn’t just have the ability of Pyrokeneiss; he could also teleport. Just how powerful was he?

You kept an eye out for Saiki after that, quietly observing him to see if he had any other abilities.

When the boys were playing dodgeball in P.E., you were in Home Ec, trying to make cupcakes. You had used the better half of the lesson watching Saiki play, nearly burning what you had been baking because of your preoccupied thoughts. After being lectured, you spent the rest of the lesson in the back, ducking to escape the glares sent your way by the teacher.

What had caught your eye was him throwing a ball lightly at the dodgeball cart, only for the whole thing to be destroyed entirely. Your jaw had practically dropped to the floor at the sight, cupcakes all but forgotten in the oven 5 minutes too long as you gawked at his retreating form. If you hadn’t been watching Saiki, you would have assumed it was a meteor that had hit it. He had superhuman strength, too?

It also struck you as odd that anytime the teacher called on him to answer, he would stay silent. Then, the teacher would tell Saiki that he was correct, as if the man in question had replied. Could he also control minds and manipulate them or something? What the hell was happening?

The more you watched him, the more you were convinced that he was an extremely dangerous individual. You had concluded that your decision not to get involved with him had been a good one— you should have stayed put at your last school; coming to PK Academy had been a bad idea.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

The days rolled by until Friday came around, and you mentally patted yourself on the back for having succeeded in avoiding Saiki. You had gotten through your first week without garnering any unwanted attention— too bad no one was around to give you a gold star.

You sat at your desk, drinking from a can of cold coffee you had retrieved from a vending machine, as you half-heartedly listened to the rest of the class prattle on about romance. Did they have nothing better to talk about during their break? Personally, you believed they were all way too young and immature to be in relationships, you included. Then again, you were probably the most mature one there since, technically, your mental age was 3 years more or however many times the year had turned back.

Just listening to them gave you a headache. You shifted your attention, looking up to stare at the back of Saiki’s head. You had noticed that, for the most part, he was alone during the day, save for when Nendou and Kaidou— the light blue-haired boy who struck lightning, would come to talk to him.

You lightly shook your head when you realised your mistake; why were you even thinking about Saiki? You sighed inwardly, clearing your mind before turning to your right to look at the track field past the classroom window. You were bored— terribly bored, if your restless legs were anything to go by. You took the time to relish in the sun’s warmth beating down on your face, closing your eyes to enjoy the moment.

After a while, you faced forward again, your eyes scanning the room. That was when your gaze landed on the girl next to Saiki. If memory served you correctly from when the teacher did roll call that morning, her name was Chiyo Yumehara.

Yumehara was plain-looking for the most part and didn’t really stand out. She had rust-coloured hair at chin length and a simple headband with a bow on top of her head. What had caught your eye, however, wasn’t the girl herself— but the textbook she was doodling in. On closer inspection, you realised she was drawing Saiki. Once you leaned left, hands clasping the sides of your desk so you wouldn’t fall, you finally got a good look. Your face distorted in horror and despair at the crude reimagination of Saiki as some generic princely shoujo manga male lead.

You could assume one thing for sure, Yumehara definitely had a crush on Saiki. Why else would she take the time to sketch his face?

You continued to agonise over how she had drawn Saiki. He looked all mushy, not sharp and rough like he normally appeared. Truly ugly, in your opinion, since Saiki was closer to the 'cold, quiet’ type rather than the 'prince’. Her version of him had tame hair, sparkling eyes, and a soft expression.

How had she strayed so far from the original source material when he was less than a metre away from her? Saiki had unruly hair, blank eyes and sharp eyebrows that made his expression somewhat harsher.

Hold on— why were you paying that much attention to him to begin with? You sighed, rubbing your forehead as you looked back down at your desk to continue completing your homework. You decided then that though you had learnt something new by observing, you wouldn’t get involved. Nothing good would come of it, you were sure.

However, remaining unaffiliated proved to be a challenge.

Walking the halls of your school as you tried to navigate your way to the nurse’s office so you could get a bandage was difficult. Despite having been to the room already, you still didn’t know how to get there by yourself.

You had managed to cut yourself when turning the page of a textbook in class earlier. The pain was tremendous, even though the injury was minor one. You inspected the paper cut on your index finger, squeezing below the wound to see if blood would come out. It did. So you had no choice but to get up and roam the halls to find a plaster lest you stain your books with red.

You sighed in mild frustration, looking around, trying to spot someone you could ask to guide you to where you needed to go. That’s when you caught sight of Yumehara, who looked like she was peering around the corner, waiting for someone. With a nod to yourself, you began to stride up to her confidently.

You faltered three steps in when Yumehara started to giggle to herself. You didn’t feel so bold anymore; the sound coming from her lips kind of freaked you out. Why was she laughing? She was completely alone, too. She looked like a pervert… was homegirl okay?

Despite hesitating, you knew it was too late to turn around and back out, so you settled on walking up to her anyway. You got close enough so that she could hear you before you spoke up. “Hey— uh, Yumehara?” She wouldn’t be creeped out that you already knew her name, right?

Yumehara nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of your voice. She turned around with a startled gasp, bringing up a hand to clutch at her chest. It was then that you noticed she was holding a bunch of papers. She was most likely going to drop them off somewhere for a teacher. Had you stalled her from getting to where she needed to be? …Oh, well, it's not like she had some time limit; class wasn't due to start for the next 10 minutes.

“Mind showing me the way to the nurse’s office? I don’t know where it is— since I’m new and all.” You unconsciously raised an eyebrow at the look of disdain that crossed Yumehara’s face, like she went poking in her ear and you were the earwax she pulled out.

Hey, hey, hey! That was no way to act around someone who was in need. No matter, you’d pretend that she didn’t just give you a dirty look— you did require her assistance to find the nurse’s office after all. A beat of silence passed before she finally responded.

“…Oh. Uhh— sure, I’ll help you.” At least Yumehara didn’t outright refuse you. Guess she wasn’t as heartless as to tell you to look for someone else to help you with directions. You decided it was worthwhile to give her a smile of gratitude. “Thanks. I have a nasty paper cut, and I need a plaster.”

Then came the feeling of dread when Saiki rounded the corner. You froze, and for a moment, it felt as though your soul had left your body. 'Ah.’ Your lips slowly parted into a grimace. Your mind ran at a million miles per hour. Yumehara was trying to get alone with Saiki, wasn’t she? Had you ruined her plans? Had he noticed? The last thing you wanted was for Saiki to pay attention to you. He was dangerous. This was bad. Bad, bad, bad!

You inhaled, then exhaled, telling yourself to calm down. There was no way Saiki could have predicted that Yumehara was trying to bump into him just so she could have a reason to interact with him, right? That meant you were in the clear— there was no reason for you to be worried.

Yumehara watched as Saiki strolled past quietly, gazing after him with longing and disappointment. She sighed, clutching the papers in her arms closer to her chest as she signalled for you to follow her. At your success in not garnering Saiki’s attention, behind Yumehara, you pumped your fist in the air.

What you failed to notice was Saiki watching you do so. You trailed behind Yumehara with a slight skip to your step, completely oblivious.

'L/n… that’s her name, right? She did that on purpose, didn’t she? But why? ...Don’t tell me she has a crush on me, too. What a pain.’

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

Somehow, for the rest of the day, you unintentionally found yourself spoiling every part of Yumehara’s plan to get closer to Saiki.

When Yumehara dropped her pink handkerchief on the floor, you had retrieved it for her. You had noticed it fall, and like the good samaritan you were, you decided to give it back to her. What better way to pass the time on your break than collecting brownie points with her after you spoiled her first plan?

Pushing your chair back, you walked behind Yumehara and knelt so that you could pick it up for her. You unconsciously placed a hand on the metal stand that held up the desk next to you, which happened to be Saiki’s, so you wouldn’t fall.

You didn’t notice how she giggled and hummed to herself as she skipped away, too focused on doing a good deed. “Hey, Yumehara— is this yours?” You held up the pastel pink handkerchief and observed it in your hand as she turned around, her expression dropping as she realised it was you who had stopped her. Well, that wasn’t the look you expected to be greeted with when you helped her.

Then realisation hit you as she looked over your shoulder, and you followed her gaze to realise Saiki was right there behind you. Oh… You’d done it twice now. You had gotten in Yumehara’s way again, hadn’t you? And there you were thinking, it was weird when she dropped the handkerchief so aggressively. Ah— she had thrown it.

Had she done it on purpose… solely to get Saiki’s attention? It wasn’t a bad idea and probably would have worked had you not intervened. Saiki would have picked it up or helped her look for it if she asked. He wouldn’t have. You had ruined her chance. Again. Oh, for the love of—

You wanted to ram your head through the nearest wall. Even though you planned not to get involved, you still managed to get in the middle of Yumehara’s budding romance, and you only had yourself to blame.

The girl in question hurried over to you and snatched the handkerchief from your hand before she dramatically ran out of the classroom, clearly upset and somewhat embarrassed. Damn. The least you could do was apologise and say you were sorry after what you had done. “Geez, all I did was pick it up. Hey! We have class in three minutes! Yumehara, wait!” With that, you ran after her.

After you managed to chase her down, you apologised to Yumehara with a cold drink you bought from the vending machine. She didn’t seem too annoyed after that. You inwardly apologised to the girl for ruining her plans not once but twice— saying it out loud would only cause her embarrassment. With how covert she was being, she probably wouldn’t appreciate you rubbing salt into her wounds by bringing up her failed attempt at trying to play Cupid.

As your luck would have it, the rest of the day went by with you stopping Yumehara from getting close to Saiki at every turn— without even trying.

You picked up the ball in P.E. when it rolled over to Saiki’s direction, thinking you were being nice, only to realise later that Yumehara had purposely thrown it that far.

You opened the door to the staff room when Yumehara had too many books in her hands to do it herself. She had hoped Saiki would help her since he was nearby, but you had come to the rescue instead— your efforts were not appreciated.

You offered to help finish the extra cookies she made in Home Ec, successfully stopping her from going to find Saiki. All the while, you had done everything unconsciously, only realising your mistake afterwards. What a disaster.

The last lesson for the day came, and you rolled your neck from side to side, your mental exhaustion palpable. How had you stopped Yumehara’s plans every single time? Why did you have to be around whenever she decided to put her plan into motion?

You hoped she didn’t hate you. Or worse, think you were deliberately trying to stop her because you wanted Saiki all to yourself, which was the furthest from the truth anyone could get. Then again, you wouldn’t be surprised if you were the reason she started her Villain Arc and made you her first target. At least the woman had the patience of a saint; you had no idea how she hadn’t asked to take it outside yet.

You yawned into the back of your hand, waiting for the day to end, eyes trailing to the classroom window when the sound of rain filtered into your ears. There was a downpour.

Despite the weather being sunny in the morning, the clouds had turned grey, and the temperature had dropped significantly. You placed your head on the desk, its surface cool against the side of your face. Shivering at the sensation, you stretched your arms across the table before crossing them to completely hide your face.

The weather managed to affect your mood, making you feel drowsy as you tried to preserve warmth. At least there wasn’t long left till home time. You had nearly fallen asleep during the last period of the day, and thankfully, the teacher never commented.

When the bell rang, signalling that the school day was over, you rubbed the slumber from your eyes. You hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella, so you would either have to ask someone to share with you or use your bag as a shield against the drizzle.

You quickly packed up your things so you could hurry to the entrance, hoping you could catch someone to walk halfway home with. Grabbing your bag and placing its strap on your shoulder, you rushed to the shoe lockers. That’s when you caught sight of Yumehara.

She was standing just before the steps outside, the glass door between the two of you. She didn’t have an umbrella either. If you had to guess, she must have forgotten it at home like you did. Slipping your outdoor shoes on with one hand, you walked over to the entrance of the building and stepped through it.

You decided to wait beside her, hoping you’d get lucky and someone would offer to share an umbrella with you. “You forgot your umbrella, too?” You turned to Yumehara, who spoke first. “Huh? Oh— Yeah. I didn’t think it would rain today.” You looked up at the sky. Wow, this was awkward; you had no idea how to keep the conversation going.

The clouds were still grey, and the rain didn’t look like it was going to let up anytime soon. You breathed in the fresh air; the earthy smell accompanying the weather was always your favourite. Besides the part where you would get wet, you absolutely adored the rain.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, letting the soft patter of the falling water lull you into a sense of calm. You pulled out your phone to check the time. It didn’t look like anyone would offer to share an umbrella with you any time soon. “At this rate, we’re gonna have to walk home by ourselv—”

Before you could finish voicing your thoughts, miraculously, the clouds cleared, and the weather improved. You gaped up at the sun that had appeared out of nowhere. No matter how you looked at it, this turn of events was anything but normal. Was it Saiki?

You quickly shoved down the first thought that came to mind, moving away from the shade the school building provided as you started walking to the main gate. There was no way he was that powerful. Even humans had their limitations, and you couldn’t possibly have been so unlucky as to become classmates with someone with such extraordinary abilities.

You began to make your way home, and before long, you realised unusual things were happening around you. Right before you were about to get run over by a car, the vehicle seemingly defied all laws of psychics and flew over your head before driving off normally.

Then, when a biker nearly crashed into you, it somehow changed directions and swerved to the right, alarmingly close to driving onto the main road. That wasn’t normal, right? You weren’t going insane, were you? When someone bumped into you, causing you to lose your balance, you found that you were standing upright— like you didn’t nearly trip face-first onto the pavement.

What the hell was going on? Was it some long-forgotten ancestor who had taken pity on you? Or was the author apologising for the tremendous amount of bad luck they gave you?

As you looked around to make sense of things, you noticed Saiki. The bane of your existence. How was he everywhere? His pink hair made him easy to notice, even if he was trying to blend in with the crowd. Had he… had he saved you? Wait, that meant— he could use telekinesis?! You had to get out of there as soon as humanly possible. You could not let on that you knew of his powers.

You turned around, preparing to sprint, your grip on the shoulder strap of your bag tightening. “Who sent you?” At the sound of Saiki’s voice filling your ears, your stomach practically dropped to your feet, tensing when the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Why did you feel like you were in some sort of thriller movie?

The last thing you wanted to do was look behind you. In the film industry, that was as good as sealing your fate. Death was looming over your shoulder, and damn it all because you did not want to be the first one to die. Maybe if you pretended that you couldn’t hear— “I know you heard me.” You winced. This was not good. Sirens were going off in your head. Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!

You swore under your breath as you turned around to face the man. You didn't have much of a choice; you’d have to play dumb. “Hm? Oh! Saiki, right? What do you mean by that? I’m just a normal high school student.” You gave Saiki a strained smile. You weren’t lying; you weren’t anyone special save for your immunity to the supernatural.

Huh— was it just you, or was he prettier up close? You shunned the thoughts running through your head; now was not the time! Saiki narrowed his eyes, the suspicion in them clear as day. “Who are you?” Now, you were confused. Did he think you were a spy or something? Had no one else noticed his powers like you had? He wasn’t exactly careful about using them since they had caught your attention early on.

“I— uh, I’m l/n. Your classmate. I sit behind you?” Saiki furrowed his eyebrows ever so slightly, clenching his jaw. There was silence for a moment, and you wondered if that meant you could leave. “Follow me." You hesitated, unsure what to do, as he swiftly turned on his heel to walk away. He paused when he realised you weren't following, looking at you over his shoulder. "Come on.” He wasn’t going to give up, was he?

The seed of doubt had already been planted, and there was no getting rid of it now. You wouldn’t be able to bluff your way out of this one. Maybe confronting him would be better? That way, you wouldn’t have to worry about avoiding him all the time. You fast-walked to close the distance between you and him.

For the entirety of the journey, you wondered where he was taking you. You prayed to whichever higher power was willing to listen that he wouldn’t murder you. From what you had seen, he could easily do so.

“Where are we?” You stopped in front of the house before you. You guessed it must be his house, but asking to make sure was always a good thing. “This is my home.” Oh, boy. You knew one thing for sure; you definitely weren’t prepared for this.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

For a psychic, Saiki’s room was more average than you expected it to be. There was a desk, a bed and a TV. Other amenities, such as the wardrobe built into the wall, a bookshelf and a small planted tree for decor, were also in plain sight. The bedroom of a typical high school teenager.

It was… weird. From what you could tell, Saiki was an esper, so you assumed he would have an extravagant room, at least. That meant that he didn’t use his powers for the wrong things. So you could safely assume he wouldn’t kill you in cold blood, right?

Saiki wouldn’t murder you, would he? He wouldn’t be so careless as to slaughter his classmate in his own house. That would make him the lead suspect in your homicide, right?

His mum knew you were here too, so he wouldn’t use violence to subdue you, no? You hoped so. Mrs Saiki had been cooking when you came in. Saiki didn’t let you see each other but she seemed like the sweetest woman by the way she greeted him, so naturally— her son would have inherited some of her personality traits, right? You wanted to leave already. Being alone with him was hurting your peace of mind— why couldn't he do this in front of his mother?

“I’ll ask again. Who are you?” While Saiki had parked himself on the chair facing away from his desk, looking at you sceptically as he sat like he owned the place (which he did), you chose to stand across from him. Damn, this was awkward. Why had he brought you here again? “I told you, I’m just a classmate.”

You hoped your answer would be enough to appease him. You thought wrong. "…Why can’t I figure you out?“ You raised an eyebrow at that. It didn’t seem as though he was asking you; more like he was talking out loud. Then again, he did deliberately voice his question, so that meant you could pry. "I’m sorry?”

“I can’t read your thoughts. Why is that? Are you stupid? Or did someone send you?” He was blunt, huh? Did he have no manners? Assuming that you were a moron… was kind of mean. You were somewhat offended. Wait— he said he couldn’t read your thoughts. Did that mean he could use telepathy as well?

“Ah… You also have telepathy?” It would explain a lot, like how he could reply to others even though it looked like he was staying silent— but wrapping your head around the fact that he had that many powers was almost impossible. Truly mindboggling. Your brain was hurting.

“Also?” It was his turn to raise an eyebrow at you. Saiki looked at you expectantly, leaning back in his chair as he waited for you to elaborate. Cursing yourself inwardly for not thinking before you spoke, you found interest in the pens on his desk. The cat was out of the bag, so there was no point in trying to hide it. “I might have seen you use your powers. Uh, pyrokinesis, telekenisis and… superhuman strength?”

Silence followed after you spoke, and you stared down at your feet. “I have to get rid of you.” Your head snapped up to look at Saiki, your eyes widening. You gaped at him, your mind running a million miles per hour.

You were right! He was going to murder you! Oh, no, no, no! You still had so many things you wanted to cross off your bucket list— so many sights you had yet to see! This could not be happening!

“Wait, wait, wait— that— that’s too far, man! I have a family— kids, I have kids!” It was true that humans would spout nonsense when faced with imminent death, and you were living proof of it. You winced at the words that were coming out of your mouth.

No, you did not have children, but you would say anything if it meant staying alive. Your lips trembled as you gazed at Saiki with pleading eyes. You didn’t want to die! Not like this!

“Don’t lie. I know for a fact that you don’t.” Saiki shot you an unamused look as he stared you down. You broke out into a cold sweat. What the hell were you going to do now? Only one thing came to mind. “Please! Spare me! I’ll do anything!” You got onto your knees as you begged with your hands clasped together.

Your dignity went straight out the window, and you couldn’t care. You would shamelessly plead for your life if it meant he wouldn’t kill you. “Start by telling me why I can’t read your thoughts and who sent you.”

So, he wouldn’t kill you if you told him the truth? Fine, that was a small price to pay. You’d rat out your own flesh and blood if it meant he would leave you be. You were heartless like that— oh well, survival of the fittest, as they say. You looked up in hope at the man before you for throwing you a lifeline. You could still get out of this unscathed!

“No one! Damn it! I already told you, I’m just a regular high school student… and the thing with the mind-reading— I guess you could say I’m immune.” If anyone walked into the room, they would most likely assume that you were doing something not so family-friendly, but it wasn't like you could move.

Get your mind out of the gutter! You internally cursed at yourself for having thought such a thing. It was too late to get up now; you’d have to stay on your knees. Besides, you didn’t know if you were in the clear yet or not, so you’d remain in place until you were sure. You just hoped Mrs Saiki was the type of parent who wouldn’t walk through the door unannounced; you still had some decency worth saving.

“Immune?” Saiki leaned forward in his chair, showing a slight interest in your words. He tilted his head to the side as he studied you. “Yes. To everything supernatural. Naturally, that means all of your powers don’t work on me.”

Once you were finished with your brief explanation, Saiki brought a hand up to his chin. “…So that’s why… Tell me, have you noticed anything weird with the world?” Saiki moved his gaze from the ceiling down to you as he gave you a blank stare. You looked elsewhere to gather your thoughts. There were so many things you could think of, off the top of your head.

“Uh… Yeah? Do you mean the weird hair colours? The quick healing? Oh, and the chop to the neck can knock someone out. There’s the fact that skinny people can be super strong and how clothes can get ripped off of someone, but their hoo-ha’s are still covered. The worst of it all is the year keeps repeating itself. Did you notice that, too?” You used your fingers to list everything weird thing you’ve noticed before you turned to Saiki.

Finally! Someone who understood your struggles, you'd been graced with an ally with whom you could share your troubles. Silence followed, and your natural response was to overthink. Saiki didn’t speak for a moment, leaving you wondering what you said wrong. “How… How is that possible?” You perked up at his words before looking at him sceptically. “What do you mean?”

“None of my powers work on you. Not even mind control… The weird things around you were all caused by me.”

The air was stagnant; not a single word was exchanged as his words sank in. Then, your jaw nearly fell to the floor at Saiki’s revelation. He did all that? How on earth did he have the ability to pull all that off? Take the crazy hair colours for example— if he was the cause of it, then he had managed to alter human biology down to the genetic level.

Wasn’t this the part where your fight-or-flight response was supposed to kick in? Of course, your body would choose the 'freeze’ option. Staying still wasn’t helping your current mental state. The fact that Saiki had enough power to destroy the world, with just his mind if he wanted to, terrified you. The man before you was the most dangerous human to exist on earth to date. No living creature should be allowed to possess such abilities.

“Huh?! It was— It was you? This entire time? You— What the hell?! …Are you— are you even human?” Your mind reeled, and you struggled to form coherent sentences. Was Saiki the reason you had such a bad headache that you nearly collapsed on your first day at PK Academy? It made sense. Had you gotten used to his powers, then? Was that why you were able to be near him now?

“I’m just a regular high school student.” You looked at Saiki in sheer disbelief and doubt. He was anything but a normal person. He was definitely the most potent psychic you had ever met. You shook your head at his statement. “No, you aren’t. That's— That’s a lie.” You folded your arms over your chest. “I am. If you try telling anyone else otherwise… well.” Saiki brought his hand up before he swiped his thumb across his throat.

The nerve! He was threatening you, and you… you couldn’t even do anything about it! You bit your lip in mild frustration before you sighed. “Y'know what— forget it. Fine, keep your secrets. Just don’t kill me.” There was no other option. You’d have to yield and wave the flag of surrender.

Saiki crossed his legs and placed his hand on his knee, the other on the armrest of his chair. “So, your immunity? Explain it to me.” Why did he have to be so intimidating? Your knees still hurt from sitting on the floor. You’d stay put just in case, though— you didn’t feel like risking your life over a case of sore limbs.

“I'm not sure why, but I've always noticed weird things; I guess I just developed a natural immunity to the supernatural for some reason. The power to nullify other’s abilities when used on me.” You didn't know why you were being this honest. Maybe because your life was on the line? Who knew?

“Can you turn it off?” You halted any movement when your mind finally processed what Saiki said. He couldn’t read your mind; you knew that much, so would lying to him have any repercussions? One look at Saiki’s emotionless face told you that you didn’t want to find out.

You opted to lean back and sit with your legs folded beneath you so your weight would no longer only be on your knees. Damn, you felt like you spent the day working your back at the gym; that was your exercise for the week. You sighed as you looked down at your lap before meeting Saiki’s gaze again. “Er… Do you have to know?” His response was almost immediate, “Yes.”

You internally groaned. Your immunity was your trump card. If you revealed everything, it meant giving up the privacy of every one of your thoughts. You would no longer have the upper hand.

You shook your head; you refused to meet your end here. It was either spill the truth, or it was your funeral. You chose the former. “Well, if I uh— if I put in enough effort, I can turn my immunity off. Would you— um… would you like me to try?” Truly, this was by far the most bizarre encounter you had. You felt like some backwater fanfiction character, stuttering and stumbling over your words.

The silence that followed made you cringe. You couldn’t even distract yourself or break away from your little staring contest with Saiki. It didn’t help that his eyes scared you— like he saw right through you as if he could read you like an open book. It was unnerving. “…Okay.” You didn’t realise that you were holding your breath until he spoke.

You were about to tell him that you needed physical contact to be able to turn your immunity off, and then an idea hit you. It was a bad idea, a terrible idea, and it could get you killed— but if you succeeded, you were sure it’d be worth it.

You weighed the pros and cons before deciding you didn’t care what would happen. Pranking Saiki, if you could even call it that, would not affect him if he was able to predict it with his telepathy. This would be the last time you’d be able to trick Saiki, so why not go for it? You were giving up your ability to think freely, after all. “Let me tell you a story before I turn it off.” You looked up at him with determination.

Saiki was not amused. He stared at you for a moment, then sighed before he relented. “Fine. Hurry up and get it over with.” You weren’t sure if it was a trick of the light, but for a second, it looked like his eyes gleamed with curiosity. You held yourself back from grinning. He was a fool! He’d played right into your hands! You bit your cheek to resist the urge to snicker, lest you give yourself away too much.

Bringing your fist up to your mouth, you proceeded to clear your throat for dramatic effect. “A student trains whilst his master looks on. When the student notices his mentor, he turns to him and enquires what’s wrong. The master replies that his time has come, and he must go.” Saiki looked about as interested as a rock, but from the way he was leaning forward ever so slightly, you could tell he wanted to know more.

You continued, “The student became upset, claiming that he still needed guidance and that he couldn't do it without his teacher. Chuckling, his mentor admits that the student will surpass his teacher in no time, so he no longer needs help.”

You felt pretty good about the fact that you’d roped Saiki in. You decided then that if he chose to hack you to pieces for this, you’d be okay with it. In essence, what you were about to do was equivalent to rickrolling Saiki. “The student denies this and says that his teacher has seen and done everything, so a mere student like himself can’t surpass him.”

You wanted to catch Saiki completely off guard, and you were sure there was no way he’d see it coming. “The teacher says that the student overestimates him. That there are things he has yet to do, sights he has yet to see. The student is now curious, so he asks what his teacher means by 'sights he has yet to see’.”

You could barely keep a straight face, but somehow, you pulled through without laughing at your joke. “The teacher doesn’t have much time left. As he begins to fade away, he says... 'I have never laid my eyes upon two pretty best friends… one of them was always unsightly’.”

You bit your lip, feeling your stomach expand as you held your laugh in until it dawned on him what you were referencing. To rub salt into the wound, you did your best to put on an accent as you continued, “I ain’t ever seen two pretty best friends; it’s always one of 'em gotta be ugly.”

Saiki became visibly distressed as his lips parted in slight disbelief. This was the most expressive you’d seen him all week, and you decided in that moment it was well worth it. “Even now, I can’t escape that godforsaken video… Everywhere I go, someone always has to think of it.”

You couldn’t stop yourself even if you wanted to. You dissolved into cackles at his reaction, only stopping when Saiki menacingly moved to stand up from his chair. “I may be patient… but I am no saint.” You spluttered, trying to crawl backwards as you looked up at the psychic. “Han— hang on!”

Saiki only stared down at you in mild distaste. "I will cleanse you off this earth.“ You met his gaze with your own incredulous one. "That— That’s not very cash money of you.” Telling him that joke was still worth it. You valued your life, sure, but clearly not enough to practice some self-restraint.

Before Saiki could corner you and do the deed kill you in cold blood, you quickly retaliated. “Hey, wait— wait! If it weren’t for you turning back time every year, I’d be old enough to drive! I wouldn't be slaving away, still trying to pass the same curriculum I know off by heart. Do you have any idea how much you’ve cost me cause you used your abilities?! …Now we’re even.” You huffed once you were finished with your little rant, folding your arms across your chest.

That seemed to do the trick, as Saiki considered your words before taking a seat again on the chair in front of his desk. You raised an eyebrow at his actions. He was easily guilt-tripped, huh? How interesting. As they say, you learn something new every day. That could go in the memory bank for later use.

You put your hand in front of Saiki, palm side up. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Give me your hand.” He looked from you to your hand and then back. His reluctance was clear as day, causing you to exhale through your nose. “Oh, come on! You asked me to show you and turn off my immunity, so give it.” You made 'grabby fingers’ at him, furthering your point. Saiki hesitated for a second before he sighed in defeat. “Fine.”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips unconsciously as you waited patiently for Saiki to place his hand in yours. When he did, you shoved down the thoughts that claimed how smooth and warm his hand was. Curse you, your tendency to be a touch-starved heathen and the pretty boy in front of you who was red flags all around. Now was not the time to be distracted!

You regulated your breathing, closing your eyes. 'Inhale, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, hold, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, exhale, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Inhale…’ It didn’t take long for the black that you were used to behind your eyelids to change to an image of Saiki holding your hand. The best way to describe the process was that it was close to an out-of-body experience. All you knew for sure was that you had no control over your actual body.

Despite everything being dark, you could see Saiki and yourself clearly, as if the two of you were illuminated. You turned your gaze downward at where the two of you were connected before observing the man. That’s when you noticed it. Thin strings, thousands— no millions of them, coming from his body and disappearing into the distance.

The maximum number of strings you had seen on a person had been around 3 or 4. You had never encountered someone with so many before. You were reminded in that moment that Saiki was the most powerful human on earth. As if there was any before, but there was no doubt about it after this.

There were so many broken strings between you and Saiki that you were unsure which one would switch off your immunity to his telepathy. This whole process of 'turning it off' was basically a visual guessing game. The only thing you could do was trust your intuition since that worked for you majority of the time.

The thin strings that stuck out of Saiki’s temple caught your attention; there may have been ten or so of them, and a few strings coming through his eyelashes, tangled in the mix. It had to be one of them— your gut feeling told you so. It was now or never, so you willed them to connect with you, for the strings to mend. The process took longer than usual, a given since Saiki was such a powerful esper.

Once you were done and finally opened your eyes, you realised you were clenching your teeth. The headache that hit you was expected, and you were grateful you were on the floor. If you had been standing, you would have fallen already.

You rubbed at your forehead, your fingers trying to lessen the pain by massaging your temples. “There. That should do it. Try using your telepathy on me.” You didn’t notice Saiki’s stare or the look of mild concern he shot your way; too busy trying to ease your migraine.

'Can you hear me?’ You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of Saiki’s voice reverberating inside your brain. The heavy furrow between your brow relaxed somewhat when you realised that your headache was gone. How? You had no idea. 'Wahhh, your voice is echoing in my head. This is weird.’

“So, it does work.” There was a slight difference between Saiki using his telepathy only on you and him using telepathy to speak, the slight echo. It was so minuscule that one wouldn’t notice unless they were looking for it. The only similarity was that both times, he hadn’t moved his mouth. Until now, Saiki’s lips had moved when he addressed you. It was weird, knowing that he communicated with you now without moving a muscle.

You surmised that he was talking to you telepathically now. Did that mean others could hear, too, or was it just one person at a time or something? You got rid of the mental image of Saiki turning to everyone in class to repeat himself until everyone heard, as soon as it appeared. No— they could probably hear him if they were close enough; he was the most potent psychic you’d seen, after all.

Saiki nodded as if to confirm your suspicions. He folded his arms over his chest as he gazed down at you. "I’m talking to you telepathically, but it’s different. Anyone in hearing distance will be able to pick up on the sound of my voice.“ He had read your mind, hadn’t he? He answered your questions without you having to say them aloud.

Having thought it up yourself was one thing, and having him agree with your deductions was another. It was similar to having a theory about a show and then later finding out that it was canon. You landed somewhere between feeling awe and slight shock.

"You're that in tune with your powers? Unbelievable. Do you— Do you have any more abilities?” You were on the edge of your seat because this topic absolutely fascinated you. The sense of danger and fear you once felt when near Saiki was nowhere to be found.

You wondered why since it was only 10 minutes ago that you wanted to get as far away from him as possible. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say, but satisfaction always brings it back, so were you really in the wrong? “I have multiple powers. Telekinesis, levitation, x-ray vision, clairvoyance, astral projection, pyrokinesis, mind control, psychometrics, and invisibility are a few I can name off the top of my head. Only one of which works on you.”

Your lips parted, and you weren’t sure how exactly you were supposed to feel after being bombarded with such information. The number of powers Saiki possessed would explain why you had seen so many strings on him before. “Seriously? Are you sure you’re human?”

“I'm just your average high school.” You would've assumed he was humble, but the way he was adamant made you think he was trying to convince himself, too. To each their own, though. If he wanted to be average, then who were you to fault him?

You wondered if it was your place to say what was on your mind before you abandoned the thought. Why did it matter? He knew what you were thinking anyway. Damn, most people could only dream of the abilities Saiki had, but surely being that powerful came with a price.

You had your powers, and if you hadn't experienced them first-hand, you’d think they were super cool, but you knew the burden. The grass wasn’t always greener on the other side, and the law of equivalent exchange was true. To gain something, something else of equal must be lost. Maybe that was why Saiki was so emotionless, kinda like Mob from Mob Psycho 100.

“How… how do you even live with a burden like that?” You popped the question that had been bugging you. When you took a peek at Saiki, your eyebrows raised in surprise when you realised that this was the most astonished you’d seen Saiki in the time you’d observed him, though he quickly regained his composure. “Burden? …Why would you think it’s a burden?” He patiently waited for you to answer, and you found yourself gazing past his shoulder at the wall behind him.

“Well… if you look past the hype, then isn’t it just troublesome? From how you act, I’m guessing you have no control over your telepathy. Always knowing what others are thinking— even if you don’t want to must be hard, no? I bet it’s spoiled a lot of movies and shows for you. I’m guessing it makes it really hard to make friends, too, since no one can know about your powers.” You listed your reasons one by one. ”Oh.”

For once, you were being honest willingly. You may not have had psychic powers yourself, so you couldn’t be certain Saiki agreed with your guesses, but you could at least try to sympathise. It was the same with you since your immunity had its ups and downs.

You didn’t notice the silence that engulfed the room, too busy stuck in your thoughts. “I’m going to be blunt. Do you like me?” For a second, your mind short-circuited because you couldn’t wrap your head around Saiki’s words. A flurry of questions filled your head. 'How did this happen?’, 'Why did it happen?’, 'Where am I?’, and 'Who am I?’, the norm. 'Get a grip!’ You pulled yourself together before you replied. “What? Huh? Why would you even think—”

Saiki remained stoic, cutting you off so he could speak. “You stopped all of Yumehara’s plans when she tried to get closer to me.” So, maybe after his revelation, you could kind of, somewhat, maybe understand why he would jump to the conclusion that you liked him. It was reasonable if you looked at it from his point of view, but it was the furthest anyone could get from the truth.

You admitted to finding him attractive, sure, but that was because you had eyes that could see clearly. He was pretty; what else was there to say? It didn’t go any further than that, though. You barely knew the guy! “You noticed that? Uh— no. No, I don’t. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time... Multiple times.”

Knowing that he had psychic powers made it easy to understand how he had picked up on your behaviour at school. Saiki nodded, and you guessed that he was indicating that he believed you.

You were at a loss now of what you should do. How was one supposed to continue the conversation in this situation, again? “Don’t tell a soul about what happened here today. I mean it. I’ll know if you breathe a word of this to anyone." You readily agreed to his request, signalling that you’d keep everything a secret; it's not like you went around airing people's dirty laundry anyway.

Before you had a chance to say anything else to Saiki, the sound of a notification from your phone drew your attention. Pulling the device out of your bag, you checked the lock screen to investigate. A text from a family member had let you know that there was a package for you.

'There’s a box full of coffee jelly. Give them out to your classmates so you can make more friends!’

You suspected that they bulk-brought coffee jelly from the supermarket so you could hand it out to your class after the weekend. You sighed; it’s not like you needed it. Besides, what would happen if your classmates didn’t like the desert? You’d rather not be humiliated by rejection.

"Coffee jelly?” You forgot Saiki could read your thoughts now. You lowered your phone to look at the psychic in question, raising your eyebrow. Even if his expression was neutral, his previously blank eyes were practically sparkling.

Did he… like coffee jelly? You decided to take the risk of asking him if he wanted some. It was easier to be rejected by an acquaintance (?) rather than a stranger. “Do you uh— do you want some? I don’t plan on handing them out to people or eating them all by myself. They’ll go to waste… but if you’re willing to take them off my hands—”

“Yes. I’ll take them.” Saiki’s response was instantaneous. You couldn’t stop the slight smile of surprise that graced your lips. You hid it with your phone as you studied him. What a turn of events. There was no sign of the all-powerful esper you were used to. 'He’s much less intimidating like this.’

“Well… do you wanna go to my place, then?”

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

bonus:

Saiki returned to his house after a long day, making his way up the stairs to go to his room shortly after taking off his shoes. He thought back to the day's events, satisfied with the outcome.

Saiki would never admit it, but his favourability for you had sky-rocketed when you offered him coffee jelly. He guessed that it wasn’t so bad that you knew of his powers now since it had ended with him getting his new favourite dessert.

You giving him the treat was enough for him to no longer consider you a nuisance. He would never tell you this in person, of course. He would rather die than let you find out he held you to a higher standard than his classmates now.

'Claiming my powers are a burden when anyone else would praise them… you’re interesting, l/n.’

Saiki decided not to dwell on his thoughts as he changed out of his uniform and got ready to go to bed.

At least now, he could finally read your mind. He no longer considered you dangerous, and with that, another disastrous day of his managed to meet a not-so-disastrous end.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

next part - metanoia

#saiki x reader #kusuo x reader #saiki k x reader #saiki kusuo x reader #saiki k #saiki kusuo #saiki kurumi #nendou riki #shun kaidou #hairo kineshi #yumehara chiyo #teruhashi kokomi #the disastrous life of saiki k.#friends to lovers #x reader #tdlosk

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darkbluekies · 9 months ago

Text

Stupid people

Yandere!mafia!oc x reader

Summary: a number sends Silas a picture of darling that sends him into rage

Warnings: murder, mentions of NSFW, Silas lashes out towards darling, guilt, slight indication of a character asking if it was consensual (it was — the deed, not the pictures), pictures taken without permission, punching and kicking between legs

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: to clarify, the photos are taken AFTER the deed, not during!

There's only two people Silas likes enough to let them be in his office for more than asking a question — you and SIC.

“Stupid people are my favorite kind of people”, SIC says from the couch, eyes glued onto his phone. “Some idiot here tried to jump from a roof.”

“If only our enemies did that so that i didn't have to go kill them”, Silas smirks.

“Since when were we that lucky?”

A notification on his own phone caught his attention. Silas picks it up and unlocks it, seeing that the notification is from an unsaved number. He clenches his jaw. Photos. It takes a second for him to realize what — who — is in these two photos. He can recognise that back among millions. He sees that back every night, always holding it close to his chest.

“Motherfucker!” he shouts and rises from his chair in a swift.

“What?” SIC asks quickly, looking up from his screen.

Silas slams his phone down on the floor. It shatters and explodes in every direction. SIC jumps up from the couch.

“Woah, what’s going on?” he asks quickly.

Silas can't reply. His heart is hammering in his throat. If he tries to speak, it'll jump out. His entire body is shaking. He's been mad before, but nothing compares to what he feels when you are involved.

“Silas?” SIC asks. “Sit down.”

He presses Silas down in the chair again.

“What happened?” he asks. “Give me a real fucking answer this time.”

“Some disgusting little bitch sent me photos of Y/N”, he spits out, growing angrier by every word. “Naked, in a bed. I think you can figure out the rest yourself.”

SIC blinks. “Shit. Who?”

Silas gestures manically towards the broken phone. “I didn't write the number down before I fucking smashed it!”

“Alright. I'll take out the sim card and put it in my phone. I can find out.”

“Don't look at the photos, got that? I'm not joking. I will beat you up if I find out that you've looked at the photos.”

“Don't worry, boss, I won't.”

Silas sighs in frustration. He storms out of his office, up the stairs and throws up the door to your shared bedroom. You're nowhere to be found.

“Y/N!” he shouts angrily.

You come out of the bathroom, looking bewildered. A fear grows on your face when you realize how mad he is.

“What's wrong?” you ask quickly.

“Who the fuck have taken pics of you while having sex?!” he shouts. “Who is the low creature that has pictures of you?!”

Your eyes widen.

“What?” you ask. “Silas-”

He moves closer and you can't describe his demeanor in any other way than threatening. You stumble backwards, finally reaching the wall. Even when he's mad, he'd never do things to make you scared of him, never show you the side he shows his men and enemies. But this time, he doesn't seem to care about holding back. You get to see what everyone else sees.

“Whoever the little fucker is, I will shove that camera of his so far up his ass it'll puncture a lung, do you understand that?” Silas spits, face mere centimeters from your face.

“Silas, I-”, you stutter.

Silas grabs the perfume standing on the shelf beside you and sends it flying across The room, breaking against the wall. You watch on in complete horror. Not even in the basement is he this violent, not around you.

Behind him, you see SIC run into the room, stopping in the doorway. He watches on with wide eyes.

“Who is it?” he spits before raising his voice. “Give me the name of the worthless little creature! I'll kill him!”

“Silas, I don't know!” you shout loudly in order to be heard over his own shouting. Tears blurry your vision as silence fills the room. “I d-don't know, I swear! I have no knowledge of a-any pictures taken of me. Please don’t be mad at me, I don’t know anything, I s-swear …”

You have wrapped your arms around yourself. You look so incredibly small. And helpless. He feels as if someone has punched him right in the stomach. He can't bring himself to shout at you. The fire in his eyes seems to blow out, leaving his eyes as dark as they should. He breathes heavily, feeling empty and painfully aware of everything around him — every little sound, movement. He finally realizes what's going on.

“Fuck”, he breathes out in a whisper and pulls you into his arms, into a tight embrace. “I'm so sorry.”

You sob into his shoulder, voice getting muffled in his white shirt. Silas hugs you as if his life depends on it.

“Baby, I didn't mean to shout at you”, he whispers. “I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at that disgusting filth. Not you, do you understand?”

He pulls you back and covers your face in apologetic kisses, caressing your cheeks and wiping your tears.

“Are you okay?” he asks, grabbing your face and forcing you to look him in the eyes.

You nod slightly and sniffle. Still shaking, but not mortified.

“What pictures?” you ask with an unsteady voice.

Silas looks at SIC.

“Did you get the number?” he asks.

“No, I didn't have time to move over the sim card before I heard the glass shattering.”

Silas clears his throat. His ears turn red.

“Go retrieve the number and then come back”, he says.

SIC nods and walks out. Silas turns to you. He cups your cheeks and kisses your lips carefully.

“Sorry”, he says again.

“It’s … okay”, you mumble.

It doesn't seem to register for him. He has a guilty look in his black eyes.

“Silas … what pictures?” you ask again, dreading the answer yet needing to know.

“There’s nothing to worry about, I shouldn’t have told you. I will take care of it, okay?”

“You got so upset about it … something must be wrong. Have someone taken pics of me while I’ve … had sex?”

Silas can’t tell you. He knows how distraught you’ll be.

“No, not while you had … after you were done … I don’t know”, he says. “I could have misunderstood the pictures. I broke my phone right after seeing them.” He notices how you give him an unsure gaze as he mentions his phone. “I get worked up quickly.”

You sniffle. Silas wipes your tears again and hugs you even tighter, resting his cheek on the top of your head. He feels like a complete fool, how could he slip up like that? He would never shout at you, never make you feel threatened. For fuck sake, you’re supposed to seek shelter and comfort in him!

“Are you sure that you’re okay?” Silas asks.

“Mhm”, you mumble. “Just shaking.”

“I can tell.” His embrace tightens. “Let’s sit down, alright?”

He moves you to the bed and sits down with you beside him.

“What have you done today?” he asks and wraps his arm around your shoulders.

“I’ve been watching some shows”, you reply.

“Which one?”

“Some cartoon … I don’t remember the name.”

“Do you think I’d like it?”

You give him a small smile and shake your head. “No, it’s too cheesy for you.”

Silas smiles. “What type of fucking stereotype is that? Show me and I’ll decide for myself.”

You reach for the tablet and show him a few minutes of the cartoon. He leans onto you, wrapping himself around you like a boa constrictor.

The door opens and SIC returns with his phone in his hand.

“Got it”, he says and walks over to the bed. “Y/N, take a look and-”

Silas slaps his hand away.

“Are you fucking out of your mind?” he scolds him. “You’re not showing them those!”

SIC holds his phone out of Silas’s reach.

“I am”, SIC replies.

Silas stands up. The animalistic, lredatory light is back in his eyes. You don’t doubt that he would punch him.

“I am going to show these pictures to Y/N to confirm that they remember the sex happening”, SIC explains sharply. “Because if they don’t, we might have a worse crime on our hands.”

Silas doesn’t reply. He seems to think, and seems to consider whether he should punch the man or not. He nods in defeat. SIC gives you the phone and you take a mortified look at the two pictures.

“Do you recognise where you are in these two pictures?” SIC asks. “Do you know when this was? Do you have memories of it?”

You look at the pictures, fearing that you’re not going to recognise the location or remember what happened … or who you were with.

“I know when and where this is”, you say. “It was five years ago. I remember it.”

“You're sure you remember it?” SIC asks.

“Yes … but I didn't know that he took pics …”

“Okay, the fucker is dead”, Silas decides.

“What was his name?” SIC asks.

“‘Eric’ something”, you say. “I met him at a party. He was nice, or so i thought, and-”

Silas runs a hand through his black hair and sighs.

“I guess that he wasn't that nice”, you mumble.

“Pricks like that are never nice. They're just polite enough to lure people to get what they want. Who knows how many innocent people's photos he has on his hard drive?”

“Silas, can you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“If you manage to find him-”

“Not if; when.”

“When you manage to find him, give him an extra punch from me, will you?”

Silas smiles. “I'll give him tenfolds.”

Finding him is easier than the poor fellow had anticipated. Silas pities him. He's either too stupid to know who he is or has a death wish. He can't decide which one is worse.

“God, you're even uglier than i imagined”, Silas scoffs as he sees the man for the first time.

He's held up by two of his men, body pounded with punches beyond recognizable, but they've left his face untouched. That's for Silas to ruin.

“You're even uglier than your mess of a body”, he says, grabbing the man's face, tuning it carelessly. “We haven't even touched this yet. What did you gain from this? Not a lot, I see. I mean, you're here, in my basement, about to be killed. Can't say that I understand your intentions.”

“Did you like the pictures?” Eric asks, voice drowning in painful moans.

“‘Did i like the pictures?’” Silas repeats, appalled by the man's lack of remorse. “I don't need your pitiful pictures. I get the full act from whatever angle I want.”

It shouldn't make him cocky, but bragging about it always fills him with pride.

“Give me his phone”, he orders.

One of his men digs up the phone from Eric's pocket. He forces him to unlock it.

“Do you take these types of pictures often?” Silas asks, eyes narrowing as he scrolls past hundreds of women sleeping in beds. “What even are these?”

“I take a picture of the woman after our session, after she's fallen asleep”, Eric replies, “as a trophy.”

“As a-”, he cuts himself off. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Silas hits him with all his might. Eric's head shoots backwards, his neck acting like a jojo to get it back. Blood runs down from his nose.

“Delete all the pictures”, he tells SIC and gives him the phone. “From the phone, any cloud, any other hard-drive. These pictures will never be seen by anyone ever again.”

“Yes, boss”, SIC replies and takes the phone.

He disappears up the stairs. Silas turns to Eric.

“How did you get my number?” he asks. “And, when you got it, didn't you check to see who it belonged to? You're pretty stupid.”

“I just know that the number belonged to Y/N’s new boyfriend”, Eric replies.

“Husband.”

It shouldn't fill him with such pride at a moment like this, yet it does.

“You're going to die now anyway, so it doesn't matter if I tell you my name”, Silas says.

One of his men gives him a knife with a long shiny blade.

“Boss”, SIC says from the top of the stairs. “Y/N’s here.”

Silas hurries to give the knife back and gestures for him to hide it.

“I’ll come upstairs”, he says.

Before he has time to move, you've bursted past SIC. He tries to grab at you, but you're already half down the stairs.

“You absolute worthless piece of shit”, you spit.

Silas raises his eyebrows.

Oh?

You run right over to Eric and slap him. Silas stands stunned. It takes him a few moments to gather himself and stop looking like a fool. He turns to the stairs where SIC stands, holding his hand over his face, laughing silently. He folds and has to hold onto the wall.

“How could you take such pictures?” you ask him. “What gave you the right?”

Silas grabs your shoulder to pull you away from him, but you shake him off.

“It's not like I took pics while we had sex”, Eric says, voice sounding even more painful.

Silas smirks. He can already tell that'll happen by the way your eyes widen. And he won't stop it. Won't even try to. You hit the man again and kick him between the legs. He tries to curl up, but is being held up by Silas’s men.

“Okay, okay”, Silas says and grabs your shoulders, pulling you backwards. “Enough of that. SIC, take Y/N to the bedroom and make sure they stay there.”

SIC grabs you out of his arms. Silas grabs the knife once more.

“What should we start with?” he asks, spinning the knife. “Your hands? Arms? Legs? Decide, coward.”

SIC forces you upstairs before he has the time to cut off any body parts.

“Let me go!” you mutter.

“Just stay quiet until we get up to the bedroom”, SIC says. “Nice shot you got, by the way. I know it caught Silas by surprise. That’s hard to do, you know.”

“He deserves more.”

“And Silas will give him that, don’t you worry. That is not your job. You got two punches and one kick in, that’s enough.”

WHen you try to run back downstairs, he picks you up over his shoulder and continues upstairs.

“Don’t give me more trouble”, he sighs.

SIC walks into the bedroom and places you down on the floor before barricading the door with his body to make sure you’re not making a run for it.

“The pictures are gone”, SIC says. “All of them — of you and of other people.”

“How many were there?”

“Hundreds. All taken when they had fallen asleep afterwards. He kept them like trophies.”

The door opens before he’s done with his sentence. Silas walks in, finally looking pleased.

“Dona already?” SIC asks.

“I got impatient”, he mutters and closes the door. “Little thing, are you okay?”

You nod. Silas hugs you, kissing the top of your head. He still feels awful about shouting at you. He squeezes you even tighter.

“Thank you”, you say quietly. “You helped not only me but also a lot of other people. That’s a good thing.”

His heart clenches. He has apologized a million times and you have forgiven him … but he can’t seem to forgive himself. It all happened so quickly, yet it lingers in him.

“Of course”, he says. “Scumbags need to be taken care of the right way. I kind of pitied the man. He must have been extremely stupid to let me know about him. Good that he was stupid though.”

Thinking about him makes him furious once more, but he reminds himself that it’s over. He has gotten his punishment … and Silas has saved people. Innocent people should never be punished for crimes they didn’t commit.

No one will ever see any those pictures again. No one will have to deal with that man ever again.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere mafia #yandere fics

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sailforvalinor · 11 months ago

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Thoughts on my first Tarzan rewatch since I was a kid:

• Golly gee, I did not remember that both Kerchak and Kala’s very young son AND Tarzan’s parents get mauled by a leopard, it happens within the first ten minutes, and you actually SEE his parents’ bodies. Modern Disney would NEVER

• Also remember when Disney actually animated really good fight scenes, they had nail-biting tangible stakes, and they actually showed blood??? Remember when they weren’t cowards????

• REMEMBER WHEN TARZAN KILLED THE LEOPARD TRYING TO PROVE HIMSELF TO HIS ADOPTIVE FATHER HAVING NO IDEA THAT HE WAS AVENGING HIS BIOLOGICAL FATHER (AND MOTHER). REMEMBER THAT

• It’s been said before, but the effort put into the physicality of Tarzan is just top-tier—especially later into the film where he starts to mix his gorilla and learned human mannerisms. There is so much detail here and it’s fascinating

• Also, the times where they chose to make the gorilla conversations understandable to the audience or make them sound like gorillas (aka switch to Jane’s pov) is SO fascinating and does wonders for building up the “two worlds” dichotomy.

• Jane’s crush on Tarzan is SO obvious and honestly comes on so suddenly, she is delulu for days, but honestly I cannae blame her, if *I* was saved by a strong handsome wild man who couldn’t understand me but stared deeply into my eyes as if he could see my soul through them as he pressed the palms of our hands together, I’d probably fold too

• My favorite character was Tantor the elephant. WHAT a character arc, I was so proud of him

• Hey uhhhhhhhh remember how the villain of this movie died by inadvertently hanging himself and the movie indicated this by showing his dangling silhouette in a flash of lightning??? HELLO???

• Y’all like to give Ariel a hard time for giving up her voice for a man when Jane Porter permanently and irrevocably left civilized society to run away to the wilds of Africa to live with gorillas for a man she met a week or two ago who she’s still getting over language barrier issues with. I’m not saying she shouldn’t have done so, I completely support her decision, but I feel like if this movie weren’t so slept on some of y’all would have a lot more to say about it.

• In general Jane is a bit more unhinged than we give her credit for, and more power to her. She’s rapidly climbing the ranks of my favorite Disney princesses.

• And then her father joins her??? “People go missing all the time”???? LOL

• Finally, it’s been said before, but: Phil Collins, you legend. You did not have to go that hard on this film, but you did and we appreciate it so much

#Tarzan #Disney #jane porter #tarzan 1999

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unequivocallyreid · 9 months ago

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Why Didn’t You Tell Me?

it has been SO long... i was suffering from serious writers block but it think i'm finally out of it :)

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: Spencer Reid used to be your best friend, but things changed. How long can you pretend that you don't love him before it ruins you?

warnings: angst! (with a happy ending), smut (unprotected piv), character loss, mention of Maeve, very sad Spencer, mental health struggles, drinking/bar scene, light choking, fighting, slight praise kink

wc: 8.8k 🤗

i’m very proud of this one! i hope you love it!

Every morning when you wake up, you feel a familiar and creeping sort of dread in the pit of your stomach.

Don’t get the wrong idea; you love your job. You love helping people and stopping horrible people from ruining any more lives, but the creeping feeling and desire to get out is always in the corner of your mind. Anyone working in this field would tell you that. There’s no absolute separation between you and the victims and their families. You take all of them home with you, and you just have to learn how to deal with that and not let it eat at you.

It doesn’t help that it’s an isolating job as well. The last time you were in a serious relationship was in college. Now, every date you have ends in disappointment. Not only do you lack interest in most of the men and women, but it couldn’t go anywhere even if you did. 75% of your time is spent in the office, on a jet, or hundreds of miles away from your home.

All of this contributes to the feeling, but the worst part of your job is Dr. Spencer Reid.

He’s secretive and dismissive and just about the most attractive person you’d ever seen. You honestly don’t know what is worse: his constant physical presence in your life or the fact that you can’t stop thinking about him no matter what you do. You’ve tried to get over it; you’ve buried yourself in work, lamented to your friends, and gone out on dates (all with guys that looked vaguely similar), but nothing has worked. All his worst traits grate your nerves and light you up at the same time.

The worst part of it all is that it wasn’t always like this. When you first joined the BAU nearly two years ago, you and Spencer got along well. You were friends, he talked to you about his life, he understood you, and you really severely fell for him. He became your best friend.

Everything changed around six months ago. Spencer started to develop migraines, and as those developed, he started distancing himself from you. He became snippy and closed off, he started hiding things from you, and he stopped talking to you about life outside of Quantico. It was like overnight, you became nothing to him, and you really didn’t understand. Everyone else on the team got the same old Spencer, but you went from his right-hand man to someone he only spoke to when it was necessary.

Maybe he didn’t deserve to be vilified. You know, realistically, he can and should be able to decide who he wants to be close to, but working with a man who unknowingly broke your heart was close to the hardest thing you’d ever done. So, you decided hating him was easier. The real emotions you feel toward him sit somewhere inside you, but they have been covered by manufactured distaste. Addressing the actual feeling would hurt too bad, so you pretend to hate the things you used to love.

Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the last case you worked on: helping Spencer save a girl he met about six months ago, a girl he loved. You tried to stay collected, you said nothing when Spencer assisted when he shouldn’t have, and goddamn, did you do everything in your power to find that girl. Maeve. She was perfect for Spencer, and you saw that immediately. Everyone did. The sight of him sobbing in front of her body is one that will never leave your mind.

Now, two weeks later, no one has heard from Reid. The only indication that he hasn’t abandoned his life altogether is the absence of the gift baskets on his doorstep that Pen leaves daily.

Nearly everyone has been to his apartment, but they are met with a closed door and have yet to receive a response. Everyone but you.

Penelope is the first to bring up your lack of appearance at the end of a long day of paperwork.

“Y/n, please, you just have to try. No one is getting anything from him.”

“I really don’t think my presence would do any good,” you pause for a moment, trying to collect the thoughts running through your head like a freight train. “Me and him haven’t been close in a long time, Pen.”

Before you can continue, she cuts in, “Everyone has tried, Y/n. Hell, I’ve even considered tracking down Gideon, and I really, really do not want to do that.”

She pauses for a moment before looking up at you with a pout on her face, “Please, Y/n, for me. I can’t bear the thought of him in there all alone, just wasting away in grief.”

For someone who claims not to be a profiler, Penelope knew exactly what to say to get you to agree. She’s the only person in your life who you told about how you felt, though you’re sure everyone else (aside from Spencer) knew: you’re shit at keeping secrets.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

She nearly bursts with excitement, “Thank God-“

You cut her off before she can finish, “But I’m telling you, I’m not the person he wants to hear from right now. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Yes, yes. I just want him to know we all want him to be okay.”

Before you can hurry out of the office to follow Pen’s instructions, she stops you and hands you a basket full of assorted snacks and fruits.

“Make sure he eats!”

The walk up to Spencer’s apartment is a hard one to take. The smell of his building hits you as soon as you step into the lobby. From there, everything rushes back at once. Memories of nights you spent watching reruns of Doctor Who or listening to him prattle off about whatever he last read assault you with every step. As you slowly make your way up, you start to question why you agreed to do this in the first place.

You feel a lot toward Reid. More than you should and less than you could. But all that care and feelings that are so close to love aren’t enough to make you forget why you’ve been trying to hate him for so long. He deserted you without an explanation and cut you off without a warning. You spent weeks (three months) crying over him like a love-struck teen. So, as much as you want to hold him and comfort him, you know it’ll hurt you to do so. Penelope sent you, with the whole team’s approval, you’re sure, to try to patch up a broken heart he got loving someone else. There’s a sickness in your gut, but it’s not enough to stop you from rapping your knuckles against his door.

“Spencer? It’s Y/n.”

There’s no response.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now, but I want to make sure you’re alright. Can you tell me you’re alright?”

Again, nothing.

You know he’s there. Despite your lack of communication, you know Spencer well enough to know that he would never leave his life behind entirely. That being said, your next few attempts at garnering a response are unsuccessful.

You decide to try one final time before just leaving the basket alone on his doorstep and texting Pen it was a bust.

“There’s a lot I don’t know about you now, and I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling.”

You don’t exactly know where this is headed, but you continue on regardless.

“I know you’re in there, and I know you can hear me, and I know you’re hurting. You shouldn’t- I don’t want you to be alone right now, Spence. You can either unlock your door, or I can pick it, but I’m coming in one way or the other. You know I will.”

You wouldn’t, actually. It’s a last-ditch effort, and it’s met with the same silence you’ve heard on the other side for the past ten minutes. You’re about to turn to head back down the stairs when you hear the very faint sound of a deadbolt turning.

There’s no other sound or movement, and for a moment, you think you might’ve imagined the sound, but you try the handle anyway. It turns, and the door slides open. You take a step in.

“Spencer,” you call out to him.

You don’t see him at first in the mess of his apartment, but when you do, you feel a crack form in your heart.

Beyond the clutter of his entryway, you see his back on the couch. His frame looks smaller than you’ve ever seen it, and you can see his legs curled into his chest. You set down the gift basket by a collection of others on the entry table and walk over to him. Slowly, like you’re trying not to spook a lost dog, you creep in front of him.

His head is down, and his gaze stays trained on his knees.

You reach out your hand and lay it over his. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“Spence, I’m so glad you opened the door.”

You didn’t plan out what you would say, but ‘sorry’ feels redundant and useless.

You go on, “I’m here. I- I don’t know what to do or say, and I’m sorry that I don’t. I can get someone else for you. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

You wait for him to say he wants Penelope or JJ, but it doesn’t come. Nothing comes. You start to move to get up, figuring you could clean up a bit and try to make him something to eat, then go, but he grasps your arm before you can.

He looks up at you, and his eyes hit you right in the gut. They’re bloodshot and sunken but still beautiful.

“Stay. Please. I just- I need to know I’m not dreaming. I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”

His voice is croaky from disuse and breaks at the end, but it’s so heartbreakingly earnest that you feel your breath catch. You move from your crouch and sit beside him on the couch; your hand is still in his.

You stay like that for a long time. His breathing is shakey and uneven, and every so often, his body shakes with what you can only assume are sobs. You stay pressed to his side the whole time, thumb rubbing back and forth over his hand.

Eventually, you speak again, “I’m gonna get you some food, Spence. You should eat.”

He says nothing back, but he does loosen his grip. You push yourself up from the coach with a promise you’ll be as fast as possible.

His kitchen is nearly empty, and you hope he’s been eating from the baskets. Still, you find enough to make noodles and butter, and you figure the carbs should help his energy some.

You return with the bowl. Spencer hasn’t moved, but his head follows you as you walk back over to him.

“It’s not fine dining.”

He studied you for a second, and you catch a glimpse of the old him in his eye.

“You did the same thing when I was sick on a case a year ago.”

You smile at his recollection.

“It helped you then.”

The rest of the night is spent mostly in silence. Occasionally, you tell him something to try to remind him that you’re there and that you won’t leave as long as he wants you there. Eventually, you get up from the couch again.

“Spencer, it’s too late to still be awake.”

He nods and still says nothing, but he is far more receptive than before. You reach your hand out to him to help him up from the couch, and he takes it.

He leads you to his room at a slow pace. His head stays down as you both take a seat on his bed, hands still interlocked. Being in his bedroom is odd for you. You’ve been to his apartment quite a few times before he disappeared from your life, but you never breached this space. It’s all very him. Almost surprisingly cozy, with books scattered around nearly everywhere there’s space.

You take in the moment for a beat before saying, “I’m gonna head home, Spencer, but please call me if you need anything at all. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

This makes his head snap up, and his eyes lock with yours.

“Please stay.”

That’s all he says, but every part of him is pleading with you. It’s not a good idea, and you know it. You’re the only person he’s seen in days, you aren’t close anymore, and you don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch tonight.

“Spencer, I don’t want to sleep in your living room tonight. I’ll come back.”

He pauses for a moment, “You can stay here with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

Your heart cracks again. There was a time when this was all you wanted. It’s still, deep down, all you want, just not like this. You know he doesn’t really want you there and he’s not himself. But you aren’t strong enough to say no, so you don’t.

He gets you clothes to wear, and you change in his bathroom. You come out and find him in his bed, laying with his back to you. You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you get into bed next to him anyways. There are a thousand thoughts racing through your head, but the prevailing one is how badly you want to touch him, to hold him, to make him forget, just for the night. You stay still, though, confined to the edge of the bed and start to count to drown out the noise.

Though, you can’t drown out his voice, saying, “Can- Could you hold me? I think that everything feels better when you touch me.”

Another crack. By the end of this, you know Spencer Reid is going to break your heart all over again.

When you wake up the next morning, Spencer is still asleep. You sneak out of his room and call Hotch. When he answers, you tell him Spencer has let you in, and you ask for time off to try to help. You can tell from his voice that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but he grants you it anyway.

Much of your day is spent like the night before. You stay next to Spencer, and you cook for him after leaving to pick up clothes and groceries. Then, you get him to shower and wash his hair. He sleeps with his head in your lap, and you feel like a fucking idiot at first, but as long as it’s helping him in some way, you let it happen.

That’s the thing: you don’t really know how to help him. You know he isn’t the type to talk about something until he is entirely ready, so all you can do is add something domestic and bright to his life while he grieves. It’s all you can think about in the moments of silence. Hell, you even read to him to try and get your mind off of it, but it barely helps.

The night is the same. You change in different rooms and slip into his bed at different times. You feel dirty for imagining what it would be like if the circumstances were different: if he wanted you like you have wanted him for the past two years. You hold him against you, and you pray for sign that you should be there.

The sign comes the following morning when Derek calls you.

“Y/n…”

You can hear his teasing tone over the phone.

“Hi, Derek.”

“What are you doing, mamas?”

You sigh, “What do you mean?”

You’re playing coy. You know he’s wondering why you’re at Spencer’s house, picking up the pieces, but you won’t be the one to bring it up.

“Why’d you ask Hotch for the week off, Y/n?”

Another sigh, “You know why, Derek. I just, I want to help him.”

“I know you do, Y/n, I know.”

He pauses for a moment, and you let the moment fill with silence.

“I know you care about him. We all care about him. But who is taking care of you?”

“I am. I can take care of him, and I can take care of me.”

“I know you can, but I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/n. Don’t let this be something that hurts you.”

“It won’t. I- You have to- Fuck, I’ll be fine. He’s not fine. I don’t care about me or any feelings that may get hurt right now. I’ll be fine.”

There’s another bear of silence, “Okay, Y/n. Just know you’re allowed to tap out.”

You try to think of anything else to say, but nothing comes, so you say your goodbyes.

You won’t need to tap out. You can take care of him and be good to him and ignore the other feelings you have. You can be good.

The call does make you think it’s time to push, to try harder, to help him get better. So, you approach him that day before bed, before he tucks himself into your arms and falls into a fretful sleep.

“Spencer?”

He takes a moment and then responds, “Yes?”

“You have to talk about it. I think that you need to talk about it. It doesn’t have to be to me but to someone.”

He’s quiet for a long time, and your breath is caught in your throat, waiting for him to say anything.

“I- I don’t want to,” his voice cracks while he says it.

“Spence, you can’t come back if you don’t. You can’t move forward if you don’t.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

A ringing echos in your ears.

“You don’t mean that. She- she would want you to keep going.”

Wrong thing to say.

“You don’t know anything about what she would want.”

He’s seething now, below the surface, but smoke has started to plume from his ears. Still, you don’t stop.

“Spencer, everyone knows that. No one would want you to put your life on hold.”

He speaks his next line through his teeth, “You don’t know anything, Y/n.”

You’ve never heard him sound so angry.

“Spencer-“

“No, just stop. You don’t know her. You don’t know me half as well as you think you do. You don’t know anything. I don’t even know why you’re here. I don’t want you here. You can't be what I need.”

The ringing in your ears is louder.

“Spencer, please. Just-“

“No!” His voice is raised now, bordering on a yell, “I don’t want you here. I want you out, Y/n.”

This has to be what shell shock feels like. The ringing, the tingle in your limbs, and the heat in your face. You don’t know how you are moving, but you are.

His voice is echoing in your head, or maybe he’s still talking, but you can’t tell either way. The only thing you can focus on is how Spencer sounded like he hates you and that Morgan was right about the hurt.

You spend the next day trying desperately to shut down the noise in your head. It doesn’t work. The day after is the same. And the days following that. You ignore calls when they come, you ignore the texts, but you can’t stop looking at your phone for a message from the man who fills your thoughts.

Spencer doesn’t call, obviously, and you have to sit with a pit in your stomach while you beg yourself to just get the fuck over it. Two years of reckoning with the severity of your love, months of watching him live happily without you, and it’s the three days you spent trying to help him feel incrementally better that floor you.

You feel like a dumb teenage girl with so much love and nothing to do with it. On top of everything, you feel selfish. Spencer lost the love of his life forever, and you’re nursing the worst heartbreak of your life because a boy will never want you and never has. Still, you send out prayers for him over and over. You hope you’ll see him in the BAU again, even if his eyes glaze over you. Hell, even if they look at you with hate the way they did two days ago. You just want him to function. You want him to be good and eventually be happy. You try to go to bed with soothing thoughts, but you end up with a mantra of his name.

You wake to your alarm and dress for work before you realize you aren’t actually supposed to go back yet. You never set a date to return. You wanted to be open as long as Spencer needed you. You’re supposed to be with him. You’re supposed to be helping and not tapping out. But you aren’t.

You have no reason not to return to the bullpen, so you do. You walk in and feel eyes on you. You wait for Morgan to call out to you, but he doesn’t, so you follow the feeling.

Your breath catches in your throat; it’s Spencer. He’s sitting at his desk, paperwork spread out, and he doesn’t look away from your gaze; he just holds it. His face is unreadable, and yours is definitely not, so you look away first. You don’t look up again until you reach Hotch’s office. You knock and hear him call out to come in.

“I’m back if that’s okay.”

He looks up at you, and you want to cry. You know he can read you. He has always been the best at it.

“Are you okay with that, Y/l/n?”

You lock eyes with him, “Yes, sir.”

It’s no use; he knows your tells and you aren’t being honest.

“Alright, conference room in five.”

Whatever he sees in your face, he ignores and takes you at your word, but there’s a warning in his tone. He knows when to let things go and when to push. More than that, though, he knows you’d never let something like this affect your work.

The first case back is in Maryland, and the one after is in Austin, and the next is in Philadelphia with The Replicator. The job takes you all over the country, and the cases blend together. You don’t speak to Spencer through all of it. You’re never partnered, never work together, you sit on opposite ends of the jet. You don’t even speak at Strauss’ funeral. It’s radio silent, and everyone notices it, but no one brings it up.

In that time, you allow yourself to slip away slightly. You don’t go out with the team, you see Pen at nearly half frequency, and basically, the only time you speak is on cases. It’s stupid and melodramatic, but you call it healing. Derek tries to reason with you, JJ sticks to you a bit more than usual, and Penelope calls you virtually whenever she can, but their efforts are mostly in vain. This is your way of protecting yourself. You feel like you have to isolate in order to improve, and you know, given time, you will come back to yourself.

Penelope’s insistence that you go to her Day of the Dead celebration breaks your distance.

“Y/n, please come. I know you aren’t going out, but you have to. I know you have people to honor, and I need you there.”

You sigh, “Whose going, Pen?”

“The team, which you are a part of, so you must be there.”

“I don’t think I can do that. I promise you I will celebrate with you. I’ll help you set up, just please don’t make me go.”

Penelope pauses, but the glint in her eye keys you into the fact that she is not interested in giving up.

“We miss you, Y/n. Everyone loves you and misses you. You’ve been living this stupid, isolated life, and it’s time for you to come back. You are not this person. I refuse to believe it. You’re coming, and that’s final.”

Maybe you don’t have the energy to argue, or maybe you know she’s right, but you agree to go.

The thought of seeing him makes your heart race, and the clock you keep glancing at makes it worse. Just a few more hours before you're trapped in a confined space (Pen’s beautiful home) with a man you haven’t spoken to in weeks.

You busy yourself with preparing. Lights are hung, food is made, and you make a trip to the store while Pen sets up her remembrance table. When everything is said and done, you can’t help but feel this is the most beautiful thing you’ve been a part of in a long time.

The first knock comes at 7:30 exactly, and it’s Hotch and Rossi. They are followed closely by Blake, then Derek and JJ. By 7:00, the atmosphere is light and loving, and you feel a bit of your anxiety let up as the minutes go by without Reid. But, eventually, the knock comes, of course it does, and you move into a corner as Spencer walks in. You feel a shift in energy, though you doubt it’s palpable for anyone else. Rossi is the first to make his way over to you, and his presence comforts you nearly immediately.

“How you doing, kid?” His voice is soft like he’s speaking to a scared rabbit.

“I’m better,” you say, and it’s about as honest as you can get. As much as you’d like to think he knows nothing about what’s gone on, you’re smarter than that. He’s the best profiler on the team, and he’s always known when someone was off with you. Even so, you are better than you were, even if you aren’t quite good, and you know he believes you.

There’s some idle conversation between you before he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not tonight. I don’t know when, but I will. Eventually, I will.”

It’s good enough for him, and you move on easily, which surprises you.

Right before Pen gathers you all to present your photos, he says, “Sometimes we think we’ve seen the whole picture, but we miss a big part. People do things because they don’t want to be hurt, but those things hurt them more. Just, be open.”

You don’t quite understand what he means, but you hope you will.

Penelope presents the first picture, which shows her parents. JJ honors her sister, Derek, his dad, Hotch Haley, and Rossi, Hernandez; then it’s your turn. You place down a photo of your best friend. You hadn’t talked much about her, but you think of her daily. She passed a few years before you joined the BAU.

“I was lucky to have someone that hurt that much to lose.”

That’s all you say, but it’s enough for you, and it would be enough for her.

Spencer is last. He places down a picture of Tesla and a picture of Maeve. Your heart is heavy for everyone.

The night dwindles from there. Hotch and Rossi say their goodbyes, and Rossi gives you a knowing look as he leaves. You just smile. You stay for a few minutes after, but eventually, you move to leave as well.

You make it down Garcia’s porch before you feel a hand grab your arm. You turn, and it’s Spencer’s face you see.

“Would you- Do you think you could come over? Do you think we could talk?”

The feeling you have walking up to Spencer's apartment is similar to what you felt the last time. You’re incredibly anxious, but at least you know you’ll be let in this time.

The drive over was silent. Spencer had taken the metro to Penelope’s, so he rode with you. It wasn’t necessarily awkward. There was just an understanding that the car wasn’t the place to begin your conversation.

Now, as Spencer unlocked his door, it’s one of those rare moments you felt starved for words, and you know it’s because you’re scared you’ll say the wrong thing and face the same reaction that you did the last time you were in his home.

He leads you to his living room and motions for you to sit, and you do. The two of you are on opposite ends of his couch while you wait for him to say something.

His first words are airy and light, “Thank you for letting me talk to you.”

You look at him but remain silent, waiting for him to go on. All you can think about is why he wants to speak to you at all. The last time you spoke, he made it incredibly clear he did not want you in his life or around him at all.

Before you can think about it more and let your anger and sadness build, he speaks again, “I feel really stupid right now. I kind of feel stupid whenever I’m around you recently.”

He pauses momentarily before going on, “I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. About the last time we spoke. I’ve been thinking about it pretty constantly for the past few weeks.”

You open your mouth, unsure of what exactly to say, but you can’t get there before he’s off again.

“I’m not sure how to talk to you anymore. I don’t think I’ve known how to for a long time. I just, I need you to know how sorry I am for speaking to you like that.”

He takes a shakey breath but keeps going, “That wasn’t me, and that isn’t how I feel. I’m just unbelievably sorry, Y/n.”

He stops there, and you work to collect your thoughts.

“I know. A part of me knows, at least, that you didn’t mean it. I just wanted to be there for you, and hearing that made me- I just- I think it made me hate myself for wanting to be there.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m unbelievably sorry.”

“You didn’t talk to me for months, Spencer. I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why you let me in in the first place. I thought you hated me.”

He’s silent for a long minute.

“I never hated you, Y/n. I just stopped knowing how to act around you, and then I met Maeve. I fell so deep into it that I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I- And I just started to feel like you didn’t want me to speak to you, so I didn’t. But, when you came here, after everything, I guess I just felt like you were the only person who would get it. You never, no one on the team ever treated me or talked to me how you did. I just wanted that.”

Tears had begun to well in your eyes now. A part of you gets what he means, at least about letting you in, but the other part is so confused as to why he stopped being comfortable around you.

“I don’t understand, Spencer. Why did you stop knowing how to be around me?”

There’s desperation in your voice that makes you sound like a stranger to yourself. Maybe you’re a stranger to everyone right now.

“I uh, I don’t really know.”

“That's not fair, Spence.”

You’re crying now. Just a little bit, but you can feel the wetness on your cheeks. You can see that you are by the look on his face. He looks broken, and you know it's a reflection of your own image.

You wipe your face, “Thank you for apologizing, Spencer. I just, there are parts of this all that I don’t understand, and if you can't explain them to me, I don’t think I ever will.”

“Y/n-,” he calls out your name like a prayer.

“It’s okay, Spence. You don’t have to say anything more. We talked, and things will go back to how they were eventually.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

You smile sadly as you get up to leave.

“I am, too, for what it's worth. For whatever I did to make things change in the first place.”

You leave it at that, and it takes everything in you not to look back as you leave his apartment.

Things do get easier after that. Not completely. You still love him, and it hurts, but it helps to know he doesn’t hate you. He talks to you some, cordial things, and you do the same. You're sure your teammates still sense something is off, but this works for you. Right now, it works. Getting over him, not loving him anymore, is going to take work, but eventually, you know that you won’t hurt anymore.

Shortly after you and him talked, you started going back out with your friends. Spencer joined periodically, but that was normal. Bars were never really his scene.

Tonight, everyone gathers at your local pub. Your last case was particularly grueling, and you all need a way to blow off some steam. It's fun, and you feel good, even with Spencer sitting across from you. You feel proud of yourself for getting to this point.

JJ and Penelope feed you drinks to try and get you to dance, and you let them. Tonight feels as good of a night as any to ‘get back out there’ as Pen says. So, you do. You dance with them, and you ward off the other cops and agents around you who try to pull you away from your group. You aren’t interested in that. Right now, you're just having an appropriate amount of fun for a woman 15 feet from her boss.

Time goes by quickly, and by the time you get back to the table, you, Derek, Penelope, and JJ remain. He tells you that Hotch, Rossi, Reid, and Alex left a few minutes before. The conversation between you flows for a while, up until the drinks loosen Penelope up enough to bring up what you were pretty sure the team designated a no-no topic.

“Y/n, you have to talk about it.”

You’re still laughing as something Derek said when you reply, “What?”

“You know what. You and Boy-Genius. What on Earth happened? You went from ice-cold to semi-friendly. None of us saw it coming.”

“Babygirl-,” Derek tries to stop her, but you cut him off.

“No, it’s okay. I have to talk about it at some point, and I think right now is the only time I’ll be tipsy enough to let you get it out of me.”

You're still laughing slightly, but the pit that's lived in your stomach for the past few months starts to rear its head.

“After your Day of the Dead party, he asked to talk to me. I went to his place, and he apologized. I don’t really understand what he said or what he meant, but I can’t be sad about him forever.”

Pen perks up a bit at that, “I knew that party would bring good things!”

You giggle a bit at her outburst, but then JJ asks, “What did he say?”

The faces around you all tune in at that. You know they don’t see this as gossip. They care about you both too much to trivialize it like that.

“He just said that he stopped knowing how to act around me, and he didn’t know why, but then he met Maeve, and I guess it didn’t matter so much after that. He was my best friend, and then he was nothing.”

JJ shares a glance with Derek and then speaks, “Oh, Y/n.”

“What?”

After a beat, Derek says, “He didn’t just not know how to act around you.”

Now you're confused, “What do you mean? I talked to him, that's what he said. He didn’t know why. I mean, he knows everything and didn’t know why he didn’t want to be around me anymore. How fucking stupid is that.”

You laugh again, but it does come off as genuine in the slightest.

“Y/n, he probably doesn’t really know why. At least not fully. For someone as smart as he is, the kid can be really stupid.”

“Stop being cryptic.”

Derek sighs but goes on, “Pretty girl, pretty boy was in love with you. Probably still is. He just didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

“No. That's not true.”

You look at the others around you, but their faces are serious.

“He loved Maeve. He loves Maeve. That, that doesn’t make any sense.”

It's JJ’s turn to talk now.

“He definitely did love Maeve, no one is denying that, but we all saw how he was around you. His whole relationship with her was safe. He couldn’t be hurt by her rejection every day because he had no way of seeing her. With you, he could.”

Your mind is moving a mile a minute, “Did he tell you guys this?”

Penelope puts her hand over yours and says, “He didn’t have to, love. We all say the way he looked at you and acted around you. The way he talked about you. That boy was head over heels.”

“Guys, I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do, but this isn’t real. Spencer doesn’t- this is not real.”

“Y/n, pause. Think about the way he acted around you, the things he said. Think about how Reid is.”

You hear what Derek said, but it all sounds faint like someone stuffed your ears with cotton while you weren't paying attention. All you can focus on are the different scenes running through your head, the scenes of your life with Spencer in it. How he memorized your coffee order and brought it for you every day, how he never shied away from your touch despite his aversion to contact, how he consistently went out of his way to protect you on the field. At his house after everything, the way he clung to you and wanted to be held. How he said in his own words, “You can't be what I need”; not “you aren’t,” but “you can’t.”

Your whole world is crashing down in this bar, and you can’t do anything to stop it.

“Y/n?”

JJ’s voice snaps you out of your spiral.

“Just go talk to him.”

You nod mutely, and you get up.

Everything in the last ten months of your life has led you to the exact spot you were when everything blew up in the first place: Spencer’s door.

This time, you aren't too worried about him not letting you in. If anything, it's the opposite. Him opening this door could open a hundred others, and you don’t quite know if you are ready for any of them. You sit there and sit there and sit there, trying to work up the courage to knock, though you aren’t sure it's there to begin with. Right as you're about to walk away and decide you’ll come back another day, his door swings open.

“Y/n?”

His face is lit up with shock, and you notice his hand that is not on the door is holding his pistol.

“What are you doing here?”

You don’t answer, “Why did you open the door?”

He sets his piece down on the entry table before responding, “I heard footsteps in the hall and saw they stopped here. I was anxious. 50.3% of home invasions happen between 8:00 pm and 7:00 am.” He cuts himself off there, “Y/n, why are you here?”

You didn’t pay attention to anything he said. All you could think about was the way his lips were moving and the way his eyes locked onto yours as he talked.

“Do you love me?”

That is not what you wanted to say.

His lips fall open as he takes in a sharp breath, “What?”

“Or I guess did you love me? Before everything? Because Derek and JJ and Pen, they all said that you loved me, and now I can’t think about anything else, Spencer.”

He doesn’t speak, but you don't really give him a chance to.

“I just, I know I sound crazy right now, but I feel fucking crazy. I keep going over everything in my head, and I have been, for the past year I have been, but now it’s all different. It's all different because they said that you loved me, but you didn’t think I’d feel the same way.”

Here, you do pause, but he still doesn’t say anything, so you go on before you can stop yourself.

“Because if that's true, Spencer, it's just- I did. I do. And if it's not, then please just tell me so I can stop feeling this way.”

He sounds resigned when he says, “Y/n,” and you feel like you know what that means.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I'm doing this. You don’t have to say anything. Actually, please don’t say anything. I don't think I can hear it. Just pretend I never-”

He cuts off your ramble, “Y/n, stop.”

You draw your eyes from the floor, look up at him, and find something in his gaze you have never seen before. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you, and it takes everything you have not to look away. His hand raises to cup your jaw, and your skin lights on fire. Before you can process what he’s doing, you feel his lips press against yours, and something clicks. At first, his touch is light, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But, when he grasps that you won’t, he presses himself to you harder, and all you can think about is how nothing has ever felt so right.

His lips move against yours, and you don’t know how you're managing to reciprocate because it feels like everything in your body has gone fuzzy. The kiss is by no means long, but it feels like it lasts forever, and by the time he pulls away, you’re breathless.

His forehead stays connected to yours, and he whispers, “I do, Y/n, love you. I have.”

You don’t feel the tears on your cheeks until he’s wiping them away.

“Oh, Y/n.”

“Did you know? That you did? Is that why…”

You trail off, hoping he’ll pick up on what you're asking, and he does.

“I didn’t at first, or I didn’t realize I was falling in love with you until it happened. I got scared, so I ran. I just never thought that you could feel the same or that I was hurting you. I didn’t realize that. I just thought I was doing what was best for us. I felt guilty for being in love with my best friend.”

“And Maeve?”

“I loved Maeve. I’ll always have love for her. I was trying to move on, and I thought I could eventually be with her and be around you without it hurting. I wish I would have told you this before.”

“You’re telling me now. That's enough.”

This time, it's you who pushes your lips to meet his. Your arms snake around his neck, and his fall to your waist. You follow when he pulls you into his apartment and closes the door. There is still pain on both sides, but you can feel it dissipating as you cling to each other. You’re just two broken people who have finally found a way to each other.

This kiss is different, hungrier. Neither of you pulls away for longer than a few seconds as you navigate your way from his entryway to his couch. Every touch is desperate like you're searching for something you never knew existed until now. His hands pull you closer and closer until he's pulling you on top of him, and each of your legs rests on opposite sides of his hips.

Your lips break from his for a moment, “What do you want, Spence?”

His reply is instant, “You.”

From there, things move faster. Your hands unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders while he undoes your pants. There are moments of awkwardness that come with exploring another for the first time, but it feels good. His hands trace over your hips and push further until you're left on top of him in only your underwear and bra. He takes you in like you are something to be marveled at, and you know your eyes reflect the same adoration.

You raise yourself off of him and work to get him in the same state of undress as you, and when you position yourself on top of him, you feel his length press against your center. The two thin layers of fabric do little to hinder the intensity as you rock into him. He lets out quiet moans at the action as his lips trace down your neck and over your collarbone.

His breath ghosts over you and makes you shiver when he asks, “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

His hand moves between the two of you, and his fingers find your clit easily, rubbing circles over the fabric of your panties. You pant his name against his lips at the action. You feel like your whole body is lit up, and under any other circumstance, you'd feel embarrassed at how worked up you are, but you can’t seem to care.

After a few moments, he lifts you up and carries you to his bedroom. From there, he positions you below him on the bed, removing your remaining clothes in the same motion. The new setup lets you grip him, and he feels big in your hand. His fingers resume their previous assault before dipping down into you. You cry out at the feeling of him inside you, slowly pushing in and out, finding a spot that makes your legs start to shake. He’s relentless in his pursuit and all you can muster up the energy to say is his name.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.”

It's somewhere between a whimper and a whisper, but the sound of his voice causes you to clench around his fingers.

He picks up on this, of course he does, and quickens his pace as he coos at you.

“So pretty like this. I’m so lucky.”

You’re embarrassingly close already, so when he moves his thumb over your clit to rub circles as he fucks into you with his fingers, you come undone almost instantly with a warning and cry of his name. He works you through your orgasm, all while whispering praise in your ear. Once you come down from your high, you start to push his boxers down his legs, but he stops you before you can fully.

“We don’t have to do anything more, Y/n. I liked just making you feel good.”

“I want more. I want to feel you if you want that too.”

“Of course I do. I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I couldn’t regret this, Spencer. I love you. I want all of you.”

It's the first time you’ve actually said those three words to him, and it feels so fucking good to say.

“I love you, too. God, so much.”

With that, he positions himself back on top of you, running his fingers over your slit gently before gripping himself.

“Do you have a condom?”

“I might somewhere, but I have an IUD, and I’m clean. I can try to find one if you’re more comfortable with that?”

“IUDs have a failure rate of around .05% and are largely considered the most effective form of birth control, so uh, as long as you're okay with it, I am.”

You smile to yourself at his statistic but nod, “I want to feel you, Spencer.”

He returns your smile before rubbing his length over your entrance a few times and slowly pushing himself into you just slightly. He teases you, or maybe himself, for a moment before fully entering you. You push your hips up to meet his, and feeling him in his entirety makes your jaw fall open. He’s big, and you feel unbelievably full.

He waits a moment for you to adjust before he starts to develop a rhythm. His hands are everywhere, but his eyes are focused solely on your face like he doesn’t want to miss a moment of your reaction to him inside of you. To be fair, you are probably putting on a good show. Every movement he makes hits you in exactly the right spot, and you don’t think you could be louder if you tried. You can feel the leg he’s not holding up against his shoulder shake against the bed. Your first orgasm has made way for your second to be incredibly close.

“Spencer, please.”

You’re crying out, desperate for a little more to push you over the edge.

“What do you need, baby?” His voice is tight like he’s not far himself, and it sounds better than anything you’ve ever heard.

“Harder. Please, harder.”

He takes your direction immediately, rubbing circles on your clit with one hand while he thrusts into you with a bruising force. He’s fucking you like he wants you to remember the feeling long after he stops, and you know that you will. Everything about it is overwhelming: his smell, his pace, his eyes. You are covered in him, and he is covered in you.

After a moment, the hand he had on your stomach trails up to grasp lightly at your throat, and you fall into feeling. You can’t warn him that you're about to come before you do. The feeling is white hot. Bigger than your first, and the fact that you're coming on him sends you into overdrive. You can feel his hips falter for a moment, but you're lost in a daze, crying out his name.

He pumps into you a few more times before he follows suit. He pulls out, and you feel stripes of his come paint your cunt and lower stomach as he finishes with a moan of your name.

He falls next to you on the bed, and it takes you both a few moments to collect yourselves and catch your breath.

Once you do, the only thing you can think to say is, “I love you.”

It feels like those are the only words circling around in your head at the moment. Some mixture of his name and that declaration. While you know you each said it before, that your profession was the exigence of the sex you just had, it feels uniquely vulnerable to say now. It’s like the moment you just had together could have changed things or made him realize that he doesn’t actually love you after all.

That shoe doesn’t drop, though. Instead, you hear the three words echoed back to you by a man who, 6 hours ago, you thought would never, ever say them.

You turn to face him, and the love on his face feels like it could knock you out. He’s looking at you and smiling in a way you haven't seen in a long time.

“Will you let me clean you up?”

You know that part of the reason he’s asking has something to do with the likelihood of bacteria growth or something like that, but you think it's mainly that he wants to take care of you. Him wetting a rag and running it over you feels intimate in a different way, in an excruciatingly gentle way. Personal in a way that makes you feel like nothing between you could ever be wrong again, and maybe that's naive to think, but you feel hopeful regardless.

Once he finishes, he takes his space back next to you in the bed. This time, he pulls you into his arms, and it's different than it was all those months ago. This time, you know that he won’t push you away and that you won't hurt yourself by being next to him. This time, you just tuck yourself into him, and you let him whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you begin to drift off. This time, it feels like peace.

The following day, you wake up to Spencer still next to you, looking incredibly soft in the early morning light. You search for a moment to find your phone in the piles of clothes and are greeted with a text from Pen.

How did it go????

You smile before turning your phone off and climbing back into bed next to the man you love. It couldn’t have gone better.

all done! yay!!!

i hope you guys love it!! i’m not 100% happy with the ending but i’ve been writing this for so long and just needed to be done.

this is my first time writing angst on here and my longest fic, so PLEASE tell me what you think! all (nice) feedback is welcome and i love to hear from you guys!! :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #fic rec #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #friends to lovers #friends to enemies to lovers #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic rec

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yumeka-sxf · 3 months ago

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Was not expecting a Yuri/Yor chapter, but it was a pleasant surprise! First thing I want to mention is the fact that Yor is not wearing her usual Thorn Princess earrings, but instead has rose earrings similar to the button on her red blouse.

I could be wrong, but I believe this is the first time we've seen her with different earrings. Perhaps it's an indication that she's feeling more "at ease" as far as her relationship with her Thorn Princess identity, since we know that her usual earrings function as weapons if needed. Maybe she doesn't feel as much of a need to be "on guard" all the time as she used to be.

As for the bulk of this chapter, it featured great character development for the Briar siblings. What stood out to me the most is how hard it is for Yuri to understand that Yor's happiness truly does come from the happiness of others, plus the fact that she has very few desires for herself, especially materialistic ones that can be bought at a store. It's hard for him to grasp because he spent his whole life watching her selflessly sacrifice her own childhood to take care of the both of them, so he feels he has to overcompensate. But again, because he can't fathom that she actually enjoys taking care of others, the only explanation he can come up with for her lack of wanting things for herself is that the Forgers are "controlling" her somehow (also due to his own bias, lol).

It was amusing how Yuri's attempts to frame Loid and Anya as "brainwashing" Yor failed miserably...it only served to highlight how much she cares about them, especially Anya. I loved the below panel ❤️ She's such a mom.

By the way, this next panel cracked me up the most 🤣 I was curious what the "go at it" part was in the Japanese version, and it turns out to be the verb 絡む ("karamu"). It has several meanings, but mainly it means "to be entangled with" either with physical things like vines or wires, but also to be entangled with a person in a problematic way, such as by quarreling. I can only imagine how Yuri interpreted this 😂

In the latter part of the chapter, Yor finally made it clear to Yuri that he doesn't need to keep pitying her. She states that she enjoyed the time she spent taking care of him, and whatever negative feelings she had after he left her are in the past, so he doesn't have to keep trying to compensate for it.

For a brief moment, Yuri daydreams about the two of them going back to their hometown to live peaceful lives before ultimately realizing that they have responsibilities in the city that they can't just abandon. The emphasis on their respective "real" jobs that they can't reveal to each other, plus the later scene of Yuri lamenting that he feels distant from Yor because he can't show her who he's really become, definitely gave me a feeling of foreboding. Plus the fact that the chapter ends with him possibly being assigned a new job.

Even though the rest of the Forgers didn't appear in this chapter, we did get this precious little panel when Yuri was musing about why he feels so lonely. So thank you for this Yuri and your rolodex wheel of anxious thoughts 😂

I think it's still too soon for any kind of big, story-shattering reveal, but I feel like Yuri's next assignment could be something akin to the mole hunt arc, where something big almost happens...the fandom focuses a lot on a Twilight/Thorn Princess reveal, but a Briar sibling reveal would be just as major in my opinion, which is the vibe I got from this chapter. Since Yuri already had an encounter with Twilight, what if he had some kind of run-in with Garden next? 👀

...or maybe this was just a standalone chapter and we'll never find out what Yuri's next assignment is because it's not important and the next chapter will move on to something else 😅 I'd say it's 50/50 at this point, lol.

#spy x family #sxf #spy family #spyxfamily #yor forger #yuri briar #sxf spoilers #sxf manga #sxf manga spoilers

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cheapshrimpysheep · 1 month ago

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Dating in a Dream - Jade Leech

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?

CHARACTERS: Jade Leech x Reader🐬🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda); Kiss; Flirting

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Jade’s dream (Eng Server)

WORD COUNT: 3.390 words

COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

I hope you enjoy🐬

Dating in a Dream: Idia / Epel / Rook / Vil / Kalim / Jamil / Floyd / (Jade) / Azul / Jack / ...

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho announces. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

You, Grim, Silver, Sebek, Ortho, Jamil, and Floyd already appeared in the dream underwater and your aerospheres were working well by all indications. After a little chitchat about Silver's signature spell, Sebek and Floyd hear something, and then everything starts to shake like an earthquake.

“Surrounding water temperature rising sharply.” Ortho warns. “Immediate evacuation recommended!”

Floyd shapeshifts into his mer form and takes everyone away from that place quickly. You managed to came out unharmed from an submarine volcano eruption thanks to him.

After talking about how dangerous submarine volcanoes are, not only because of the temperature but also because of the toxic gases, you all decide to go look for Jade. Floyd asked if Idia couldn't give you all a mer-form too, but Idia explained that he didn't have data to do it and that, unlike him, you had no experience in swimming with mer-folk tails. Floyd understands because it took him a while to learn to walk on two legs so he assumed it would be something similar.

But before you set off in search of Jade, Floyd changes his appearance a bit and starts to glow in the dark. He says it's called counter-illumination and explains how it actually works as camouflage in deep, dark places like that.

You searched a lot without success and with your vision and smell limited by the gases. Until Ortho detects an aether signal 20 meters ahead.

“Look at this hydrothermal vent! Though it's spewing hot water nonstop, you can see it's actually home to a colony of shellfish if you look closely!” Jade says smiling. “How do they survive in a place like this? I'd be boiled alive in an instant.”

“If I might remind you, Jade, we're not searching for shellfish worth less than a sorcent.” Azul says. “We're looking for precious metals that settle in hydrothermal deposits.”

“I'm aware, Azul.” You see the dreamer's silver bird around Jade's head. “But it's still nice to take a moment to enjoy the mountain scenery.”

“Yup, that's Jade and Azul, all right.” Floyd confirms.

Azul talks about them looking for very valuable gold and him wanting to become a leading figure in the mining industry. And Jade seems to be enjoying following him.

Jamil says he thinks that Azul is just like the real one, but Idia and Floyd, who know him better, say there's something strange about him. Floyd even says he doubts that Azul would voluntarily go near a volcano.

The fake Azul sees something shining in a vent, he pluged up the vent for a moment with ice magic to then try to scoop up the gold while the flow's stopped. He puts his hand inside and reach for the shiny thing hoping it's gold, but the water redirected and erupt from another vent, right at him, which made Jade start laughing. The fake Azul didn't seem to mind having his arm a bit boiled to get the gold.

And suddenly, both the way Azul spoke and his facial features changed.

“So, uh...” Idia says through tablet. “Am I the only guy thinking Azul's acting like a sketch comedy actor here?”

Floyd and Idia (and maybe you too) are the only ones who really notice the differences between that exaggerated version of Azul and the real one.

Ortho mentions that there is an NPC version of Azul, but he is not seeing any NPC version of Floyd anywhere.

“Ah! Right near where Azul found the gold dust...” Jade says. “There's a school of small shrimp living in a rock fissure that's venting hot water! Floyd! Come over here and have a look.”

The NPC version of Floyd appears, but with facial features way oversimplified.

“It's like Floyd would be if he were drawn in an absurdist comedy manga...” Idia comments.

“Look at these tiny shrimp, living in such a harsh environment.” Jade continues telling NPC Floyd.

“Ooh you're right! They look delish! Eheheh!” NPC Floyd says in a more childish voice than normal. “Ahaha, lookit how cute and teeny they are! I could eat 'em right up!”

“My, my. What a bold gourmand you are, Floyd.” Jade comments with a mocking smile.

The fake Floyd grebes the shrimp and eats them. Idia comments that that Floyd is scary in a whole different way from the real one, and Floyd says that he's nothing like that, that Jade is the one who eats random stuff he finds on the ground in the mountains, not him.

“Heh heh heh. What fun Azul and Floyd are having.” Jade says amusedly. “I just love the mountains.”

“KYAAA! Poor little shrimps!” An abnormally cute voice says. “Floyd is so scary!”

A new NPC appears: You! Or rather, you in mer-form with a tail like a shrimp's, and you see your NPC quickly swimming up to Jade to hug his arm like a scared child.

“Don't let him bite me, Jade~” Your NPC begs cutely with a tear in the corner of their eye. And your face was also different from your real face, the eyes seemed bigger and brighter, but in a way that was almost pitiful.

“Fu fu fu. Worry not, my dear. You're the only little shrimp I would never let him nibble on.” Jade says, as he intertwines his tail with your NPC's.

“T-That (Y/N)...” Idia says. “C-could it be...?”

“Jade~” Your NPC continues to say, without letting go of Jade's arm and happy that he intertwined their tails. “You'll always protect me, won't you?”

“Of course, my love. You can always depend on me for whatever you need.”

“You make me so happy, Jade! I love you so much!” Your NPC smiles like a ray of sunshine.

“I love you too, my dear.” Jade responds with a cute smile and kiss your NPC's forehead.

But your NPC doesn't seem pleased and tilts their head a certain way. Jade chuckles and kisses their cheek affectionately, which makes your NPC finally smile in satisfaction.

“AH! IT IS! IT IS!” Idea continues suddenly.

“What? What is it?” Silver asks.

“(Y/N)'s NPC in Jade's dream is... is... A CLINGY, DEPENDENT DEREDERE!!!”

“Hm... Sorry, but what is a dere..dere?” Silver asks.

“An openly love-struck character who is continuously sweet, flirtatious and affectionate towards their love interest.” Ortho clarifies. “And it seems that (Y/N) and Jade Leech are each other's romantic interests in this dream.”

Everyone is surprised to find out that Jade has a crush on you. As for Floyd, he simply has no reaction.

“I assume you already knew, Floyd Leech.” Ortho says.

“Kinda. I mean, I wasn't sure, but I think it explains some things.”

“Like what?”

“Huh... Ortho, maybe we'll leave that to them.” Idia suggests and the subject returns to observing Jade and the NPCs.

“I was worried about what to do after climbing every single mountain on land...” Jade says. “But the ocean's far vaster, with a great many unexplored submarine volcanoes.”

“I'll never give up before I strike gold!” NPC Azul says.

“Ooh, ooh, Jade! These crabs are pretty tasty, too! Eheheh!” NPC Floyd says.

“Aw, these corals are so beautiful. Jade~, can we pick them? Pretty please~” Your NPC says.

“Heheheh. I'm delighted you're all enjoying yourselves.” Jade smiles. “May the four of us overcome every obstacle and conquer every mountain!”

“Hip hip, hooray!” Jade and the NPCs celebrate together.

“AAAUGH, I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!” Floyd shouts and charges them right in!

Sebek asks if you should join him, but Jamil says that you are at a disadvantage underwater and it could be dangerous for you all, so it's best to wait for a better opportunity.

“Hey... Jade.” The real Floyd confronts him. “Knock it off with this creepy dream. You're givin' me scale-bumps from gills to tail!”

“Huh? There are two Floyds?”

“Why, it's a perfect mirror image!” NPC Azul claims.

“How'm I a perfect mirror image of THAT? We don't look nothin' alike.” The real Floyd says.

“Who's this guy? It cool if I squeeze 'em and eat 'em? Ahaha!” The fake Floyd says.

“I knew you never paid much attention to other people, but I ain't buyin' this is the best your memory can dredge up.” The real Floyd returns to the subject. “There's no way I'd act all gleeful gobblin' up live shrimp wedged under rocks!”

“Floyd...?” Jade's dream world begins to distort. “You don't eat live shrimp...?”

“Don't let him fool you, Jade!” Fake Azul intervenes. “Look closer. Floyd isn't some menacing-looking gangster. He's more simpleminded and charming than that. Look at this endearing smile!”

“Hey, Jade? I'm bored.” Fake Floyd says. “Wanna ditch this guy and go eat crab somewhere else? Ahaha!”

“Yes... Right.” Jade agrees. “Floyd's always been the endearing type. Our relatives loved doting on him. This has to be the real Floyd.”

“Really, now. How could you ever mix up who your one brother is? Are you getting fatigued? Given your exhaustive knowledge of the mountains, you're essential for my gold search. Please, pull yourself together.”

“Heheheh... Of course. You, Floyd and (Y/N) would be helpless without me.”

The goopy darkness surrounds you and the figures of Azul, Floyd and you become dark silhouettes.

“Come, Jade, let's ignore them and move on.” Darkness Azul says.

“C'mon already, Jade!” Darkness Floyd adds.

“Please, come with me, my love.” Your darkness figure seduces him.

“Yes... Of... course...”

“Oh, is that how it's gonna be?” The real Floyd says. “In that case, you can keep pallin' around with your ‘real’ brother in dreamland. I don't want a brother like that anyway. I'mma knock ALLA you into the volcano!”

The real Floyd attacks all three NPCs including yours, and all three beg Jade for help.

“How dare you hurt them.” Jade defends them. “You will pay dearly for this, impostor. HAAAH!” and he attacks the real Floyd.

“I keep tryin' to tell you, I'M the real one!”

Floyd asks Idia if a good shock to the system wasn't supposed to wake someone up, but Idia realizes that in that case the pattern is different. In this case, Jade had extraordinarily high belief in himself to the point to refusing to budge in his opinion no matter what counterpoints others make.

You all wonder how you're supposed to wake Jade up, but Floyd suggests that you let him sleep forever since he liked that dream so much. He turns back to Jade.

“I'll cut you into chum so you never wake up again, Jade! GYAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“All of you, get back! I'll handle this!”

“Please, be careful, Jade~!” Your NPC tells him.

“He will pay for even daring to touch you, (Y/N).” Jade tells them before attacking Floyd. “*screech!*”

The Leech twins began to fight, attacking each other violently with their sharp nails and teeth, and their fight ends up whipping the water into a whirlpool.

“Their roughhousing is destroying the fragile vents and sending hot water spewing out all over the place.” Jamil says.

All of you take shelter behind a boulder. Even the darkness NPCs are scared and hiding behind rocks. However, the boulder you were holding onto breaks and you are pulled into the whirlpool.

“(Y/N)!” Everyone shouts.

You scream and both Floyd and Jade hear you, making them pause the fight.

“(Y/N)?” Jade looks back, but his vision was limited by all the sand and smoke.

Your aerosphere bursts because it can't resist the heat and gases. Amidst the sand and smoke, Jade sees your silhouette with legs instead of a merfolk tail.

“(Y/N)!!!”

Jade abandons the fight with Floyd completely and rushes towards you. He gets you and sees you holding your breath.

“Did you not take your last dose of the potion? Doesn't matter! I have to get you out of here NOW!”

Jade quickly takes you away from the heat and toxic gases and consequently away from everyone else too. When he thought you were in a safe place, he used his magic to create a bubble around your head. You take a deep breath.

“(Y/N), are you all right?” He asks you calmly with his arms around you in a protective and loving way. “What happened?”

This is your chance to tell him the truth and try to wake him up.

“Jade, listen to me.” You cup his face with your hands. “Would the Azul you know really risk so much for a measly bit of gold?”

“What?” He is surprised that you seemingly completely change the subject.

“And Floyd, your own brother.” You continue. “Between the one who depends on you and the one who attacked you tooth and nail, do you really believe that your twin is the docile idiot one?”

“Floyd...? He... Hrk!”

The world distorts again and Jade's head starts to hurt, but he doesn't let go of you.

“JAAADEEE!” You hear a voice approaching, and then you see... you in mer-form arriving and clinging to Jade's arm. “Jade! What are you doing?” Your NPC whines. “That's not me! I'm right here.”

Jade looks between you and your NPC, confused.

“Is this how you see me?” You say. “Like a helpless and dependent weakling?”

“Wha- Why are they so mean?” Your NPC whines again. “Jade, darling, please leave this impostor and come back with me, my love. I need you so much.”

“You are a kind person.” Jade tells your NPC. “And your lack of magic makes you more vulnerable than me. But you are not that hopeless.” He looks at them with that rare serious face, a bad sign for them.

“WHAT?”

“If you were, you would never have been able to defeat us and Azul that midterms... Urgh!” The world distorts again. “Midterms... At Night Raven College... on land... Augh, I have a splitting headache! Urgh, augh...!”

Jade remembers what you're really like, what Azul and Floyd are really like too, and what you've all been through in Night Raven College. And the dream breaks.

“Jade! Are you all right?!” NPC Azul says, arriving with NPC Floyd. “Oh, thank goodness you're alive! I was afraid I lost my precious subordinate!”

“Your... precious subordinate?” Jade repeats, surprised.

“If we lost you, I'd cry, Jade.” NPC Floyd says. “Don't go anywhere again, 'kay?”

“...Don't go anywhere?... Indeed... The Azul and Floyd I know would never say such things. How could I have forgotten something so important?” He releases you and makes your NPC release him too. “Floyd is never so docile. He's far more unruly. And Azul would never willingly expose himself to danger. He's send someone else to do it instead. More to the point - neither of them would merrily tag along on my mountain expeditions. What was I thinking?”

“Jade! You would believe this imposter over us?!” NPC Azul inquires.

“Unfair! You said I was the real one, Jade!” NPC Floyd complains.

“I implore you to reconsider!”

The fake Azul and Floyd each grab one of Jade's arms.

“Could you please not touch me? It's sickening.”

Jade attacks both of them without mercy and the two turn into darkness figures and disappear in the goop. Jade looks seriously at your mer-form version.

“And you...”

“ME? Jade, my love” Your NPC begs in tears. “Please, stay with me. *sniff* You are my everything.”

“Do me a favor, dear, and shut your mouth. Your despair disgusts me.” And he attacks the fake version of you as ruthlessly as he attacked the false Azul and Floyd.

“But... my... love...” Were the last words of your NPC, before also turning into darkness and disappearing.

Jade looks at you and his expression softens.

“You... you are the real (Y/N), aren’t you?”

“After seeing what you did to the others, do you really think that I would deny it even if I wasn't?”

“He he he. Sounds like you, at least.”

“Heeey, Jade.” The real Floyd approaches you two. “You finally awake?”

“Yes, thanks to (Y/N) and you.”

The two laugh a little before attacking each other again. But this time, as brothers would do in a fight at home. The others finally catch up to you too.

“(Y/N)!” Grim goes straight to you to hug you. “You need to get stronger!” He complains with a few small tears in his eyes. It even reminded you of when he finally rejoined you in STYX.

Idia takes the opportunity to restore your aerosphere.

“Ah, everyone,” Jade says to your group, after another exchange of punches and words with Floyd. “What an embarrassing brotherly squabble you've witnessed. I'm terribly sorry you had to see that.”

“Dude, that wasn't a 'squabble.'” Idia says through the tablet. “That was a full-blown super kaiju brothers brawl.”

“Um... Anyway, I'm glad Jade's awake and the two of them mended bridges.” Silver says.

“You call that mending bridges...?” Jamil questions.

“Heh heh. Yes, we've made up.” Jade smiles reassuringly. “My apologies for giving you cause for concern.”

“Tch. Speak for yourself. I ain't satisfied yet, but we're not gonna get anywhere arguin' about it in a dream, se whatevs.”

“A dream? Floyd, what do you mean by that?”

“Mind if I field this one?” Ortho asks. “I've got an explainer video here that will help...”

“I see... What a fascinating tale.” Jade says. “So the false Azul, Floyd and (Y/N) were there to keep me anchored in the dream. Neither Azul or Floyd have ever shown any interest in my hobbies, and yet they joined me to trek through a multitude of mountains... And (Y/N)...” He looks at you and then back at the rest of the group. “Excuse me, could you give us a moment alone, please?”

The others look at you to see if you also want to have that moment alone with Jade and when they see your confirmation they let Jade take you by the hand a little further away.

“If my brother felt the way he did when he saw the Floyd from my dream,” Jade smiles kind of awkwardly. “I can only imagine how you must have felt when you saw your version.”

“So... is it true that that means you like me?” You ask.

“Well, thinking how pleasurable my dream with you was... It seems like I cannot deny my fondness for you anymore.”

“Anymore?”

“Oh, don't mind that part.” He smiles with his hands clasped in front of him. “I can only hope you weren't too uncomfortable with what you witnessed. My deepest apologies.”

You remember the dependent, loving fool you saw.

“Do you really like me, or that version of me?”

“You saw the Azul and Floyd versions. Do you really think I preferred those two poor unfortunate souls to the real ambitious and unpredictable ones? Oh my, you don't believe that my tastes are that... rudimentary, do you?”

In fact, you had already seen several dreams, and Malleus’ spell does not always fit with what the dreamer true wishes. Floyd's own dream, for example.

Well, you finding out, against his will, that he likes you, maybe it would be a good opportunity for you to admit that you like him too.

“Oh...” Jade's smile turns from his polite one to a smirk. “Truly...?” He still had his counter-illumination active, so him getting closer to you with that bright eye in the middle of the darkness gave you a nice, different type of chill. “You know,” He swims around you, “I agree with my brother that happy endings are often quite dull.” to stop in front of you again, but now with his tail blocking any escape you could make. “But in this case.” He tilts your head with his fingers on your chin. “Something tells me this relationship would be more... interesting... after these confessions.” He brings his face closer to yours and consequently his lips closer to yours as well. “I wonder what it would be like if we both stopped holding back.” He whispers with your noses touching slightly. “What do you say?”

He's not going to kiss you, he's teasing you to do it. And if you do kiss his lips, you'll feel his tail wrap around your legs, his arms go around your back, and you will feel him deepening the kiss before suddenly breaking it.

“Don't get me wrong, my dear.” He whispers to you. “But unfortunately, we have people waiting for us and I wouldn't like to be interrupted by third parties. Which is a shame,” He brings his lips close to your ear. “You are a delightful taste.”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#Twisted Wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst fluff #Twisted Wonderland Fluff #Dating in a Dream #Jade Leech #Jade Leech x Reader #Jade x Reader

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