#Bold of you to assume actual talking happens
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Joe Burrow - Blue is always the hottest flame



Joe Burrow is the star boy of Athens High School, but, what happens in Junior year when Joe can't win the heart of the girl beside him that he wants so desperately.
Joe wasnât paying attention when he walked into classâjust tugged the sleeves of his hoodie down, adjusted the strap of his backpack, and scoped the room for a seat that didnât scream try-hard. That was his first mistake.
The second was not noticing who he ended up next to until she shifted in her chair and glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
Not long. Just a flick. Barely even a look. But it was enough.
Gormely McFarland.
Of course.
She had a pretty face, but she had an even prettier heart and that was what made it impossible to dislike her. Her hair was bleached so pale it looked almost silver in the light, Joe, being a typical teenage boy assumed this was in fact, her God-given hair, and wondered how someone could have hair he thought resembled Legolas. That would be an unreal compliment he thought. And those eyes, so bright and cold they were a paradox in themselves. Eyes are so loud. He'd never seen eyes so icy before. Blue as the ocean, but a fire burnt so bright beneath them.
They were the sort of eyes that made you nervous to even look into, and Joe was well aware, plenty had tried.
Football players. Seniors. Even that one guy who came back from college for winter break and thought sheâd be impressed.
None of them lasted more than a week.
Gormley didn't do boyfriends.
She knew they wanted her. That was part of it. She carried herself with the elegance of a swan. Delicate, beautiful, otherworldly. But beneath that beauty, something magic, deadly, dangerous lay in her. She was the most beautiful girl Joe Burrow had ever laid eyes on, and trust, Joe Burrow had laid eyes on quite a few girls.
And now she was sitting next to Joe.
He blinked once, half out of habit, like he had to reset his brain. Then he said, casually, âDidnât think you were real.â
She didnât look at him. Didnât smile. Just turned the page in her spiral-bound notebook and said, âYou talk like youâre used to getting away with dumb shit.â
She had the messiest handwriting he'd ever seen, and his was pretty messy. He didn't know why, but the fact she was so externally perfect contrasted the messiness of her handwriting was... cute to him.
He grinned, unfazed. âI do.â
That got her to glance over again. Not in shockâmore like she was analysing him. Yep, those eyes were so dangerous. Her eyes walked a very fine line between beautifully poetic and uncharacteristically insane.
âJoe Burrow,â she said flatly, opening a new page up and holding her pen in a way he could only describe as insanity. She gripped it, like, gripped it as if the pen were going to run away from her. Another thing he found cute.
âYou know my name,â he said, leaning back, with his hands above his head. He didn't miss her eyes scanning his arms. So, she does like me. Iâm flattered.â
âYou write it all over the desks in Chemistry. You talk about yourself in third person at parties. Iâd have to be concussed not to know it.â She hadn't looked back at him after she'd drank the image of his flexed arms, which, of course, he'd flexed purposefully. She was scribbling down what had been wrote on the board. Hieroglyphics would've been easier to read.
Joe let out a low, amused breath, tapping his pen once against the edge of the desk. âYou always like this, or is it just with me?â
âJust you,â she said, and continued back to her notes. So she was studious. Noted. That, he also found cute.
No hesitation. No smirk. Just brutal honesty delivered like it wasnât personal, like he could disappear in the morning and she wouldn't lose a wink of sleep.
Joe watched her for another second. She underlined dates like they actually mattered, if Joe remembered what date it was in the present, he thought his day was going swimmingly. There was highlighter on the margins, bold green, precise. Everything about her was like thatâcontrolled. Specific. Not a single wasted move.
âLook,â Joe said after a beat, slouching down in his chair. âI didnât pick this seat to piss with you. It was either this or next to the guy who doesn't shower.â
âTragic,â she muttered, flipping another page, damn, Joe thought. He thought she might've even turned her lips in amusement at that small attempt of a joke. Next class he would need to bring an olive branch, perhaps a dove, a white handkerchief to get her to even look at him.
âYou always this fun at parties?â
She didnât answer. He noticed she drummed her fingers on the table, moving them about, like she was marking a dance. He realised, she probably was.
Joe tapped his pen again. âYou do go to parties, right? Or are you too busy winning the national spelling bee or whatever it is you do after school?â
This time she set the pen down and turned toward him, slow and deliberate. Her eyes narrowed slightly. His stomach dropped as she looked at him and he got a proper look at her.
She was ethereal, there was no other word to describe her. Galaxies of freckles burst across the bridge of her nose, and they created a constellation even the sky would have trouble recreating.
Her eyelashes were long, dark and curled, and the darkness that befell them contrasted the coolness of her eyes. She had dark brows that, despite being furrowed at his dumb question, had a kindness about them, like it went against her very makeup to be rude.
âIs that your angle? You annoy girls until they get tired enough to flirt back?â She eventually replied, though, Joe was, despite the cliche, lost in her eyes. They resembled the ice that sits in a whiskey glass, and Joe was getting beyond drunk off of her.
âNo,â he said, cocking an eyebrow. âUsually they flirt first.â
She stared at him. Not flirty. Not curious, not really anything. More like staring at a problem she was halfway through solving.
âYou know what the thing is about you?â she said, voice soft, he knew it wasn't her nature to be so abrasive. This sounded natural, and it sounded like something he wanted to get used to. âYou think everyone likes you. Even when they donât.â
Ouch.
Despite the abruptness at which she declared that not everyone liked him, which is obviously a lie, duh? There was no malice in it. Just fact. Like she was reading a fact from the history text book opened in front of her.
Joe didnât flinch, didnât bristle. He just smiled again, this time slower. âYouâre not wrong.â She was but, for the sake of securing the girl of his dreams, he decided to agree with her.
As he searched his brain on how to keep the conversation ticking, Mr. Caldwell walked in, more like sulked in. He hated his students as much as they hated him.
He began droning about the founding fathers, and some geezer named Hamilton who made centralised national credit, he thinks? He's still not sure. It was probably irrelevant anyway. Gormley eagerly took notices, and even more eagerly contributed to the class. She seemed to know everything.
And for onceâjust onceâJoe didnât know what to say.
-
The bell rang like a mercy kill, and never had he been so grateful for time to actually move. Joe hated time, he wanted it to stop, he wanted to stay in high school forever, but just this once, he was glad time moved.
Papers shuffled. Backpacks unzipped. Mr. Caldwell didnât even try to finish his sentence; just waved them off with a grunt and muttered something about a quiz.
Joe stretched out, spine cracking once. He didnât move right away. Didnât reach for his bag. His eyes stayed on herâGormely, already sliding her pen into a velvet case, closing her notebook with two sharp flicks of her fingers. Efficient, exact. Every motion a decision, calculated.
He leaned toward her just a little, she even smelt good. It was heavy and slightly masculine, but it suited her, and God did he like it. âHey.â
She stood. âYeah?â
Not cold. Not warm. Just⊠blank.
âI was gonna sayââ he paused, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like it might help decide something clever. ââyou should let me cheat off your notes sometime.â
It wasn't clever, it wasn't romantic, it sounded even more arrogant than she already thought he was. Joe didn't have problems with girls, Joe caused the problems, so why was she so difficult.
Her head tilted slightly, blonde hair flicking over one shoulder. âYou couldnât read my handwriting.â
âIâll learn.â That wasn't the truth, he couldn't read it, it was absolutely shit.
Gormely blinked once. Thenâwithout waitingâshe turned, swinging her bag over one shoulder like it was the end of a conversation, like her bag was a metaphorical full stop. Talk about rejection.
âYouâre exhausting,â she muttered, but not loud. Not cruel, but he couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest.
And then she was gone. Rejoining two girls near the doorâone fixing her bag over her shoulder, the other still reapplying lip glossâand they left in a tide of perfume and whispered laughter. She didnât look back, he really wanted her to have looked back.
Joe sat there for another second. One breath. Two.
Then he muttered, âDamn,â under his breath and finally stood. She was going to be hard work, but Joe loved a challenge.
-
The field always felt different at dusk. Joe loved the field, Athens field, his field. There was a certain familiarity about it, he knew every lump, bump and drop. He'd played his first game here, first win here, first loss here. He found comfort in knowing some things always stayed the same.
The bleachers faded into shadows, the lights just beginning to buzz overheadâsoft orange before they snapped to sterile white. Cleats against turf. Whistles. The steady, military rhythm of drills.
Joe ran sprints until his legs ached. Hit passes until his shoulder screamed. But his head wasnât in it. Not really. Not since third period.
He didnât know what she was, she was such a mystery. Joe didn't like mystery. Joe liked to settle for things he knew, but she wasn't one of those things. She hadnât rolled her eyes. She hadnât laughed. She hadnât even given him one of those looks girls usually did when he knew he was close to cracking them.
Nothing.
But she hadnât ignored him either.
Sheâd seen right through him, peeled him open like a fruit and then walked away before the juice hit her fingers.
It pissed him off.
It fascinated him.
It made it worse.
He noticed her before he heard her.
Across the field. Behind the uprights. Leading the cheer squad through a drill that looked more like military formation than anything to do with pompoms.
Her voice was sharp and clipped, cutting clean through the noise. She counted off moves with precision, no room for mistake, though, he thought, she wouldn't tolerate mistakes. And they followedâevery girl on that squad falling into formation like they didnât dare do anything else, like even their very breath was choreographed.
She moved like a storm but with the softness of a spring flower, and he wanted nothing more than to step into the eye of that storm, to be consumed by it, to drown it. God, he wanted her so bad.
Ponytail tight, trainers spotless, that same exactness in every part of her bodyâhow she walked, pointed, corrected. She was a general at work, her soft smiled quickly stabbed by her sharp tongue as she whistled steps and lifts.
And Joeâhalf-winded and soaked in sweatâjust stood there watching her, he couldn't looks away.
Heâd worn the full uniform today, even though it wasnât a scrimmage. White jersey, navy lettering. Burrow stitched across the back. He didnât know why. Or maybe he did.
Maybe it was stupid.
Maybe he hoped sheâd look.
She didnât.
Not once.
Even when he caught a 40-yard pass on the sideline, palms stinging from the snap of itânothing. Even when he jogged back slowly, knowing exactly how his arms looked in this lightingânothing.
It was like he didnât exist. Which, for Joe Burrow, was not a familiar feeling, and he really hated mystery.
Practice ended. The sky turned purple, like something a witch would brew, he didn't like that ominous feeling. Sweat dried cold on his neck.
The cheerleaders started clearing cones and mats, voices softer now, limbs tired. But she moved like she couldâve gone another hour. Same pace. Same precision.
He noticed the girls adored her, and she clearly adored them. They laughed, and gosh her laugh was as beautiful as the mouth it came from. He wanted to trap it, somehow scratch it to a record and play it endlessly. He knew she wasn't kind, she just wasn't to him, for some reason.
Joe unbuckled his helmet, shook the curls out of his eyes, and jogged toward her before he could talk himself out of it.
She was crouched, strapping a rolled mat into a storage cart, fingers working fast, that same calculated motion aray in everything she done. She moved like clockwork, like a clock that ticks and ticks, it's what it's made to do, until it breaks.
He slowed as he reached her. âYou always run them like that, or were you just showing off for us?â He knew she wouldn't like that, but he wanted her to respond, and if he had to fight with her, so bloody be it.
She didnât look up. âTrust me, you werenât on my mind.â He noticed she smiled, like actually smiled, and she didn't stop herself. So he was kinda in?
Joe let the corner of his mouth twitch upward. âYou shouldâve seen the throw I made. Thought maybe youâd clap or something.â
Finally, she straightened, turning to face him. Her eyes scanned him onceâup, down, slowly. The stadium lights caught her cheekbones, her throat, the faint smear of black under one eye where her makeup had lasted through sweat and sun. Those eyes looked at him. They were the colour of water, strong enough to drown him, but a depth that he thought could save him.
âYou wore the uniform just to be looked at,â she said. Not a question, she didn't ask questions. She seemed to have all the answers.
He shrugged. âNot just.â He had worse it for her to notice, and she seemed to have. To Joe, a win is a win.
âAnd yet here you are,â she said, brushing dirt from her knees, âstill looking for my attention.â
Silence.
She held his gaze. Didnât move. Didnât blink. Joe swallowed, throat dry. He was so captivated by her, and he doesn't know why. She was dangerously intelligent but god, she was so beautiful, and he knew, he knew, that she was as beautiful on the inside, she just wouldn't let him in. He needed her to let him in.
âMaybe,â he said finally. âYouâre hard not to look at.â He decided to give in, let her know he wanted her without all the suggestions. Her eyes seemed to soften, though, that iciness always seemed so unforgiving. The hottest fires always burn blue.
A beat. Two. A breath, another one.
She exhaledâbarely audibleâand turned back to the cart, pushing it toward the edge of the field.
âYouâre not used to girls telling you no,â she said, over her shoulder. She had a roundish jaw, and had a straight nose. It was small, but slightly upturned at the end. How could someone with an upturned nose be so mean, Joe silently cursed himself.
âIâm not used to caring if they do.â He admitted honestly, because he never did.
That got her. She paused. Just a fraction of a second, but Joe saw it. The tiniest hesitation in her step, like something inside her turned, she had stopped ticking.
But she kept walking.Didnât look back. Didnât say anything.
And Joe Burrowâwhoâd had a thousand conversations like this, whoâd never once wondered what someone was thinking when they walked awayâstood on the edge of that field and watched her disappear.
And he thought, Shit. Iâm in trouble.
-
Note the Hamilton reference cuz obviously x
#joe burrow x reader#joe burrow fluff#joe burrow imagine#joe burrow#joe burrow fic#joe burrow fanfic#high school#cheerleader#footballer imagine#nfl imagine#ten writes ïżœïżœïżœïżœ
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Was midway through typing out a defense of Jon's decisions in light of how everyone (including Jonny) seems to think he could've done much better, but then I remembered he walked up to Jude Perry's front door and knocked and yknow what post cancelled actually. For that alone this man is an idiot (affectionate)
#jon jarchivist#I'm not using any serious tags I don't want the incomplete real thought behind this post to get traction dhshs#but real talk though.#the majority of Jon's ''mistakes'' come either from acting on a lack of information where waiting could have been much worse#or just the bare fact that for the majority of people in a helpless situation; doing Something feels better than laying down and giving up#even if that something has a high chance of making things worse#season 3-4 Jon thought he was stopping the end of the world or at least delaying it#and yeah; he knew he was probably aiding an Eye ritual; but he didn't know how Soon that would be an issue and what are you supposed to do?#by the time he got to the point of actually knowing the shape of what was going on he was so trapped#being certain there was no way out for him personally but not yet quite certain enough that the world was in as much trouble as it was#of course that's going to push him to wait and learn more instead of doing something drastic#short of taking himself out there was really not a lot to be done by then#and well. The man did die#and it didn't work#he could've tried to kill Elias but at that point evil or not he was still seeming like the one person#who was handing Jon enough power and info to deal with anything else effectively#I just feel like most people underestimate both the obviousness of hindsight#and the fear and confusion of a person who is in this sort of situation with no ability to put the phone down and step back#no genre awareness#if TMA was a dnd actualplay or some other similar adventure thing then for example breaking the table in season 2 would've worked#making a bold move would work#but it's horror. you don't generally assume your life follows the rules of horror#idk. post for later maybe#....but point still stands: seeking out Jude was REALLY stupid kdkfhs#boy that should have killed you. any of the avatars you hunted down in s3 should've lit you up#the Amount of background intimidation work Elias probably had to do to keep that from happening#migraine for weeks I'm sure lmao
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My Current Boyfriend â LN4 TikTok Trend
hiii i felt bad after giving such a boring answer to this ask so i wrote around 800 words to make it up to you, lovely anon!! it's not much and i wrote it in a rush but i hope you enjoy it! xx
ââââââââââââ
âWait!â Lando says as youâre about to start recording the video.Â
Rolling your eyes, you stand straight and turn to him, watching him fix his curls for the fifteenth time in the last three minutes.Â
âBaby you look fine! Can we please start?â
âI look like I just woke up from a nap on your lap.â
âThatâs probably because you actually just woke up from a nap on my lap.âÂ
Lando doesnât answer, he just keeps staring at his reflection on the kitchen window and threading his fingers through his hair.Â
With a sigh and the tiniest smile, you turn back to your phone and lean down, placing both forearms on the counter and deciding this moment is as good as ever to start the prank on him.Â
âWhat did you just say?â
âHey guys!â You smile and wave as soon as you start recording. Lando is distracted, but still in the shot as he stands right behind you. âSo, Iâm at my current boyfriendâs kitchen right now,â you say casually and cheerfully, watching him freeze with both hands on his hair. Your smile grows bigger at that, but you donât stop yourself, nor the prank, focusing on what youâre saying and trying your best to keep going. âAnd weâre about to make some pasta forââ
You press your lips together and swallow back your laughter, then tilt your head to watch him over your shoulder.Â
Lando is already looking at you, his eyes wide and eyebrows high up on his forehead.Â
âWhat?â you ask.Â
âDid you justâ Did you introduce me as your current boyfriend?â
âYeahâŠâ
âOn camera,â he says. âYouâre making a video. And youâre calling me your current boyfriend on camera.â
âYes. Was I supposed to call you something different?â
He stares at you for a moment, then shakes his head and drops his arms.Â
And just like that, he walks away.Â
âLando, câmon!â you chuckle, a tiny part of you feeling guilty for making him feel bad enough to the point of storming out of the kitchen. âCome back hereâŠâ
He doesnât answer, but he also doesnât take too long to come back. In fact, you donât even have time to stop the video before heâs already walking straight to you. A frown on his face and eyes on his phone.
âCurrent,â he says, pausing to clear his throat and then quickly speaking again. âAdjective. Belonging to the present time. Happening or being used or done now.â
He purses his lips and nods, as if processing the information he just read.Â
You blink, and the smile on your face turns into a grin. You want to know where this is going, so thereâs no way youâre going to interrupt him now.Â
âI mean,â he says to his phone, and then, without even glancing at you, he looks up to the counter where the video is still recording and adds straight into the camera, âI guess I do belong to the present time. And I am being used right now. Although I donât know what for. But Iâm clearly being used for something here. And ok, itâs not happening right now, but I was being done earlier today whenââ
âOh my God!â You drop your jaw and laugh, stepping toward him and placing both hands on his mouth as soon as you realize what he was about to say. âLando!â
Still ignoring you, he places his hands on your wrists and pulls them away from his mouth.Â
âSo yeah, I am the current boyfriend,â he says to the camera, hugging you while also forcing your arms behind your back, and stepping forwards while also guiding you to step backwards. âBut just to be clear, Iâm also the past boyfriend and the future boyfriend.â
At this point, you donât fight him anymore. You just drop your head back and laugh at the ceiling, letting him cage you against the counter and between his legs.Â
âBold of her, or anyone else, to assume thereâll ever be a next one after me.â He crosses his arms around your back and talks over your shoulder, still focusing on the camera. Always focusing on the camera. âDonât let her fool you. Itâs husband material here. Sheâll eventually put a ring on it.â
You gasp. âIâll put a ring on it?âÂ
âDown on one knee, asking me to be hers foreverâŠâ
You raise your brows and purse your lips, holding back a smile.Â
âShe loves me. She canât resist this face. Or this charm. So yeah, I might be the current boyfriend, but Iâm also the only current one.â
âAnd the forever one,â you add with a whisper, then lean in to press a kiss to his cheek.
âAnd the forever one,â he repeats with a nod, right before stretching his arm to stop the video and just as he turns his face to press a kiss on your lips.
ââââââââââââ
#lando norris x reader#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#lando x you#lando x reader#lando norris blurb#f1 blurb#lando norris fanfic#lando norris smau
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itâs not a date, we just kinda fuck around.
gif by @reidgif
june baby - victoria canal
Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU Reader.
summary: the two youngest BAU agents go on a first date
genre: fluffđ
word count: 8.5k
warnings: no use of y/n, proofread, none! (this is all foreplay for the smut thatâs coming)
masterlist!
You never thought Spencer Reid would actually work up the courage to ask you out. Yet here you were, standing in your apartment with only ten minutes to spare, staring at your closet like it held the answer to life itself. Nothing seemed good enough, and you still had no idea what to wear. If youâd had even the slightest inkling that this day would come, you would have pre-planned outfits for every possible scenarioâa casual coffee shop, a romantic dinner, even an impromptu museum date. But you hadnât, because as much as youâd daydreamed about it, you never thought it would happen.
Spencer Reid had always been a harmless work crush. Brilliant, kind, and charming in his uniquely awkward way, he was the type of man you admired from a distance, assuming he was far too shyâor uninterestedâto make a move. Yet somehow, against all odds, you were, nervously getting ready to go on a date with him.
The memory of how it all unfolded still made you smile. Youâd been in the work kitchen, fixing your usual afternoon coffee, when Spencer had wandered in with his signature blend of distracted focus and nervous energy. You glanced up as he approached, expecting nothing more than a quick hello and maybe some small talk about the latest case. Instead, he surprised you.
âHi,â he said, his voice softer than usual, almost hesitant. He stood a little too close to the coffee pot, fiddling with the lid as if it held the courage he needed.
âHey, Spencer,â you replied, smiling warmly.
They chatted about nothing in particularâbooks, coffee, the endless intricacies of caffeine preferencesâuntil, without warning, he blurted out the question.
âWould you, um⊠would you ever want to get coffee together? Like, outside of work?â
Your heart skipped a beat. It wasnât a grand gesture or a sweeping declaration, but it was undeniably Spencerâquiet, earnest, and completely endearing. Youâd barely managed to contain your excitement as you said yes, feeling like a teenager with a crush all over again.
Now, standing in your room, you glanced at the clock. Seven minutes. You grabbed a dressâsomething simple yet flatteringâand slipped it on, your mind racing. Youâd been waiting for this moment since the day you joined the team, and now that it was yours, you couldnât help but wonder how the evening would go. Would he be his usual awkward self? Would he surprise you again with something bold and unexpected?
Whatever happened, you knew one thing: Spencer Reid had already managed to surprise you once.
Seven agonising minutesâeach second stretched out like an eternity. The silence was suffocating, gnawing at you from the inside out, until the sudden knock at the door broke the tension. Your heart leapt in your chest. He was here. Spencer was finally here, and your nerves threatened to spill over.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, before opening the door with a forced smile. The sight of him standing there, his hands fidgeting nervously, only made your own anxiety rise. He looked just as uneasy, maybe even more so. His usually confident posture was slightly hunched, his eyes darting to the floor, avoiding yours for a moment before he met your gaze.
âHey, Spence,â you greeted, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to sound calm.
âHey, I- umâŠâ Spencer hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His voice was soft, uncertain. He stepped forward, pulling a bouquet of lilies from behind his figure. The delicate white flowers were a perfect match for your taste, and you couldnât help but smile, your nerves easing just a little. âThese are for you.â
You felt a flutter in your chest, your smile widening. âSpence, you shouldnât have,â you said, reaching out to take the bouquet, feeling a warmth in your fingertips as you touched the smooth, delicate petals. The scent of the lilies was intoxicating, and for a moment, you were lost in the fragrance.
He shifted awkwardly, his eyes darting around as if searching for something to say. âI, uh⊠I thought youâd like them.â
You stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. âYou thought right. Come in, Spence.â
He followed you into your apartment, his presence oddly comforting despite the tension still hanging between them. You quickly moved toward the kitchen, trying to focus on something, anything, to distract yourself from the storm of emotions churning inside you.
As you walked, you couldnât help but feel a little embarrassed. The apartment was far from pristine. The cluttered coffee table, the dishes piled up in the sinkâit wasnât the welcoming space youâd imagined showing him. âIâm so sorry the place is a mess,â you said, your cheeks warming with self-consciousness. You carefully set the lilies down on the counter, your hands trembling slightly as you arranged them.
Spencerâs eyes softened as he glanced around, a small, understanding smile tugging at the corners of his lips. âItâs fine,â he reassured you, his voice gentle. âYou should see my place.â
You couldnât help but chuckle, the sound soft and nervous. As you filled a vase with water, you thought back to the little things he had taught you, like how to properly cut the stems of flowers to help them last longer. You carefully angled the scissors and snipped each stem at a diagonal, the sound of the cut echoing in the quiet kitchen. You remembered him telling you that the angled cut would help the flowers drink better, and you did it now without thinking. The thought of him lingered in your mind as you worked, a smile playing on your lips.
The bouquet was finally settled in the vase, its elegant white petals standing out against the cool glass. You stepped back, admiring the flowers, but it was Spencerâs presence in the room that made everything feel just a little bit brighter.
âMuch better. Thank you, Spence,â you said, your voice soft with appreciation as you glanced at the flowers on the kitchen counter. Their vibrant white petals stood out against the cool, clear glass of the vase, the room suddenly feeling a little warmer, a little brighter. You grabbed your bag from the chair, the familiar weight of it grounding you. You turned to face him, your nerves still fluttering, but your excitement growing as the moment approached.
âYou ready?â you asked, your voice light but with an undercurrent of anticipation.
Spencer hesitated, his gaze flickering to the floor for a split second. He wasnât sure if he was ever truly ready, especially not when it came to dates. His stomach twisted in knots, but that nervous energy was overshadowed by the excitement of being with you, of sharing a moment like this.
âYeah, absolutely,â he replied, a nervous but genuine smile tugging at his lips.
With that, they were out the door, stepping into the crisp air of Washington. The city felt alive around them, the hum of the streets, the distant chatter of people, the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. They strolled side by side, both holding their coffee cups, yours an iced concoction with a splash of cream, his steaming hot with a swirl of cinnamon. He wasnât usually one for aimless wandering, but as he looked over at you, he realized that this moment was worth it.
Your face, illuminated by the golden afternoon sun, was pure contentment. Your eyes sparkled as they took in the world around you, lighting up at every little thing. Whether it was a street performer, a stray cat lazily sunning itself, or the way the city skyline framed the horizon, you had a way of making the mundane seem magical. And he, well, he would do anything to keep seeing that smile on your face, to be the reason your eyes shone with that infectious joy.
As they passed a little street corner, your gaze drifted across the road, and your eyes lit up once again. There, nestled between a café and a bookstore, was a small record store with a neon sign flashing softly in the window.
âCan we go in?â you asked, your voice filled with excitement, your fingers already tugging gently at his sleeve.
Spencer followed your gaze, his heart doing a little flip at the eagerness in your voice. You had that effect on himâthe way you made even the simplest moments feel special. âOf course,â he said with a smile, his voice soft but sincere. âLead the way.â
And just like that, they crossed the street together, the world outside fading into the background as they stepped into the warmth of the record store. The air smelled faintly of old vinyl and coffee, and the soft hum of music played in the background, creating the perfect atmosphere for them to lose themselves in.
âSmell that?â you asked, your nose lifting to the air as you inhaled deeply, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. âThatâs the smell of the best way to listen to music.â The scent of aged vinyl, dust, and nostalgia filled the space, wrapping around them like a cozy blanket. You laughed at yourself, a light, airy sound that seemed to match the atmosphere of the record store perfectly. Spencer couldnât help but join in, his laugh a little quieter but no less genuine, his eyes softening as he watched you.
âYou spend too much time with Rossi,â Spencer teased, his fingers flicking through the rows of records, his gaze scanning the colourful covers. He was looking for somethingâanythingâthat caught his attention, but his mind was more on the way you lit up in places like this, surrounded by things you loved.
You raised an eyebrow, feigning offence as you met his gaze, your hand pausing mid-air over a stack of albums. âI am offended by your words, Dr. Reid,â you replied, your tone playful, your eyes sparkling with a teasing edge.
Spencer smiled, the edges of his mouth curling up into something warmer as he continued flipping through the records, pretending to be serious. âYou should be. Thatâs a direct quote from Rossi himself,â he said, holding up a record sleeve and giving it a quick glance before setting it back down.
Your laugh filled the space again, bright and free. You pulled another record from the shelf, this one with a faded cover you recognised from years ago. âWell, if I spend too much time with Rossi, then I guess Iâm doomed to become a vinyl snob,â you joked, flipping the record over to check the tracklist. You ran your fingers over the edges of the sleeve, feeling the familiar grooves of the cover, the little imperfections that only came with time.
You glanced over at Spencer, watching him for a moment as he flipped through his own stack. There was something so easy about being with him here, in this small, dimly lit shop filled with memories and melodies. âI mean, how else are you supposed to listen to music?â you asked, raising an eyebrow dramatically as you glanced down at the album in your hands. Then, with a theatrical flair, you placed your free hand on your hip and tilted your head back, doing your best (and rather exaggerated) impersonation of Rossi. âItâs the only way to really appreciate it. The crackle, the warmth⊠itâs like you can feel the music,â you said, making a show of puffing out an imaginary cigar and letting the smoke trail into the air.
Spencerâs laughter was immediate, loud, and genuine, as he looked over at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. âOh my God,â he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. âYou are way too good at that.â
You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself. âIâve been practicing,â you said, striking a mock pose, your hand still poised as if holding the cigar, before you finally broke into another fit of laughter. Spencer couldnât help but join you, his smile wide and full of affection. âRossi would be proud,â he teased, his voice light, but there was a fondness in the way he looked at you.
You winked, a mischievous glint in your eyes. âWell, if Iâm ever in need of a new career, I think Iâve got this down.â
By the time you reached the end of your long search through the endless rows of records, you had carefully chosen a couple you were willing to splurge on. Cradling the records against your chest, you joined the line at the register, the buzz of the store humming around you.
When your turn came, you placed the records on the counter, chatting casually with the cashier as you fied through your bag for your wallet. Your voice was light, a touch distracted as your fingers rifled through your belongings.
Unbeknownst to you, Spencer had stepped closer, the faintest hint of a mischievous smile on his lips. Without a word, he slipped his card onto the reader. The machine beeped, signalling the completed transaction just as you finally found your wallet and looked up.
Confused, your gaze darted between the cashier and Spencer, who was already sliding his card back into his wallet with an air of nonchalance.
âSpencer!â you gasped, stepping out of line with him as they headed toward the exit. You gave him that lookâthe one that said he didnât have to do what he just did. Your lips parted to speak, but he beat you to it.
âYou didnât have to do that,â you said softly, your voice laced with both gratitude and protest. Your hazel eyes darted to the floor for a moment before flicking back to him, catching the warm, self-assured look in his own. You didnât like people spending money on you when you had plenty of your own. The records werenât cheap, either.
Spencer, however, shrugged it off with a quiet confidence that surprised even himself. âI wanted to,â he replied simply. His voice was calm but firm, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a gentle smile. âI asked you to come out with me, didnât I?â
You sighed, your protest melting into a small, affectionate smile as they stepped out into the crisp air. It was such a Spencer thing to doâthoughtful and kind, but completely unnecessary. Yet, as they walked side by side, you couldnât deny the warmth his gesture left in your chest.
You glanced up at him, your eyes twinkling with a playful edge as you broke the silence. âYouâre lucky I agreed,â you teased, a grin tugging at your lips.
Spencer chuckled softly, glancing down at you. âOh, I know,â he said, his voice low but filled with humor. âTrust me, Iâm very lucky.â
They continued to walk aimlessly, the crisp evening air brushing against their faces as they strolled. Spencer was mid-thought, caught up in some internal musing when your voice broke through.
âOh my God, Chinatown, Spencer!â you exclaimed, your voice brimming with excitement, like a child spotting a candy store.
Your eyes lit up as they landed on the colourful archway marking the entrance to Chinatown. You couldnât quite explain it, but Chinatowns had always been your favourite places to visit. Maybe it was the vibrant atmosphere, the intricate details of the buildings, or the way everyone seemed to know one another, creating a sense of community that felt warm and welcoming. You loved every bit of it.
Without realizing it, you grabbed Spencerâs hand and tugged him along with you, your excitement bubbling over. Your grip was firm but warm, and Spencerâdespite the suddennessâdidnât resist. In fact, he found himself smiling as you led him toward the bustling street.
Your face glowed brighter than heâd ever seen as you took in the sight of the ornately decorated gate ahead, its vivid reds and golds shining under the string lights that crisscrossed above the street. He didnât know if it was your enthusiasm or the way your joy seemed to radiate outward, but he was utterly mesmerized, trailing behind you like he was under a spell.
âWe should get noodlesâif youâre okay with that?â you asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Spencer blinked, realizing heâd been staring at you with a soft, almost dreamy expression. The way you looked at him thenâlike he was the best person in the world just for being here with youâmade his heart skip.
âYeah, of course,â he replied, his voice steady but his heart racing. Without thinking, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze.
Your cheeks flushed at the small gesture, and Spencer caught the faintest flicker of a smile as they continued walking hand in hand. The streets were alive with energy, from the scent of freshly steamed buns wafting from carts to the hum of chatter in the air.
Eventually, they stumbled upon a quaint bakery that led to an underground noodle bar tucked just below it. The combination was irresistible. As they waited for a table, your eyes lit up when you spotted cheese-filled mooncakes in the bakery display.
âI have to try one of these,â you said eagerly, placing your order while Spencer watched you with quiet amusement.
Moments later, you held the warm pastry in your hands, your face glowing with anticipation. âThis is going to be the best cheese pull youâve ever seen,â you declared, laughing with a childlike excitement that made Spencerâs chest tighten.
You took a bite, and as you pulled back, the melted cheese stretched from your mouth to the mooncake, just as you had promised. Your eyes widened with delight, and your laughter rang out, light and contagious.
Spencer couldnât help but laugh too, shaking his head in amazement. You were like a child in the best possible way, unguarded and full of joy.
âYou were right,â he said, still chuckling. âThatâs definitely the best cheese pull Iâve ever seen.â
Your grin widened, and for a moment, Spencer forgot about the bustling streets around them. All he could see was yourâglowing, carefree, and absolutely captivating.
The waiter called out, âSÄ« bÄ«n sĂ i RuĂŹ dĂ©?â his tone polite and slightly accented as he scanned the small crowd in the restaurantâs waiting area. Spencer Reidâs head lifted, recognizing the sound of his name rendered in Mandarin. He gave a small, sheepish smile, adjusting his scarf as he turned to look at you.
You arched an amused brow, gesturing toward the waiter with a tilt of your head. âThatâs you, Dr. Reid.â
Spencer nodded, his hand lightly brushing against your lower back as he led the way down the narrow staircase into the cozy, warmly lit restaurant below. The rich scent of soy sauce, garlic, and sesame oil wafted through the air, mingling with the quiet murmur of diners enjoying their meals.
The waiter guided them to a private booth tucked into the corner of the room, its dark wooden walls offering a sense of intimacy. Spencer gestured for you to slide in first, always the gentleman, before settling across from you.
The two opened their menus, the glossy pages filled with enticing photos and descriptions of diyous written in both Mandarin and English. Spencer scanned the list with the precision of someone cataloging data, while you took a more casual approach, letting your eyes linger on the pictures.
âWhat are you thinking of getting?â Spencer asked, glancing up at you. His hazel eyes held a mix of curiosity and hesitation, likely calculating the probabilities of making the wrong choice in an unfamiliar culinary landscape.
You smiled, leaning slightly over the menu to point at the dishes you had your eye on. âI was thinking Beef Noodle Soup and maybe a fried rice platter. If you wanted to share?â
Your suggestion was casual, but you knew Spencer well enough to recognise that sharing food might not be his first choice. The germaphobic tendencies youâd seen surface in the past made your offer feel like a gamble. If he declined, youâd simply adjust your orderâno harm, no foul.
Spencerâs brow furrowed slightly, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the menu. âSharingâŠâ he began, his tone thoughtful. âItâs not usually my preference, butââ He paused, studying your face as though weighing the pros and cons of stepping out of his comfort zone. âI think I could make an exception. Just⊠no double-dipping,â he added with a faint smile, his attempt at humour not lost on you.
You chuckled softly, your shoulders relaxing. âDeal. Iâll even promise to use the serving spoon if it helps.â
His smile widened, the corners of his mouth quirking upward in a way that made your heart skip a beat. âThat would be appreciated.â
As the waiter returned to take their order, Spencer let you take the lead, quietly observing your interactions. The way you spoke with ease, your smile lighting up the space between them, was something he never grew tired of.
After the waiter left, the two settled into conversation, the hum of the restaurant serving as a comforting backdrop. You caught him glancing at you from time to time, his expression soft and unguarded.
âTwo Beef Noodle Soup and fried rice,â he mused after a moment. âGood choices. Did you know Beef Noodle Soup is considered a national dish in Taiwan? Thereâs even an annual festival where chefs compete to create the best version of it.â
Your eyes sparkled with interest. âI didnât know that. How do you even know things like that off the top of your head?â
Spencer shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck. âI read a lot.â
You laughed, leaning forward slightly. âOf course you do. But thatâs one of the things I love about you, you know. You always have the most random, fascinating facts tucked away in that big brain of yours.â
His blush deepened, and he ducked his head slightly, fiddling with the edge of his napkin. âIâm glad you think so,â he murmured.
Their food arrived not long after, the diyous steaming and fragrant, the aroma instantly making your stomach rumble. You reached for your chopsticks, but before you could start serving yourself, Spencer gently took the plate from your side.
âAllow me,â he said, his tone soft but resolute, as though he had been planning this move.
You blinked in surprise, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. âWow, chivalry isnât dead after all. I was starting to wonder.â
Spencer shot you a mock-offended look as he carefully portioned out some of the sizzling stir-fry onto your plate. âHey, I can be chivalrous. I just⊠donât get much practice. Sharing food isnât exactly in my top five skills.â
You laughed, nudging his arm. âYou donât say. Should I feel honoured or concerned?â
âDefinitely honoured,â he replied, finishing your plate with an exaggerated flourish. âThis is a rare occurrence. Take a picture, itâll last longer.â
âOh, Iâm definitely documenting this,â you teased, pulling out your phone and snapping a quick photo of him mid-serve. âThe great Dr. Spencer Reid, putting others first. Whatâs next, youâre going to offer me the last bite?â
Spencer smirked as he served himself. âLetâs not get carried away.â
As they began eating, you picked up a particularly long noodle with your chopsticks and dangled it in front of your face. âDo you think this could double as a jump rope for ants?â
Spencer nearly choked on his bite of rice, laughing. âThat is⊠an incredibly specific visual. Why ants? Why not, I donât know, mice?â
âToo predictable,â you replied, twirling the noodle like you were considering its durability. âAnts have more finesse. Theyâd appreciate the artistry.â
âAh, yes, the ant gymnast community,â Spencer said, adjusting his glasses and leaning forward as though about to deliver a lecture. âYou know, ants can actually carry up to fifty times their body weight, so a noodle would be the perfect workout tool.â
You grinned, using your chopsticks to make the noodles âjumpâ across your plate. âYouâre making my case for me. Ant Olympics, here we come.â
He chuckled, shaking his head. âYouâre ridiculous.â
âThank you,â you said brightly, slurping the noodle up with a playful flourish.
Spencer raised an eyebrow and then, without a word, picked up a dumpling with his chopsticks and held it in front of his mouth. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly serious. âIf I were an ant, this would be like carrying a wrecking ball.â
You burst out laughing, nearly dropping your chopsticks. âYouâre so weird!â
âOnly because you bring it out of me,â he replied, popping the dumpling into his mouth with a small, triumphant smile.
They continued their meal, each taking turns to make the other laugh with increasingly absurd food-related jokes. Spencer even attempted to balance a broccoli floret on his nose, which ended with you snorting and him losing the floret mid-laugh.
By the time they finished, your sides ached from laughing, and Spencer looked more relaxed than youâd seen him in weeks. As he reached for the bill, you caught his hand and grinned.
âSee? Sharing isnât so bad,â you teased.
He smiled back, his eyes warm. âOnly with you.â
Once they left Chinatown, the streets of Washington, D.C. buzzed with life, but Spencer and you were lost in their own little world, laughing uncontrollably over the events of the day. Every inside joke and playful jab sent them spiraling into fits of laughter, their shared energy a bright spot in the bustling city. For Spencer, the date had already been perfect, but he wasnât ready for it to end just yet. He had one last plan to cap off the evening, though it wouldnât come into play for hours. Until then, he just needed to keep you distracted.
You nudged him playfully as they strolled along. âAlright, something you never got to do as a kid but always wanted to,â you said, your tone suddenly serious despite the twinkle of curiosity in your eyes.
Spencer hesitated, the question catching him off guard. He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile creeping across his face. âI donât know,â he began, his voice soft. âIâve always liked reading books and spending time with my mom.â He glanced at you, embarrassed by how ordinary his answer sounded.
You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, grounding him. âThatâs sweet, Spence,â you said softly. âBut come on, thereâs gotta be something.â
He exhaled a small laugh, his gaze shifting to the pavement as he admitted, âWell, I always wanted to play Laser Tag.â
You stopped in your tracks, your hazel eyes wide with disbelief. âWait. Youâve never played Laser Tag?â
Spencer shrugged, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. âI mean, no, not really. It just never came up.â
You were already shaking your head in mock horror. âThatâs unacceptable. Weâre fixing this right now.â
âItâs fine. We donât have toââ
But you were already tugging him along with determined speed. âNope. This is happening. Youâre about to experience the childhood you missed out on, and itâs going to be amazing.â
He couldnât help but chuckle at your enthusiasm, your energy was contagious. Before he knew it, they were standing at the counter of a nearby arcade, you grinning ear to ear as you requested two tickets for Laser Tag.
Spencer tried one last time to protest. âReally, you donât have to do thisââ
âConsider it my treat,â you interrupted, handing over your card to the cashier. âA thank-you for the best day Iâve had in a long time.â
The sincerity in your voice silenced his objections, and he felt his heart swell. As the cashier handed them their gear, you turned to him with a mischievous glint in your eye.
âAlright, Dr. Reid,â you teased, strapping on your vest. âLetâs see if all that genius-level intellect helps you out on the battlefield.â
Spencer laughed, shaking his head. âYouâre going to regret this. I may not have played before, but Iâm pretty sure Iâm about to win.â
âBold of you to assume,â you shot back with a smirk, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the arena.
As they stepped into the dimly lit room filled with neon lights and fog machines, Spencer felt an unexpected rush of excitement. You turned to him, your face illuminated by the glowing lights, and he couldnât help but smile. Maybe heâd been missing out, but with you by his side, he was more than ready to make up for lost time.
The neon lights flickered, casting an otherworldly glow over the Laser Tag arena. Fog swirled around Spencer and you as they ducked behind barriers and navigated the maze-like layout. The sound of distant footsteps and laser beams zipping through the air made it feel like theyâd stepped into a sci-fi movie.
Spencer crouched low, trying to strategize his next move, but your sudden battle cry made him jump. You darted out from behind a glowing pillar, your laughter echoing through the arena as you fired your laser, landing a direct hit on his vest.
âGotcha!â you shouted triumphantly, your grin wide and uncontainable.
Spencer stumbled back in mock defeat, his hands raised. âOkay, okay, truce! Iâm still learning!â
You rolled your eyes, playfully wagging a finger at him. âNo mercy, Reid. Youâre my bitch now.â
You turned to sprint away, but Spencer surprised you by diving behind a barrier and quickly firing back. The red lights on your vest lit up, signalling a hit.
âHa! Whoâs the genius now?â he teased, standing up with a victorious smirk.
You clutched your chest dramatically, pretending to be mortally wounded. âBetrayed⊠by my own date!â you gasped, collapsing onto a nearby barrier.
Spencer burst into laughter, his usually reserved demeanor completely melting away. âYouâre ridiculous,â he said, shaking his head as he helped your back up.
âAnd you love it,â you quipped, sticking your tongue out before taking off into the maze again.
The game continued, a back-and-forth of sneak attacks, exaggerated reactions, and endless laughter. Every hit was met with playful banter, and every moment felt like peeling back the layers of their guarded hearts. Spencer, who had always been so serious and calculated, found himself letting go, caught up in the pure, childlike joy of the moment.
At one point, they both ended up crouched behind the same barrier, breathless and laughing so hard their sides hurt. You leaned your head against his shoulder, your face flushed from running. âOkay, I admit it,â you said between giggles. âYouâre pretty good for a first-timer.â
Spencer glanced at you, his hazel eyes sparkling in the dim light. âI had a good teacher,â he replied softly.
For a moment, the chaos around them faded. They were just two people, sitting side by side, finding solace in each otherâs company.
You nudged him gently. âSee? Childhood dream fulfilled. Whatâs next on your list?â
He chuckled, his gaze dropping to the glowing floor. âHonestly? I think this might be enough for one night.â
âEnough?â you teased. âWeâve barely scratched the surface! Next time, weâre doing bumper cars.â
Spencer laughed, the sound light and genuine. âI think Iâm going to need a lot of next times with you,â he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Your expression softened, and you reached out to take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. âThen weâll make that happen,â you promised.
As the game timer buzzed, signalling the end of their session, Spencer and you made their way out of the arena, still laughing and teasing each other. A leaderboard lit up on the screen near the exit, and Spencer froze, his eyes widening.
âNo way,â he murmured, stepping closer to the display.
You leaned over his shoulder, squinting at the screen. Your jaw dropped when you saw his name at the top of the list. âYou won?!â you exclaimed, grabbing his arm and shaking it excitedly. âSpencer Reid, first-time Laser Tag champion! Iâm so proud of you!â
He turned to you, his grin almost bashful but undeniably proud. âBeginnerâs luck, maybe?â
âAbsolutely not,â you said, your face lighting up with genuine excitement. âYou crushed it out there! I mean, Iâm a little salty that you beat me, but stillâyouâre officially a Laser Tag legend.â
Spencer laughed, the sound bubbling out of him with pure joy. âA legend, huh? Iâll take it.â
You playfully bumped your shoulder against his. âYou better. This is a big deal! Youâve got bragging rights now.â
As they stepped out of the arcade into the cool night air, you looped your arm through his, your energy still electric. âOkay, next time weâre teaming up. Imagine what we could do together!â
Spencer looked down at you, his heart warm and full. âI think weâd be unstoppable,â he said, his voice soft but confident.
As they walked down the busy streets, still laughing and recounting the best moments of the game, Spencer couldnât help but feel like heâd won more than just Laser Tag. With you by his side, heâd found something he hadnât even realized heâd been missingâa piece of joy, of freedom, of connection that made him feel whole again.
As they continued down the lively streets of D.C., Spencerâs smile lingered, a quiet sense of contentment radiating from him. You were still buzzing from the Laser Tag victory, your hand resting comfortably in his as they walked.
âAlright, Dr. Reid,â you said playfully, looking up at him. âWhatâs next on this magical mystery tour of a date? Because if itâs as fun as Laser Tag, I might actually burst from happiness.â
Spencer chuckled, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. âWell,â he began, his voice soft but teasing, âI do have one more thing planned. But itâs a surprise.â
Your eyes widened with curiosity. âA surprise? Spencer Reid, youâre full of secrets tonight. What is it?â
He shook his head, his lips curving into a sly smile. âYouâll see. Just trust me.â
âAlways,â you said with a grin, letting him guide you down a quieter street.
The hum of the city faded as they walked, replaced by a peaceful stillness. You tilted your head, trying to guess where he was taking you, but Spencer kept quiet, his excitement barely contained. Finally, they rounded a corner, and your breath caught as the grand façade of the National Gallery of Art came into view, illuminated beautifully against the night sky.
âSpencer,â you whispered, awe in your voice. âThe art museum? Itâs closed right now.â
He smiled, his fingers lacing tighter with yours. âNot for us.â
As if on cue, a side door to the museum opened, and a man in his mid-thirties stepped out, waving at Spencer.
âDr. Reid!â the man called warmly. âRight on time.â
âThanks, Jacob,â Spencer said, his voice full of gratitude. He turned to you, his expression soft. âJacobâs a curator here. He agreed to stay late and let us in. Just us.â
Your jaw dropped as you looked between Spencer and Jacob. âYouâre kidding. We get the whole museum to ourselves?â
Spencer nodded, his heart fluttering at the pure joy on your face. âI thought you might like it. I know how much you love art, and, well⊠I wanted to do something special for you.â
You blinked back a sudden wave of emotion, your chest tightening with affection. âSpencer, this is⊠this is incredible. Thank you.â
He smiled, a little shyly. âYouâre worth it.â
Jacob opened the door wider, gesturing them inside. âEnjoy yourselves. Iâll be in my office if you need anything.â
As they stepped into the museum, the quiet echoed around them, amplifying the beauty of the vast, empty halls. The dim lighting highlighted the paintings and sculptures, making it feel like theyâd stepped into another world.
You turned to Spencer, your eyes shining. âThis is the most thoughtful thing anyoneâs ever done for me.â
He ducked his head, his cheeks tinged pink. âI just wanted to give you something memorable. Something⊠magical.â
You reached out, taking his hand in yours. âYouâve done more than that, Spence. This is perfect.â
He smiled, his heart swelling at your words. âCome on,â he said softly, leading you toward the first exhibit. âLetâs explore.â
And together, hand in hand, they wandered through the museum, the art and the quiet intimacy of the moment weaving a memory neither of them would ever forget.
The museum was humour, the kind of quiet that invited reverence and reflection. Their footsteps echoed faintly as they moved through the halls, pausing here and there to admire a painting or sculpture. Spencerâs hand lingered at your lower back, a subtle gesture to guide you but also to stay close, as if the intimacy of the space demanded it.
They came to a room filled with sculptures, the soft lighting casting long shadows that danced on the walls. Your attention was immediately drawn to a particular pieceâa sculpture of two women, one older, one younger, the younger standing on the shoulders of the older as if reaching for something just out of sight.
You stopped in your tracks, your breath catching slightly. Spencer noticed your stillness and took a step back, letting your take in the piece without interruption. Your expression shifted, your usual brightness giving way to something quieter, deeper.
After a few moments, he couldnât help but break the silence, his voice soft so as not to disturb the moment. âHow does it make you feel?â
You didnât turn to him right away. Your eyes remained fixed on the sculpture, your hands loosely clasped in front of you. When you finally spoke, your voice was low but steady, carrying the weight of your thoughts.
âSeen,â you said simply, then paused as if to find the right words. âIn a weird way. I donât think Iâd be who I am without my mother, and this piece proves it in a way. It makes me feel less alone too, like Iâm not the only one who sees myself this way.â
Spencer tilted his head, his gaze flickering between you and the sculpture. He could see it nowâthe younger womanâs outstretched hands, the older oneâs steadying stance. The balance between them spoke volumes about trust, sacrifice, and love.
âYou feel like youâre standing on your shoulders,â he said softly, almost to himself.
You nodded, finally glancing at him. âYeah. Every step Iâve taken has been because you let me stand on your foundation. Even when things werenât perfect, you were still there, holding me up.â You smiled faintly, a bittersweet curve of your lips. âItâs nice to see it represented like this, you know? Itâs like⊠someone else understands.â
Spencer took a small step closer, his voice gentle. âYouâd be proud of you. I donât think anyone could look at what youâve built for yourself and feel anything less.â
You turned fully to face him now, your hazel eyes soft but shining. âThank you, Spence. That means a lot.â
He gave you a small smile, his hands in his pockets as he glanced back at the sculpture. âItâs beautiful. Just like the way you see the world.â
You laughed softly, shaking your head. âYouâre such a charmer, you know that?â
âNot really,â he admitted with a small chuckle, âbut I mean it.â
For a while longer, they stayed there, side by side, letting the sculptureâs quiet power wash over them. In that moment, it wasnât just artâit was a connection, a shared understanding that went deeper.
The weight of the moment lifted as they moved on, wandering into another section of the museum. The air between them felt lighter now, a quiet understanding still lingering but giving way to the playful energy they always seemed to share.
It started with a chuckle from you, your hand covering your mouth as you stopped in front of a sculpture of a stern-looking man with an exaggeratedly large nose. âOkay, tell me that doesnât look like Hotch when heâs annoyed,â you whispered, your eyes sparkling mischievously.
Spencer glanced at the sculpture and bit back a laugh. âItâs the eyebrows,â he said, nodding in agreement.
You gasped, pointing. âThe eyebrows! Yes! Itâs like heâs about to say, âReid, stop overexplaining.â"
Spencer laughed, his face lighting up in a way that made your heart skip. âOkay, okay, but look at this one,â he said, leading you to a nearby bust of a man whose face was frozen in a hilariously exaggerated scowl. âTell me thatâs not Rossi after someone forgets to bring him coffee.â
You burst out laughing, clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. âOh my God, itâs perfect!â you managed between giggles.
They moved from sculpture to sculpture, pointing out ridiculous expressions and coming up with stories for each one. Spencer, ever the genius, concocted elaborate backstories for the pieces, each one more absurd than the last.
âThis one,â he said, gesturing to a marble figure of a man dramatically clutching his chest, âwas probably just told that his favorite gelato shop ran out of pistachio.â
You doubled over laughing, your cheeks aching from smiling so much. âStop, youâre going to get us kicked out!â you said, though your laughter made it clear you didnât mean it.
âYouâre the one who started it,â he teased, his grin wide and unrestrained.
They rounded a corner and found themselves in front of a statue of a cherub with a particularly mischievous expression. Spencer tilted his head. âThis oneâs definitely plotting something. Probably planning to steal cookies from the other cherubs.â
You wiped a tear from your eyes, still laughing. âYouâre too good at this. Have you been secretly practicing?â
He shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. âWhat can I say? Iâm a natural.â
As they continued exploring, their laughter echoed softly through the empty halls, their joy filling the quiet space. For a little while, they let themselves be kids againâcarefree, silly, and completely immersed in the moment.
Spencer, usually so reserved and composed, felt freer than he had in years. And you, watching him let loose, felt your heart swell with happiness. It wasnât just about the art or the laughterâit was about being together, sharing a moment that was uniquely theirs.
When they finally paused to catch their breath, leaning against a wall in between fits of giggles, Spencer looked at you with a soft smile. âThis might be the most fun Iâve ever had in a museum.â
You grinned, your eyes shining. âI told you, you just needed the right partner in crime.â
He nodded, his expression warm. âI think I found them.â
And with that, they set off again, hand in hand, ready to see what other treasuresâand laughsâthe museum had to offer.
As they wandered back toward the grand central hall of the museum, the playful energy between them began to settle into something softer, quieter. The warm lighting of the space casts a golden glow over the room, highlighting the details of the sculptures and paintings around them. You paused by a large marble statue of a couple intertwined in an eternal embrace, your gaze lingering on the delicate way the sculptor had captured the curve of their hands and the tilt of their heads.
Spencer stopped beside you, his eyes following yours to the statue. He said nothing, but the air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken thoughts. The laughter from earlier seemed to hang in the distance, replaced by a gentle stillness.
You turned your head to look at him, your expression soft, your lips parted slightly as if you wanted to say something but couldnât quite find the words. Spencerâs gaze flickered from the statue to you, his heart stuttering as he caught the way the golden light played on your features.
Neityour of them spoke. They didnât need to.
Spencerâs hand reached out, slow and hesitant, his fingertips brushing against yours. The touch was featyour-light, but it sent a ripple through both of them, grounding them in the moment.
Your eyes searched his, questioning, yet trusting. He took a step closer, the space between them shrinking until it was almost nonexistent.
Your breath hitched, your heart racing as his face hovered close to yours. The world around them seemed to blur, the art and the quiet fading into the background as the only thing that mattered was himâhis eyes, his presence, the warmth of him so close.
Spencer hesitated, his gaze flicking to your lips and back to your eyes, as if silently asking for permission. You gave him the faintest nod, your lips curving into a soft, encouraging smile.
It was painfully slow, the kind of moment that stretched on forever, but neither of them rushed it. Their foreheads brushed first, a tentative, intimate touch that sent shivers down your spine. His nose bumped yours lightly, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.
And then, finally, achingly, his lips met yours.
The kiss was soft, and unhurried, a perfect balance of tenderness and curiosity. His hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing your skin as if you were something fragile, something to be cherished You leaned into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to steady yourself as your heart soared.
Time seemed to stop entirely. There was no overthinking, no second-guessingâjust the quiet certainty that this was exactly where they were meant to be.
When they finally pulled back, their faces still close, neither of them spoke right away. Spencerâs eyes searched yours, his expression a mix of wonder and disbelief, as if he couldnât quite believe what had just happened.
You smiled softly, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand. âThat felt⊠right,â you whispered, your voice barely audible.
Spencer nodded, his lips curving into the faintest smile. âIt did,â he agreed, his voice equally quiet.
And as they stood there, bathed in the golden light of the museum, they both knew theyâd just shared a moment theyâd carry with them forever.
Hand in hand, they made their way back toward the main entrance of the museum, their fingers still entwined as they shared quiet smiles and the lingering warmth of the kiss. The halls, now empty of their playful laughter, seemed to hum with the remnants of the nightâs magic, a soft kind of peace wrapping around them.
When they reached the front, they were met by Jacob, who was standing by the gift shop, a welcoming grin on his face.
âDid you two enjoy the private tour?â he asked, clearly amused by the soft glow in their expressions.
âIt was perfect,â You replied, your voice light with contentment. âWe couldnât have asked for a better night.â
Spencer gave Jacob a small nod of thanks, and they made their way toward the gift shop. Of course, you, ever the curious soul, immediately started scanning the shelves, your eyes lighting up as you spotted a section of artist books and unique prints.
Spencer stood back a little, letting you take it all in. It was clear from the way you were absorbed in the display that you were in your element. Your fingers traced the spines of the books, your eyes lingering on the vibrant art, the words, and the stories behind them. It was a rare thing to see you so lost in admiration, and he couldnât help but smile as he watched you, appreciating the way you connected with the world through art.
You picked up one of the books, flipping it open to the first page. âSpence,â you called softly, turning to him with a gentle smile. âWhich artist was it who made that sculpture of the two women?â
Spencer walked over to you, his gaze following yours to the shelf where the artistâs work was displayed. He didnât need to think twice. âJulie Rrap,â he replied.
You nodded, your fingers brushing the cover of the book titled Body Double. You seemed almost hesitant at first, as if deciding whether or not to pick it up. But then, with a quiet sense of reverence, you carefully opened the book and placed it in your hands, holding it close to your chest for a moment before glancing back at Spencer.
âThank you,â you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude. There was something in your eyesâsomething that said this moment meant more to you than you could express.
Spencer smiled warmly, his heart swelling a little. âIâm glad you like it.â
You ran your thumb along the edges of the book, your gaze still soft as you flipped through the pages, your eyes drinking in the art and the words. It was as if the world had slowed down again, and they were both wrapped in the quiet, intimate moment of shared appreciation.
âI think Iâm going to get this,â you said, your voice thoughtful, almost to yourself. âItâs⊠I donât know. It feels important.â
Spencer nodded, his gaze still on you as you carefully placed the book in your arms, a soft smile tugging at his lips. âItâs yours. You deserve it.â
Spencer reached into his pocket as they approached the counter, his hand finding yours once more, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He placed the book and a few other items you had picked out onto the counter. Jacob, who had been standing nearby, gave them both a knowing smile as he rang up the items.
âYou two seem like you had a good time,â Jacob said, his tone light and friendly.
Spencer smiled, pulling out his wallet. âIt was a perfect night, thanks to you.â
You turned to Jacob with a grateful expression, your eyes bright. âThank you for letting us stay after hours. It really made the evening special.â
Jacob nodded, giving you a small wink. âAnytime. Glad you enjoyed it. You two have a good rest of the night.â
After Spencer finished paying, he gathered the items and handed them to you, who accepted them with a soft smile. âThanks again,â you said, your voice warm.
With a final wave to Jacob, they left the gift shop and stepped into the cool night air. The city was quieter now, the streets bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. As they walked toward Spencerâs apartment, the evening felt like a perfect bookend to a day full of laughter, art, and unexpected moments of connection.
Spencer, his arm casually draped over your shoulder, pulled you closer as they walked. âSo, what do you think? A quiet night in to wrap things up?â he asked, a playful note in his voice.
You smiled, your eyes glinting with excitement. âSounds perfect.â
They continued down the sidewalk, their footsteps in sync, the world around them fading away as they looked forward to whatever came nextâtogether.
thank you for reading!
please like & reblog if you enjoyed!
part two!
masterlist!
#criminal minds x you#mgg x reader#mgg x you#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#criminal minds smut#smut fanfiction#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x fem!reader#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fluff#fluff fanfiction#spencer reid angst#mgg pics#anhedonia writes
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I LOVEEEEE YOU FICS OMG OMG
If you could be so kind to write a DomgojoxBratreader where he is her academic rival and they are always arguing but they start falling for each other. She is sassy and he matches her energy đđœđđœ
I pushed her back to the wall and said âYou done?â
Tags: dom!Satoru x fem!Reader, brat!Reader, brat taming, academic rivals, rivals to lovers, slight angst, maybe hurt/comfort, hea, cursing, smut, mdni, spanking, slight impact play, cunninglingus, unprotected sex, this shit gonna be nasty i fear.
An: This all takes place when they're in a like Jujutsu Tech College... bare with me lmao. It's basically the events from their highschool years, but I made it to where they happened while they were in college, so all the characters are of age here. I looooove the academic rivals trope after I wrote my Hiromi fic đ© you can read that here if youâre interested! Also, so sorry but this is a long one... 7.3k words...

Thwak!
Your body jolts forward a bit as youâre slung unceremoniously over Satoruâs shoulder. His large palm wooshes to connect with your bottom once more.
Thwak!
âWhy is it always the small ones who I can throw around so effortlessly that talk the most shit?â His face is occupied with that shit eating grin as he gives your ass another spank just for the hell of it. Thereâs nothing you can do about it anyways. He may as well have his fun.
âPut me down, Satoru!!â You whine, trying to jostle your way out of his grip, but heâs having none of it. Your fists pound at his muscular back, but he continues to laugh. Without your cursed technique, youâre really are just a weakling to him.
âWhere are your manners, princess? Thatâs no way to speak to your upperclassmen.â He taunts as he continues to carry you around with ease. âMaybe if you call me senpai, Iâll put you down.â
âFuck no! Iâm not doing that, weirdo!â You huff as your body continues to wriggle in his grasp. Geto watches with an amused look on his face. He makes no effort to stop Satoruâs shenanigans since you really were asking for this by provoking him all day today.
Your cursed technique is the only one that comes close to countering Satoruâs, so youâre the only person heâll bother training with. However, heâs a complete asshole to train with.
When youâre losing, he gets all cocky and mouthy, talking about how weak and pathetic you are. When youâre putting up a good fight, Satoru somehow gets even more energetic. His cursed energy output increases exponentially, and he gets touchier too because he canât cope with the euphoric feeling of actually having a challenge.
Principal Yaga was the unfortunate soul who had to tell Satoru that it was inappropriate to bear hug you for so long after a good sparring session. One time, you were trapped in his arms, completely unable to move for almost an hour as he rambled about how much he enjoyed getting that energy out. His face was also coincidentally(?) shoved in your chest. He, of course, claims it was nothing sexual, but you were completely pressed against him. You felt him grow hard against your thigh.
Either way, you always felt like you had a chip on your shoulder. You didnât just want to he known as the one who could âalmost counter Satoruâ. You wanted to be known as the one who could beat the strongest sorcerer of today.
Unfortunately, you werenât strong enough to beat him in combat yet, so you usually provoked him with words. All day, Geto has had to listen to you and Satoru bickering back and forth with each other.
âWell, at least my eyes arenât off putting to look at.â
âMy eyes are beautiful, princess. Youâre just mad that you canât get a date meanwhile I have girls falling all over me.â Satoru of course childishly stuck his tongue out at you.
âBold of you to assume I canât get a date.â You fire back with a small huff, crossing your arms over your chest.
âOh? Does the princess have a date? Make sure to let me know how that goes.â Satoru laughs, and his hand ruffles your hair uncaringly.
âYou can ask your dad tomorrow morning how it went.â Youâre use to Satoruâs sass by now, and you know how to perfectly match his freak as some would say.
Satoru shoots you a small glare, which only elicits a giggle from you. You decide to push it further. âYeah, Iâm thinking about giving you a sibling. What do you think about that, hm? Maybe weâll make another six-eyed freak with the limitless technique, so you arenât that special.â
Satoruâs nose twitched in disdain. Not only did he not like the thought of not being special anymore; he despised the thought of you sleeping with his dad.
And thatâs how you ended up thrown over his shoulder as he carried you towards the training matts. âQuite the mouth on you, princess. If only you could fight as good as you yap.â He smirked as he gave your ass a light spank. Once he realized the amount of control he had over you in that moment, it was game over for you.
âLet me go, Satoru!â You shrieked as Gojo continued to manhandle you over his shoulder. After a good twenty minutes of him holding you up, Suguru finally spoke out.
âYou two are starting to sound like an old married couple. Put her down, Satoru.â Getoâs calming voice finally laid down the law to which Satoru reluctantly abided by, allowing for your feet to touch the floor.
You caught your breath as you were put down. It had been taxing to wrestle in his arms and scream for him to stop it. He knew you couldnât activate your cursed technique while had full control over your body. Plus, if you were to activate your technique, you wouldâve likely hurt Geto in the process. Satoru knew you wouldnât even entertain the risk.
While Satoru was Suguruâs one and only friend, you were more like a little sister at Suguruâs side. He was the only one who didnât view you as âSatoruâs counterâ. To Suguru, you were just ây/nâ. He saw you as an underclassman with an unprecedented level of potential.
He also often helped you with your studies. While Satoru was technically the brighter one of the two, Suguru was a true teacher. He explained even the most complicated topics to you, much to Satoruâs displeasure.
You didnât miss the scowl on Satoruâs face each time you came up to both of them to request for Getoâs help. You didnât miss the way heâd stare at both of you with a slight pout and how heâd try to tell you the answer before Geto could explain it.
You figured that it was just Satoru being spoiled. He didnât like not being the center of attention when it came to you and Geto.
Satoru turned towards you, and he opened his mouth to continue on his little beratement of you when the door to the training area was abruptly opened. Principal Yaga stepped through the doors and called Gojo and Geto to his office.
The principal ended up sending the two young men out on a mission, and that was when everything changed between you three.
*** *** ***
Things between you three went dry for a while. You knew the details of what happened, but you didnât dare talk directly to Satoru or Suguru about it.
Both of the men went their own separate directions, leaving you behind in the dust as if you were a child of divorce. Satoru took on an ungodly amount of training, barely ever at the dorms to do anything. Suguru occupied himself with a massive amount of missions.
Suguru was getting skinnier too. His long black hair was becoming thinner by the day, and he always looked so painfully tired. You felt like you would be a burden on him if you asked for any help from him.
Satoru was training so much, putting on more muscle in every place of his body. He didnât ever invite you to spar with him anymore. He never taunted you in the hallways or even made direct eye contact with you.
They were both so preoccupied in their own grief that they seemingly forgot about you.
Things didnât stop there either.
Haibaraâs death shook Jujutsu Tech to its core. Nanami dropped out of the program. Suguru dropped out and was now a wanted criminal. Shoko wasnât on the teaching path anymore, moving to learn more RCT to prevent something like this from happening again.
It was just you and Satoru on the teaching path. âClassâ if you can even call it that - was so depressing that you barely bothered to show up for lectures anymore. Satoru was taking on every single mission, filling in for Suguru, Nanami, and Haibaraâs absence. He wouldnât even speak to you about Suguru or anything else for that matter.
Feeling so incredibly alone, you were curled up in your dorm late one night. Your face was sticky from tears, and your breath was so uneven. You just needed to talk to someone.
You didnât think heâd answer, but Suguru sounded happy when he picked up the phone.
âY/n, how are you?â His voice was like a double edged sword. It was so comforting to hear his voice, but you also remembered the lives he took.
You two spoke for over two hours. You vented out every single grief and complaint to him while he calmly tried to convince you that Jujutsu Tech was a waste of your time.
He was so good at buttering you up, making you feel like his way of thinking even made sense. You were so desperate for a friend; you couldnât care less that you were essentially signing yourself up for a cult.
âCome to me, y/n. We could do great things together. Itâd be like old times. I need you here with me.â A cult leader preying on someone when theyâre at their lowest.
You agreed, hanging up the phone to start packing your bags. You couldnât take living here anymore anyways, not after everything. Satoru probably wouldnât even notice that youâre gone.
Quietly creeping down through the dorms, duffle bag in hand, you flinch when a sudden hand grips your shoulder from behind. You let out a sharp gasp followed by a small cry before you turn around quickly.
Satoru was standing behind you, no humor in his face at all. He was shirtless. His abs and muscular arms were on full display as he was only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, and his hair was slightly damp from a shower.
âWhere are you going?â He asked in a tone youâd never heard him use. He was being stern with you as if you were a child.
You shift uncomfortably underneath his gaze before you brush his hand off your shoulder. âIâm going to go stay with a friend.â You give him a half-lie, not able to tell him to his face that you were leaving.
âPretty large duffle bag for going to stay with a friend, donât you think?â His hand effortlessly takes the duffle bag off your shoulder, and he pulls it away from you before opening it, taking notes of the contents inside. âI donât know why you bother lying to me. My six eyes know when youâre not telling the truth.â
You try to take the duffle bag back from him, but he dodges and bats away all of your attempts. âI wasnât lying!â You shout, getting frustrated and impatient with him. âItâs not like you even care. Give me my shit back.â
Bright blue eyes look up at you, and his pupils dilate, the size of small pinholes. âI donât care?â He asks before letting out a humorless laugh. Itâs eerie seeing him like this, like a stick that just about to snap if anyone applied anymore pressure to him.
âYou donât. You donât even talk to me anymore, even when I try talking to you! You and Geto completely blew me off.â Hot tears burn in your eyes as youâre forced to face how you feel right in front of him. âAt least Geto wants to talk to me now.â You murmured quietly, shifting your gaze to the ground.
âYou talked to Suguru?â Satoru asks, eyes wide and full of anger. His palm comes up and grips your hair pulling it back so youâll look him in the eyes.
You let out a sharp hiss as his fingers are digging into your scalp. âLet go of me!â You shout, trying to free his hand from your hair.
Things finally start to click in Satoruâs head. You were leaving him, leaving him to go stay with Suguru. His stomach coiled in white hot rage and jealousy. Could you not see all he had done for you? Yet, you still choose Suguru, who had done nothing for you.
Your body feels weak and unstable as youâre suddenly teleported to the training mats in the gym. âSatoru, what?â You ask as you look around as best as you can. He finally frees your scalp.
âYou want to go be with him?â He asks before throwing your duffle bag against the door. He then leans over and starts to stretch his legs. âYouâll have to beat me. Prove to me that youâre strong enough, and Iâll let you go. I wonât keep chasing you.â
"Satoru, you're talking crazy..." You reply as you glance over to your duffle bag that was slumped against the door. You had no want or intention of fighting Satoru. "I'm allowed to drop out if I want."
"So what? You just quit? You're just going to let me win like that? Bullshit, yn. I know you better than that." Satoru's eyes bore holes into the very depths of your soul. He does know you better than that â knows that you're not one to back down from a challenge.
Your jaw tightens as you watch him, anger coiling in your stomach. He can never just let you have what you want. Everything was a fight to him. He always gets what he wants because he's the fucking starboy of Jujutsu, and you're just "close enough" to his counter.
You rip your sweatshirt away from your body, tossing it off the matt. Your torso was clad in a thin tank top that you didn't necessarily plan on letting anyone see. You roll your neck. If he wanted to fight, you'd give him one last one.
"Atta girl." He whistles with a smug grin. His body is still in a fighting stance, waiting for you to take yours.
You don't even bother to respond to his praise. You know he's only acting like this to get under your skin more. "Make it count, Satoru. This will be the last time I ever fight you."
"Oh, I make it count each and every time."
It's not long before you two are completely at each other's throats. The amount of cursed energy emitting from the training area was absolutely devastating for the school. Building foundations literally shook. The lights flickered constantly, and a few even blew.
You two were lucky it was in the dead of night. If anyone was awake to witness this, they would've already put a stop to it, but most citizens must've chocked the movements up to small earthquakes in their sleepy haze.
Your body was tired and bruised, but you weren't going to give up. You wouldn't tap â no matter how many times Gojo put you in different submission positions. You always managed to break free and hit him with your elusive technique â something his infinity couldn't recognize.
He had grown so much stronger since your last sparing session. All of the training and missions had done him well. His chiseled body felt heavier against you. His grip was tighter. He was faster, stronger, and smarter.
Strangely enough, Satoru was mostly silent during this fight. He didn't taunt you or call you pathetic like he normally did. Besides his quiet grunts and growls from blows or primal rage, he was deadly silent.
This was serious to him. This wasn't like a fight with a meaningless curse. This wasn't like a cute little sparring session with you back in the day. This was you, and your role in his life. He would be damned before he let you fucking quit and leave him.
"Come here." His voice was deeper, rougher â predatory almost as he went in for another submission. His eyes were trained on you, and he had one objective in his mind: to keep you.
You slipped up, misjudging Satoru's distance from you. Before you could evade him, Satoru's large calloused palms gripped the underside of your thighs, and he lifted your body up with ease, shoving your back against the wall.
"You done?" He growled lowly against your ear, his breath fanning against your skin. His chest was rising and falling harshly. He was also bruised, but he'd fight you for the rest of eternity if it meant you wouldn't leave him.
Your breath was faster than his â literally panting as you took the moment of reprieve and rested against the wall. It had been so long since you too had sparred, you almost forgot how handsy he could be with you in the middle of fights.
His slender waist was between your thighs, still only covered by his grey sweat pants. His abs were glistening in sweat, and his hips created a perfect V dipping into his waistband. You instinctively had your legs wrapped around him â making him support your weight.
"I'm not going to let you win." Your voice is low and shaky from the fight. Your nerves were wound up after the night you had.
"Then, stay. Keep fighting me." His body pressed closer to yours. If anyone walked in on you two, it would definitely appear as if you two were doing things other than fighting.
"He needs me, Satoru..." You murmur, turning your head away from his. Suguru said it himself. He needed you. Satoru just wanted you to keep playing catch up with him.
Satoru's jaw clenched, and he pushed your back against the wall harder. He supported your weight with one of his hands and his waist as his other hand roughly grabbed your jaw. His fingers digging into the soft skin of your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.
"If he needed you so fucking badly, why did he leave you here with me?"
You look at him with lost eyes as the reality of the situation finally starts to sink in. Your big brother, Suguru, had changed into someone you could hardly recognize. You tense â immediately trying to push those thoughts out of your head.
He can recognize that you're still trying to deny it. He jolts your body a bit, making your eyes snap open to look at him again.
"I need you, yn." His voice is raw. He's almost pleading with you. He sounds so convincing, but you can't help but doubt him.
"No, you don't..." You whisper as tears sting your eyes. Suguru didn't need you. He hadn't even bothered to call or text you. If he needed you so much, why didn't he reach out?
"Oh really?" Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. "So, I'm just fighting you at three in the morning for fun? I'm just fighting to keep you here with me for the thrill of it." His hand is unwavering on your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eyes as he speaks.
His eyes look so tired and drained. If you left, how would he have any moments rest. He's barely sleeping now as it is, and if you leave, he'll have to take on your missions on top of everything else.
But something tells you it's not even about that. This fight is the closest thing he's felt to human connection in months.
The rawness of his tone and emotion tugs at your heart strings, but it still feels like youâre giving up to him.
âFighting at three in the morning sounds typical for you. You just donât want to lose your favorite punching bag.â You spit back at him.
His hand â so pale and veiny â trails down from your jaw to your neck, and he squeezes just hard enough to make you feel all tingly inside. âIs that what you think? Do I need to fuck some sense into you?â
Your face warms from his crude words, and your hands squeeze his shoulders. His lips curl into a smirk as he witnesses your inner struggle, but he knows the truth. His six eyes know your tell: the way your thighs squeeze around him as if youâre trying to subdue your arousal.
He knows good and well that your pretty cunt is weeping for him, but heâs not going to give into yours or his own desires yet.
âI didnât fight Nanami when he left.â His voice is back to a steady state, speaking the words carefully to ensure you understand what heâs trying to convey. âI even had the opportunity to fight Suguru to come back. I didnât.â
Your heart fluttered in your chest, making it feel like your stomach flipped upside down. You want to open your mouth to speak â to demand to know why he didnât fight them to stay, but his hand was still firmly wrapped around your slender throat, holding you back from talking.
âHow dense can you be, princess? Itâs always been you. No one else.â A heady whisper against your ear. His hand subtly relaxes on your throat.
Then, you remember all the looks he gave you when youâd ask Suguru for help. You remember the times he would fight or outright just butt into your conversations, demanding to be the center of your attention.
âI knew you wouldnât win, but even if you did, I lied. Iâd still chase you. I wouldnât be able to live with myself if I just let you slip past me.â
âAsshole.â You finally managed to speak, earning a dark chuckle from him.
Thwak!
His hand that had been supporting you slapped against your bottom. The familiar sting causing you to let out a breathy gasp.
âYou really donât know when to quit, do you princess?â His hand unabashedly caresses your bottom, soothing the pain.
âI don't think you'd like me as much if I did." You respond gripping onto his shoulders as your body is under his control.
Thwak!
"Probably right about that." He murmurs before he leans into you. His pale blue eyes were half-lidded as he took you in. He's grown tired of denying himself. He's devoted his life to Jujutsu. Now, he just wants to finally do the things he wants to do, and you just so happen to be at the top of his list. "Are you going to play nice, or do I need to keep reminding you who's in control here?"
âIâm letting you have control.â You hiss. Probably not the wisest decision, since Gojo merely lets out a dark laugh. His hand tightens back around your throat, and your back hits the wall with a small thud.
âYouâre going to eat your words, sweets.â He mumbles lowly, towering over you as he has full control over your body. âDo you know how long Iâve been waiting for this? Do you even know what you do to me?â
His hardened length presses right against your core as if on cue, and he lets out a small groan from the contact. You bite back a noise that would let on your arousal because fuck⊠youâre wetter than you should be right now.
Too bad Satoru already knows the truth behind your flushed face and heaving chest. His six eyes really give him the advantage.
âIâm going to have fun with you, princess.â He quietly laughs as he drags his hips up and down, giving you the smallest bit of friction and pleasure. Both of you let out respective pants and noises â both of you were such a mess for each other.
Just when you were finally getting use to his rhythm, Satoru pulled back harshly, letting your feet touch the floor once more. Your legs subtly tremble as you stand on your own. You were still so exhausted from the fight, and now, you were feeling needy on top of it. It was like a perfect mixture for disaster.
You clench your jaw, not wanting to just give into him just because he said some really thoughtful words and looks so devilishly handsome. Sure, you were probably going to fuck him if he kept going, but you were not about to sit there and beg him to fuck you. Thereâs a perfectly good vibrator stashed in your duffle bag for this exact reason.
You start to walk towards the doors. Though, you werenât planning on going to Suguru. Youâd just⊠go stew in your dorm about how infuriating Gojo is, and then youâd get your frustrations out in a different manner.
âOh no you donât.â He says with a playful nature as he roughly grabs you right back up in his arms. âGonna make me really work for it, arenât you princess?â He carries you, despite your honestly pitiful attempts at getting away from him, and he bends you over one of the bleachers in the training area.
âSato-â
âShut up.â He lowly growled before grabbing something out of his pocket. His black blindfold crumpled in his hand before he reached over your back. One of his large hands grabbed your jaw, forcing your mouth open, and his other hand shoved his blindfold into your mouth.
âIf you spit that out, Iâm replacing it with my cock.â He warns lowly before letting out a small laugh at your panicked expression. Your face is so red from pure embarrassment of the situation. It doesn't help when Satoru's large gruff hands grab ahold of your shorts and yank them down to your ankles. Anyone could walk in here right now. Sure, it was late at night, but Yaga was notoriously a light sleeper.
Before you could even think about spitting out his blindfold and cussing him out, a harsh slap clapped against your bottom. Your teeth clamped down on the blindfold, masking a husky moan. Satoru definitely had a bit of an obsession with spanking you.
His eyes devoured you as your ass rippled. His hand gently rubbed your poor abused flesh before he spanked your other cheek. Your body jolted forward. A small muffled whine came from your lips, but Satoru knew you loved this.
You were practically dripping all over the bleachers for crying out loud. "Messy girl~" He taunted with a small laugh. "I think she's cryin' for it, sweets. She wants a spanking too."
You quickly start to shake your head, your body tensing at the thought. His fingertips gently smacked your drooling cunt, causing for an obscene wet noise to infiltrate your ears. You can't even stop the moan that's muffled from his blindfold. Your vision goes a bit blurry from tears of stimulation and slight pain, but fuck, it makes you clench around nothing. You were practically aching to be filled.
"Mmm~ you liked that didn't you, princess?" His hand rubs over your ass, groping you so shamelessly. "One day you might actually learn that I know your body better than you do..."
His finger trailed between your soaking wet folds, spreading your wetness around your clit, drawing out a shaky moan from you. Your legs started to lightly jitter, and it felt like your knees would give in any moment now.
"Poor, poor thing. You look like a newborn deer trying to learn how to walk." He taunted as his fingers circled around your entrance.
You were half tempted to spit the damn blindfold out, but you knew Satoru wouldn't hesitate to keep you gagging around his cock for hours if you kept being disobedient.
Another small slap to the button of nerves sent you forward. Your eyes fell shut as you savored the sensations tingling straight from your core. Your knees went inwards, and you had to support your body with your arms on the bleachers.
"That's it... Who's a good girl?" Satoru breathily purred from behind you. You were such a fucking beauty like this, finally caving in to your desires. You wanted this as much as he did. There was no point in denying it. His fingers went back to rubbing tight circles around your clit to soothe the little painful shocks.
You couldn't even formulate the words to tell him just where he could shove his dick. His ministrations felt like pure heaven, and your stomach tightened slightly. If he didn't slow down, you were sure god was going to come down and pluck you from the Earth.
Seeing the accumulation of energy with his six eyes, Satoru knew exactly what was going on. He smirked as he continued rubbing the swollen numb between his fingers. Your poor wet pussy making the wettest clacking noises he's ever heard. His mouth was practically watering for a taste.
Dropping to his knees behind you, Satoru wasted no time burying his face directly into your cunt. He immediately went to work, using his fat tongue to lap up all of your delicious juices. He gave you tender kisses of encouragement.
"See how you're treated when you're being good?" He taunted lowly right against your cunt. The vibration from his words had you clawing at the bleachers for mercy.
You whined and slightly thrashed, trying to fight the orgasm that was threatening to take over. It was too much- You couldn't cum all over Satoru's face right where you two had spent the most time at each other's throats!!
His tongue prodded at your entrance, and he moaned as he felt your wet velvet heat. You were made to house his cock in there -- he knew it. He'd always been god's favorite, so it made sense that god would bestow such a wonderful woman with the most delicious pussy to him.
His thumb rubbed tight circled around your clit as his tongue flicked in and out. It wasn't a minute later before you were basically gushing into his mouth. A muffled squeal left your throat, and you tried to claw away. Your cunt clenched and clenched, and Satoru nearly pitied your slutty pussy. It really just needed to be filled with dick. His dick.
His hands braced your thighs as he gave you a few more sweet kisses straight to your core before he stood up. He slid himself between you and the bleachers so he could hold you up. Your body collapsed against his chest, and you panted heavily. Not even your best vibrator and favorite smutty book could get that sort of orgasm out of you.
"Don't bite me." He warned with a ragged laugh before his fingers delved between your lips and pulled the blindfold out of your mouth. You didn't have the energy or resolve to even say anything to him. Instead, you opted to bury your face in his bare chest.
"My poor princess. Did I wear you out?" His voice was still teasing, even though he literally knew that he just made you see stars.
"Shut up, 'toru." You mutter into his chest, causing for his heart to swell. He loved that nickname, and he loved how you were like a cat pretending like you didn't like being pet by him.
His fingers pressed beneath your chin, and he pulled you up to look at him. Now, his dick was swelling from how precious your face since you were so fucked out already. Wordlessly, he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours.
Your heart slammed against your ribcage. Getting your pussy ate from the back by him was one thing, but now, he was being all sweet and kissing you?? You can remember all of his sweet words and how he looked when he said them. He was being genuine. He really had feelings for you this entire time.
You wanted to stomp your foot on his toe for taking so long to finally tell you, but his kiss was so sweet and intoxicating. You took a deep breath before intertwining your lips with his.
The sound of lips smacking together filled the training area. You felt the air shift around you. Your passion started to burn hot within the kiss. Both of you chased each others' lips like it was a goddamn need â not a want. Your head actually started to spin as he gripped your jaw and started to nip at your bottom lips with his teeth.
You pulled back - nervous as to why you didn't feel good. Your eyes widened as you took in the change of environment. You were in Satoru's dorm, sat upon his bed. His room was surprisingly clean and warmly lit by a Himalayan salt rock lamp right next to his bed.
"Sorry sweets, I felt like taking this somewhere more private." Satoru merely laughed as his body towered over yours. "I wanted to be able to take my time with you." His voice dropped down an octave, whispering into your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek.
Your heart fluttered in your chest as you watched him hook his thumbs into the waistband of his grey sweatpants. They did absolutely fuck all to hide how his dick was straining directly against the fabric. He had a huge tent right in his pants, and his cock had created a small dark stain right on his crotch area from leaking copious amounts of pre-cum.
Once his pants were down, your eyes marveled at just how pretty his cock looked in the warm glow of the lamp. His dick was long, and he had such pretty veins decorating the underside and side of his cock. His tip was flushed a pretty cherry red, and he had a pearl of pre-cum leaking from his slit.
"Aw you flatter me, sweets~" Satoru laughed as he petted the top of your head, affectionately ruffling your hair. You scowled up at him, only making him laugh more. There was nothing like seeing you all defiant and pissy with him... except for seeing you all fucked out and pliant under him.
"C'mon~ give it a kiss." He demanded as his long fingers tightened around your hair, guiding your plush lips straight to his dick. You would rather die than give into him like this. Your legs kicked out from you, kicking him straight in the shin.
He hissed quietly from the pain before giving you a dark grin. "You know, I wanted our first time to be sweet and passionate, but you make it real fucking hard to be nice to you, princess." He let go of your head before shoving you back onto the bed.
"Maybe because you make it real fucking hard to want to be nice to you." You retorted as your eyes narrowed. He settled between your legs with a small grunt. Even while you were arguing with him, your cunt was still soaked.
He was almost tempted to take the words out of your mouth by giving you more of his tongue, but his cock had been neglected long enough. "You didn't seem to have a problem after I gave you your best orgasm." He commented with a lopsided grin.
You stayed still against his bed swallowing harshly. Were you two really about to...? Just hours ago, it felt like you two were trying to kill each other. Hell, two days ago, it felt like he had forgotten you even existed.
"This doesn't make up for anything, Satoru." You warned as you kept your gaze hardened. Your body was to receptive to him to deny that you wanted... needed him, so you weren't even going to deny yourself the pleasure that he could give anymore. But this didn't make up for the fact that he had seemingly left you behind for months...
even if he only did that so you didn't have to bare the weight of his mistakes with the star plasma vessel..
even if he only worked himself to death so you could try to focus on your studies instead of being thrusted into being overworked with missions after Suguru and Nanami dropped out...
No, this didn't make up for any of that.
His touch softened as he cupped your cheek in his hand. His thumb stroked your smooth skin, gazing down at you like he was holding the world in his hands. It made you want to squirm and hide.
"So, this is meaningless for you?" He whispered quietly into your ear as his cock slipped between your sopping folds, grinding the underside of his length against you.
Your words got caught in your throat as you gasped for air. You felt your face immediately warm. Shit, you hated feeling this vulnerable... especially in front of your sworn rival.
"Am I only as useful as that cute little vibrator you stowed in your get-away back?" Satoru continued. His hips rocked back and forth, and you found yourself getting squirmy with each time his tip bumped against your entrance.
He was just too damn big to slip inside. It'd take work and lots of perseverance. Luckily, Satoru seemed to be surprisingly patient in that regard.
He groaned as he felt your slick coating his cock. Your body was fucking made for him: made to be his counter and made to take his cock.
You hid your face in his muscular shoulder, stifling a small whine. Damn his six eyes. That vibrator was a godsend some nights when you were stuck being alone.
"Answer me, princess." He drawled as one of his hands reached back to hold your head gently as if he were embracing you. His hips kept a steady rhythm, driving you mad.
"N-no..." You stuttered out, cursing your voice for betraying your arousal.
"Aw, sweets." He cooed in your ear, moving his hips with a bit more conviction now â testing the waters of pressing his giant cockhead against your entrance before going back to dry humping you.
You let out of noise of frustration, hating how easily it was for him to tease you like this. You knew it was going to hurt, but fuck, you were going to cry if you didn't get some relief soon.
"Shh, shh, I'm gonna give you what you need, sweets." He whispered into your ear, pressing a tender kiss to your cheekbone. "You gotta be a good girl for me though."
His arms cradled you as he peppered your neck in kisses. Your hips were rolling to meet his with each thrust. The slickest noises between you two filled the room as his long cock continued to rub against you.
"I'll b-be good, please." You finally choked out, giving up on arguing with him. You were too desperate now. There was no point in trying to hide it.
Satoru doesn't even attempt to hide his smug reaction to you being all submissive and needy underneath him. He drags his hips all the way back until he pushed himself forward â splitting you wiiide open for him.
"Fuck!" He groaned as your tight wet heat enveloped him, practically sucking you straight inside your sloppy pussy. One of his hands reached up and gripped the headboard for support. His back muscles flexed from the new positioning.
"Sh-shit-! Wait, T-toru... ah~! It's not g'nna fit!" You cried out, nails digging into his flesh as you tried to cope with the intrusion of his thick cock.
"Should've thought about that before you fucking begged for it, princess. Now, you're gonna shut the fuck up and take this dick like a good girl, yeah?" His voice was rough with need â no longer teasing. No, this was just primal domination now.
His cock continued to painstakingly shove it's way between your spongy walls, making room for himself right inside you until he was buried to the hilt. His hand had a vice grip against the headboard, and it took all of his mental fortitude to not bust immediately.
He made the mistake of looking down at you. Goddammit you're too pretty like this while taking his dick so well. Your lips were parted as just a small dribble of drool seeped out of the corner of your mouth. Your eyes were glassed over, and he could've swore he saw hearts in your pupils as you looked up at him.
All your attention was finally on him.
His hips set an unforgiving pace, fucking yours directly down into the mattress as he used his headboard as leverage. At least no one was in the dorms anymore besides you and him. There was no one to bother with how obscenely loud you were whining and moaning for him.
Though, Satoru would've still faced his peers with a shit eating grin the next morning if they still lived here. He was so damn proud to finally have you underneath him.
"T-toruToru~! Toru, oh fuck me~"
"At least that smart mouth of yours is good for something." He growled as his cock continued to rudely bully its way directly to your womb. Your legs were barely able to stay wrapped around him as he pounded his hips against yours.
His white hair stuck to his forehead as sweat started to build up for both of you. He usually hated the feeling, but nothing could tear him away from your sweet, sweet pussy right now.
He huffed as he shoved your legs up onto his shoulders, forcing you into the meanest mating press you could imagine. Your eyes rolled back as you practically kissed your last coherent thought goodbye.
Satoru fucking Gojo was going to had already fucked you stupid.
His cock was ruthless, pressing drabbles of precum directly against your cervix. His hips were practically drilling into you out of sheer muscle memory at this point. He just wanted to rut into until the day he died.
"Yeaaah~ look at you now, princess. Ngh.. can't talk back to me now, can ya? Did Toru fuck that.... mmm- poor little brain of yours stupid?" His hand let go from the headboard, gripping your cheeks with his pointer finger and thumb to make you look up at him. Your mouth parted for him as you gazed up at him.
He gathered a small bit of saliva in his mouth before he directly spit into yours, earning a wanton moan from your lips.
The bed continued to squeak and rattle from the repeated abuse. The headboard was now knocking against the wall without his hand to stop it.
"T-toru.." You cried, trying to warn him of how your tummy was tightening. It felt like every cell of your body was working for this orgasm. Your back arched as you felt yourself tighten around him.
He was already ten steps ahead of you, literally seeing your orgasm before it came. "Cum on my cock, princess. Go ahead. 's okay. I got you." He murmured into your ear right before he felt your gushy walls constricting around him, practically trying to milk his cock.
Goddamn, was it working.
A groan ripped through the air as his dick pulsed inside you. He had been holding on for all this time. He couldn't stop the groans and whimpers that fell from his lips as he finally let go and filled your cute cunt to the brim with his warm cum,
You two stayed still, catching your breaths, and neither of you dared to talk and ruin the moment. It was a silent agreement. Neither of you could fight the attraction between you two any longer.
"I missed you." You finally spoke up quietly. Satoru was vulnerable earlier after the fight. It was your turn now.
"I know." He responded quietly. He regretted taking so many missions and hiding from you. It was his way of trying to make the best out of a shitty situation, but all it did was make both of you unhappy. His nose nudged your cheek gently. "I missed you too."
His lips pressed soft kisses along your jaw. He would take more time later today to fully explain the breadth of his feelings for you, but for now, he was happy to pamper you in affections and aftercare until you fell asleep from overexertion.
Also... he would definitely have to make up some sort of story to tell Yaga and explain why your duffle bag was still in the training area... and why it had a pink vibrator inside.
FUCK FINALLY THE END.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fanfic#fanfic#jjk suggestive#drabble#jjk gojo#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#satoru x reader#satoru smut#satoru gojo smut#gojo x reader smut#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo x you#gojou satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo x you#gojo jjk#jujutsu satoru#gojo saturo#jjk satoru#jujutsu kaisen gojo#jjk smut#smut
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metanoia
(n.) the journey of changing oneâs mind, heart, self or way of life.Â
â” pairing: saiki kusuo / immune! reader
â” word count: 14.2k
â” genre: of avoidance and coincidences
â” warnings: none
â” summary: s1 ep 3. for the life of you, you couldnât understand why your peaceful life had been turned upside down. no matter what you did, you always found yourself dragged into saikiâs problems. worst of all? at first you wanted nothing to do with him, and slowly, without even realising it, you didnât mind being around him as much.Â
┠masterlist  (requests are open)
â” previous part -Â serendipity
horrorhot-line © 2020. all rights reserved.



before you read:
âsaiki telepathically communicating with reader.â
âreader thinking or interacting with saiki through thoughts.â
âsaiki talking without moving his mouth.â
âsaiki talking using his mouth.â
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
authorâs notes: this post is a rewrite from my friends to lovers series that I first posted back in 2020, the relaunch youâve been waiting for is finally here! itâs still pretty much the same with a few changes here and there, hope you all enjoy <3
DISCLAIMER:Â 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 authorâs imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
â” â” â” â” â” â” Â Â Â â” â” â” â” â” â”
Your plan to swerve the scary psychic you had the pleasure of calling your classmate worked well enoughâuntil it didn't. It all started going downhill when you ran into Saiki at the park.
He just happened to be there because your paths intertwined on the way home from school. What's worse is you had taken a different route on purpose to avoid getting involved with the man, only to find yourself in the same crowd as him, watching a magic show.
From your first encounter with Saiki, you had decided to keep your distance, especially after you found out he was probably the most powerful psychic in the world. You had promised not to tell anyone his secret and made sure not to be caught near him, yet there he was.
Truth be told, you were terrified of him. You didn't have enough fingers to count how many times you had caught sight of him in your peripherals in the days following your visit to his house, following you to make sure you held up your end of the bargain and didn't tell anyone of his powers. Which? Rude, first of all, bold of him to assume you were a snitch; if he was a telepath, then surely he knew you weren't the type to spill secrets.
"Who's ready for another trĂšs bien trick by me? Master illusionist Uryoko Chono!" The magician performing the show asked as he pulled out a cone you recognised all too well from birthday parties, and you moved swiftly to the side so confetti wouldn't land in your hair. You didn't have the time to stand idly by and watchâ you needed to be home for the new soap opera that would launch that day!
That, and you didn't want to get caught in any situation that involved a particular psychic. You decided to do a U-turn when you saw Saiki's pink hair in the crowd; turning on your heel, you were ready to hightail it out of there until the magician addressed you.
"Hey, student! Why don't you stay and join the fun? You too, pink hair! I'll do a trick to put a smile on those faces!" Chono exclaimed, leaning on the table before him and putting a hand out to stop the two of you. There was little chance of that happening; you were sure Saiki didn't even know how to stretch the corners of his mouth.
You sighed, fully ready to leave, only to be greeted by the crowd of people staring at you expectantly. Great! Now you had to stay. It seemed like Saiki felt the same, shooting a side glance your way before staring at the green-haired magician as the both of you decided in silence that the attention of leaving wasn't worth itâ being a sheep would have to suffice for now.
Finding yourself at the front of the crowd, you deadpanned at the magician. "Oh! I see you're a sceptic." No, that wasn't it. It was more the fact that you could think of a million other things that called your attention, and this magic show wasn't one of them. "Well, once you see my show, you will become a believer in my powers to amaze." You could only purse your lips at the statement; you weren't buying it.
All magicians were hacks who used their ability to misdirect to achieve their illusions. What was the saying again? The closer you look, the less you see. That, and after finding out about Saiki and how vast his powers were, nothing this man had to offer would phase you. Yet, you watched anyway because walking away would be way too awkward now.
Saiki walked towards the crowd, joining it at your side. How had this caught his attention, you wondered. Did the magician really have supernatural powers? 'Noâ I'm watching, so he leaves me alone.' Saiki had yet to think something at you in weeks, and when he did, you nearly jumped out of your skin.
You were sure you'd never get used to his voice echoing inside your brain. At least he had cleared up your misunderstanding, you thought to yourself before moving away slightly, so the man in question wasn't too close to you. From where you stood before, you could practically feel his body heat and your touch-starved braiâ Stop! Don't think anymore, and just focus on the show.
The magician pulled out a box with a cartoon-like shooting star on it. "Right. I hold here an ordinary cardboard box." Chono stated, holding it up for the crowd to see. 'Nope, there's nothing ordinary about it.' Saiki thought at you, his expression dead, as always. You still couldn't understand why Saiki was talking to you. Curiosity peaked, you replied anyway, 'What do you mean by that?'
"As you can see, it's empty inside." The magician tilted the box, opening it so all could see, and he was right. 'At that angle, you can't tell there's a partition.' So that's how the performers did it; you always wondered how they accomplished tricks like that. You were rightâ this guy was a hack!
At least his showmanship was on point. "But, watch! Just a couple taps and it's party time." Chono said as he tapped his cane on the box before opening it, only for birds to shoot out and fly away into the distance. "Aren't they amazing, folks?"
The crowd cheered and clapped for the magician, not knowing what you and Saiki did. "Hey there, kids! TrĂšs bien, am I right?" The magician asked as he pointed a finger at the both of you. Not to you, they weren't, but the trick probably would have perplexed you either way if it wasn't for Saiki telling you how the box worked.
'It's not trĂšs bien. If anything, I'm worried about that dove.' Saiki remarked, and you turned to look at him questioningly, his gaze fixed on the magician. 'What dove?' You inquired, confused as to what he meant. Saiki answered, but his eyes never left the green-haired man's form.
'He has a dove under that hat, but I think he forgot about it.' You examined the magician's maroon hat, guessing Saiki could see through it with his X-ray vision. 'Shouldn't we tell him?' You looked from Saiki to the hat and back, your concern growing. 'After. I'll tell him once he's done here.' So the rock of a man next to you did have a heart, after all.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen, please turn your attention here for the main event of our show, my super illusion!" Where had Chono pulled out those massive boxes from in the few seconds you looked away? His hat, you mused, chuckling quietly to yourself, stopping only when you noticed Saiki shoot a look of dismay your way.
Wow, tough crowdâ then again, the psychic didn't really have a sense of humour to begin with. "Magically teleporting from one box to another will be my lovely assistant, Michael!"
Chono snapped his fingers before looking to his right, and you followed his line of sight only to see an old man with a straw hat on his unruly grey hair. 'Lovely is a stretch.' You winced. Were those flies buzzing around himâ and what was that foul odour he was emanating?
You had to agree with Saiki on that one. You could think of a lot of ways to describe him off the top of your head, but 'lovely' definitely wasn't one of them. Then again, from the looks of it, he was probably homeless, so who were you to judge? At the end of the day, you felt sorry for him. Too busy lamenting is sympathy; you didn't notice Saiki staring at you before looking back at the show.
"The beautiful Michael is entering the box." The assistant was definitely not beautiful, either. Maybe Chono was blind? Now, if that were trueâ it might've gotten a clap out of you. The magician explained the trick yapped as you watched the old man get in before the lid was shut behind him. Chono snapped his fingers again, "And, drum roll," before doing some weird dance and making sound effects with his mouth. Guess he had to raise the level of excitement somehow.
This act had better blow your socks off, your legs hurt from standing in place this long. 'This is so sad.' You nodded at Saiki's thought, 'It's almost painful to watch.' The second-hand embarrassment you were getting was through the roof, 5 more minutes of this and you were sure you'd be a victim of spontaneous human combustion.
Was it too late to regret your choices? You did not waste 20 minutes of the airing of the new soap just to be disappointed. The crowd murmured in anticipation. 'What expression am I supposed to be making right now?'
Even you couldn't tell Saiki the answer to that, 'A smile maybe?' You mused, only for him to shoot a glare at you, causing you to put your hands up in surrender. Chono released the ball of confetti in his hand, and you watched as it fell to the ground. 'His overconfidence makes me cringe.' Your face scrunched at the sceneâ you weren't sure how much more you could take. 'You and me both.'
'And I'm still worried about that dove. Does that hat have air holes?' From what you could tell, no, it didn't. At least Saiki cared about the well-being of animals. 'I'm not worried, I just don't wanna be around to see a bird die.' You rolled your eyes as you folded your arms over your chest. Of course, he was the type to deny it. God forbid he actually had the ability to express concern for something.
"Alright, let's open the box!" Chono said as he walked over to the other box, putting his hand on top. 'Uh oh, lovely Mike isn't done teleporting yet.' You were beyond confused, turning to Saiki, who was still facing the stage. 'He's under the table.' Your eyebrows unfurrowed as realisation washed over you. That made sense, so the trick was to use the table to go to and from the box.
You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, dreading what was to come. "3, 2, 1... It's party time!" Chono exclaimed, a huge grin on his face. Michael came out, alrightâ just not from the box. He crawled out from underneath the table and raised his arms as if he had completed a feat. Chono stood with his back to Michael, his hand gesturing to the empty box.
A comical sweat bead formed on your forehead, and you cringed internally. Listening to the sound of a fork on the chalkboard probably would have been a better use of your time. You bit your fist as if that would help ease how uncomfortable you felt. Was it too late to make a run for it?
The crowd was deathly silent, and it was no wonder why. 'Now I really don't know what expression to make, maybe this one?' Saiki remarked as he observed the magician. You watched as Chono's expression fell, a hideous grimace taking its place as if he'd just witnessed an entity of cosmic horror like Cthulhu. 'Yeah, that seems appropriate', Saiki confirmed, and you were glad his unintentional comedy saved you from losing further brain cells.
The crowd dispersed shortly after that, and you stayed behind with Saiki to witness the aftermath.
"Why should I pay you for ruining the illusion?!" Chono exclaimed at Michael, who only retorted. "I moved at the normal speedâ it was your darn pattern that got too fast. Now, you hand over that 500 yen." The assistant put his hand out, expecting his payment.
"No one tipped me for this performance, so I couldn't pay you even if I wanted to," Chono stated before he noticed your and Saiki's presence. "Hey, why are you two hanging around?" The magician said as he turned his back to Michael. Saiki wordlessly raised his finger to his head and bent it repeatedly.
"What, oh, you wanna give me a tip? Haha, I could never take money from a kid. The look of joy on your faceâ" Chono cut himself off when he looked down at the hat he took off his head. "âPICO!" That poor bird, you couldn't help but think.
"I completely forgot she was up there," Chono said, now sitting down as he stroked the dove. So that's why Saiki chose to linger even after the show had endedâ he was still worried about the bird. Truth be told, you'd nearly forgotten after you saw the last trick. 'How can you forget there's a dove on your head?' Saiki stood at Chono's side as he looked down at the white creature.
You questioned the same thing- surely the animal had rustled and moved around up there. "So, you weren't trying to tip me; you were trying to remind me. Waitâ does that mean... That you're a magician? That's how you knew she was up there." Saiki clenched his fist, a frown forming on his face. No, he was an esper. 'I should've kept walking.' Saiki lamented.
"With instincts that good, you must have hated my show." At least the green-haired man was right about one thing. Saiki had, in fact, hated the show, but he only had his powers to blame for that. "Maybe I'm not cut out for the magician game after all." Cue the sad music in the backgroundâ where did the sound even come from? Was there a hidden speaker somewhere in the park?
You were sure the universe had some sort of playlist, like a version of a 90s TV show's laughing track, the one that went off at the right moments. "Until a few months ago, I was your average office drone," Chono told the two of you, bowing his head as he sat on the park bench.
Hold it. You did not agree to listen to whatever existential crisis he had going on. "Then, I made a small mistake." Of course, you'd have to hear his sob story anyway. 'Oh, boy.' You sighed, waiting for the magician to get it all off his chest. "Corporate fat cats laid me off. Then, my wife skipped town."
Damn, homeboy was really going through it, alright. 'Is it too late to walk away?' Saiki questioned no one in particular, but you answered anyway. 'It is.'
"With no job, I couldn't pay the mortgage anymore. One little mistake and my career, wife and home had all disappeared, and then it dawned on me. I should become an illusionist." This was heartbreaking and all, but you had to wonder where he was going with this story. "Wait- what?" Was it you, or was Saiki's voice hot as fuâ No! Now was not the time!
"Because so many things had vanished from my life, I thought it must mean that disappearing them was my talent!" You nearly choked on your spit. Well, that took a turn. The plot twist gave you whiplash. Oh, dear. This poor man... somebody help slap some sense into him. "Your only talent is self-delusion," Saiki was rightâ the man needed a reality check.
"So, even though I had been offered another office job, I turned it down to start my new life doing street magic." At least Chono looked pumped about it all. "Again, what?" You were just as bewildered as Saiki was, questioning the green-haired man's logic. "If I can save up 1 million yen, I can buy the 'sawing a body' in half trickâ then, my wife is sure to come back!"
You shook your head in disappointment; the man had clearly lost his mind, another reason to add to the list of why not everyone should be allowed to procreate.
If left like this, he'd end up a victim of loan sharks or worse. "Don't be so sure," Saiki commented, and you almost thought he was talking to you. He was addressing both. Why would his wife come back if he did that? And how did Chono plan on raising that kind of cash when he had just lost his lovely assistant? "But then I wonder if I chose the wrong path."
'Yes, yes you did.' Saiki thought bluntly, and you agreed mentally. At least the magician finally saw clarity and the error in his ways. 'He needs to quit street magic and get a real job.' You thought back. "Sorry, didn't mean to get so gloomy." Chono apologised, looking up at the two of you.
'What'll it take for him to give up?' You pondered at Saiki's question, bringing your hand up to your chin to think. Maybe showing him an impossible illusion? If it was something he'd never be able to do, he'd quit. "Let's get back to your background as an illusionist and how you knew I had a dove up there." Chono gestured at his hat, and you watched realisation dawn on Saiki. Over what, you had no idea. 'That's it.'
You observed as Saiki wordlessly walked to stand directly parallel to Chono and you, pulling his school bag off his shoulders to hold it in front of him. "Whoa! Gonna pull something out of your bag?" Chono commented as you watched on.
Saiki held up his other hand as his eyes suddenly widened. You raised an eyebrow; this was the most expressive you'd seen him since he found out about your immunity. 'I'll do a trick that's so beyond his ability, he'll realise how far gone he is and give up.' Was that whyâ Did Saiki take inspiration from your thoughts? He did.
"You're gonna pull out... a dove!" Chono guessed before stating he could pull out a bowling ball himself. 'Hmph.' Saiki's stoic expression remained even if you could feel the smugness emanating from him. Then your eyes widened when he pulled out the hand that was rummaging inside his bag. Nothing could have prepared you for what the psychic did.
He pulled out Michael by the hat on his head, though the man looked like a scrunched-up piece of paper. Saiki placed the old man on the floor, and you watched Chono's eyes bulge from his socket as he gasped. Surely, that would be enough to get the aspiring magician to stop his foolish ways. If you didn't know of Saikis's abilities, you would have become a believer.
"That's impossible!" Chono exclaimed as he fell to his knees, his jaw still slacking. 'Aren't you supposed to say trĂšs bien? At least this will make him give up.' Saiki stated as he moved to walk away and turned his back to Chono. You tried not to stare at Saiki's dump truckâ and failed.
"Thank you. Now I can see. If your talent was hair, it'd be a flowing mane, while mine is just an eyelash." You stifled a laugh at the example Chono used, and who could blame you? 'I don't quite understand using hair for that metaphor, but at least he's finallyâ' Saiki didn't get to finish that thought when he turned his head; Chono had already left your side to kneel behind the psychic.
"Make me your apprentice." The scene reminded you of One Punch Man, where Genos asked Saitama to make him a disciple. 'Should've seen it coming.' You only gazed over Saiki's shoulder to watch Michael hold up a 500 yen coin, talking about how he was going to eat a hot cup of soup.
Maybe sticking around and missing the airing of that soap opera was worth itâ you had to admit, this was far more entertaining.
â” â” â” â” â” â”
Saiki may have walked the same way home as you, but his house came before yours. After the whole fiasco with the magician happened, and you realised your goal of not bumping into said psychic had failed, you chose not to take a detour but to walk with the guy instead.
No point wasting more time, you had reasoned. Your original plan to go home in hopes of catching the last few minutes of the TV show you wanted to watch was a bust because when you neared the Saiki household, you noticed Mrs Saiki standing outside the house in the front yard trimming bushes with gardening scissors.
Before you had a chance to make your getaway after greeting her, she exclaimed that it was far too late in the afternoon to walk home without eating, and even though you found her caring demeanour sweet, you weren't grateful for the sentiment when it meant spending more time with Saiki. He could still kill you, after all. He would never, not when you gave him coffee jelly.
Sure he hadn't done anything yet, but the man did threaten to smite you off this earth the last time you were in his house. Could anyone really blame you for wanting to keep your distance? Try as you might thoughâ you couldn't say no to the lovely woman who was Saiki's mother. Her smile threatened to blind you, and you didn't want to upset her by refusing.
Dinner with the Saikis was eventful, to say the least.
Mrs Saiki had ushered you inside quickly, but her son hadn't followed the two of you in. You didn't question it when she locked the front door. When he did step into the kitchen minutes later, he was followed by his dad.
Mr Saiki didn't acknowledge your existenceâ instead, he rushed over to his wife. "I can't believe you changed the locks on me again!" He complained, and you felt in that moment that you chose the wrong day to come over.
Were they having marital issues? You swore that the last time you were here they were getting along just fine. What had happened? "I hope you're hungry Ku-Ku. I'm making you breaded pork chops for dinner!" Mrs Saiki chose to ignore her husband, talking to her son instead as if the angry man behind her didn't exist.
"Hang onâ now you're choosing to ignore me? Besides, I told you I wanted to have steak tonight!" Mr Saiki pointed his finger at his wife before raising his arm up and down as if he was throwing a tantrumâ which he was. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgotâ but I can boil you a leather shoe." Mrs Saiki replied in a sickly sweet tone, turning back to her cooking. "I don't want a shoe, leather or not!"
You wanted to laugh but thought it wasn't the right time; you chose to snicker to yourself quietly from your seat on the sofa. 'I wonder when it went wrong for them. they used to be so passionate.'Â You watched on as Mr Saiki claimed his hate for his wife was as wide and deep as the Pacific Ocean, and she retorted by saying she hated him like a fish hated air.
Why did you have to be caught in the middle of this? 'Well, they're still passionate now, but it's a little different.' Saiki was not helping you keep a straight face; his commentary was genuinely the only thing keeping you going.
When the food was ready, you took up the seat next to Saiki at the dining table, staying silent as you dug into the rice with your chopsticks. "Gorge yourself, Â guysâ I made a ton!" Mrs Saiki said with a smile on her face. "Hey, hey, hey! Hey!" Mr Saiki stood up from his seat at the dining table, slapping his hand on the surface like an angry restaurant customer.
You couldn't blame the guy; you and Saiki had gotten pork chops for dinner. Mr Saiki, however, had received a leather shoe filled to the brim with rice, garnished with gravy on top and chopsticks placed inside it. "Is it good, Ku? Y/nâ Oh, honey, would you like something else?" Mrs Saiki gave a closed-eyed grin to her husband, who stood in front of her. "No, because I bet it's just the other shoe."
"Bon Appetit!" Saiki's dad had guessed right; it was another shoe, but it was a blue sneaker. "That's not even from the same pair!" You watched steam flow out of the shoe, wondering how this situation was real. You felt like you had been sucked into some comedy show. 'They've been going at each other for a year.'Â Your eyebrows shot up at Saiki's revelation, watching on as the couple argued.
Mr Saiki gave up on trying to get his partner to be civil, turning to his son with the cooked leather shoe in his hand. "Hey, Kusuoâ use your powers to turn this old shoe into a steak for Daddy." Saiki's thoughts flooded into your brain, stopping you from hearing his dad's rambling.
'So, in case you forgot, this pathetic dude's my dad, Kuniharu Saiki. He's lazy and irresponsibleâ and asks for help with everything in his life. But surprise, surprise, the more I help, the more useless he gets. So, lately, I've stopped doing him any favours.'Â Wow, Saiki sure was cold, dissing his father like it was nothing.
'I guessed all that alreadyâ Who are you talking to?'
'The audience.'
'...Stop breaking the fourth wall, please.'
Your only reply was a side eye from the psychic, which you ignored as you took another bite of rice. You observed as Mr Saiki stopped rambling as he realised his son wasn't going to listen to him. "What?! How dare you take your mother's side in this?! Do you have any idea how many shoes I have to lick each day to buy that food you're eating now?!!" Mr Saiki shouted, and you silently watched as Saiki continued to eat his food quietly with no change in his expression.
"So, you do like to eat shoes?" You guessed that much was enough for his father to realise his son wasn't going to lift a finger to help. Mr Saiki gave in, "Alright, I'll eat itâ" He shovelled the rice into his mouth after he picked up the plate only to shoot up out of his seat seconds later, "It stinks! What did you do to this shoe?! Are you trying to poison your father?!" Mr Saiki exclaimed at his son.
"I'm pretty sure that's how they always smell, dummy," Saiki commented, still eating his rice. You watched as Mrs Saiki addressed her son when he put his bowl down, a shining bright aura around her. Where did that bright light come from? "Hey, Ku? Now, just remember what I've always said. Please don't use your powers for evil."
'This is my mom, Kurumi Saiki.' Mrs Saiki clasped her hand around her son's, "You must only use your powers to help those in need. Or those people who you're certain are genuinely niceâ"
'She's a big reason why I haven't let my gifts turn me to the dark side.'
'Is that a Star Wars reference?'
Saiki ignored your questionâ continuing his not-so-inner monologue, 'She's a caring soulâ well, to me.' You were taken aback when the sweet air around Mrs Saiki changed to something sinister. "âBut, feel free to use your powers to hurt Daddy." This whole situation was getting more and more preposterous. 'She kinda has a dark side herself.' You could see that.
Mrs Saiki seemed to notice her husband scoffing down Saiki's food when she was distracted around the same time you did, and you watched as she slowly turned and her expression shifted from a smile to a cold glare. "Stop eating Kusuo's dinner, you thieving son of biâh!" Mrs Saiki looked extremely pissed off, a tick mark appearing on her face. Hang onâ she knew how to swear?!
You felt sorry for Mr Saiki, but there was no way you'd get involved; you didn't want his wife to aim her anger at you instead. "That's it! We're taking this outside!" She shouted, and you had to admit the situation was getting interesting. Who would win? Your bets were on Saiki's mom.
'In truth, I could break up this fight whenever I feel like it, but this is something they're going to have to work out themselves.' Did he think things at you on purpose even though he could just not talk to you? You didn't want to admit it, but the idea made something inside you churn. Were the two of you closer than you realised?
You watched Saiki's attention shift from the brawl to the dessert that was placed near him on the dining table when the food was laid out. 'Hm? Coffee-flavoured jelly? ...Hmm, doesn't taste badâ earthy with a slightly citrus finish. Don't let the name fool youâ this jelly is a mature, dignified treat.'
You couldn't pay attention to Saiki fangirling over the dessert, too busy watching Mrs Saiki handle her husband like she was some WWE fighter and he was her opponent. She put him in all types of chokeholds before raising him over her head, preparing to throw him. Was now a good time to take your chance and sneak away?
'Better still, when you add just a splash of whole milk, it becomes an entirely new flavoured sensation,'Â Saiki continued to eat the coffee jelly, turning away from his parents to take another bite, 'âand that hint of decadence is everything I ask for in my dessert.'
When you looked back at Saiki, you froze. The fight was long forgotten as you watched the corners of his mouth lift. You realised then, that was the first time you had seen Saiki smile. You didn't want to admit it, but he suited him. Really well, too well, actually.
Saiki didn't get to eat any more of his treat because when he raised his hand to his mouth to consume another spoonful, Mrs Saiki launched her husband across the room, and he crashed into his son, which forced the jelly-filled utensil out of the psychic's hand. You watched the jelly fall from the Saiki's hand in slow motion until you saw a flash of pink.
Saiki had managed to catch the dessert in his mouth before it fell on the carpet. He was now on the floor, and you couldn't help but think about what you had done for the universe to force you to stay at the Saiki household during this whole fiasco.
"You wanted to eat jelly that bad?" Mr Saiki had gotten up, whereas Saiki was still on his stomach on the ground, chewing what was in his mouth. "Forget the jellyâ We got bigger problems! Your mothers turned into a monster!" Your eyes travelled to where Mr Saiki was pointing, thinking he was exaggerating.
He wasn'tâ Mrs Saiki's face had transformed into what could only be described as a Japanese Onii mask from folklore. "Stop running from me, you coward." Even her voice had changed as if she had been possessed. Oh, dear. "You've got to stop her! You're my only hope to stop her reign of terror. Do it! Slay the demon!" You wanted to run your hands down your face in exasperation, but you couldn't bring yourself to look away.
Mrs Saiki let out a demonic laugh as she grabbed onto the dining table. "You're not leaving 'til I say so!" She exclaimed before she raised the furniture above her head to throw it at her husbandâ how had the food not slid off? You wanted to leave but didn't want to incur Mrs Saiki's wrath. Mr Saiki tried to shield himself by bringing his arms up to cover his face as he closed his eyes. "Ahhh! Oh god! Ahâ Huh?"
When he opened his eyes, Mr Saiki realised the table was floating above his head, all thanks to Saiki using his psychokinesis. "Hey, Kusuo!" Saiki's father went from shocked to smug, smirking as he realised he'd been saved. 'I've got the weirdest parents, I don't really care about stopping another pointless fight, but I can't help myself.' At least Saiki had stepped in, lest the house gets trashed and you get dragged into the war.
"So now you're on your dad's side? But I even made you pork chops!" Mrs Saiki's face was finally back to normal, her voice too, and you let out a sigh of relief. You were still confused by Saiki's comment. 'Why do I say it's pointless? Just wait.'
"I want nothing to do with either of you again!" When Mrs Saiki's voice flooded into your brain, you nearly jumped. 'That's a lie. Truth is, I love them!' Your head whipped to look at Saiki's back, guessing he must have used his powers on you. At least he had helped clear your confusion.
You couldn't help but wonder why she was lying, why she wasn't honest about her true feelings. What was the point of this fight again? 'No matter how hard they try, the voices in their hearts always bubble up. In other words, all these fights they haveâ are a sham.'
Your brain hurtâ because trying to wrap your head around why the couple was acting like they despised each other when they didn't was nothing short of difficult. You rubbed at your temples, Saiki using another power you weren't used to had gotten to you. When Mr Saiki claimed he hated his wife and son, his inner thoughts told you he just wanted to snuggle.
They fought on the surface, but the voices in your head told you that they were just complimenting each other internally. 'Like I said, another pointless fight. There is one person here who has real reason to be upset, meâ'
'Don't forget me, buddy. I didn't ask to be dragged into this.'
'âThose weirdos interrupted my dessert. I guess only a psychic can fix this.'
Mr and Mrs Saiki stopped arguing when they started saying they loved each other telepathically. You watched in amusement as they started blushing, getting confused as to why they could hear each other. Realisation dawned on them as they turned to their son, "Kusuo!" They both exclaimed.
'Forced shared telepathy. I used my psychic powers to link their minds at the neural level. In other words, thanks to me, they can now hear each other's thoughts.' Even though it was late, you were somewhat grateful he explained to you how you could hear what his parents were thinking.
Mr and Mrs Saiki told their son to stop his powers because they didn't want the other to realise they were still in love. What a disaster. At least the fighting had stopped. You watched the psychic's parents go from being embarrassed to pronouncing their adoration for each other.
With a hand on his wife's waist, Mr Saiki declared that he loved her, and she did the same. Where had the flowers surrounding them come from? 'Cool. The end.' Saiki deadpanned. Finally, the fighting was over.
While his parents apologised to each other profusely, Saiki went back to his seat at the dining table to finish his dessert. You sat across from him, relieved that the war in his living room had passed. 'What a pain. Normal people are complicated. At least now I can finish my dessert in peace.' This time around, when Saiki smiled, you had the chance to properly observe it.
He looked handsome, you had to admit. You knew the man was attractive, but he looked 100x better when he was showing normal emotions. It was over dessert, but still! Did Saiki have a sweet tooth? Would he smile again if you got him something from the bakery? You shook your head, choosing to find interest in the furniture around the psychic's house.
You didn't know how to feel when you found out that the fight started when Mrs Saiki ate her husband's coffee jelly, overhearing the conclusion of their argument. Was all of that because of some dessert? This was ridiculous.
You gazed on as Saiki's expression fell when Saiki's mom twirled over to her son and snatched the coffee jelly the psychic was eating right out of his hand so she could present it to Mr Saiki. Saiki's smile was replaced by a dark expression as he stared at his hand where his snack had just been.
Oh, no... He was super angry. You ignored the man's father, claiming the dessert was a mature, dignified treat, rummaging through your school bag to find what you needed.
The rumbling of the windows in the Saiki household stopped when you placed the bag on the floor beside your seat and used your hand to slide the coffee jelly you fished out onto Saiki's side of the table. It only took the psychic a few seconds to realise what exactly it was in front of him, and you grinned.
What could you say? The guy looked cute when he was confused. Burdened with the knowledge of how powerful he was, you sometimes forgot that the man sitting across from you was like any other human.
After a beat, he made eye contact with you, and you swore you saw his eyes sparkle. Your smile dropped in slight shock, your lips parting.
"Coffee jelly?"
You gulped, catching your bearings, too distracted to realise he had used his actual voice to talk.
"Yeah, I forgot to eat it at lunchâ you can have it, Kusuo."
When you called him by his first name without thinking, having heard it so many times today from his parentsâ you thought he'd complain. Instead, Saiki grabbed the treat and gingerly peeled back the seal before digging in, a soft smile gracing his face again. You ignored the weird feeling that washed over your heart.
Maybe the psychic wasn't all that bad.
â” â” â” â” â” â”
When night fell, you headed up to Saiki's room. The psychic knew of your inner turmoil of not being able to catch the show you wanted to watch and said his mom had most likely recorded the pilot episode before you two had reached his house. 'I'm only doing this because I don't want to owe you for that coffee jelly.' That was fair; you couldn't fault a man who kept up with his debts.
Grabbing the cassette from his living room, Saiki walked past you and up the stairs. When you stood in confusion, expecting to watch it on the living room TV, he turned to tilt his head toward his bedroom as if telling you to follow him.
'Hurry up. Before I change my mind.'
That is how you found yourself seated on Saiki's bed, with him sitting in the chair he had pulled from his desk, right in front of the television.
He had left the room earlier to change into more suitable clothes: a white sweatshirt with blue sleeves and brown pants. This was the first time you had seen him in casual clothesâwhen he kidnapped you to interrogate you in your first real meeting, he hadn't bothered to change out of his school uniform. You had to admit that even though he didn't have an eye for colour coordination, he still managed to pull it off.
Truth be told, you were disappointed. The show didn't live up to the promotions you had seen all over social media the past week. You were expecting a love story starring Mikoto Teruhashi. Was it you, or was that name familiar?
What you got was some twisted joke of a romance. The female lead's family died in a car crash, she got cheated on with her sister no less, and she got married to a stranger to save her family only to find out that her ex-boyfriend didn't sleep with another woman; she had walked in on his long-lost twin brother instead. All in one episode.
You felt like you had whiplash with all those plot twists, and honestly, what a letdownâ you expected better writing. Sighing, you shifted yourself on Saiki's bed when you felt pins and needles assault your feet. You chose to cross your legs, yawning into your hand. Was now a good time to go home?
"Is binge-watching shows your favourite pastime?" You asked, trying to make conversation between the infomercials. It was better than telling him immediately that you wanted to leave after he went through the trouble of doing you a favour. "I like watching TV. It's one of the few things that can surprise me. I don't know what's coming next because I can't hear the actor's thoughts." The psychic replied.
"Makes sense." You nodded, not really knowing what to say next. "Speaking of next, that new mystery show's supposed to start soon." Saiki moved to sit with one leg on his chair, his arm resting on his knee for support. You nearly lost your mind when he used his index finger to change the channel.
Oh, yeahâ he's a psychic; of course, he could do that, you thought, ignoring that your brain had decided to short-circuit on you. "Tonight, you will witness a miracle!" Sure, you heard the host of the TV show talk, but his words didn't quite reach you, too busy looking at his fingers and wondering what else they coâ Dear, lord, you needed to go outside and touch the grass, hug a tree, probably both.
Clearing your throat and trying your best to practice self-awareness, you turned to the TV screen, a mixture of green and maroon pixels coming together slowly as the cameraman zoomed in. No way... that man in the distance looked too familiar for your liking. It couldn't be. "What." Saiki mirrored your shock, his eyes widening as he leaned forward in his seat. The host on the TV continued. "A stupendous amazing illusion performed by the former homeless man turned master magician, Uryoko Chono!"
"Now that's TrĂšs Bien!" Chono said through the screen, and you watched Saiki's face deadpan. "What did I tell you about TV surprising me?" You didn't have a witty reply for him this timeâ far too stunned that the magician from that afternoon had managed to get his own segment on live TV mere hours after you met him.
Was that even possible? Then again, after the month you'd had, was there any point in questioning what was and wasn't achievable? "After losing it all, he became a street magician and mastered tricks that others can only dream of!" The host came into viewâ a mic in his hand, as he praised the green-haired man beside him. You brought a hand up to hold your head, baffled into silence.
"But this isn't just a surprise; it's unbelievable. How is a man who almost killed his dove good enough to be on TV?" Even you didn't know the answer to that. You would've broken the fourth wall and asked the writer in your desperation if Saiki hadn't done it one too many times during his parents' argument. Too bad, even the author of this fanfic doesn't know.
You watched as the pink-haired psychic stared at the screen, gobsmacked. "You might wanna close your mouth, flies will get in. Never mind thatâ we just saw him before. How's he gotten on TV so soon?"
"Blame the author; it's for plot convenience." Finding out your guess was correct brought you anything but relief. You exhaled in exasperation, a new headache forming in your skull. "There you go, breaking the fourth wall again." You commented, shaking your head as you tutted at him. "What I'm attempting tonight is the most dangerous escape you'll ever see!" Chono's voice coming from the TV filled the room.
Your face slowly lost its colour as they showed snippets of what was to come. A box, chains, then knives, followed by a drop, fire andâ was that a bulldozer?! You were sure of it now; the green-haired magician was toast. "No way he's this good." Saiki had taken your advice and shut his mouth; it was no longer hanging open. You side-eyed him from the bed, "He's a goner."
"But live or not, they'd never put someone on TV that might get hurt, right?" You shook your head to yourself; they wouldâ they had. "Don't be too sure. If he dies, the show's view count will skyrocket." You could already see the hashtags trending on Twitter X.
The camera panned to the magician in question. "As you can see, folks, Chono's hands and feet are both shackled. As he makes his way to the crateâ Oh no, he fell!" You observed as Chono faceplanted and kissed the floor. Was this second-hand embarrassment you felt? "Just a trip; he should be fine."Â You weren't sure you fully believed that statement, and by the sound of it, neither did Saiki.
"He's safely inside the box. And now, Mr Michealâ Chono's formerly homeless assistant, will lock him in." You could only watch on in horror as realisation dawned over the magician's face, and he exclaimed to waitâ that he wasn't ready. You didn't like where this was going. From the tricks you had seen that afternoon, you highly doubted that the green-haired man could pull this off. He wasn't going to make it.
"Him screaming isn't a good sign. Neither is all that banging he's doing." Saiki's face paled at the implication. "Thank you for that, Captain obvious." The psychic only glared at you, and you were too busy biting your fist while watching the TV to notice. The host told the audience that Chono only had 5 minutes to escape or the box would be destroyed with him in it. The camera cut to a shot of the timer counting down.
"I'm sceptical he can do this." So were you. There was only 3 minutes left. "Should I help? I don't even think I can. I'm not close enough to jump in and save him without being seen." You were on the edge of your seat.
Two minutes left. "Then again, if he fails, he dies, and I can't have that happen." You imagined what was to come, the TV announcing that Chono was burning alive inside the crate.
"It would ruin my night." You swore the psychic was just talking to himself at that point. At least Saiki cared; the boy did have a heart, after all. The pink-haired psychic stood up from where he was sitting on the chair. "If he fails, the footage would cut into my mystery showâ" You took your statement back; he was heartless. "Is there a way to teleport in without getting on TV? ...Yes. The one place the camera can't find meâ inside the box itself."
With that, Saiki was gone. He vanished into thin air; and when your mind finally caught up with the fact that he could teleport, you guessed he was now inside the box. At least he was doing something, even if his heart wasn't quite in the right place. You just hoped he didn't get himself caught.
All alone in the room, you could only keep your eyes glued to the screen, waiting with bated breath. 'Kusuo?' You hoped he could hear you over everyone else's thoughts, hoped he was within range. He did, and he was.
'He's not here.'
You breathed a sigh of relief when you heard his voice reverberate in your head. Then, his words hit you.
'What do you mean he's not there?!'
'...He really has gotten better. I mean he's not here, L/nâ the banging was coming from a CD player.'
So Chono hadn't even been inside the box when they chained it up? Why wasn't Saiki back then? There was no point in him staying there. The 5-minute timer was up, and you watched Michael come into view, struggling to hold the swords he was about to pierce the crate with.
'Hurry, Kusuoâ you need to come back.' You winced at the heavy concern lacing your voiceâ thought?
'I can't. I have to think fast; I can't just teleport back out. Th at power needs to be recharged for 3 minutes before I can use it again.'
You watched as the magician's assistant started to put the swords in one by one. 'Oh, crap.' 17 more to go.
'You still there?'
You couldn't help but stress when he didn't respond. Chewing on your bottom lip, you tried not to think about the cold sweat at the idea of Saiki not making it out. 3 swords left. How did Saiki plan to survive this one?
'Yeah. No one couldâ except me. I dislocated almost every joint in my body.'
With just a few words from Saiki, you felt like a boulder had been lifted off your shoulders. The relief you felt was short-lived, though, as dread pooled inside your stomach at his words.
'Are you okay?!'
'I'm not gonna lieâ it hurts.'
You wracked your brain to try to find a way to help him, but you came up empty. Sure, you wanted nothing to do with him, but you weren't comfortable knowing he was in pain. Why? You had no idea. You chose to blame common human decency, but the feeling of your heart sinking suggested otherwise.
You watched as the TV crew hooked a line to the crate before it was announced that a crane would lift it and drop it from a 30-metre height. You raised your hands to cover your face because you weren't sure you wanted to see, only for you to move your fingers so you could peer at the screen seconds later.
'The only way to avoid certain death... is...' You watched the crate collide with the floor, the bottom of it crumpling from the impact. '...To jump. Flawless timing.'
You stopped tensing, visibly relaxing, when you heard Saiki in your head again, never more grateful than now for his telepathy. He managed to save himself again, and you hadn't appreciated his powers more than in that moment. After the dust from the crash settled, the host on TV announced that the box would be set on fire. You furrowed your eyebrowsâ did they really need to go that far? It was too much overkill, in your opinion.
'Didn't even get a chance to catch my breath. At least with all the hot weather lately, I've been able to hone my psychic powers over temperature.' You honestly didn't know how to feel when the support crew doused the crate in gasoline, lit a match and set the box alightâ only for the host of the show to reveal that fire wasn't the final boss.
'There's more?'
How was he planning on getting out in time when he hadn't passed his 3-minute limitation over teleportation? Waitâ how had the crew managed to do so much damage in that time window? The host confirmed your fears when they brought in a yellow steamroller. No wayâ were they planning to run over the box and flatten it completely, with Saiki still inside?!
You watched the stream roller reverse and then drive over the box, crushing it under its wheels. You watched silently, your heart beating out of your chest in worry. The host asked the audience how anyone could survive inside the boxâ until lights turned on behind him, showcasing Chono.
"Hold on, who is that I see? It's the miraculous illusionist himself, Uryoko Chono! He's alive!" The crowd went wild, breaking out into applause and screams at the trick. You couldn't care less! Where was Saiki?! Was he okay?!!
'How annoying. His wasn't the only great escape, but I got lucky. The soil was extra soft.'
It was your turn to go radio silent.
'...Did you dig a hole like some groundhog?'
You were just happy he was safe. God forbid you had to live with the fact that Saiki died and you had witnessed it. Then again, he was an all-powerful psychicâ what did you expect? Of course, he'd make it out alive.
'I know. I said I liked TV because it can still surprise meâ but this is too much.' You couldn't help but snort at the comment; his dry humour was growing on you. Saiki was right; the amount of turmoil the day involved was not something you had mentally prepared yourself to handle. Exhaustion took over you, and you let yourself fall back onto Saiki's bed.
Was Saiki's life always like this? Downright disastrous to the point where it was funny? You kinda felt sorry for him. "TrĂšs Bien, right?" Chono exclaimed when the host stated that the escape was great. You exhaled, placing your hands on your stomach and trying to relax.
"Hey, stick around for what's nextâ" Your head shot up, recognising the voice from the countless trailers you had seen for months plastered every time you opened an app. It was the male lead of the new mystery show everyone was looking forward to.
Your mind worked at a million miles per hour, and you were sure there were drawings of algebra floating around you. Saiki was a psychic, and if he was near the new show's star, he'd no doubt hear spoilers from the actor.
'Kusuo, come back.'
'I can't; I still have 13 seconds to go.'
Great. The show he was looking forward to, the reason he went to save Chono, would be spoilt because he chose to be a good human being. All because the lead actor was around, and of course, the guy knew what was to comeâ he had just finished filming it.
You made a decision then, one you knew you'd regret. Concentrating on controlling your breathing, you forced your mind to go blank. Then you imagined Saiki at the park he had transported to so he could save a certain magician.
You clenched your jaw. Saiki wasn't too far away, and if you used your immunity on him, it'd work, right? You had to try, at least. You reached out your hand in your mind, and when it came into contact with his shoulder, you saw what you were looking for.
The familiar thin white strings, millions of them shooting off from his temples in all different directions and disappearing into the distance when your eyes tried to follow them. You had no doubt they were the strings that connected Saiki's mind to anyone in a 200-metre radius.
With your hand still on Saiki, you imagined the actor who starred in the show's premiere as the love interest. That's when you found the thin line connecting the two, all the others melting in front of you as you forced yourself to focus. You had to hurry; you didn't have much time.
"The world premiere of a mystery called, 'Love Fantasy.'" You tried to dismiss the voice of the actor; he sounded like he was speaking from right next to you, and damn it, if his yapping wasn't as distracting as it felt. "My character will try to uncover the mystery of his girlfriend's death."
You clenched your jaw at the pain invading your skull, ignoring it as you reached out, using your index and middle finger as make-shift scissors, closing the two to cut the string. All the while, you questioned why you had chosen to use your talents for the psychic. Oh, yeahâ it was because you felt bad for the guy.
The headache you experienced for the better half of the day skyrocketed when you opened your eyes. Damn, it hurt. You wished you had stayed on Saiki's bed.
As your vision began to swim, a familiar wave of nausea hit you. You felt the ground shift beneath you, unable to do anything as you realised you would fall face-first into Saiki's table. You hoped it wouldn't bruise. Closing your eyes, you braced for impact, expecting pain.
When it didn't come, you forced your eyelids to open, using the last ounce of energy you had left. Why did they have to feel so heavy? You still couldn't see clearly, but what you could tell was that someone had caught you before you kissed Saiki's carpet.
Your body was limp; try as you might, you couldn't get your limbs to listen to you. It hurt to breathe; the sharp pain in your ribs ensured that. You couldn't even raise your head to see who had caught you. Was it Saiki's dad? Had to be.
"...od grief... what happene..." You strained your ears to hear whoever was talking to you, to no avail. You scrunched your eyes shut when another wave of nausea hit you. You felt yourself getting picked up before being placed on something soft. The bed?
You took in sharp breaths, trying to ease the pain. No such luck. When you felt a hand on your forehead, you opened and squinted your eyes to see. Even with your fuzzy vision, you knew you recognised the pink you saw.
'Kusuo?' You thought at the psychic, hoping you had guessed right. 'Yes?' The relief that filled you when the pain seemed to ease at the sound of Saiki's voice in your headâ was incomparable.
'Is that you?' A brief pause followed, and he answered before you could think of anything else. 'Who else? How did this happen?'Â Right, stupid question to ask. You closed your eyes again, assuming he asked about your deteriorating condition. 'I used nullification on you.'
Silence followed for a few seconds, and you missed Saiki's voice inside your brain. 'Why?'Â Was all he had asked, and you looked at him. You could see his face clearly now, and if you didn't feel like you would throw up the food Mrs Saiki had made for you earlier, you were sure you'd be flushed.
He was so closeâ you could feel his exhales fan your neck. You noticed the faint wrinkle in between his eyebrows. You returned to looking at his eyes, trying to name the emotion. Worry. 'Because you were looking forward to watching the show, and that actor would have spoilt it by accident.'
You shut your lids, feeling sheepish when you said it aloud; it wasn't like it was your job to care to begin withâ but you did, and you couldn't understand why. That question would have to wait; first, you had to get better.
You didn't see Saiki move so much as you felt it. The moment he tried to lift himself off you, your stomach churned, and Saiki halted altogether. Your tense muscles relaxed as the pain dulled with the psychic's gesture. You opened your eyes to look at him, finding him looking at you already.
Granted, the pain wasn't as bad as the last few times, but you still appreciated the action. He broke the silence first, the staring contest between you two along with it as he looked away. 'Good grief. Stop doing troublesome things.' Was all he replied with, and you had half a mind to furrow your eyebrows in disbelief when you realised he was referring to your last comment to him. Your lips parted to shoot a retort at him, and that's when you saw it.
The corners of his mouth twitched. You almost thought it was a trick of the light in your peripherals until you looked at his lips.
Utterly shell-shocked, your mouth gaped open at the sight. Was Saiki smiling at you? Where was the coffee jelly? It was gone with a flash, replaced by his iconic deadpan. 'I was not.' He totally was! What a tsundereâ not even able to admit that some part of him was low-key touched that you had done something for him out of consideration. 'I'm not touched; what you did was stupid. You have a fever.' You could only huff at Saiki's statement with the last of your energy.
'Yeah, that's normal. I mean, you're the most powerful psychic out there, and another person was involved.' You shouldn't have expected anything less. Turning off your immunity to using your nullification and severing a connection between two people was a giant leap. When Saiki didn't respond, you couldn't help the thought that came to mind. 'So if two plus two is four, and five plus five is ten, then...'
Saiki's eyes narrowed once he registered your words. 'I want you to know I only tolerate that reference because you're sick. You didn't even get it right.' You chuckled softly at his comment, ribs not yet ready for a full laugh. Lips stretching into a grin from his leniency or his last statement, you weren't sure. Your cheeks hurt, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. That was until you realised how cold you felt, shivering when goosebumps appeared over your arms.
You hadn't felt like this since childhood, but could you be surprised at your situation? Especially when it involved the world's most potent psychic to ever live. It was no surprise that the fevers you experienced as a child when Saiki was running around changing human biology with crazy hair colours would make a comeback. You went back to rest your eyes.
You were in no position to retaliate when Saiki picked you up and transported the two of you into your bedroom. The familiar feeling of your mattress helped relax your body some more.
'I'm leaving the second I can transport again.'
You said nothing as the pink-haired boy quickly tucked you under the covers and placed a cold compress on your forehead. He waited until your hand was secured to it before he backed away.
You half expected him to kiss your forehead like you had seen in all the romance manga you had readâ where the female lead got sick, and the male lead took care of her. No kiss was exchanged, to your disappointment.
'Thank you.' That was all you could think of him, not knowing what other way to express your gratitude. He was silent for a bit, then he turned his back to you, and just like that, he was gone. You sighed, running a hand through your hairâ what a day.
You were too busy dealing with your inner turmoil to realise that Saiki had stayed for more than three minutes.
â” â” â” â” â” â”
Nothing had changed the next day at schoolâ and you were glad for it somewhat. You had thought things between you and Saiki would be awkward.
They weren't; when he saw you that morning, all he had done was nod at you, acknowledging your existence before he turned to face the blackboard at the front of the class. You ignored your disappointment; it's not like you expected him to be your best friend or something.
When the school bell signalled the end of the academic day, you got ready to pack your things and leave. That was until you noticed a light blue-haired boy walking up to Saiki, who was in front of you, also shoving his books in his bag so he could make his getaway. Too late.
"Guess what? I've been summoned." You deadpanned at Kaidou's statement, something you were sure you picked up from Saiki. Was he rubbing off on you? Nah, no way. Not possible. "If I told you why, I'd have to kill you both."
Your expression relaxed when Kaidou's eyes met yours, and you gave him a confused smile, signalling one thing. 'I have no idea what you're on about.' You watched as the blue-haired boy puffed his chest like some peacock.
"But for now, let's just say the world's in store for some pretty big changes." With that, Kaidou waddled away like some penguin. What was with that walk, and why were his hips swaying side to side as he continued down the hallway? Shakira, es tu? PK couture, you mused to yourselfâ he was going for a catwalk.
"What? Did he make a friend?" Saiki asked, and you were surprised when he turned his head to the right to make eye contact with you. You looked back at him, still leaning half your body out of the classroom with your hands on the door frame. You simply shrugged your shoulders before the both of you gazed at where Kaidou had turned the corner.
When Saiki moved forward in the same direction, you took a step toward him. "Where are you going?" You asked, mind already guessing the answer. Saiki looked over his shoulder at you, "I'm going after him because I'm curious." He stated before continuing down the hallway. You decided you were too, so you followed in tow.
The two of you spotted Kaidou not long after. The light blue-haired boy walked to the doors leading to the storage room on the second floor. He whipped his head around to see if anyone else was about. You didn't expect what came next; you were caught off guard when Saiki pulled on your arm to hide the two of you behind a wall.
You saw a flash of pink before you were brought face to face with the guy's chest, and when you looked up, you realised he was staring down at you. Damn, he had a sharp jawline. If you didn't know any better, you'd think Saiki was sculpted by the likes of Micheal Angelo himself. You felt your ears burn and chose to ignore them. Why did he have to be so close, and why was he caging you against the wall?
"It'll be troublesome if he sees us,"Â Saiki stated as he stepped away from you. You shook your head to eliminate the thoughts swirling through your mind before the two of you peered at the blue-haired boy from your hidden spot. "Thurisaz, isaz, hagalaz, sowilo, gebo, fehu." You couldn't help but think Kaidou sounded like he was summoning a demon. Was it that Jet Black Wings nonsense again?
When the door opened, the light blue-haired boy walked in. Saiki left your side and started to walk over to the door where Kaidou had been moments earlier. You followed soon after, and you strained your ears to hear what was happening in the room.
The following 5 minutes were nothing but painful. You heard two voices; one was Kiadou's, and the other, you guessed, was a student who must have been his friend.
You and Saiki listened as the blue-haired boy claimed it was hard to believe that he used to be part of the Dark Reunion before he figured out that the organisation was evil, went rogue, performed some technique when he got cornered and managed to transmigrate into Shun Kaidou's body when he was unborn.
Was this someâ sort of weird realistic roleplay? Sure, having his fantasies come true through acting was nice, but you weren't sure it was a good idea to spur on his delusions. Kaidou was too far gone already. His 'friend' told him they would do anything to help Kaidou regain his memories because his power was needed.
Who was 'they'? You couldn't help but question the whole situation. Something about it felt sketchy. Kaidou seemed to have the same thought, wondering who his friend was referring to.
Apparently, there were four other phantoms in the room. It got weirder and weirder. You had to give it to both of them; you wouldn't have been able to keep a straight face if you were in there to save your life. The 'friend' claimed that if Kaidou couldn't see them, he could never help.
Kaidou jumped to try and save face, saying he could see the phantoms. What a joke. You weren't so curious anymore; now you just wanted to leave. You stopped paying attention to the conversation until you heard the 'friend' exclaim, "Stop!" followed by, "Mannaz, ingwaz, wunjo!"
Great, someone else who liked to talk in gibberish. You cringed when you heard Kaidou's friend state that the Dark Reunion had gotten into the room and killed the four phantoms. Since when could phantoms die? Wasn't all of this too much? You had to commend the 'friend' at leastâ for staying in character so long.
The friend stated they needed to create a barrier to protect them before telling Kaidou to place all metal objects into the bag since it would interfere. Now, things were getting interesting. When Kaidou asked if the change had to be given as well, that's when the realisation hit.
The whole thing was a scam. That kid was trying to steal all of Kaidou's money under the guise of roleplay! What was worseâ was that the poor blue-haired boy believed the whole thing was real. The only thing Kaidou actually got out of the charade was losing his wallet. Poor guy didn't even get to take his train pass back. This new friend of his was pure evil.
'Good grief.' You heard Saiki think at you, 'Good grief, indeed.'
The 'friend' told Kaidou that the Jet Black Wings was a saviour and to come back at the same time tomorrow. Something about not forgetting to do the sworn ally absolution. Panic engulfed you when you heard the doorknob turn.
Looking left to right hurriedly, you barely had a chance to notice that Saiki wrapped a hand around your waist and teleported you inside the room. When your gaze refocused, you realised you were behind some sort of curtain. You had no idea why Saiki didn't decide to handle things on his own, instead opting to take you with him.
'Why couldn't you have just left me out there? I don't want to get involvedâ' You stopped mid-thought when Saiki looked down at you and glared. The audacity he had! To not only drag you into this mess but to shut you down when you rightfully complained? Meanie. You huffed to yourself in annoyance but stayed quiet nonetheless.
You proceeded to fold your arms over your chest, only to realise that in your exasperation, you hadn't noticed Saiki was still holding onto you. He stepped away, putting distance between you two the second the thought crossed your mind, something you tried not to be hurt over. Why? You didn't quite understand yourself.
You didn't have time to ponder anything else; the guy who scammed Kaidou stole your attention when he spoke up from behind the curtain. "That guy and his stupid fantasies are the best thing ever. He couldn't tell the absolution was my homework! All I had to do was play along with him. I even got the idiot to give me his wallet!" What a disaster. Poor Kaidou got ripped off and taken advantage of, all because of his love for make-believe.
'What a pain. Kaidou, as your one friend, I'm telling youâ do a better job choosing your other friends.'Â The exasperation in Saiki's voice was palpable. How would you break the news to the poor blue-haired boy? That his new friend was a good-for-nothing liar.
The sad excuse of a swindler was still gushing over how he had tricked Kaidou, and you could only shake your head. Would dumping the truth work better? Or hinting at it? Saiki already had a plan in mind, you realised, as the lights turned off in the room. "What the? Who did that?" The scammer asked.
"Dark reunion."
What happened to the guy in glasses next was not spoken of after.
When Kaidou dragged the both of you to the same room the day after, saying to keep it a secret no matter whatâ the whole place was trashed, and the words dark reunion were plastered on the wall. The graffiti had been your handiwork.
â” â” â” â” â” â”
"Hey buddy, ready for the beach? I was walking by, and I saw the last name Saiki on the mailbox, so I figured this must be where ol' Kusuo lives." Nendou stood on the step to Saiki's household, explaining himself as he pointed at the mailbox behind him, a blow-up dolphin in his other hand. He was dressed for the day, clad in a red shirt with floral patterns and shorts.
You made eye contact with Saiki only to get a glare back. You looked off to the side, feeling like you were in trouble. 'Why are you here?' He thought at you, and what an excellent question, indeed. If only you had stayed home, Nendou wouldn't have spotted you on the streets and dragged you along for a day by the seaside. You looked to Saiki again, 'I didn't choose to come here of my own free will.'
You were still somewhat peeved that you didn't get a say in the matter. Nendou had assumed a yes from you and decided for himself that you would accompany him, dragging you by the arm down the streets of your peaceful little town. You hadn't paid much attention to where he was taking you until he neared Saiki's neighbourhood, and before you could steer him in a different direction, he noticed a name on a mailbox. The rest was history.
"Kuâ Kuâ Kusuo, is this your friend?" For a second, you thought Mrs Saiki was terrified of Nendou. Something you wouldn't fault her for; he did look like a gangster, after all. "He's not my friend." Saiki's comment fell on deaf ears as Mrs Saiki burst into tears, a handkerchief manifesting into her hands out of nowhere. "Oh, dear! My little boy finally has another friend! In less than a week, tooâ I'm so happy!"
This was definitely one of the reasons why you loved Saiki's mom; she was just too precious. "Sorry girly girl, but me and him ain't friendsâ we're best buddies!" Mrs Saiki started weeping into her handkerchief again, "Oh, dear! My little boy's finally getting a normal life!" You wanted to comfort her but thought better of it since she was crying tears of joy and not sadness.
"I never knew you had a sister, pal." Nendou's comment practically made Mrs Saiki putty in his hands. She gushed about how the wannabe gangster thought she was young enough to look like Saiki's sister. You couldn't tell if Nendou was buttering her up or if he was being serious. Knowing him, it was probably the latter.
'How many times is he going to make her cry?' Saiki wondered from next to you. 'At least they're tears of happiness.' A warm smile stretched on your lips; the woman needed to be protected at all costs. Movement in your peripherals broke you from your thoughts. You turned to Saiki, who was now standing beside you, looking up at him when you felt his stare out your peripherals.
His lips parted as if he was about to say something when Saiki's mom commented that Nendou taking Saiki to the beach sounded like fun. "Uh, yeahâ I'm not going." The smile on Mrs Saiki's face disappeared in an instant, and the glare she shot Saiki's way sent chills down your spine. "Your best buddy went out of his way to ask you in person. You're going to the beach, Kusuo."
"Oh, dear."
A snicker fell out your lips, and you immediately covered your mouth with your hand so as to not draw attention to yourself. By then, it was too late; your plans to quietly try and slip away from the group were foiled by your own hands. Saiki's mom finally noticed you, pushing her son aside so she could hug you.
For a moment, you wondered if you could spend the afternoon with Mrs Saiki, until you caught sight of her esper son over her shoulder, narrowing his eyes at you. You knew what that look meant, but still, he chose to invade the privacy of your mind yet again to think at you, 'Oh, no, you don't. You're coming.'
Mrs Saiki continued to gush over you, and the plan to spend a lazy day indoors seemed to be further and further away.
â” â” â” â” â” â”
That's how you and Saiki ended up going to the beach.
Kaidou had joined the group as well, a fact you pitied when you observed how much Nendou teased him about having a phobia of the sea. You watched from your seat on the blanket next to Saiki as Kaidou denied it all, fresh tears in his eyes. "Nâno. Thâthat's not true. I know how to swim, jerk! IâI'm not afraid of the water." You almost felt bad for him; why was he here again?
'Well, he's turned on the waterworks.'Â Ironic. Saiki's comment nearly made you choke on your drink, and you coughed. The psychic's hand on your back, patting lightly, surprised you, to say the least, but you welcomed it. Anything to clear your airways. You chalked up the help to him feeling guilty.
You watched as Kaidou proceeded to enter the sea, only to slip and start drowning in inch-deep water. That's when you decided the second-hand embarrassment was too much to handle, placing your drink down to stand up and walk over to the sea.
You stopped in the middle of your task, turning to Saiki, who stared you down. 'Yes, I'm leaving you here. You're on your own, nerd.' You thought at him, glancing between Saiki and his book. He stayed silent, only glaring at you over his glasses. You could tell what he was thinking already; how could you just leave him to deal with everyone else? Hahâ so long, sucker!
You looked from Saiki to Hairo whose pants had slipped when he ran to save Kaidou from drowning, Nendouâ who stared at the other girls on the beach with a blush and smirk on his face, then back to the psychic.
'Yeah, I'm not about to watch any more of their shenanigans; I'm out of here.'
You greeted Hairo briefly and walked towards the water in time to overhear that the red-haired boy had decided to volunteer as a lifeguard over the summer. Walking further into the water, you stopped when you couldn't feel the sand underneath your feet and started to swim further out until the voices of your classmates sounded distant enough that you couldn't make out the words.
Sighing, you floated on your back and stared up at the sun. The weather was way too warm, and you hated the heat because of how it caused you to sweat. At least now you could have some peace and quiet; your social battery had run out a while back.
The silence didn't last long, you felt a ripple in the water and opened one eye, only to realise the cause was Saiki. He sat on a blue swimming donut that had sun patterns on it. That's when you noticed he was shirtless, only wearing his yellow swimming trunks, and you tried not to stare, opting to look at the beach instead, coughing awkwardly.
You watched as a group of girls ran across the sandâ Nendou not far behind, chasing them. 'I don't want people knowing I'm with him.' You had to agree with Saiki; being associated with Nendou was never a good thing. Looking away from the girls fleeing in terror on the beach, you turned back to the young esper.
'I get thatâ but why did you have to come here?'
'I draw less attention when I'm with you than when I'm by myself.'
'So, you're using me?'
'... Don't make it weird.'
When you made the comment, your mind had not been in the gutter, but now it certainly was. There was a brief pause before Saiki looked back at the beach. He sighed and closed his eyesâ then he tilted his float sideways until his body crashed against the water. You shot up, no longer floating on your back. You kicked your legs to stay above the waves and looked around to see if you could spot Saiki who was no longer on the water donut.
'You won't find me, I'm all the way at the bottom. When I want to be alone or get some serious thinking done, I come down here. I find the seafloor relaxing.'
You jumped in your skin at the sound of his voice in your head, not yet used to hearing it without seeing him. You raised an eyebrow to yourself when your brain registered what he had said. You didn't get the chance to reply to him, the sound of Nendou shouting stealing your attention.
"Saiki! You going pee-pee?!"
'Oh man, next time, I'll have to go deeper. Better go back before they start looking.'
You stopped paying attention to what Saiki was thinking at you when you noticed a girl in the water. Was she... She was drowning!
Your body moved before you could think. The water around you splashed as you started swimming, trying to get to her as fast as you could. You heard Nendou and Kaidou in the distance. Now, hang on a minute, you swore the blue-haired boy had no idea how to swimâ how had he made it this far out? As if on cue, Kaidou started drowning as well, and you watched in horror.
You relaxed somewhat when you watched Nendou save the idiot, carrying him on his back. By then, you had made it to the girl, but the other two boys were still making their way towards you. You tried to grab onto her to save her, only for her to jump on you in her panic. She clawed her way up, trying to get on your shoulders.
You realised then that both of you were screwed. "No! Don'tâ" You didn't get to finish your sentence as you felt your body give way under her weight, water filling your nose instantly.
You ended up underwater along with the girl, your legs spent and tired. Surely, this wasn't how things ended. You had so much left to doâ so many sites to see! Your mind went into overdrive as you sank deeper.
When you felt something brush against your feet under the water, you nearly lost it; the safety of your classmates and the random girl next to you be damned!
You calmed down when you recognised the pink underneath the clear waves. 'What a pain. Everyone around me is so needy.'
Saiki placed his hands on your waist and effortlessly lifted you until your head was above water. Your fight or flight kicked in, adrenaline pumping through your veins, and your legs started kicking lightly to keep you afloat. You looked around until your eyes landed on Nendou, who was standing on the water as if it was a solid surface, with Hairo, Kaidou and the drowning girl from earlier on his back.
"Whatâ Nendou! You're walking on water!" Hairo exclaimed as he looked down. "When'd you learn how to do that?!" Kaidou chimed in, and you already knew the answer. It was Saiki, using his strength to lift them all so they wouldn't drown. You watched as all five four of them sped off towards the sand.
'See? I told him he'd have more luck walking on water than picking up girls.'
You snorted to yourself at Saiki's comment before tilting your body so you were on your back, letting the waves carry you as you caught your breath. You closed your eyes, exhaustion kicking in as the adrenaline ran outâ only to open when you felt the water move, making you rock.
You squinted as the sun invaded your gaze, only for you to see Saiki. He turned around in the water, showing you his back, "Get on. I'll carry you to the beach."Â His closed statement left no room for discussion, and even if you had it in you to retort, you were too tired to argue.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, mindful not to squeeze too hard and rested your head on his warm back as he swam to shore. You tried not to pay attention to how close the two of you were or how you could feel his body heat since he didn't have a top on.
After drying off, you watched as the girl who nearly drowned you, apologised to Nendou. "Sorry I joked about how ugly your face is." She said, and you guessed it was her way of thanking him for saving her.
"Hmph, I'm glad you didn't ask for her number in return for your heroics," Kaidou said, giving the wannabe gangster a nod of approval when he returned as you packed up to leave. "Heh, I try to be a gentleman, but if that hottie fell in love with me, I'm not gonna turn her down," Nendou replied, closing his eyes as if he was proud. You had to give it to him, the man had confidence. You walked alongside Saiki as the group left Hairo and the girl.
"She wouldn't," Kaidou whispered under his breath, a smirk on his face. Nendou whipped his head around to shout at him. "What'd you say?!"
The day at the beach ended, and you could finally go home.
â” â” â” â” â” â”
bonus:
After the four of you got back in town, Nendou and Kaidou split off so they could head home. Truth be told, that was the plan for you as well until Saiki stopped you.
"Do you want to come back to my house?" You turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow at him at the suggestion. You were sure he thought of you as a nuisance like everyone else, yet here he wasâ inviting you to his place.
"Don't get any weird ideas. Mom told me to bring you back for dinner. She likes having you around." Mrs Saiki hadn't specifically told him to bring you back, but Saiki did know that she liked your company.
A small smile graced your face at the sentiment. Being liked by someone else's parents was a different type of validation. You shrugged and walked beside him back to the Saiki Household, the day not yet over.
â” â” â” â” â” â”
next part -Â Â anemoia (coming soon!)
â” â” â” â” â” â” Â Â Â â” â” â” â” â” â”
2025 taglist:
@too-many-fandoms666 @nikolaisfingersinfyodorsmouth @crescent-bluemoon @beehoppingaround @budijojo @shrewbles @art-missy @zenmiren
comment below to be added <3
#saiki x reader#kusuo x reader#saiki k x reader#saiki kusuo x reader#saiki k#saiki kusuo#saiki kurumi#shun kaidou#nendou riki#hairo kineshi#tdlosk#the disastrous life of saiki k.#friends to lovers#x reader
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Pairings: Steve Harrington x bsf!Reader
Word Count: 3,123 words
Summary: Two best friends. One long, slow, ridiculous build-up. Nobody confesses, but everybody knows. Itâs not a love story...yet.
Contains: Fluff, mutual pining, best friends being dumb, close physical proximity, blushing, awkward tension, emotional honesty disguised as jokes. (Let me know if I missed some)
A/N: I haven't posted in a few days so here's a long one, post-S4, Hawkins isnât on fire for once. Miracles do happen. Lol.
masterlist |
The first time Steve âaccidentallyâ held your hand was during a horror movie night.
It wasnât even a scary part. Just the opening credits. The room was dark, popcorn was being passed around, and your fingers brushed, lingering a beat too long. He didnât move. You didnât either. And then Robin fake coughed something that sounded suspiciously like âhand stuffâ and Steve practically threw the popcorn at her.
Neither of you mentioned it.
Thatâs how it always was with you and Steve. Hovering. Orbiting. A little too close, but never close enough to call it what it was.
Youâd known each other since high school, though you werenât part of his crowd back then. He was all hairspray and popularity contests. You were not. But now? Now you were best friends. He drove you to work sometimes. You brought him cookies shaped like bats for Halloween. He called you âtroubleâ with this stupid soft smirk that made your insides do jazz hands.
It was infuriating.
Because Steve Harrington was good at a lot of things hair flips, babysitting, putting his foot in his mouth but he was absolutely awful at feelings. And to be fair, so were you.
So, instead of talking about it like healthy adults, you did what any emotionally stunted duo would do:
You leaned hard into the bit.
âMorning, wifey,â youâd greet him when he brought you a coffee at Family Video.
âMy favorite girl,â heâd reply, handing it over like it wasnât slowly killing him that you werenât actually his.
You called him âlover boyâ when you climbed into his car, and he played your favorite mixtape without being asked.
Sometimes, youâd steal his hoodie and heâd steal your hair clips which heâd try to pass off as âfor the bitâ until Robin found him sitting on the counter, spinning one around his finger and sighing.
One Saturday, you dragged him to the flea market outside town. You made him try on a too-small corduroy jacket and he made you wear round sunglasses and pretend to be celebrities on the run from a secret government agency.
âYouâre Donna Stardust,â he told you, striking a ridiculous pose behind a table full of broken action figures. âAnd Iâm your bodyguard slash secret lover.â
âSecret lover?â you snorted. âBold of you to assume Donna doesnât have standards.â
âOuch.â
He looked so fake-offended that you kissed his cheek without thinking.
And then froze.
You both did.
âOh,â you said.
He blinked. âYeah.â
Neither of you brought it up again.
Instead, you talked about alien conspiracies the whole ride home and made waffles at your place while carefully not touching at all.
The pining got worse after that.
Heâd stare at you too long when you werenât looking. Youâd mess with his hair just to see the way he shivered. Heâd let you put glittery nail polish on one pinky finger âas a social experiment.â Youâd pretend not to notice the way his gaze dropped to your mouth every time you licked frosting off your finger.
Robin knew. Dustin knew. Probably the entire Midwest knew.
But not you two.
Because every time you got too close, the fear kicked in. What if you ruined it? What if the friendship was all you got? What if he only liked the version of you that made him laugh and didnât admit she stared at his stupid perfect mouth during movies?
And so it went. Days and nights filled with soft touches and stupid dares. With Steve sighing too loudly when you walked into a room. With you doodling little hearts next to his name in your notebook like you were 13 again.
Then, one rainy Thursday, you crashed on his couch after a movie marathon. You were halfway asleep, tucked under a blanket, and Steve was sitting on the floor beside you, your fingers tangled loosely in his hair.
âI donât get it,â he said softly, more to himself than to you.
You hummed, eyes closed. âDonât get what?â
âHow I got so lucky. With you.â
Your heart stuttered.
You opened your eyes slowly.
He was still looking ahead, like he hadnât realized he said it out loud.
You almost said something. Almost leaned forward. Almost ruined everything.
Instead, you just smiled. âMe neither.â
And he leaned back against the couch, right where your knees curled up behind him, letting your fingers slip gently back into his hair.
Neither of you said a word.
But his hand found your ankle under the blanket, and your thumb brushed the shell of his ear, and that was enough. For now.
Because yeah. Somebody was in love.
Two somebodies, actually.
And maybe someday, one of you would be brave enough to say it.
But for now, the bit was still good.
And neither of you wanted the story to end.
And then came the camping trip.
Dustin had this grand idea to get âeveryone together for a bonding weekend,â and against all logic, you agreed. Even more surprising: Steve didnât back out either.
You ended up in the same tent. Obviously.
Robin made a spreadsheet for sleeping arrangements, claimed it was randomized. (It absolutely wasnât. She winked at you when she handed it over.)
âI snore,â you told Steve, holding up your sleeping bag.
âI sleep with one sock on,â he said, completely serious.
You blinked. âPsychopath.â
He grinned. âYou love it.â
And that was that.
The first night, you played card games by the fire and watched Steve roast three marshmallows for you because you claimed his had the âgolden brown touch.â When your fingers brushed as he handed one over, it was nothing. Except it wasnât.
Later, in the tent, you lay side by side in your sleeping bags, talking softly about stupid stuff bad dates, favorite cereal mascots, which Muppet each of you would be.
âIâd be Gonzo,â you said.
âWhy?â
âHeâs a disaster but deeply romantic.â
Steve made a soft sound. âYeah, that tracks.â
You turned your head. He was already watching you.
Your breath caught.
âI think youâd be Kermit,â you whispered.
He huffed a laugh. âWhyâs that?â
âBecause you care too much. And you keep getting dragged into chaos. And you have a cute voice.â
âA cute voice?â
âShut up.â
He didnât shut up. But he also didnât move. Just lay there, close enough that you could count the little freckles on his nose. The tent was too warm. Or maybe it was you. Or maybe it was him.
The next morning, Robin found you sitting side by side, half-asleep, sharing a hoodie and a single cup of lukewarm coffee like it was a ritual.
âYou two are disgusting,â she announced.
Steve just handed you the cup again, his fingers curling around yours a second longer than necessary. âShe started it.â
You bumped his knee. âDid not.â
âDid too.â
It wasnât love. Not technically. Because nobody said anything.
But it also kind of was.
Because later, when you got sunburned on your nose, Steve smeared aloe on with two fingers and said, âYouâre still cute,â like it was nothing. And when he scraped his elbow trying to help set up the hammock, you kissed it better and pretended not to see the way his entire soul short circuited.
When the trip ended, he drove you home. You slept in the passenger seat, mouth half open, sunburnt and soft and safe. And he looked over at you like he was watching a movie he never wanted to end.
âStill not gonna say it?â Robin asked him the next day.
Steve just shook his head. âNot yet.â
Because maybe the thing about love, real love, is that you know itâs there, even if you donât say it out loud.
Maybe someday. But not just yet.
It had been a month since the camping trip.
Since the half-asleep tent conversations. Since the burned marshmallows and the almost-kisses and the way youâd fallen asleep in the car with your head on Steveâs shoulder and drooled on his jacket, which he hadnât even minded.
You were still best friends.
Still not kissing. Still not saying anything.
But the air between you? It was like living inside a slow song stuck on repeat. All yearning. All build-up. No release.
Every touch lingered.
Every joke felt like flirting.
Every shared look held a little too long made your breath catch like it might never come back.
You started noticing things. Stupid things. Like how Steve always stood between you and traffic, how he tied your shoes once without thinking, how he bit the inside of his cheek when you put on lipstick and acted like he wasnât staring at your mouth the whole time.
You caught him doing it three times in one week.
âIâm going to kill you,â Robin muttered to him at Family Video one Thursday, arms crossed. âIf you donât kiss her soon, Iâm gonna do it for you.â
Steve just groaned. âI canât.â
âYou can, Harrington. Youâre choosing not to.â
âSheâs⊠Sheâs everything, Robin.â
âThen maybe try saying that instead of channeling your sexual tension into alphabetizing the horror section.â
Meanwhile, you were suffering.
You were halfway through shaving your legs one Friday night when Steve called to ask if you wanted to watch The Princess Bride and eat curly fries. You stared at your mirror for five whole minutes trying to decide if this was a date or just Steve being Steve.
It wasnât a date.
Of course it wasnât.
But he put his arm behind you on the couch. And you leaned into it. And by the time the credits rolled, his fingers were in your hair and your legs were in his lap and your heart was somewhere in your throat.
Still. Nothing.
You were going to implode.
The crack came on a Tuesday.
You had a nightmare. A dumb on, too much coffee and too many horror movies and too little sleep. You called Steve at 1:23 a.m., not expecting him to pick up.
âIâm fine,â you said, "Just can't sleep."
He didnât even pause. âIâm coming over.â
He showed up in a hoodie and pajama pants, hair a mess, looking exactly like someone who had run out the door without thinking twice. He brought Pop Tarts. Sat on your floor. Talked to you about anything but what you both wanted to say.
Then, as the silence stretched out, your legs touching under the blanket youâd dragged off the couch, something shifted.
âI think Iâm in love with you,â you whispered, not meaning to say it. Not like that.
Steve blinked.
He blinked again.
And then?
He cracked.
Not gently. Not sweetly.
He surged forward and kissed you like heâd been holding back for years. Like heâd been dying to do it. Like every second since the moment he met you had been building to this.
It was messy. You bumped noses. You laughed into his mouth. He cupped your face with both hands and kept kissing you like he was making up for lost time.
âYouâre in love with me?â he asked between kisses, slightly dazed.
You nodded, breathless. âYouâre surprised?â
âI just thought⊠I thought you were waiting for me to say it.â
âWell, I was.â
Steve kissed you again. This time it was slower. Sweeter. Still a little wild.
âI love you,â he said into your neck. âGod, I love you so much I think Iâm actually stupid.â
âYou are stupid.â
âYouâre literally in love with me.â
â...TouchĂ©.â
Later, you lay tangled together on your couch, both of you in total shock that youâd finally said it. Finally kissed. Finally cracked.
âI feel like we were emotionally edging for months,â you said.
Steve groaned into your shoulder. âPlease never say âemotionally edgingâ again.â
âBut thatâs what it was.â
ââŠOkay, yeah. It was exactly that.â
You both laughed so hard you nearly fell off the couch.
And when he kissed you again, forehead, cheek, lips, you swore you could actually feel your heart exhale.
Because the thing about love? Itâs terrifying. Itâs messy.
But sometimes, itâs just your best friend showing up at 1 a.m. with Pop Tarts and finally, finally kissing you stupid.
#stranger things#joe keery#steve harrington#djotime#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you
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How To Assume
(stop being an overly anxious potato over manifesting)
Sometimes I see shifters asking âOh, what should I do? Nothing is working :(â and they get hit with the good ol âjust assumeâ stamp and send on their way. And then, barely 10 steps later, they turn around and whisper â... the fuck do I even assume?â. Before I chew your ear off: assuming isnât hard. Well, not really, but people tend to make it hard. We as humans just love acting like we need to turn ourselves into a pretzel every time we want something âbigâ. We actually assume every day - when we decide we suck, when we tell ourselves weâll never shift anyway, when we confidently declare we are stuck in our 3D and shifting is just too good to be true and all those people in the reddit community saying itâs just astral projecting or deep lucid dreaming are right (what is even going on over there atm?). Guess what your 3D is doing with those assumptions? It grabs them, says âbet!â and starts running like itâs a race. Congrats ^-^ But hey, the good news: if you can assume all of that shit, you can also assume that you have shifted. Yeay! In the spirit of keeping it simple, I turned the way I see assuming into a neat little list. Enjoy, or not: 1. Just Decide Thatâs it. Thanks for coming to my TED talk, exit is to the right. Okay, it sounds suspiciously simple and I know some brains will twitch a bit right now with âThat canât be itâ. But it is. You sit down, breathe and say âI have shiftedâ. No begging, no pleading, no howling at the moon. You just decide, and that is where a lot of people crumble already by pleading for it to happen instead of deciding it has happened. You donât need an approval stamp, you are the CEO of your own reality, not the intern grabbing coffee. Act like it. Deciding isnât hoping or praying, itâs simply knowing. No matter if shit catches up immediately, tomorrow or next week. Doesnât matter, let go of the need for it to happen right now. 2. Stop checking You said you shifted and now you are still checking your reality every 2 seconds like a teenager waiting for a message from their crush. Stop it. Youâre rereading your script, watching shifting TikTok like the answer to all your problems will jump at you, poking your subconscious like âare we there yet?â. Thatâs not assuming, that is panic dressed up as productivity (or something like that). You are basically saying âI donât actually believe this is done and decidedâ. Cut it out. Just go live your life. Play some games, touch grass with two hands and one face (beware of bees), breathe some fresh air. Your desire wonât implode because you stopped choking it out and stopped micromanaging everything. Obsessing doesnât equal manifesting. Just let it cook. 3. You commit or you quit Assuming means you have to kinda commit to it. Youâre not almost there, or halfway shifted. You are there. You have shifted, no more ifs and whens and buts and any other kind of spiraling. Take five minutes out of your day, relax into that knowing (or deciding). Feel your DR bed, hear your DR friends be loud as fuck for no reason, smell the DR air. Let your imagination drown out this reality like unwanted background noise. Similar to the fake arguments you rehearsed in the shower. You never needed help with those, did ya? 4. Yell at your doubts Maybe do this one internally, unless you are really feeling bold today. Every time your doubts creep in and whisper âWhat if it is not real?â, you turn around, embrace your inner main character energy and yell back âShut the fuck up Brenda (sorry to all the Brendas out there), get back into the backseat. Youâre not driving, I am.â Your doubts donât get a say in what you want. They are not invited. You think your DR self is out there wondering if they are real or not? No, they are living the life you are telling yourself is unreachable.
5. Feeling ready is overrated, just do it Stop waiting to feel ready and questioning if your script is perfect or not. Your brain will rarely send you the green light you think you need to go ahead. You will feel silly, you will feel delusional. And you might feel like a clown. Embrace it, be the clown. Insist on what you decided until your 3D gets nervous and bends over in existential fear. You donât wait to feel certain, you decide you are certain. And then go and act like itâs done.
TL;DR (how dare you, but fine T-T) Assuming you have shifted is like assuming the sun will rise tomorrow. You donât argue with your friend about it. You donât beg the sun to rise again. You just know and walk with the confidence that itâs happened, and with shifting you do so because you said so. Thatâs it. Stop overthinking. Assume and now go, I need to do some drawing stuff.
#reality shifting#shifters#shifting#shifting antis dni#shifting blog#shifting community#shifting realities#shiftingrealities#reality shifter#shifting motivation#shiftblr#shifting advice#desired reality#shifting tips
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â âč ⥠too hot to handle (ìĄëŻŒêž°Â âĄÂ s.mg)
your neighbor has more to give than you bargained for.
style:Â bullet drabble pairing:Â non idol!mingi x fem!reader word count:Â 1.8k tags/warnings:Â smut, pwp, light fluff, neighbor!mingi, fem!reader, big dick, like monster cock level she can't do anything with it, sub!mingi, like super sub, dom!reader, teasing, praise, heavy use of good boy/perfect boy etc., makeouts, grinding, oral f!receiving, face riding, lots of dirty talk, dick on clit action, controlled orgasms, edging and overstim, eventual piv notes: this has been on the brain for longer than i could ever tell you so hopefully it's a fun one x
[masterlist]



The problem with your neighbor isnât that heâs hot. It isnât that heâs funny and charming, and it definitely isnât the crush bubbling between the both of you. Those would be normal problems, problems you tell your best friends about.Â
The problem with your neighbor is that his dick is too big.Â
You find that out at the same time you find out this giant who lives next door to you with the deep voice and a penchant for calling you âpretty girlâ is actually not the dominant you assumed he would be.
Mingi is actually shockingly, surprisingly submissive.Â
And you shockingly, surprisingly, love that more than you ever could have guessed.Â
You figure that out while youâre straddling him on the couch, and when you roll your hips just right you feel the impressive hardness of him and hear the neediest whimper youâve ever heard from a man at the exact same time.Â
It takes you thirty minutes more of making out and shedding clothes for you to get a good look at his cock, and when you do it grinds the whole almost-fuck to a stop.
And -
âI know,â He breathes, his eyes softening, âitâs okay if you donât want to keep going.âÂ
You blink at him, unable to hide the trepidation in your eyes, âItâs not that I donât want to try,âÂ
âItâs okay,â He sounds dejected, but also like this has happened to him before and that fills you with nothing but sharp determination.Â
âHang on,â You lay a hand over his bare chest, still straddling his lap, the impressive length and girth of his cock standing between you.Â
âListen,â He sighs, âI get it,âÂ
âMingi,â You interrupt him, âIâm not kicking you out,âÂ
âYouâre not?â His eyebrows raise.Â
âNo,â You smile, âI do think we should maybe⊠work up to things,âÂ
âOf course,â He rushes to agree, his hands sliding up and down your bare thighs.Â
âItâs just,â You grimace, âI havenât had sex in a long time, like a really long, kind of embarrassing amount of time,âÂ
âThatâs okay,â He soothes.Â
âIâd be lying if I said I thought I could take you,â You sigh, âbut Mingi, Iâd really, really like to work up to it,âÂ
âYeah?â He grins like he just won the lottery.Â
âUh-huh,â You swallow a little nervously, âjust maybe not tonight?âÂ
âRight,â He nods, âanything you want,âÂ
âIs that okay?â You check, sliding closer to him, his bare cock brushing against your abdomen.Â
âOkay?â He nods, âOf course, itâs⊠I mean, I like you. I want to do whatever you want, thatâs what I want,âÂ
Heâs a little flustered, still walking a nervous line like you might change your mind, or heâs worried about coming on too strong, and you take him in for a moment.Â
Somewhere inside, you find the boldness to ask the question youâve wanted to ask since you heard his first whimpered moan, âMingi,â You murmur, âis that what youâre into? Doing what I want?â
His eyes flick over your face, but you donât miss the way they darken up at the idea and he nods, âIf youâre into that,â he says, âbut I can take over if you need me to,âÂ
You wonder how many girls have begged him to be more dominant. How many girls have pushed him to go to a place that isnât entirely comfortable for him, when he clearly wants the opposite.Â
âIâm into that,â You tell him, âdonât worry,âÂ
You both click together like kinky little puzzle pieces, and despite the fact that youâve never had his dick properly inside you, youâve been having sex for weeks.Â
You get creative.Â
Mingi and his giant cock seem to love nothing more than making you feel good, especially when you use his big body to get yourself off.Â
The first few times you hook up itâs the basics, getting to know each other, getting to know each other's bodies and what makes each other tick⊠but by the fourth time? The fifth?Â
The fourth time youâre a horny mess, probably a breath away from ovulating and ready to climb his tall ass like a tree, and so all the hesitation youâve had about being too much for each other flies right out the window.Â
With him pinned to your bed you ride his thigh like itâs a pillow, barely looking at him as you get yourself off, and when youâre done all he can do is beg you to do that again, but on his face.Â
He whimpers when his tongue first slips inside your folds, when he feels the weight of your body sink onto him. His hands grip your ass and between sucks and moans he begs you to ride him, to fuck his face and never stop.Â
With your hands on the headboard you take it just like before, eyes closed, head thrown back, your moans spilling out into the room .Â
He comes untouched that time, ropes and ropes of his hot cum painting his chest and stomach, panting apologies into your thighs, and thatâs when everything changes.Â
Now you tell him when to come. How to come. Where to come.Â
You discover that he loves to be edged and you love to be overstimulated.Â
A perfect combination of opposites.Â
You make him beg for things, ache for things, his cock leaking against your lips as he whines.Â
âPlease, please, just a taste, just a lick, please, god, please,âÂ
And sometimes you let him have it, but most of the time you donât.Â
He seems to like that even more.Â
Mingi and his big cock have found so many other ways to get off that you almost never want to give into having him inside you, because what if your dynamic changes? The anticipation is the delicious part, the denial, the almost-almosts.Â
The way he begs when heâs on his knees between your splayed thighs, his shaft rubbing against your slick folds, sliding over your clit - thatâs when you almost break.Â
âYou f-feel so good,â He shudders, thrusting his hips slowly back and forth so that his cock slides up and down your aching center.Â
âMm,â You sigh, relaxing into the mattress, âgood boy,âÂ
His cock twitches at that, âThank you, thank you,âÂ
âGo faster, baby,â You beckon him down with a come-hither motion, âfuck me like you mean it,âÂ
He freezes, âI-inside?âÂ
âDid I say inside?â You counter.Â
âNo, no, of course, Iâm sorry,â He stumbles past that assumption and shakes his head, a pink blush spreading across his cheeks.Â
You nod, a silent push to get him to move faster, and he scrambles to comply.Â
He braces himself over your spread form on the bed, your hips slotting more tightly together, and then he braces his forearms on either side of you and starts to thrust.Â
âFaster,âÂ
His hips speedup.Â
Every brush of his shaft over your swollen clit makes you want to writhe and moan beneath him, but keeping control is the fun part for him, so you stay focused.Â
âThatâs it, baby,â You brush your fingers through his shaggy locks, âsuch a good boy,âÂ
He moans, but keeps the pace.Â
âMm,â You sigh through an almost moan, âbaby, your cock feels so good inside me,âÂ
His hips jerk, a stammered groan on his lips.Â
The tease was meant for him, a reminder of where his cock isnât, but heat spreads through your belly at the idea of what he might feel stretching you open for real.Â
âSay it,â You open your legs wider, angling your hips to get the sensation right.Â
âYour pussy feels so good,â He pants.Â
âDonât stop,â You direct him again.Â
âSo tight,â He whines, âso wet,âÂ
âMore, baby.âÂ
âS-so perfect,â He shudders, his eyes tightly closed, âthank you for l-letting me fuck you,âÂ
âOh,â You murmur warmly, âthatâs my good boy.âÂ
He chokes, his thrusts getting harder, a relentless rut of his wet cock against your dripping pussy and you bite down on your tongue at the impulse to beg him to fuck you for real. Youâre dizzy, orgasm drunk, and your nails dig into his hips to hold yourself steady.Â
âPlease,â He pants suddenly, eyes flashing open to find yours, âplease, may I come?âÂ
Youâre too close for that, âHold it, baby,âÂ
His expression tightens in tense control, âP-please,â
âIâm close,â You tell him, âhold it,â
Tears prick at his eyes and you feel the wet string of his precum on your belly, but he listens.Â
A moan pulls free from your chest then, your pleasure fast approaching, and you breathe in hot fits and starts.Â
âCome on my cock,â He begs, pleads, âIâm so good for you,âÂ
Your orgasm crashes into you sideways, the relentless stroke over your clit sending you into pleasured little shakes.Â
âPlease, I c-canât, I canât hold it,â He fists the sheets, his voice a thready wet pant.Â
âCome,â You give him all the permission he needs, âcome inside me, baby, fill me up,âÂ
He shudders, thrusting hard twice more, and with groaning moans he spills his release all across your belly, spattering you both in hot cum.Â
Heâs shaking, trembling, but you run your fingers through his hair and soothe him soft like always. Heâs your good boy, your perfect boy, your most obedient boy.Â
In the aftermath, when you both come down from your messy, full body pleasure, you find each other in the sheets.Â
With kisses across his knuckles you nuzzle into him.Â
âNext time, I want you for real,âÂ
Heâs hesitant at first, but youâre ready, youâre sure.Â
The next time, you play softer. Youâve learned each other so well, but this time itâs your turn to be vulnerable with your body and he doesnât let you down for a second.Â
Itâs a slow process, full of sweetness and foreplay. Heâs learned how to make your body sing over weeks and weeks of hookups, and he knows he can make you wet enough, relaxed enough to take him.Â
The stretch is achingly delicious.Â
And once heâs finally inside you for the first time, your bodies connected in every possible way, you realize he was worth the wait.Â
And you fit together in more ways than one.Â
As it turns out, your boyfriendâs big dick isnât such a problem after all.Â
#ateez fic#ateez ff#mingi#song mingi#mingi fic#mingi x reader#mingi drabble#mingi hard thoughts#mingi ff#mingi smut#honeyhottoeks drabbles#honeyhotteoks fics
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hey so how do you think the bat boys would deal with a s/o who they getting romantic with and s/o is like âIf you keep looking at me like that I might pass awayâ or âThe way you look at me makes me want to go lie downâ. Basically s/o sometimes does not handle lovey dovey stuff well. They can give it out. But they kind of shut down when on receiving end and is very red faced?



Dick:
Itâs your bodyâs way of telling him you love him in every sense; emotionally, mentally, and physically. Heat creeping down from your ears to your neck as you forget how to talk for a few seconds and heâs. All. For. It. Especially whenever you tease him over how he sometimes gets flustered from you showing affection, he uses it back against you. All he has to do is turn around and kiss you. Then, while your brain takes time to come back online, he can snuggle you to his heart content. Even better if you try hiding your face into his chest, he tends to let out a chuckle before hugging the life out of you and coo how adorable youâre being.Â
Jason:
On one hand he wants to swaddle you in a blanket, destroy a table, squish the light out of you in his embrace, protect you from the world. On the other hand, heâd push it and call you by every affectionate term he tends to enjoy calling you by as it seems to be the safest without causing you to fully short-circuit. Youâre just so damn cute whenever you go speechless and turn red that describing you as a âblushing messâ does it injustice. Makes him smug and giddy from your display of affection for him. And who is he to complain when you cling to him? Itâs a good excuse to hold you while waiting for you to recover. Â
Tim:Â
The first time it happened, he thought it was out of vexation But, per usual, heâs quick to piece things together. Meaning, he knows whatâs up. And boy, is he the worst. Always putting up a nonchalant front, heâd give you a peck on the lips or tell you how much he loves you randomly and/or passing by. Some days even doing both. But whenever he does it, mostly when youâre being cheeky, he would go back to whatever heâs doing and act as if he didnât cause the mess behind him where youâre fumbling over your words with blazing cheeks. Others, not you, would know though as he would be suspiciously grinning and in a good mood.Â
Duke:Â
Bold for anyone to assume heâs okay after showering you with affection. The poor guy didnât think you would like him THAT much. Hell, he still doesn't get what you meant by âthe way you look at me makes me want to go lie downâ. It doesnât help that your reaction is infectious. Once you start doing it, he starts doing it, leading to the two of you to awkwardly stay there with matching faces, unable to look the other in the eyes. Yet, despite the amount of side comments, he doesnât regret everything heâs done to show his love for you. Just give him time; heâs training in ways to help the both of you rebound back to normal faster.Â
Damian:
He pretends to not care when itâs actually him who has a field day with it. After all, itâs his one way to get a win against you. He does it during the time you least expect it, showing his love for you through actions rather than words with a smirk once the telltale signs of you being âaffection-overloadedâ starts. It makes him greatly satisfied when you tell him âif you keep looking at me like that I might pass awayâ, though itâs after he referred to Dick and Tim he realized what you were trying to say. It wonât change your reaction towards him meant youâre his and heâs yours and thereâs nothing more that can make him happier than he is now.
#dick grayson#nightwing#dick grayson x reader#nightwing x reader#jason todd#red hood#jason todd x reader#red hood x reader#tim drake#tim drake x reader#red robin dc#red robin x reader#damian wayne x reader#damian wayne
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HER NEW OBSESSION
Part I Part II Part III Part IV Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader
Your new dorm is surprisingly cozy. Itâs smaller than the one you shared with Paige, but it feels warmer, more lived-in. Your new roommate, Lena, is someone from your psych classâsomeone who had always been friendly, even before all this mess. Itâs ironic, really. Last week, you were losing your mind trying to understand why Paige wanted nothing to do with you. Now? Now, you canât even stand the sight of her. Maybe itâs anger, maybe itâs betrayal, or maybeâmaybe you just donât care anymore.
Youâve stopped overanalyzing your emotions, stopped letting them dig under your skin like splinters you canât pull out. Itâs easier this way.
The classroom is buzzing when you walk in. Lena sits beside you, nudging your arm. âYou good?â
You nod, offering a small smile. âYeah.â
But then, she walks in.
Paige.
It takes everything in you not to look, not to acknowledge her presence, not to flinch at the way the room still seems to shift when sheâs in it. You keep your focus on Lena, on anything but Paige. Maybe itâs your imagination, but you swear you can feel Paigeâs gaze on you, burning, searchingâbut you donât give her the satisfaction of meeting it.
The professor clears his throat. âAlright, class. For this project, youâll be working in pairs. Since this is an extensive assignment, Iâve taken the liberty of pairing you up beforehand.â
The group project was announced, and the professor immediately paired you with Paige, assuming you were still roommates. The class murmured in agreement. It was common knowledge before. But you didnât hesitate.
âNo.â
Your voice cuts through the room before you even realize you spoke. Silence blankets the class. All eyes are on you now, wide with shock, with disbelief. The weight of their stares presses against your skin, but you donât waver. You sit up straighter, your voice unwavering when you continue.
âI donât room with her anymore.â You glance at Lena, your expression softening. âIâd rather work with my actual roommate.â
A few hushed whispers ripple through the room. People exchange glances, some amused, some impressed. You catch snippets of murmured wordsâ
Did she really just refuse Paige? Damn, thatâs bold. I didnât think anyone would have the guts to do that.
But none of it matters. Not the whispers, not the stares.
You donât even want to look at her, but somethingâsome stupid, masochistic instinctâforces your gaze toward her anyway.
And there it is.
The look on her face.
Like she was hopingâjust for a secondâthat things werenât completely ruined. That maybe, despite everything, youâd still be in her corner.
But youâre not.
You see it happenâthe way that flicker of hope dies right in front of you. Her jaw tightens, her expression schooling into something unreadable, something controlled. But her eyes? They betray her. They hold something raw, something aching.
It doesnât make sense. Sheâs the one who pushed you away. Sheâs the one who made this choice.
So why does she look like you just ripped her heart out?
The professor, sensing the tension, clears his throat awkwardly. âAlright, then. Youâll be paired with Lena. Paige, Iâll find you another partner.â
You donât hesitate. You turn to Lena, smiling, forcing yourself to look happy, unaffected, free.
But even as Lena grins back at you, even as you pretend this moment means nothingâyou canât shake the way Paige is still looking at you.
Like she just lost something she didnât know she wanted to keep.
The project continued, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were truly living. Your new roommate, Lena, made things so easyâeasy to talk to, easy to get along with, and easy to work with. The two of you were constantly together, studying in the library, grabbing coffee, and finishing your project late at night in your dorm. It was the kind of companionship you hadnât realized you needed, the kind that reminded you that life wasnât just about navigating through Paige Bueckersâ mess.
Late at night, as you settled in your bed, your phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.
KK: Hey, itâs KK. Got your number from Paige. Hope thatâs cool.
You barely had time to process before another message came throughâa forwarded file. You clicked it, and suddenly, a series of images filled your screen.
The first photo was of Paige in her dorm, sprawled on the couch, fast asleep. A jacket covered her face, one you recognized instantly. It was hers, but you were the one who had been using it lately. The one you had left behind when you moved out.
The next photo showed her sitting at the kitchen counter, two mugs in front of her, staring blankly into nothing.
The last was a video. You hesitated before playing it, but curiosity got the best of you.
"Paige, seriously?" Janaâs voice rang out, frustration laced with exasperation.
"I just donât see why itâs a big deal," Paige mumbled, her voice hoarse. She was pacing the dorm, rubbing a hand over her face.
"You want to switch rooms. Again." Jana deadpanned. "Paige. Itâs been what? A week?"
Paige didnât answer. Just ran a hand through her hair.
Jana sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "Look, I get it. Iâm not, like, the best roommate replacement or whateverâ"
"Thatâs not it." Paige cut in quickly. Too quickly.
Jana narrowed her eyes. "Then what? âCause no offense, but youâve been acting like a total weirdo since your last roommate left."
Paige let out a breath. "I justâ" She stopped, pressing her lips together. "I donât sleep well here."
Jana blinked. "Damn, I didnât know I was that unbearable."
Paige shook her head, letting out a dry, humorless laugh. "Youâre fine, Jana. Itâs justâ"
Silence.
Jana stared at her. Then, realization flickered in her expression. "You miss her."
Paigeâs jaw tensed. "I just need a change of scenery. Thatâs all."
Jana scoffed. "Sure. And I just need a million dollars."
Paige groaned, rubbing her temples. "Can you just drop it?"
"Fine, fine," Jana raised her hands in surrender. "But for real, Paige? You fucked up."
The video ended there.
You stared at your phone, heart pounding, stomach twisting.
KKâs message followed right after.
Paige is acting like an idiot.
You locked your phone and tossed it onto your desk, exhaling sharply.
You werenât going to reply.
Jana had just returned from practice when she found Paige exactly where she left her that morningâsprawled out on the couch, an arm draped over her face, still in the same hoodie and sweats from yesterday. The dorm was a mess, a few empty water bottles on the floor, a half-eaten granola bar on the counter, and a general air of chaos that Jana wasnât used to.
She sighed, shutting the door behind her a little louder than necessary. âAlright, nah. Iâm putting a stop to this.â
Paige didnât even flinch.
Jana marched over and snatched the pillow from under Paigeâs head, smacking her lightly with it. âPaige, you know I love you, right? But what the fuck is going on with you?â
Paige groaned, pushing the pillow away and sitting up, rubbing her face. âJana, I swear to Godââ
âNo, you swear to God what?â Jana folded her arms, staring her down. âIf youâre not drowning in your own sadness inside this dorm, youâre whoring around. And when youâre done, you come back here and I hear someone sobbing in the middle of the night. Do you have any idea how fucking creepy that is?â
Paigeâs jaw tightened. âMind your business.â
âOh, I would love to, except my business is being your roommate, which means Iâm forced to watch this self-destructive spiral firsthand.â Jana shot back. âYouâve been slacking at practice, Paige. Coach is bound to notice soon, and I swear I have no idea how the hell he hasnât already.â
Paige ran a hand down her face. âIâm fine.â
âBullshit.â
Silence. Paige refused to meet Janaâs gaze.
Jana exhaled sharply, pulling out her phone. âYou leave me no choice.â
âWhat are you doing?â Paige asked, barely interested.
Jana put the phone to her ear. âCalling Azzi. Someone who actually gives a damn about you and will get through that thick-ass skull of yours.â
Paige finally looked up, but before she could protest, Jana turned her back and walked toward her room, waiting for the call to connect.
An hour later, Azzi was standing in the dorm, arms crossed as she took in the sight of Paige.
âDamn, P, you look like shit.â
Paige scoffed, shaking her head. âThanks.â
Azzi sighed, walking over and sitting on the couch beside her. Jana was leaning against the counter, arms still folded, watching.
âAlright, talk to me,â Azzi said. âWhatâs going on?â
Paige stared at the floor. âNothing.â
Azzi scoffed. âTry again.â
Paige remained quiet. Azzi nudged her knee. âPaige, come on. Jana said youâve been⊠spiraling.â
âIâm not spiraling.â
Jana let out a humorless laugh. âYeah, okay. Tell that to the two mugs you leave out every morning like youâre waiting for someone. Or the jacket you sleep with like itâs a person. Or, I donât know, the fact that you literally tried to swap rooms with me last night.â
Azziâs brows furrowed. âPaige, talk to us.â
Paige sighed, finally looking up at her. âI just⊠I thought maybe if I sleep in that room, I wouldnâtââ She stopped herself, shaking her head. âIt doesnât matter.â
Azzi studied her for a moment before speaking again, softer this time. âPaige, are you regretting it?â
Paige swallowed hard. âI donât know.â
Azzi tilted her head. âThatâs not true. You do know.â
Paige clenched her jaw. âYeah. I regret it. Okay? I fucking regret everything.â
Jana and Azzi shared a look, but neither said anything. Paige exhaled harshly, rubbing her temples.
âI pushed her away,â Paige admitted, her voice quieter now. âI thought⊠I donât know. I thought it was for the best. But now sheâs gone, and I feel like I canât breathe. She wonât even look at me, and I donât blame her.â
Azzi watched her for a long moment before nodding. âThen fix it.â
Paige let out a dry laugh. âHow? She doesnât want anything to do with me.â
Azzi leaned forward, leveling her with a look. âThen make her want to. Do something, Paige. Anything. Donât just sit here and drown in your own misery.â
Paige ran a hand through her hair, looking away. âI donât even know where to start.â
Azzi stood up, patting Paigeâs knee before walking toward the door. âFollow your heart, P. Thatâs always a good place to start.â
With that, she left. Jana lingered for a moment before shaking her head. âSheâs right, you know.â
Paige stayed silent.
Jana sighed. âFigure it out before itâs too late.â Then she walked off, leaving Paige alone with her thoughts.
For the first time in weeks, Paige realized how loud the silence was.
It started last Monday. At first, you thought you were imagining things. Maybe it was just a coincidence. But now? Now itâs beyond coincidence.
Paige Bueckers is everywhere.
At first, it was subtle. Youâd glance up in class and find her staringânot the casual, spaced-out kind of staring, but the kind that burns. The kind that makes the back of your neck prickle. The second your eyes met, she looked away, but it happened too often to be a fluke. Then, in the library, as you and your roommate, Lena, buried yourselves in research for your project, Paige conveniently ended up at a table nearby. She wasnât even pretending to study, just flipping through a textbook she clearly had no interest in. She was listening. Watching.
Then, today happened.
You and Lena were walking through campus, laughing over some dumb joke, when suddenly, Paige materialized in front of you, effectively cutting you off. You stumbled back a step, startled.
Paige barely glanced at you before her sharp, ice-blue eyes landed on Lena. âYou donât have class right now?â Her tone was flat, almost accusatory.
Lena, unfazed, raised an eyebrow. âNo? Why?â
Paige tilted her head, expression unreadable. âJust wondering why youâre always up in her space.â
You frowned. âExcuse me?â
Paige ignored you, her eyes still locked onto Lena. The hostility in her gaze was clear. It didnât make senseâshe and Lena werenât even acquaintances, just classmates. And yet, Paige was looking at her like sheâd just stolen something from her.
Lena scoffed, crossing her arms. âI dunno, Paige. Maybe because weâre partners for a project?â
Paige let out a short, humorless chuckle, shaking her head like she didnât believe a word of it. âRight.â
And then, just as suddenly as she appeared, she turned and walked away, leaving you both staring after her.
âWhat the actual fuck was that?â Lena muttered.
You had no answer. But one thing was clearâPaige wasnât done.
The encounters kept coming, each one pushing the boundaries of coincidence.
In class, she always found a way to sit near you, even though she never used to care about seating arrangements. Her foot would nudge yours under the table, and when you moved away, sheâd do it again, just to let you know she was there. When the professor asked a question, she answered louder than necessary, like she needed you to hear her voice.
In the dining hall, if you were with Lena, Paige would always pass by. Always. Youâd see her walking one way, then five minutes later, sheâd pass by again, this time slower, glancing at your table but never stopping.
You knew what she was doing, but you didnât know why.
And you refused to acknowledge it.
Then came today, the final straw.
You and Lena were in the common study area, laptops open, deep in conversation about the project. You were actually enjoying yourselfâthings had been lighter, easier lately, now that Paige wasnât in your space every second of the day.
But, of course, that didnât last long.
The door opened, and in walked Paige.
She didnât even pretend she was there for anything else. She walked straight up to your table, her presence a heavy weight in the room.
âLena, you can go now.â
Lena blinked, then let out a laugh, looking at you as if asking, âIs she serious?â
You clenched your jaw. âSheâs not going anywhere.â
Paigeâs gaze snapped to yours, something unreadable flashing in her eyes. âWe need to talk.â
âNo, we donât.â You forced yourself to stay composed. âWhatever you have to say, I donât want to hear it.â
Paige exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair in frustration. She glanced at Lena again, and for the first time, it hit youâthis wasnât just her being weird. Is she jealous?
Of Lena?
Of all the things Paige had done, this was the most unexpected. And maybe the most infuriating.
âWhat the hell is your problem?â you snapped. âYou made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me, and now youâreâwhat? Following me? Harassing my friends?â
Paige flinched like youâd hit her, but just as quickly, her expression hardened. âI never said I wanted nothing to do with you.â
You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. âYou didnât have to.â
Paigeâs jaw clenched. For a second, it looked like she wanted to say something, but then she just shook her head, muttered something under her breath, and walked out.
Lena whistled low. âDamn. That was intense.â
You didnât respond. Your hands were still shaking.
Because for the first time, you saw itâPaige wasnât just being annoying.
She was fighting for you.
But you had no idea why.
You were hunched over your desk, fingers tapping lazily against the keyboard as you worked on your project with your roommate. The soft hum of lo-fi music played in the background, a comfortable contrast to the quiet concentration filling the room. For once, things felt normal again. No unexpected drama, no lingering glances in class, no unwanted tension. Just you, your work, and your new friend.
But peace never lasted long when Paige Bueckers was involved.
The sharp knock at the door shattered the calm, making both you and your roommate jump slightly. You frowned. No one ever came over this late. Lena shot you a questioning look, but you ignored it as you got up to open the door.
And there she was.
Paige stood in the doorway, her breathing uneven like she had sprinted all the way here. Her eyes, those sharp blues that you had once admired, looked wildâdesperate. You blinked, taking a step back out of sheer instinct.
âWhat the hell are you doing here?â Your voice was cold, detached, but your heart was hammering against your ribs.
Paigeâs gaze flickered over your shoulder, where your roommate was still sitting, staring at the both of you in confusion. And then it clicked.
Her jaw clenched. âSo this is what youâve been up to?â
You scoffed. âExcuse me?â
âYou and her.â Paige gestured sharply toward your roommate, her entire body tensing like she was ready for a fight. âThis is why you were so quick to move on? Didnât took you long, huh?â
You laughed, but there was no humor in it. âAre you serious right now?â
âPaige, I think you need toââ your roommate started, but Paige cut her off with a glare.
âStay out of this,â she snapped, her voice laced with venom.
Your roommate raised her hands in surrender before shooting you a look, silently asking if you wanted her to leave. You gave a slight nod. With a sigh, she grabbed her laptop and muttered something about studying in the common room before slipping out the door.
The second it shut, Paige turned back to you, her chest rising and falling heavily. âSo thatâs it?â she demanded. âYou just replaced me?â
Your blood boiled. âYou made me leave.â
Paige flinched.
âYou think I wanted to move out?â you continued, stepping closer, anger seeping through your words. âYou think I wanted to lose my homeâmy comfortâbecause you decided I wasnât good enough to be around anymore?â
âThatâs notââ Paige ran a frustrated hand through her hair. âThatâs not what happened.â
âThen tell me, Paige,â you shot back. âTell me what happened. Why did you push me away? Why did you act like I didnât exist, like I meant nothing, and now, suddenly, youâre here, acting like you have a say in my life?â
Paige exhaled sharply, like she was trying to hold herself together. âBecause I was scared, alright?â she admitted. âI was fucking scared.â
You frowned. âScared of what?â
âOf you.â Her voice cracked, raw and unfiltered. âOf how much I fucking need you.â
Silence.
Your chest ached, but you refused to let yourself soften. âNo,â you said. âYou donât get to do this.â
Paigeâs face twisted in frustration. âDo what?â
âThis.â You gestured between you both. âYou donât get to throw me away, regret it, and then come back like nothing happened. Like I owe you another chance.â
Paige stepped closer. Too close. You could smell the faint traces of her cologne, could see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. âI never wanted to throw you away.â
âThen why did you?â Your voice was barely above a whisper.
Paige swallowed, her gaze searching yours. âBecause I thought it would hurt less.â
Your breath hitched. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to believe every damn word. But the wounds she left were still fresh, still aching.
Paige lifted a hand, hesitantly brushing her fingers against your arm. Your body tensed, and for a split second, you considered leaning in. Considered falling back into the warmth that once felt like home.
But then reality hit you like a train.
âDid you love me?â you asked suddenly, your voice quiet but firm. âOr was it just your fleeting desire?â
Paigeâs eyes widened, her hand dropping like she had been burned. âWhat?â
âYou heard me.â You swallowed past the lump in your throat. âBecause right now, it feels like you only wanted me when it was convenient. When you needed me. When you wanted something to hold at night.â
Paige shook her head quickly. âNo. No, thatâs notââ
âThen why did you push me away?â you cut her off. âWhy did you make me feel like I was nothing, Paige?â
Paigeâs lips parted, but no words came out. For the first time, she had nothing to say.
You nodded, feeling your chest tighten. âThatâs what I thought.â
You turned away, gripping the edge of your desk to keep your hands from shaking. âGo home, Paige.â
She hesitated, lingering in the doorway like she wanted to say more. But in the end, she didnât.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the second she was gone, you finally allowed yourself to breathe.
And that was the last time you saw Paige Bueckers, at least face to face.
It had been weeks since that confrontation in your dorm, and in that time, she had become a ghost. She stopped acknowledging you in the hallways, in class. Stopped being anywhere you were, as if you had never existed to her at all.
You were furious, humiliated, and worst of allâhurt. Because you haven't been the one to walk away first. You haven't been the one to set everything on fire and leave without looking back. She had.
And you couldnât even get an explanation.
You left UConn the second you could.
Graduated, packed up your life, and never looked back.
There were moments, of course, where you wanted toâwhen a game would come on TV and you'd see her on the screen, or when you'd overhear someone talking about womenâs basketball and her name would come up like a legend in the making.
But you trained yourself to tune it out. Paige Bueckers didnât exist in your world anymore.
You built a new life.
Moved to the city, got a stable job in a company downtown, found a beautiful apartment just perfect for you to live in, a loving best friend who makes your life a little bit happier. She knew about Paige, about the past, about everything that had nearly ruined you.
âYou donât miss her?â she had asked once.
You hesitated, then shook your head. âNo. I miss who I thought she was.â
And it was true.
Paige had been your friend, your roommate, your almost-something before she threw it all away. If you missed anything, it was the version of her that didnât exist anymoreâthe one who used to wait up for you in your dorm, who used to shove an extra granola bar into your bag before class, who used to look at you like you were the only person in the room.
But that Paige was gone.
Or so you thought.
Because on a random Friday night, in a bar you had never seen her in before, you looked upâand there she was.
Years older. Sharper. The weight of her career settling into her features like something heavy, something unshakable.
And she was looking directly at you.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
The bar was dimly lit, music thrumming in the background, a blur of conversations and clinking glasses filling the space between you. And yet, all Paige could focus on was you. Sitting at the far end of the room, elbow resting on the bar counter, a half-empty glass in front of you.
You looked different. Not just older, not just sharper, butâsettled. Like life had been kinder to you than it had been to her.
And for a split second, something flashed in your eyes. Recognition? Discomfort? She didnât know. But she knew one thing for sureâyou werenât happy to see her.
You turned back to your drink, pretending she wasnât there. Pretending she hadnât just unraveled years of carefully built distance with one look.
But ignoring you had never been easy for Paige.
Minutes passed, maybe more, and just when she thought she should leave, she found herself walking toward you instead. The pull was still there, even after all this time.
She stopped beside you, close enough to feel the warmth of your presence but not enough to invade your space.
âDidnât think Iâd ever see you again.â
Your posture stiffened, but you didnât turn to her right away. Instead, you took a slow sip of your drink, as if gathering your thoughts. âYeah, well. Lifeâs full of surprises.â
She let out a breath that couldâve been a laugh, but there was no humor in it.
Paige didnât know what she expectedâmaybe that youâd brush her off, maybe that youâd demand answers she still wasnât sure how to give. But as she stood there, watching you, she realized she needed to ask. Needed to know.
âAre you happy?â
She saw the way your fingers tightened around your glass, the way your shoulders locked like you were bracing for impact. You turned to her then, eyes sharp, guarded.
âWhy do you care?â
Paige swallowed. She didnât have an answer youâd want to hear. Didnât have the right words to explain why she had walked away back then. Why she had forced you out of her life when all she had ever wanted was to pull you closer.
But she had to know. Had to believe that what she did had been worth something. That the sacrifice she madeâthe one that shattered her, the one you never even knew aboutâhad meant something in the end.
She looked away, swirling the remnants of her drink in her glass. And finally, almost too quiet to be heardâ
âBecause I had to believe it was worth it.â
Your expression flickered, something unreadable flashing in your eyes, but Paige saw the moment your walls went up. The moment you shut her out, just as she had once done to you.
You pushed back from the bar, grabbing your coat.
âYou donât get to ask me that, Paige.â
Her stomach twisted. She wanted to stop you, wanted to explainâbut she didnât. She just sat there, watching you walk out of the bar, out into the cold night air, leaving her behind.
Just like she had left you.
The cold night air did little to settle the storm in Paigeâs chest.
She watched you leave, her fingers twitching against the condensation of her glass, an old instinct screaming at her to run after you. To stop you. But she stayed rooted to the barstool, letting the moment slip through her fingers like so many others before it.
Maybe she deserved that.
No, she definitely deserved that.
But that didnât mean she was done. Not this time.
A week passed. Then two.
Paige told herself she wouldnât look for you, wouldnât make this harder than it needed to be. But then she saw you againâby chance or by fate, she wasnât sure.
The coffee shop was tucked in a quiet corner of the city, one she rarely went to, but there you were.
Sitting by the window, scrolling through your phone, completely unaware that her world had just tilted on its axis again.
Paige took a slow breath, adjusting the cap on her head, as if that would somehow make her presence less jarring. She told herself to leave, that she had no reason to be here. But her feet moved before she could stop them.
And then she was standing in front of you.
You looked up, blinking in surprise before your expression hardened.
âSeriously?â
She had the audacity to smile. Just a little. âHey.â
You exhaled sharply, setting your phone down. âWhat are you doing here?â
She hesitated, because she could lieâsay she was just grabbing coffee, pretend this was another coincidence. But she was done lying, done pretending.
So she pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, ignoring the way your brows shot up in disbelief.
âI wanted to see you.â
Your jaw tightened. âPaigeââ
âLook, I know you donât owe me anything. I know I left and that I never gave you a real explanation. And I know that seeing me again is probably the last thing you want.â
You stayed silent, watching her carefully. Paige took that as a sign to keep going.
âBut I justâI just need to talk to you. Not about the past. Justâjust let me sit here for a minute.â
You scoffed, shaking your head. âYou discarded me, Paige. And now you just want to sit and talk?â
The words stung, sharp and direct, but she didnât flinch. She nodded instead, fingers clenching against her thigh. âYeah. I do.â
You studied her for a long moment, something flickering in your expression.
Then, with an exasperated sigh, you leaned back. âFine. But Iâm not making this easy for you.â
Paige let out a quiet breath. âWouldnât expect anything less.â
The conversation started awkward, filled with stilted small talk and long pauses. But Paige didnât mind. She wasnât here for easy. She was here for you.
And if she had to work for it, she would.
Sheâd spent years running from what she wanted.
Now, she was ready to chase it.
Paige had always been good at winning.
On the court, she knew how to read plays, how to adjust, how to push through obstacles until she got what she wanted.
But you werenât a game. You werenât something she could just strategize her way back into.
And that terrified her more than anything.
A week after your reluctant coffee shop conversation, Paige saw you again.
This time, it wasnât by accident.
She knew where to find youâyour favorite bookstore, a quiet place tucked away from the chaos of the city.
She told herself she wouldnât approach you, that sheâd just catch a glimpse, maybe remind herself that you were still here, still real. But when she spotted you in one of the aisles, she couldnât stop herself.
âYou really like this place, huh?â
You turned, startled at first, then visibly annoyed when you realized who it was.
âPaige.â
She raised her hands in mock surrender. âNot here to bother you. Just⊠thought Iâd check out some books.â
You narrowed your eyes. âSince when do you read?â
Paige smirked. âSince now.â
You exhaled, clearly debating whether to engage or ignore her. Eventually, you turned back to the shelf, tracing the spines with absent fingers.
Paige stayed a few feet away, not pushing, not forcing conversation. Just existing in your space, letting you get used to her being there.
And maybeâjust maybeâhoping youâd let her stay.
Over the next few weeks, she found ways to slip into your life, never demanding too much, never making it obvious.
A casual nod when she saw you at a café. A brief conversation in passing. A small joke here, a quiet comment there.
She didnât expect you to trust her again overnight. She wasnât that naive.
But she wanted you to see she wasnât going anywhere this time.
She wanted you to know she was serious.
Paige exhaled, gripping the strap of her gym bag as she stood outside the arena.
She had invited you to the game tonight.
You hadnât said yes. But you hadnât said no either.
And when she looked up, scanning the crowd filtering through the entrance, she saw you.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
You werenât aloneâyour friends flanked you, keeping the atmosphere light, but Paige could see the tension in your posture. Like you werenât sure why you had come.
But you were here.
That was enough.
For now.
Paige played like she had something to prove.
Not to the crowd. Not to the coaches.
To you.
Every shot, every pass, every moment on the court was a silent messageâLook at me. See what I can be.
And when the final buzzer sounded, when the game was won and the cheers rang loud, her eyes searched for you again.
You were still there.
Watching.
After the game, she found you by the exit, waiting.
She approached carefully, wiping the sweat from her forehead, heart pounding louder than it had on the court.
âYou stayed.â
You shrugged, arms crossed. âYou played well.â
Paige took a slow breath. âThanks.â
A beat of silence stretched between you, the years of distance still palpable.
Then, softlyââWhy now, Paige?â
Her throat tightened.
Because I already gave you your normal life. Now itâs my turn to have a life with you.
But she didnât say that. Not yet.
Instead, she let a small smile tug at her lips. âBecause Iâm done running.â
And for the first time, you didnât look away.
Paige had never been good at waiting.
But she had to be patient now.
The next morning, she found herself lingering by her phone, resisting the urge to text you. It had taken everything in her to tell you she was done running, but words meant nothing without action. And she wasnât about to mess this up again by moving too fast.
Instead, she let things happen naturally.
Days passed, and Paige made sure to be present without pushing too hard. Little momentsâliking your posts when she never used to, casually showing up at places she knew youâd be. Each interaction was subtle, an unspoken invitation.
She had spent so many years keeping her distance that she had to relearn how to be in your orbit.
And she knew you noticed.
One evening, she saw her chance.
A mutual friendâs birthday dinner. You were there, seated with a few others, and Paige made a deliberate choice to sit across from you.
Not next to you. That would be too much.
Just close enough that you couldnât ignore her.
She watched the way you stiffened slightly when she greeted you, then relaxed into neutrality. That was progress.
The night went on, and as conversations swirled around the table, Paige kept her focus splitâengaging with the others but never letting you fade into the background.
Then came the moment that caught her off guard.
Someone cracked a joke about past relationships, and the table erupted into laughter. But Paige felt her pulse spike when your gaze flickeredâjust brieflyâto her.
It was gone in an instant, but she caught it.
You werenât unaffected by her presence.
And she held onto that.
After dinner, she found you outside, waiting for your ride.
Paige hesitated, then stepped closer, standing beside you in silence. The cool air was thick with unspoken things.
Finally, she murmured, âI didnât expect to see you tonight.â
You gave a small shrug. âI almost didnât come.â
Paigeâs chest tightened. âBut you did.â
A beat of silence. Thenâ
âWhy are you suddenly around again, Paige?â
She exhaled slowly, choosing her words carefully. âI told you. Iâm done running.â
You looked away, as if weighing her words. Paige could tell you werenât convinced yet. And that was fair. She had spent years pushing you away.
But she had time now.
She was going to prove it.
You scoffed, exhaling sharply. âThat doesnât mean anything, Paige. Not after everything.â
Her throat tightened. âThen tell me how to make it mean something.â
Your arms crossed over your chest, frustration bubbling over. âYou donât get it, do you? You donât just get to decide when you want to be here. You disappeared, Paige. You left me with nothing. No explanation, no closureâjust gone.â
She flinched. She deserved that. Every word.
âI thought I was doing the right thing,â she admitted, her voice quieter now. âI thoughtââ
âYou thought what?â you snapped. âThat I couldnât handle your world? That I wasnât enough?â
She ran a hand down her face, the weight of her silence pressing between you. Then, finallyâ
âBecause you said you wanted a normal life.â
Your breath hitched.
Paige looked at you then, really looked at you, and her expression was raw. âYou said you wanted normal, and I knew I could never give that to you. So I let you have it.â
Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy.
Then, your laugh cameâsharp, disbelieving. âYou let me have it? Are you kidding me? You never even gave me a choice, Paige.â
Her jaw clenched, guilt washing over her. âI know. I was scared. I convinced myself I was doing what was best for you. But it wasnât my decision to make.â
You shook your head, years of frustration unraveling in real time. âDamn right, it wasnât.â
Paige exhaled shakily. âI know I donât deserve a second chance. But if youâll let me, I want to prove that Iâm not going anywhere this time.â
Your lips parted, but no words came. Because for the first time, the truth was laid bare between you.
And now, the choice was finally yours.
Paige didnât wait for your answer that night.
Because this time, she wasnât just asking.
She was proving.
The shift was subtle at first. But undeniable.
Paige started showing up. Not just at events or places where she could conveniently cross paths with you, but in ways that made it impossible to ignore her presence.
A textâsimple, direct: I know I donât deserve it, but can we talk?
A coffee order at your desk one morningâyour exact order, no note, just an unspoken understanding.
A glance from across the room that held more weight than a thousand words.
She was making it clearâshe was done running.
But were you ready to stop running too?
It all came to a head one night when you found yourself at a restaurant with mutual friends. You werenât expecting her to be there.
But she was.
And she wasnât alone.
Paige sat with her teammates, but her attention never wavered from you. Even as conversations swirled around the table, she only seemed aware of one thingâwhere you were, who you were talking to, how close someone else was standing.
Then, as if drawn by an invisible pull, she excused herself. And when you stepped outside for air, she followed.
âYou still donât believe me, do you?â she asked, voice steady but soft.
You sighed, leaning against the railing. âPaige, I donât know what to believe.â
She hesitated, then took a step closer. âThen let me say it again. I was wrong. I was wrong to decide for you. I was wrong to leave. And I was wrong to think I could be happy without you.â
Your chest tightened. âYou donât get to say that now. You made your choice.â
Her jaw clenched. âAnd Iâve regretted it every single day since.â
Silence stretched, thick with years of unsaid things.
Then, softer this timeââYou wanted a normal life. I wanted to give that to you.â
You turned to face her fully. âAnd what if I wanted you more?â
Her breath caught.
For the first time, she looked shaken. Vulnerable. âThen let me fix it.â
You let out a slow exhale. âHow?â
She didnât hesitate. âBy showing you that my world can be yours, too. That thisâusâcan work.â
A beat. Then another.
And then, finallyâ
âLet me try.â
And for the first time in years, maybeâjust maybeâyou considered letting her.
Paige didnât expect an answer that night.
The weight of her confession still hung in the air, and she knew you needed time. She had stolen your choice onceâshe wouldnât make the same mistake again.
But she wasnât done fighting for you. Not this time.
She started showing up even more. Not just at the places she knew you would be, but in the ways that mattered.
She learned your schedule, not to intrude but to be available. If you needed space, she gave it. If you wanted presence, she provided it.
Little by little, she wove herself back into your life.
When you had a late-night work event, she sent an Uber to make sure you got home safely. When you had a rough day, she texted without expecting a reply: Just so you know, Iâm here.
And when you finally started respondingâsmall things at first, short answers, a dry remark here and thereâshe took it as progress.
Because you werenât ignoring her anymore.
The night everything changed, she found you alone on the balcony at a mutual friendâs gathering.
âYou hate crowds,â she noted, stepping beside you.
You scoffed. âThen why are you here?â
She hesitated, then answered honestly. âBecause you are.â
A beat of silence. Then, you sighed, rubbing your temples. âPaige, this⊠itâs exhausting. I donât know what you want from me.â
She turned to you, eyes steady. âI want you. I always have.â
You let out a breath, shaking your head. âYou donât get to say that now. You left me.â
âI know.â Her voice wavered, but she didnât look away. âAnd I hate myself for it. But I canât change the past. All I can do is ask if thereâs still a future for us.â
You stared at her, torn between frustration and something deeper, something that never really left.
Paige swallowed hard. âYou said you wanted a normal life. I let you have it. But the truth is⊠I never wanted normal. I wanted you. And if youâll let me, I want to give you a life where you donât have to choose between love and normalcy.â
You exhaled sharply, emotions swirling. âAnd if I say no?â
Paigeâs jaw tightened, but she nodded. âThen Iâll respect it. But I had to try.â
Your fingers curled around the balcony railing. The city stretched before you, endless and full of possibilities.
Finally, you looked at her, searching her face. âThen prove it.â
A slow smile tugged at her lips. âI will.â
And for the first time in years, it felt like something real was beginning again.
The weight of Paigeâs confession lingered between you, heavy and unshakable.
You had spent years wondering why she left, why she walked away without a word. And now that you knew the truth, it didnât make things easier. If anything, it made them harder.
Because she thought she was protecting you. And in doing so, she shattered you.
She didnât push anymore after that night.
Instead, she let her actions speak.
She showed up. Consistently. Not just when it was easy or convenient. Not just in the spaces where it was expected.
She found ways to be in your world, the one she once thought she had to let you have on your own.
When you had a late night at work, she sent food to your office. When she had a game in your city, she made sure you had the option to comeânever asking, just leaving tickets in case. When she was free, she met you where you were instead of expecting you to follow her pace.
And slowly, the walls you built started to crack.
The final step was hers to take.
She invited you to a gameâone that mattered. A championship. A moment where the world would be watching her.
She didnât ask for anything more than your presence.
So you went.
And after the game, when the confetti settled and the cameras pulled back, she found you waiting in the hallway outside the locker room.
Her hair was damp, her jersey still clinging to her. But none of it mattered. Not the victory, not the celebration.
Only you.
âCome with me,â she said, breathless and certain.
You hesitated. âPaigeââ
âI already gave you up once. Iâm not making that mistake again.â She exhaled, stepping closer. âYou got to live your normal life. Now let me have my turn. Let me have you.â
The words struck something deep inside you.
She wasnât asking you to give up anything. She was asking you to choose.
For the first time, the decision wasnât made for you.
And this time, you knew your answer.
The mornings were your favorite.
Not because they were peacefulâPaige was anything but quiet.
She hummed while making coffee, danced around the kitchen in nothing but a hoodie and socks, occasionally bumping into you just to steal a kiss.
âYouâre in my way,â you muttered as you tried to grab a mug.
She grinned, blocking you with her body. âNo, I think youâre exactly where youâre supposed to be.â
You rolled your eyes but didnât move away.
Balancing your worlds wasnât easy, but it was never about easy. It was about effort. About making it work.
Some nights, you were in her worldâattending games, sitting courtside, holding her hand in moments she once thought she had to face alone. Other nights, she was in yoursâpicking up takeout after your long workday, helping fold laundry, blending seamlessly into the life you once thought you had to protect from her.
âYou donât have to do all this,â you had told her once, watching as she stacked plates after dinner.
She gave you a look, one that said you should know better by now. âI want to.â
That was the difference. Before, she thought she had to choose. Now, she refused to.
Later, she lay on the couch with her head in your lap, scrolling through her phone while you absentmindedly ran your fingers through her hair. It was easy nowâtouching, being close. No tension, no hesitation. Just you and her, like it was always meant to be.
âI have a game in Chicago next week,â she murmured, looking up at you. âCome with me?â
You pretended to think about it, tapping your chin. âHmm⊠whatâs in it for me?â
She sat up, wrapping her arms around your waist, her lips brushing against your ear. âEverything.â
And she meant it.
No more running. No more regrets. Just Paige, and the life you built together.
Finally, home.
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chapter 6: miami, the city that keeps the roof blazin'



ê© summary: lando norris was a preppy asshole in secondary school, and you were the girl he despised. years later, you're a hot-shot sports lawyer rewriting the rules of the sport he calls home, and your paths cross, whether you want them to or not.
ê© pairing: lando norris x fem! lawyer! reader
ê© a/n: anything in orange and bold is the past/ in school
You felt nothing when Lando crossed that line first in Miami. It was a Sprint race. It barely mattered. He got out of the car, smiling like he had just won a World Championship, and it made you want to punch him. He was so smug, so sure he deserved everything he had.Â
You walked up to where Liam was standing in the McLaren garage, a sickly sweet smile on your face. âHey,â you smiled. He turned his head, saw your smile, and smirked, crossing his arms.Â
He rolled his eyes, but it was playful, you knew him well enough now. âWhat do you want?â he asked like it bothered him and you both knew it didnât.Â
âTake Landoâs interview for me?â you pleaded, absent-mindedly crossing your fingers. He chuckled, you looked up at him.Â
âWhat is it with you two?â he asked, chuckling. âObviously, yes I will-â âThank you-â âBut seriously, what is his problem? Heâs so rude to you,â he pointed out and you huffed, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the paddock and out of the garage. He didnât complain. You stopped just outside the garage.
âHeâs just a dick I used to know,â you admitted. âBut we had this whole argument in Saudi, and Iâm just really not interested in digging up that grave again, yâknow what I mean?â you asked, frustrated even when just thinking about what Lando had said. He had no right to think that everything you worked for was for him.Â
âWhat happened?â Liam asked, his eyes trained on your own. You stilled for a moment, actually looking at him. That tinge of green in his hazel eyes. The way his eyebrows furrowed when he was confused, or stressed, or wanting to understand something. You realised you still had your hand on his arm, and he hadnât moved it yet. You didnât move it. You gulped. âHe just⊠he was a dick, said some shit about my work and how it was for him or something-â
âWhat a bitch,â he gasped. âHoly shit thatâs awful. What a self-centred prick-â
âIt doesnât matter,â it did. It really mattered considering he promised you heâd always believe in you and your vision. You were glad someone else saw how shitty he was, and you were glad that someone was Liam. âThank you for taking the interview,â you smiled at him before turning and walking off, needing some time to think. Liam walked back into the McLaren garage, passing Lando on his way in.Â
âHey mate, you ready for-â
âNot feeling well,â he answered bluntly. âWe can talk later.âÂ
It was a Sprint win, not a World Championship. Lando knew that. But it still felt better than being behind Oscar again. As much as he didnât want to admit it, everyone knew it stung. Anyone with eyeballs could see the way the WDC title was slowly slipping through his fingers, even if it was 6 races in, it still meant there were 5 where Oscar was better. Lando was meant to be better. He was meant to be everything. McLarenâs golden boy. F1âs new era. Maxâs rival. A real racer, unafraid of getting his elbows out and fighting for what he wanted. Yet he was scared of instagram comments? That didnât feel right. Didnât sit right with him, or anyone, he assumed. He didnât have a championship mentality, he knew that. He had his mentality, and heâd shape it whatever way he needed to, if it meant heâd raise that trophy once. Just one. He wasnât here to be in the sport forever. He wasnât here to break records. He was here to prove that all those years he spent making sacrifices, of his family making sacrifices, sacrificing you, that it all meant something. That he wasnât some bullshit, rich-kid, paid-in driver who never had any talent to begin with. Miami was his town, his first win, his biggest weekend yet, and he'd just won the sprint. He was happy. He was the driver he was supposed to be. But he still had quali later. All he wanted was to remind himself of those days at the karting tracks with you. The way youâd smile at him when he made a terrible joke. The way you always knew how to fix it if the race went bad. The way you always made sure his helmet was safe. The way he felt safe with you.Â
âWhat is it with you two?â Liamâs voice cut through the noise in the garage, and Landoâs clung to it like a lifeline. Heâd realised that, where Liam was, you were too. A fact he didnât particularly like, but heâd accepted, especially after the shitshow in Saudi. He didnât mean to phrase it like that, he just couldn't get his words together properly. He just wanted to know if there was even a small proportion of you that still cared about him. Clearly there wasnât.Â
Which is fine. Lando had decided he didnât need love. He just needed to put his head down and focus. So why was he following you through the garage as you pulled at Liamâs arm. Landoâs posture stiffened.Â
âHeâs just a dick I used to know,â you admitted. Used to know. Like you didnât know every piece of his brain, every crack of his bones, every inch of skin. He scoffed. He noticed how Liam didnât remove your hand as you ranted. He looked at you with those eyes he knew well. You were annoyingly easy to fall for. âBut we had this whole argument in Saudi, and Iâm just really not interested in digging up that grave again, yâknow what I mean?âÂ
âWhat happened?â Liam asked, his eyes trained on your own. You buffered for a moment, actually looking at him. Lando had noticed the way his eyes softened when he looked at you. He noticed those small glances he gave you in the halls. He noticed the way his eyes automatically fell to you. It made him sick. That was what he used to do. He knew that bubbly feeling in his chest all too well. He knew that lovesick smile. He knew the burning under your hand, the one you kept on his bicep. You didnât move it. You gulped. âHe just⊠he was a dick, said some shit about my work and how it was for him or something-â
âWhat a bitch,â Liam gasped. âHoly shit thatâs awful. What a self-centred prick-â
All of what he said was right, and Lando knew it. Still hurt.Â
âIt doesnât matter,â it did. He knew it did. What he said wasnât right, and he wanted to apologise. Of course he knew you did your work for yourself, and more importantly, the little kids in karting who wouldnât have a chance without fairer rules. âThank you for taking the interview,â you smiled at him, that soft, perfect smile. The kind that shouldnât just be thrown around to co-workers, ones that should be reserved for vogue.
Liam turned to go back into the garage, (most-likely) to find Lando. He cleared his throat of the emotion bubbling within it and shook his head as Liam reached him.Â
âHey mate, you ready for-â
âNot feeling well,â he answered bluntly. âWe can talk later.â
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âAstarion ending as the Vampire Ascendant is the correct ending for him, because it is what he wants.â
That is a claim Iâve been seeing pop up more and more often these days. And I think itâs both a very bold and a very odd claim to make.
But first things first: Hello, Iâm a licensed social worker! So far, Iâve worked with children, refugees and youths with behavioural issues stemming from bullying and or abuse.
Please be aware that I will be mentioning different kinds of abuse, coping mechanisms, and victim/abuser relationships. If any of this is difficult for you, donât force yourself through it. My jabbering about a traumatised vampire is not worth your wellbeing, not ever.
I will, however try to stick to Astarion and not use other examples. If, in any case, I do use a non-Astarion example, Iâll add a warning beforehand so that you can skip the part. And Iâll make it clear what will be discussed in the next bit, so that you have a chance to skip it entirely.
This is an effort to make this as accessible as possible for everyone that wants to indulge on a mad womanâs rambling â and I know thereâs a few people that like this sort of stuff!
And, uh, there's obviously spoilers for all three acts. Serious spoilers, even.
Before I can get into the whole âwhy Astarion didnât really want to ascend,â we need to understand him a little more. And to understand this pretty boyâs brain, we first need to understand the gist of what weâre talking about when we throw around the word âabuse.â
âAbuseâ is when someone is treated with cruelty, violence, or neglect â often to bad effect â on a regular basis. Repetitively. Checkâs out for Astarion, Iâd say, but we all knew that already. I mean, if one thing was obvious, it was this.
1. Astarions Abuse
Next we need to look at what kind of abuse Astarion faced over his long years of torment, seeing as different types of abuse will have different effects on the victim.
Not that that is anything we have to worry about with him â Astarion won the abuse lottery, to put it bluntly. In a horrible game of fate, he got everything. He himself indirectly mentions all the types of abuse he faced, albeit never using the correct terms.
The first we properly notice â fitting, seeing as it is often the most obvious form of abuse â is the physical abuse. Astarions scars are probably the biggest tell Larian could shove down our throats, only underlined by Astarionâs tale about the night itself. About how Cazador âmisspelled somethingâ every time he flinched or screamed and had to do âmany corrections. On top of this, Cazador locked Astarion up for months on end and tortured him â or had him tortured â on a regular basis both as a rite and as a punishment.
Next up, we have the fact that Astarion was forced to basically prostitute himself repeatedly. This is what we call sexual exploitation.
âI spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my Master.â â Act 2
Two hundred years is a long time, filled with great many people. Now, we donât know how many of those people actually tapped into the sexual exploitation and how many he could just lure back with other means, but the fact that it happened a lot is undeniable.
Next we have a form of abuse that we often disregard in adults: Neglect. It sounds odd, I know, saying that a fully grown adult was neglected. They can care for themselves, can they not?
Well. Yes and no.
Adult neglect is proceeded by the condition that one adult has to lean on another adult to fulfil their needs for whatever reason. This could be anything, from disability to income-based issues. Â
Seeing as Astarion had absolutely nothing, while Cazador had everything, we can assume this was the case. Cazador had the house, the money, the power. Astarion owns but one pair of clothes, assumedly, that he has fixes over and over again. Fair to say, thatâs pretty neglectful. (And itâs one more reason to shower the guy in pretty armour and camp clothes. Go ham, people.)
Last we have the form of abuse we actually get to witness later in the game â emotional abuse.
Once again, itâs undeniable that this happened. Especially since weâre all seeing it in the flesh upon meeting Cazador in his crypt.
âHave you no respect for yourself?â
âI strove for perfection in all things. Even those as imperfect as you.â
âA pity you amounted to so little, despite my efforts.â
âA pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything.â
All Act 3, Crypt
Here we have just a few examples of things Cazador throws in his face. Itâs like reading a textbook on emotional abuse, this one (and itâs definitely a reason to throw hands).
Blaming the victim, keeping their sense of self and their self-worth as tiny as possible to make them cower and flee. A true classic.
This pretty much shows that Astarion suffered all forms of abuse we commonly see and it is implied â once again by Astarion himself â that at least a few of those instances were ritualistic.
Now, what does that mean exactly? Well, I fear I need to use a real example here, so please skip the next paragraph.
Ritualistic doesnât refer to a proper ritual â it can, but thatâs mostly a thing for those in a cult. So, weâre not necessarily talking about a âVampire Ascendent Ritualâ. A husband, beating his wife every evening after his third bottle of beer is also called ritual abuse. It happens regularly. It is part of a routine. Both parties know what will happen.
I canât find the exact quote, so Iâm working of my memory here, but at one point he said that when Cazador invited him to eat and he said yes, he would be served a putrid rat. If he said no, heâd be beaten.
The way it was phrased made it clear that it happened more than once and that Astarion clearly knew what would happen. So, this can be classified as ritualistic abuse.
2. A Note on Conditioning and Compliance
By default, abuse victims are conditioned to behave a certain way or in a certain fashion. This is a natural response to avoid further abuse.
In Astarion, the thing we see most often is his inherent need to please. Not literally, he doesnât mind being an arsehole. But he initially feels the need to follow Tavâs orders, even if they go against his own wishes.
This can be clearly seen in the conversation with Araj Oblodra. Astarion very clearly doesnât want to bite her. He doesnât. But he will do so, if Tav tells him to. This behaviour is not conscious â he doesnât know why he does it, he just does â and it is to be expected. This is how he kept himself save for two centuries, so of course he will fall back into his usual pattern when the pressure is high.
This goes hand in hand with the fact that most abuse victims donât fight. Maybe initially, but not after long term abuse. Especially not after two fucking centuries.
This is true in Astarion â offered by his âsiblingsâ during act 3 and unhappily acquiesced by the man himself. Astarion stopped fighting and, once again implied, cowered, and did as he was told in order to survive.
3. The Astarion we know and love
Obviously, all that abuse does have an impact on our vampire boyfriend. He shows various common signs of abuse and just like with the forms of abuse, Astarion raked every coping mechanism he could find. (Not really, but it feels like it.) Itâs also important to note that nearly all of the following things happen inwardly. Astarion is not one of the victims, that tries to rationalise and minimise the actions of his abuser. Quite the opposite, actually.
Iâll note from the beginning, that rationalisation will not be covered in this bit, as most examples will be important later on. But he definitely does it.
One of his biggest skills is to hide every ounce of fear or hurt behind sarcasm and snarky theatrics. He doesnât seem to hide his anger much, though, so thatâs something! Our boy is cool with anger, not so much with being afraid.
âAhahaha, now that you mention itâŠ.I might have doneâŠthat.â â Act 3, regarding the Gur children
âThe thing that will decide my fate forever more? Yeees, itâs been on my miiiind. Why?â â Act 2, regarding the Ritual
And thereâs many more instances that prove this. Honestly, half his dialogue is sarcasm, so it would really be too long to get into and we all know what I mean, right? We have alltalked to the guy before. Itâs obvious that heâs sarcastic to a fault.
This goes hand in hand with his penchant for defensiveness. I would personally state that heâs simply not really good with guilt. When talking about fear, he usually just opts for sarcasm or avoids the topic completely, but guilt especially has his defences going up. This is also when heâs most likely to shove all the blame off to Cazador.
âDonât look at me like that. Cazadors orders.â â Act 3, Crypt
âI just did what I had to!â â Act 3, Crypt
And donât get me wrong, he does that anyway. And with good reason. Astarion didnât have a choice for the most part, but heâs still easy to shove things off.
This kind of connects to his penchant for denial.
Astarion doesnât really like to talk about most things. He firmly believes he is an âactionâ sort of person that just does instead of plans, which invertedly just means heâs great at pushing the thinking stuff away. He also likes to get rid of stuff, so that he doesnât need to face it ever again.
âI never want to see these little scraps of misery again. The world doesnât need to know my shame.â â Act 3, about the children
And yes, this partly rings true. Heâs probably ashamed and doesnât want anyone to know what heâs done. But itâs also very clear that he himself simply doesnât want to face his own actions, something that is just  underlined by his extreme willingness to red rid of the other spawn.
As mentioned by Astarion himself, heâs big on manipulation. I mean, I donât think there is much explaining necessary. The guy is willing to do a whole lot in order to get what he desires â which mostly revolves around safety and survival, to be honest â and heâs not really shy about it either. And thatâs despite the fact that he doesnât really like intimacy â especially in form of sex.
Itâs not a secret that Astarion is not big on sex and anything surrounding it. This goes far enough for people to consider him either ace or ace coded.
A claim that, personally, Iâm not super in line with.
Now, itâs not entirely wrong and if this is your head cannon Iâm surely not going to stand in your way â but on a larger spectrum, I think heâs more traumatised than ace. And while those go hand in hand sometimes, itâs a bit difficult for the ace community if you attach traumatised characters to them because it can fuel a whole lot of stigma that is honestly neither needed nor wanted. But I digress!
If it comes to his own behaviour, heâs great at minimising his mistakes. Honestly, heâs a master of minimisation. A very obvious and famous example would be:
ââKilledâ feels like aâŠstrong word. Not many corpses have your vigour.â â Act 1, after killing Tav
Astarion. You literally sucked poor Tav dry and left them flopping around, cold, and dead. Killed is exactly the right word and we all know it.
âQuite the deviation from my usual routine. Capture, not lure. I didnât bring them in with sweet rolls or anything.â â Act 3, Gur Children
This is another attempt at minimising what he did, if a bit less obvious because at this point there isnât much he can say. But at least he didnât sexualise the gur children, right? Theyâre still spawn but whoo, at least that didnât happen. Â
The next point would be dissociation, which is extremely common in abuse victims â of all forms of abuse.
Astarion himself mentioned certain moments that could be classified as dissociation over course of the story, which is probably the coping mechanism I personally expected the most.
The pale elf has a penchant for violence, but heâs not entirely shameless or abhorrently vile, which gets clearer the more the story progresses. So, two hundred years of forced prostitution, torture and doing whatever other horrible things? Yeah, Iâd be more surprised if he didnât dissociate.
Examples of that would be:
âA moment of disgust to push myself through and then I couldâve carried on, just like before.â â Act 2, after Araj
âI felt nothing the moment I handed them over.â â Act 3, Gur Children
âDid you enjoy it? It felt like you werenât fully there.â â Act 1, Tav after Sex
The latter is generally more of an assumption than actual prove, but with context it does make sense.
The last common sign of abuse we find in our boyfriend would be his low self-worth. Itâs a consistent trait that stays over the course of all three acts, noticeable in many different conversations.
We can see it in his reaction to wanting to break up before finishing his story. We can see it in his genuine surprise when Tav picks him over any of the other characters. We see it in his insecurity whenever Tav asks to sleep with another character. Heâs fine with it, but he still worries their decision to sleep with someone else is based on something he did.
It eases up ever so slightly after Cazador is dead, but even then heâs still struggling which is once again perfectly illustrated if you try to break up with him.
âOh shit. I- Did I do something wrong?â
That is the first thing he asks and I think it speaks for itself. He genuinely doesnât believe he has much to offer and for Astarion, itâs likely that Astarion will always be the problem.
4. "Oh, I tried them all none of them answered.â
Another big thing thatâs important to note, is that Astarion was never saved. No one came to save him from Cazador. There was no darling boy on a white steed riding into that castle to rescue him and princess carry him away. Not even the gods answered his desperate calls.
So, he never received any kindness or luck. To him, the world seems as cruel and horrid as before because he didnât have the chance to experience goodness in two centuries.
But worse than that, he didnât even get to save himself. Astarion didnât stand up to Cazador, he didnât run out of his own might.
He was beaten to near death and âsavedâ by Cazador, who would become his abuser.
He tried to save someone and, in turn, was locked up and starved for an entire year.
He was abducted by mind flayers, i.e., saved from Cazador, only to end up tadpoled and on the cusp of getting a fancy, squiddy beard.
Anything thatâs good, any kindness, any selfless actionâŠit all came with a ginormous price tag.
5. Over the Course of the Story
Astarions behaviour changes a whole lot over the course of three acts â which is important once we talk about his quests climax â so letâs review what weâre working with!
Act 1 Astarion is guarded as fuck. The man has walls around him that are so high, even the gods can touch them.
A lot of his behaviour in act 1 revolves around staying save and staying liked. He lies, manipulates, and flutters his lashes in order to get what he wants and needs. Instead of asking, like Wyll, Karlach and Gale do, Astarion uses all he has to offer to get by. He is still very much in survival mode and tries to weasel his way through an unfamiliar situation with familiar methods.
On top of that, and most notably, heâs absolutely not fond of kindness or selflessness.
#I saved a child and now my boyfriend is mad
Here, we are most likely to gain disapproval for doing the decent thing â unless you sent him outside for a minute whenever youâre being a good person.
And Iâd assume that this is because of two things.
First: The very traditional âWhy not me?â
As I mentioned before, Astarion wasnât saved. He hasnât experienced kindness in a very long time so seeing that the world is literally filled with kind people is hurtful. Why didnât anyone save him? Why was he left to his own devices for so long? Why should he care about others when itâs so clear that no one ever cared about him? No, dead to all of them. If he didnât get it, neither will they.
âAnd what am I owed? What about the injustices I suffered? Am I not entitled to anything?â â Act 3, Crypt
âI was in the prime of my life when I was turned. Everything was taken from me too.â â Act 3, Crypt
And secondly is the fact that, as I mentioned, goodness always has a price. And itâs one most people wonât be willing to pay. Thatâs how his life has been, so why would theirs be different?
This is precisely why Astarion may disapprove of kind actions, but he mostly neither approves nor disapproves if Tav asks for payment. Thatâs just how the world works.
Once you venture out into act 2, after getting to know him a whole lot more, he starts to mellow a bit â if only towards Tav.
âHeâs afraid, so afraid, of everyone but you, who she should fear the most.â â Sceleritas about Astarion
His approval is a lot easier to gain â or at least keep! â and he tends to approve of some more proper actions. He doesnât throw a fit if you promise to find Mol, he approves of Tav being kind to His Majesty, of saving Aylin and he even approves of Durge apologising to Isobel after threatening to rip her to pieces.
He's slowly starting to open up, allowing Tav to see some parts of him he previously kept hidden. He accepts their offer to help, if hesitantly and, by god, the man starts experimenting with boundaries.
The social worker in me is shedding tears at this. Itâs my favourite thing to see in my clients and itâs no different here. Yay to saying no!
Of course, itâs still a bit hit or miss. If Tav urges him to bite Araj, for example, he will only to later notice that he didnât fucking have to. He recognises this on his own and he calls Tav out on it. Just like he calls them out on not helping him with his Orthon quest.
Good job, chap. Good fucking job.
And the growth-train wonât stop going even as we reach act 3.
In act 3, thereâs not many things he disapproves as of right now â those he does, mostly have to do with how Tav treats him and not with anyone else. In fact, heâs more likely to approve good behaviour now, like giving Yenna food or money.
And yes, we need to consider that this could simply be because he gets used to Tavâs behaviour and just learns to roll with it. But itâs also highly likely that he notices that thereâs truly good people around. At least one person. And that person is not only good, no, theyâre in the process of helping him break free once and for all.
Theyâre helping him save himself.
By act 3, he has learned that he can absolutely say his piece where Tav is concerned and heâs more likely to disagree with them on certain things. Itâs seen during a lot of small dialogue that heâs no longer terribly afraid to be honest with them, willing to listen and talk and heâll ask for help if he needs it.
âI can do this. But I need your help.â â Act 3, Crypt
Something that can be viewed both positively and negatively is that heâs definitely loyal to a fault. He will stick by Tavâs side, no matter what.
âI really hoped we could avoid being pawns for a dark god, but here we are, I suppose. Iâm with you, my dear, wherever this might lead.â â Act 3, After Jaheira confronts durge
As I said, this can be both positive and negative. On one count, itâs a recipe for disaster, seeing as he could be waltzing into a really bad situation for Tav alone.
But on the other sideâŠthis is a man who only cared about himself because that is the only person he could afford to care about. He needed to survive. He now has enough room to breathe and the capacity to care for someone else and Iâd be inclined to count that as a good thing.
6. The Crypt
All the progress he made in act 2 and 3 is nearly tossed into the wind as soon as the crew enters Cazadors castle.
Itâs not an immediate thing, of course.
At first, Astarion tries to stay light and simple and he hides behind flippant tones and relaxed faces. The way he recounts this is almost comically disinterested and the façade is actually quite good.
Itâs startâs cracking after we meet Godie, one of the people who tortured him on more than one account, but he mostly manages to remain as upbeat as one can honestly expect for the first half of the journey.
All that, however, is done for the very moment we meet Sebastian. His mask not only slips, no, it full on shatters and thereâs none of his apparent lightness left.
Which, of course it does.
The man is suddenly faced with years and years and years of victims. Innocent, unlucky people he lured back to his master over two centuries. People he liked, people he pitied.
âItâs sickening, seeing them again.â
Itâs basically a room filled with guilt, exclusively for Astarion. And, as we mentioned beforeâŠAstarion is not great with guilt.
The guilt, however, is not where it ends.
No, heâs also faced with reflections of his own past. The spawn pose as reminders of what he did, sure, but also as reminders of what he was.
Weak, desperate, hungry.
Thereâs an abundance of images of his worst moments, reflected back at him in the thousands. Itâs probably like staring into a funhouse mirror, but instead of seeing yourself in a funky way he just sees everything he so desperately doesnât want to be.
âIt should be [who I am]! I donât want to be like them. Theyâre pathetic, horribleâŠâ
Heâs forcefully made aware of how darn weak he can be, which claws at all the wounds heâs barely had time to close. Something, he of course wonât admit if asked.
âTHEY DO NOT [remind me of myself]. That weakness in me is dead, ITâS DEAD. I have a higher purpose.â
The high pressure of the moment brings out all of his act 1 traits in but a few moments. You can pretty much watch how he starts to shut down mid conversation, one of his old walls snapping back into place to remove himself from the situation.
Thing is though, walls usually become a bit brittle after disuse. Especially when talking to a person you donât usually want to wall out.
Or, in his case, when talking to Tav.
After meeting Sebastian, Astarion shows extreme reactions to Tav nudging any of his weak spots. His reaction varies on whatever choice you make, but it ranges from aggression to defensiveness, to denial and even to downright begging Tav.
âDonât hate me. I just did what I had to. I swear I did what I had to.â
This probably the most shocking out of all of them, since that is not something we got to witness before. The begging is likely a mixture of intense fear of losing Tav, his low self-esteem and pre-Tav behaviour, since we can assume that Cazador made him beg more than once.
Another old coat he puts back on would also be the least surprising of them all.
Manipulation.
He falls right back into it, using Tavâs affection to get what he want if we trigger the right action.
âIf they die and I ascend, I won't have to rely on the parasite to walk in the sun. I'll be free. Truly completely free. Isn't that what you want?â
This, to me, was probably the biggest tell that Astarion was back in survival mode. Heâs panicking, for fucks sake, and who can blame the guy? Heâs back. Heâs about to face down his abuser.
Of course heâs fucking panicking.
Panic leads to an increased craving for safety and, in his case, power. This is why he clings to Tav, why he begs them to love him still. And this is why he jumps head first into the rationalisation pool.
âI will need to sacrifice them all if I want to perform the ritual. - [You can save them.] â Whatâs the point? They're as good as dead! I thought they were dead. If they are unleashed, they will cause incredible carnage. [âŠ] They must die. Better they serve a purpose.â
Another textbook example.
They must die anyway. Theyâre basically dead. No need to save them now. Theyâre dangerous, Iâm doing the right thing by sacrificing them. I already thought they were dead, so itâs not changing anything for me. Theyâre a lost cause and I deserve  all this power. I deserve it, because I suffered and nothing will change if they die.
So, seeing as we already spoke about his usual behaviour in act 3 â behaviour he showed after we allowed him to breathe and be himself for a while â I think we can fairly easily conclude heâs not thinking straight.
Astarion is right back in survival mode, where all that matters is he himself. If it werenât for the seven thousand spawns, he might have moved through this more gracefully, but seeing those tipped the scales and Astarion is absolutely losing it.
Remember that for the last section, per favore.
7. The Ascension
âAstarion wants to ascend and Tav manipulates him into doing what they want.â
That is basically the essence of what people often claim and I canât help but shake my head at such a blatant disregard of everything he has become. This is completely ignoring the change and growth he has gone through over the course of their journey.
Astarion wants to be free. He wants to be safe. That does not mean he wants to ascend.
And the claim that Tav manipulates him into doing anything is even more baffling. We are all aware that Tav is not manipulative by nature, yes? That is entirely on you. You decide who your Tav is.
And then letâs remember: Astarion is panicked. Heâs afraid and heâs not thinking straight. His abuser is on his knees before him and he still feels so weak. And thereâs seven thousand spawns that need handling.
Astarion is very much not okay right now.
In fact, reading his thoughts just proves this theory.
âYou can see the fear in his eyes but also the hunger. The thick smell of blood in the air and the promise of power being so close is intoxicating to him. All he can see is the power of the ritual and the freedom that power brings. The freedom to do anything. To be anything.â
Tav, however, has none of those problems. They can actually see beyond the current situation and they are fully aware what the consequences are. Astarion is not. As we previously established, Astarion is a doer. Not a thinker. He didnât think this through, not at all.
The only thing Tav is doing â the persuasion roll â is reminding him of the very real consequences he is facing. The consequences he hasnât thought about before.
"I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."
And that is the kindest thing Tav could do in this situation. Theyâre not bodily dragging him away from Cazador. Theyâre not even telling him to not do it. Theyâre just offering him the truth. He can do with that information whatever he desires.
âAstarion cries when he doesnât ascend, that just shows that it was the wrong choice.â
A hare-brained point that I thankfully have only seen once so far.
That crying? That is healthy crying.
That is him, crumbling under the stress that suddenly dissipates. That is him mourning two hundred years of torment. Thatâs him letting out feelings he hasnât been able to for centuries.
And, for the love of god, try to put yourself in his shoes.
Two hundred years of torment, ended in but a moment.
Astarion was abused and tortured for so long, afraid for so long only to see his tormentor die just like that.
Cazador died within a moment and all Astarion needed was a darn blade. Of course he fucking cries.
Seeing how pathetic a being the very core of your lifeâs misery actually is hurts. It hurts like hell because not only are you finally free â free! â no, youâre faced with the fact that this pile of nothing, the thing thatâs bleeding out right in front of youâŠthis was what tortured for so long.
This thing hurt you so much. That guy took everything from you, everything you once were, and broke it again and again and again over years.
You were so scared of this thing.
And yet he has the gall and the gumption to die just like that.
It was so easy.
And yet you suffered for so long.
8. Evil Playthrough?
An evil playthrough is really a different setting altogether.
All of this, as you can probably tell, is really only applicable on a good playthrough. Realistically speaking. Iâm not sure how the game mechanics handle it.
On an evil path, Astarion never really gets to experience kindness and goodness. Evil Tav will just prove him right in his believe that the world is a vile and cold place, meaning that he realistically would be more inclined to actually want to ascend.
9. Final Conclusion
I think all of this should be enough to make it clear that no, ascended Astarion is not the best ending for the guy. In fact, it is probably the worst. Because itâs just him, running away. Heâs running into a lonely and cold state of being, where cruelty and power lord over everything else and heâs running because heâs terrified of being hurt again. Heâs running despite desperately wanting to stop running.
âI'll spend the rest of my life running watching the shadows, never feeling safeâŠno, this has to happen. Here and now.â
And, the worst part is: Nothing about Astarion is left after he ascends. Even his tone of speaking gradually changes, his theatrics fading. Heâs slowly losing himself, until thereâs nothing but an evil caricature left.
So, in the end, ascension will have proven him right.
That version of him is dead.
#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate 3#baldur's gate#baldurs gate#bg3#astarion#the dark urge#tav#astarion romance#astarion ancunin#astarion and tav#bg3 act 1#bg3 act 2#bg3 act 3#act 3#act 2#act 1#araj oblodra
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Hi Hi !!! Can I request for headcanons of Taiju Shiba x Brat!Reader plsss :D Both SFW & NSFW if possiblee
taiju shiba x brat!reader Ë àŒ â
âââ
Ëđ§· Ì !!
ᥣđ© notes: taiju has no business being this hot and this mean at the same time. like sir???? why are you threatening to break my attitude and my back in one breath??? anyway if i go missingâ just assume i disrespected him on purpose⊠đ«Ł
ᥣđ© cw: minors dni, nsfw, f!reader, dom!taiju, possessiveness, overstimulation, breeding kink
SFW (but barely) Ë àŒ â
đ„ you love testing this manâs patience on a daily basis and the worst part??? he actually lets you. youâll toss him a smirk, say things like âmake me,â and every time, he clenches his jaw because he absolutely would.
đ„ heâs not used to being challengedâ especially not by someone who rolls their eyes when he says âsit down,â and fires back with, ââŠnot unless you say please first. hmph.â
it drives him completely insane. not just the attitude, but the way you know exactly what youâre doingâ pushing, teasing, daring him to react. and ohhh, he will. but youâre not getting a âpleaseâ, youâre getting put in your place.
đ„ ââŠyou donât scare me,â you say. now thatâs kinda bold of you to lie like that. deep down, you like pushing his buttons just to see what happens when he finally snaps. and it also lowkey turns him on watching you pretend youâre not trembling for him.
đ„ you bring out the worst in him, but also the softest. youâre the only one who dares to push his buttons and actually gets away with it. not because heâs weak, but because heâs literally obsessed with you.
đ„ youâre always teasing him in public; pulling his tie, stealing his sunglasses, sitting on his lap during gang meetings like, âwhat?? this seatâs mine.â heâll grumble or scowl even; ââŠyouâre testing me,â he mutters, low enough that only you can hearâ but he never moves you or makes you get off his lap.
and if anyone dares say a word??? theyâre met with a look that could literally kill. because brat or not, youâre his. and everyone knows better than to touch what Taiju Shiba already claims as his.
đ„ secretly sentimental!!!! he actually keeps screenshots of your sassiest texts and has a video of you pouting, with your arms crossed while calling him a âmeanieâ and âcontrol freakâ saved in a private folder in his gallery. he always watches it whenever he misses you.
âââ
Ëđ§· Ì !!
NSFW Ë àŒ â
đ„ ohhh so you wanna be a brat?? say less. he lives to put you in your place after all. heâll literally say âstripâ when you roll your eyes one too many times, and doesnât care if youâre mid-argument or standing in the hallway.
đ„ sometimes he doesnât bother to undress youâ just moves your panties to the side and fucks you hard enough to make sure you behave. and if you moan too loud??? heâll literally cover your mouth.
âshut up & take it, brat⊠isnât this what you wanted??â
đ„ breeding kink?? HELLO??? itâs his favorite way to end an argument; with you leaking on the sheets, his cum still dripping out of you, warm & slow.
â.. now thatâll shut you up for a while wonât it??â
đ„ the moment you try to sass him??? he grabs your face and shoves two fingers into your mouth.
âbrat⊠if youâre gonna talk back, you better learn how to use that mouth properly.â
đ„ he loves fucking you face-down, ass up when heâs actually mad; doesnât stop until youâre sobbing into the pillows, voice breaking with every thrust. and when you finally shatter??? when youâre whimpering,ââŠplease, please, please Taiju, Iâll be good I promise!!â heâll just smirk and say:
âyouâll be good?? only now?? all that attitude just a few minutes agoâ whereâd that go, huh!??â
đ„ the more attitude you give him during the day, the worse he makes you beg at night. you roll your eyes?? heâll edge you on his thigh and say, âlook at me while you fall apart.â
the moment you call him bossy?? heâll say: âthen do as youâre told and keep that vibrator between your thighs until I say stop.â
taiju doesnât need to tie you up to keep you still. all it takes is one hand gripping your waist, and youâre not going anywhere. heâll whisper filth in your ear while keeping the rest of his body perfectly composed.
â⊠you wanna continue acting like a brat?? then donât run from what you started.â
© itoshiierae 2025 đ â§âË â
please do not modify or repost my content onto any other platforms.
#tokyo revengers#tokyo rev#tokyo revengers smut#taiju shiba#taiju shiba x reader#shiba taiju#tokyo rev smut#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers headcanons#taiju shiba smut#tokyo revengers angst#tokyo revengers x you#taiju x reader
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Hey, I was reading through "kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit" (which I adore, Tim's plot to kidnap Kon is gonna go great with definitely no more derailments for sure) and it seems like there's at least one post missing? Between the one ending with the "You didn't even look at me, though." "Didn't I?" dialogue to the one starting with "Superboy carts him halfway across town" without actually showing Superboy finding out about Tim's matching soulmark.
I . . . what the actual fuck, haha, there's like a good 700 words of PRETTY IMPORTANT CONVERSATION missing there and I cannot find ANY sign of any posts that should have them, mis-tagged or not, so like . . . Tumblr, what. Or ME what. Either Tumblr fucked up or I fucked up, and hell if I know which at this point. I could swear I posted those words, but god knows what happened to them and I am definitely not gonna go through ALL of this blog figuring out why they're not where they're supposed to be, so WELP, fuckit, here's just everything of this WIP so far all together and all in order behind the cut: 16.7k of an incredibly normal Tim Drake being an incredibly normal civilian about this situation.
Apparently Cadmus knew Experiment Thirteen was the one to invest in because Experiment Thirteen had a soulmark.Â
Apparently Cadmus also considered terminating Experiment Thirteen because Experiment Thirteen had a soulmark.Â
Tim knows this because he broke into the place and stole a copy of Superboy's file the day after they met. He also knows what Superboy's soulmark looks like, because these absolute bastards not only took multiple pictures of it, they put those pictures in his fucking file. Not even, like, classified or tucked away behind a firewall or a password or anything. Not even in a separate folder. Just right there in his standard file where literally any random scientist or doctor or goddamn intern could trip right over them without even meaning to.Â
Forget the fucking mind control; that's fucked up.Â
So yeah. Tim knows what Superboy's soulmark looks like. It's a stark, dark red, all sharp angles slung low in the V of his Adonis belt and cutting from one hip to the other, looking not unlike a stylized bird in flight coming at the viewer head-on. Bold. Undeniable. Very much like Superboy himself, really.Â
And exactly like the mark that came in on Tim when, he now knows, Superboy was first put together in a fucking petri dish. So that's . . . a whole thing, there.Â
Well. At least his soulmate is only literally fifteen years younger than him, not physically and mentally.Â
Although that doesn't really seem like a big improvement, to be honest.Â
Tim didn't even know he was into guys, actually? Definitely didn't know Superboy was into guys, all things considered. Like, he would not expect somebody like him to ever be subtle about who or what he was into.Â
Maybe they're platonics, Tim tries to tell himself. The fact that his first reflex upon learning that Superboy was his soulmate was to immediately question his own sexuality doesn't really support that theory, though.Â
Though it does help explain why Poison Ivy putting her hands on the guy had pissed him off so bad.Â
Like. It very much does.Â
Tim doesn't actually know what to do about this. Bruce still thinks he doesn't even have a soulmate, due to Tim previously really, really not wanting to deal with the absolute embarrassment of admitting that said soulmate was an actual fucking baby, so Tim never got the Bat-version of the soulmate talk. Bruce'd sat him down to give it to him when he'd first become Robin, but Tim hadn't had a mark then, obviously, so they'd both just assumed he didn't have to worry about it. Tim is pretty sure Bruce had been as relieved as he had to dodge that particular bullet, really. Apparently Dick had needed visual aids and hadn't understood the "gilly talk" version. And Jason had had questions.Â
Lots of questions.Â
Creative ones.Â
Sometimes Tim suspects Jason might've been an asshole. Like, just a little bit of one.Â
So no, Tim does not blame Bruce for deciding to skip that particular talk with him, especially when they'd both thought he wasn't gonna need to know any of it anyway.Â
So . . . yeah. He doesn't know how he's supposed to approach this situation. Obviously telling Superboy that they're soulmates would compromise Tim's secret identity and therefore Bruce's, and everybody and their damn mother knows Superboy himself doesn't even have a secret identity so it's not like Tim can figure that out and approach him that way.Â
On the other hand, not telling him that they're soulmates isn't a great start to being soulmates, now is it.Â
Crap, Tim thinks.Â
Then he calls Dick, because if he has to sit through the Bat-version of the soulmate talk, at least maybe Dick will be slightly less embarrassing to hear it from.Â
As long as there's no visual aids involved, anyway.Â
"Hey, Tim," Dick greets as he picks up the phone. Tim has a carefully crafted plan of attack, of course; several, in fact. He's got all sorts of subtle ways to lead the conversation without revealing anything too damning or too specific and while keeping everything in hypotheticals. Just making the whole thing either a quick thought exercise or casual curiosity from an unmarked kid who's heard one too many soulmate stories and wants to know more. So Tim's prepared. Tim's ready.Â
Tim panics.Â
"Poison Ivy kissed my soulmate and I want to burn down her entire life," he blurts.Â
"Uh," Dick says. "You're . . . gonna have to catch me up a little here, baby bird. For starters, I thought you didn't have a soulmate."Â
"I didn't," Tim says as he starts to pace back and forth across his bedroom floor, because he's already screwed this up so there's no point in playing coy now. "Then some dickheads in Metropolis decided to steal Superman's dead body and make a cocky asshole with douchey shades and a leather fetish out of it."Â
"Ohhhhh boy," Dick says. "What'd B say?"Â
"I found out like half an hour ago and you're the only person I've told, so nothing yet," Tim says. "What's the Bat-protocol for finding out your soulmate is somebody in the community, exactly? Specifically somebody in douchey shades?"Â
"Depends," Dick says. "How'd the kid react?"Â
". . . I don't know how to say this without sounding like a total creep, but he doesn't know," Tim admits with a wince. "I broke into Cadmus to make a copy of his file after I met him and they just . . . had his soulmark in it. Like. There wasn't even a password. It wasn't even in an isolated folder. It was just there."Â
"That is the most fucked-up thing I've heard since the last time I had to talk to Jervis Tetch," Dick mutters in obvious disgust. "Alright, well, how are you reacting, then?"Â
"My soulmate is a baby," Tim grumbles disgruntledly, dropping into his desk chair. "A baby who is also a teenager."Â
"Tim, you're a teenager too," Dick reminds him wryly. "You are very much so a teenager too, in fact."Â
"Yeah, and it sucks," Tim says emphatically. "And I have, like, actual legal guardians and a home and a trust fund. Superboy just lives somewhere in Hawaii with a sleazy businessman and his kid and some random guy from Cadmus!"Â
"That's, uh, actually not great," Dick says, sounding a little troubled.Â
"You think?!" Tim demands. "He's a baby! An infant! And he lives with his frigging manager!"Â
"What the actual hell," Dick says.Â
"Justâis it ethical to kidnap your own soulmate and does that even matter if they're not legally a person and so you couldn't actually be charged for anything anyway?" Tim mutters speculatively, drumming his fingers on his desk for a moment and then booting up his computer. "I mean, B can't get mad at me for doing it if the courts can't get me for doing it, right?"Â
"Wait, Superboy's not legally a person?" Dick asks incredulously.Â
"Nope," Tim says. "Which neither Cadmus nor the sleazebag selling his likeness for a living has in any way tried to correct, for the record. Technically he's classified as intellectual property, but Cadmus forfeited legal possession when Superman turned up alive again, presumably to avoid Superman ever finding out that they'd had said legal possession, so technically if I went and kidnapped him it'd be more like . . . salvage, maybe? Like, in the eyes of the law, I mean."Â
"Yeah, okay, in that case kidnapping your own soulmate might be less an ethics question and more a moral obligation," Dick says.Â
"Good point," Tim says, frowning consideringly as he pulls up his browser. "Do you think if I just do it as Tim Drake I can avoid compromising my identity?"Â
"I have no idea but if I were you I'd already be booking my flight and thinking up a cheap excuse to 'accidentally' flash a teen heartthrob superhero my soulmark anyway," Dick says.Â
"I am already booking my flight," Tim says mid-click of said booking. "Although, uh, flashing him our particular soulmark might require, like . . . third base, and I don't even know if he likes guys. I don't even know if he knows if he likes guys, he's like five minutes out of the cloning tube and like, I'm literally fifteen and don't know if I like guys, so why the hell would he?"Â
"Okay, yeah, that could be an issue," Dick says. "Hm. Wardrobe malfunction? Slutty beach day? Wet T-shirt contest?"Â
"I'm not above any of those options at this point, frankly," Tim grumbles, even though those ideas are all very "Nightwing" and not very "Robin". Technically he shouldn't be approaching this like Robin would anyway, because god forbid Superboy recognize his methodology.Â
Slutty beach day might have to be a thing, Tim realizes with resigned dread. He is really not comfortable with slutty beach day being a thing.Â
. . . maybe if he just gets lucky, he can catch Superboy having his own slutty beach day. Not to make any assumptions, just Tim's pretty sure if either of them were ever going to be the type to wear a speedo or low-waisted swim trunks or just walk around with their soulmark out in general . . .Â
Which, in Superboy's defense, wellâhis soulmark is already on file with Cadmus, so yeah. He might not even care if other people see it or not, considering that.Â
Then again, if Tim knew that a bunch of random strangers who'd wanted to mind-control him had all seen and taken pictures of his soulmark, he'd never wear anything that risked exposing it again. Like. Ever. Possibly he'd just live and die in a wetsuit. Or coveralls. Overalls. Or justâwhatever. Something like that.Â
. . . come to think of it, Superboy's costume is all one piece, isn't it.Â
Cadmus is full of assholes, Tim decides as he confirms his booking, then gets up to throw together a go-bag. He has no plan whatsoever, but whatever; it's a twelve-hour flight. He's gonna have time to think something up.Â
One go-through with airport security and a twelve-hour flight later, Tim has not thought anything up.Â
Dammit.Â
It's early morning in Honolulu and Tim is very, very tired. He didn't sleep on the flight because he was making plans, but to be honest said plans are all shit. His best option is gonna take six months to fully execute, for starters. Which is a reasonable amount of time to have to spend getting a near-complete stranger to trust you enough to let you kidnap them away from everything and everyone they know, he knows, but still. It's not even that solid a plan, even discounting the frustrating time delay. It's just the best of a bad lot.Â
Maybe Tim should've, like . . . actually stopped long enough to tell Bruce what he was doing and get some advice. Or at least Alfred, anyway.Â
Just . . . it's fine, Tim tells himself as he and his go-bag get a taxi. This is just preliminary work anyway. Recon more than anything else. Ideally he'll manage to "meet" Superboy, but he's not dumb enough to think he's going to get the guy to like him this quick, much less trust him. The goal is "passing awareness of his civilian identity's existence" and nothing else.Â
Then the street kind of blows up in front of his taxi.Â
So that's a whole thing.Â
And here's Tim without so much as a damn domino in his pocket.Â
People are screaming, things are very literally on fire, and some rando in lycra is yelling at the cop car on the corner. Normal Tuesday, really, except it's broad fucking daylight and again Tim doesn't have a mask on him, much less his bo staff or utility belt or anything actually any kind of useful.Â
Fuck airport security, Tim thinks.Â
"Who's the jerk with the monologue?" he asks the driver, who seems largely nonplussed by the whole situation and has definitely left the meter running while they're trapped between the other cars and the blown-up street. Priorities, Tim guesses. Can't blame a guy for having them.Â
"Beats me, man," the driver says with a shrug. "I don't keep track of the spandex set, I just take the necessary detours around 'em when I'm working."Â
"That might be lycra," Tim says, reaching for his wallet. "But fair enough. How much do I owe you?"Â
He doesn't have a mask right now, no, but he can't just leave civilians unprotected. He can at least help people get out of the area and maybe distract the lycra rando for a bit, if it comes to it. If nothing else, he canâ
Somebody in flashy red and blue and a black leather jacket crash-lands on top of the lycra rando with very deliberate flair and a very loud crow, and then the street blows up again.Â
This time, though, the explosion is definitely telekinetic in origin.Â
Specifically tactile telekinetic, Tim thinks it's safe to assume.Â
He pays the driver, then grabs his go-bag and gets to getting people out of the area as subtly as possible while Superboy and the lycra rando tear up the street even worse. Like, almost impressively worse. Tim really wouldn't have thought the damage could even get that much worse, but they both find a way.Â
He is going to have such a hard time convincing Bruce to let him drag Superboy to Gotham.Â
Well, it's a six-month plan. Maybe the guy will mellow out a bit somewhere in there. Learn some subtlety. Pick up a bit of finesse.Â
Tim isn't actually that delusional, obviously, but that's the lie he's gonna tell Batman when he pitches it.Â
Superboy takes down the lycra rando without Tim having to improvise any assists, fortunately, and Tim manages to keep any civilians from getting in the other's way as he handles the fight. The street officially looks like a gravel road, but nobody's dead or even particularly injuredâto surprising degrees, in factâso Tim will take it. Superboy doesn't seem concerned, though a few of the civilians mutter disparaging things about what this is going to do to their commute.Â
Tim technically understands their point, but also Superboy did just save at least those cops from getting blown up and the street was already pretty much fucked before he even got here, so he's not sure why they're all complaining about being alive and in one piece. People in Gotham are more intimately familiar with their own mortality than most private citizens, though, and also just grateful when it's not the Joker, so maybe it's just a regional thing.Â
He shoos the last few civilians over to the EMTs to get checked out and starts trying to figure out his own exit strategy for this situation before any cops try to write his name down or something. Chances of getting Superboy's attention right now are slim, so it'd be best to justâ
"Hey, man," Superboy says, landing lightly right beside him. "Thanks for the assist. Saw you getting people out of the way, made things way easier."Â
Tim stares at him.Â
"You didn't even look at me, though," he says reflexively. Superboy grins at him.Â
"Didn't I?" he asks. His suit is torn right across his stomach and low down along his hips. His soulmark is not even slightly obscured and he is going to absolutely no effort to hide any part of it.Â
Tim has never experienced something this convenient in his life.Â
So yeah, Bruce is definitely going to assume that he deliberately hired some metahuman stranger to go to Hawaii and rip up Superboy's clothes in very indecent and very public fashion when he tells him this story.Â
Frankly, that would've been a better plan than the slutty beach day one, so maybe Tim will just pretend that he did.Â
"Uh," Tim says, really not sure what to say right now. Superboy flashes him the cocky smirk from all those lame teen magazine posters, still not going to any kind of effort to cover his soulmark.Â
Tim hates Cadmus, but also is kind of embarrassingly affected to be seeing his mark on someone else's skin live and in person. With the photos, he was more distracted by the violation of their existence than anything else, but here and now Superboy is just standing in front of him with their mark bared for the whole damn world to see like he wants it seen. Like he wants Tim to see it.Â
Like he wants everyone to know that he belongs to someone and exactly who that someone just so happens to be.Â
So yeah. Tim is . . . affected.Â
Tim is definitely, definitely affected.Â
And increasingly less convinced of any possibility of this bond being platonic, too, because there is no way in hell that their mark looks half as good on him as it does on Superboy. Like. Not a chance.Â
Tim really, really wants to touch it, which is technically SOP with soulmarks but is also a bit more fraught of an experience when said soulmarks are more suggestively placed. And they are very much in public right now, so, uh . . . yeah.Â
So that's a thing and all.Â
"Alright there, man?" Superboy asks, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. "Didn't get your bell rung or anything, did you?"Â
Tim decides to just accept the gift the universe has given him and go for broke here.Â
"This is really forward of me, to be honest, but that's me," he says, gesturing meaningfully at Superboy's soulmark. Superboy blinks. Tilts his head. Tim assumes he doesn't believe him, because why the hell would he believe a random stranger just saying that to him in the middle of what is technically a crime scene and completely out of nowhere, and resigns himself to having to flash his own mark on a public street with a bunch of way too interested people around. It's unfortunate and not remotely to plan, but there's no way he'll get Superboy actually alone this easy, so . . .Â
"What, seriously?" Superboy says, looking bemused.Â
"Seriously," Tim confirms.Â
Superboy blinks again. Tim puts on a carefully sheepish smile and steels himself toâ
Superboy jerks forward and grabs him, and the next thing Tim knows they're a couple hundred feet up in the air and zipping off to . . . who the hell knows where, even. Tim was so genuinely not expecting this turn of events that he didn't even register the instinct to hit Superboy with a nerve strike for lunging at him like that.Â
Is he being kidnapped? Is that what's happening right now?Â
. . . well, it'd be fair, admittedly.Â
At least Superboy went with bridal style over, like, a fireman's carry.Â
Not that bridal style doesn't have its own attached embarrassments, but still.Â
Tim avoids doing anything as stupid as staring at Superboy's very close face and pretends to be interested in the view. It is a nice one, so it's not hard. Kinda makes him wish he had his camera on him, to be honest. Superboy doesn't say anything, so he doesn't either. He doesn't know how well they could hear each other with the wind in their ears anyway; according to those files from Cadmus, Superboy's not due to develop super-hearing for at least another year or two, and Tim definitely doesn't have it either, so it's probably just better to wait for the moment to avoid having to yell.Â
Superboy carts him halfway across town and then lands them on a totally random-seeming rooftop that Tim assumes he has some reason to have chosen, though hell if he can tell what it was. The sight lines are all terrible and there are literally no defensible positions, and there's not even a single decent hiding place or useful perch.Â
The local architecture is definitely nothing like Gotham's.Â
"Uh," Superboy says as he lets Tim down on the roof, taking a step back from him and suddenly looking embarrassed as he pushes those ridiculous douchey shades of his up into his hair. "I maybe could've thought that one through a little better."Â
"Well, I'm assuming you want to see my mark too, and this is better than me flashing it in front of the local press," Tim says, trying not to smile too wryly at the guy.Â
Superboy blushes.Â
Welp, there's another strike against platonic.Â
"Um, yeah, Iâ" Superboy starts awkwardly, still blushing, and Tim decides to put them both out of their misery by lifting his shirt and tugging down his waistband just enough to reveal his share of their soulmark. Superboy visibly forgets what he was saying and just stares at it.Â
"Honestly, I'm pretty relieved," Tim says as he directs Smiling Normal Civilian Face #4 at Superboy and tries not to get flustered by said staring. "I was absolutely expecting to have to deal with a literal baby in my future and I just don't need a soulmate who's gonna think Vena Cava is old news."Â
Superboy flicks his eyes back up to Tim's face and sort of . . . grins, kind of, and looks unexpectedly . . . happy, almost? Tim thinks?Â
Huh.Â
Weird.Â
"Uh, I . . ." Superboy starts, then just trails off like he's lost for words or maybe just not quite sure what to say.Â
"Do you want to touch it?" Tim offers, because that's normal social behavior with a first recognition of matching soulmarks, and only realizes why maybe that wasn't the best suggestion when Superboy blushes even darker. Whichâwell, Tim might be blushing a little too, now.Â
They really did get a pretty suggestive placement for their mark.Â
"Uhâsure?" Superboy says, then somehow turns even redder and sputters: "I mean yeah! Yes. Definitely."Â
Okay, Tim probably isn't straight. And this mark probably isn't platonic.Â
That is . . . a lot to deal with right now, so he just buries it under Smiling Normal Civilian Face #4 and tries not to blush any harder himself as Superboy strips off his gloves and shoves them into his jacket pockets and then sort ofâpauses, seeming a little uncertain, which is very weird to see on him. Superboy is the opposite of uncertainâto a fault, is he the opposite of uncertain.Â
Then again, this is literally the second time they've met and most of what Tim knows about him came from either a Cadmus file or tabloid news and teen zine interviews, so maybe he's been making some assumptions here.Â
"Together?" he suggests, holding up his own hands. Superboy nods immediately, his face still flushed almost as red as their mark.Â
"Together," he agrees, and they both reach out at the same time. Superboy slips his fingers up under Tim's shirt and Tim slips his own between the torn edges of Superboy's suit, and they both just . . . touch.Â
Tim's surprised, a little, by how soft and near-reverent Superboy is about it, and puts another strike against platonic. Then he immediately gets distracted, because touching your soulmate's mark is apparently very distracting. His fingers feel warm; his body feels warm. And Superboy feels . . .Â
The empathy bond that Tim had always assumed to be exaggerated or romanticized settles in soft and warm and with a sense of rightness, and Tim feels a sort of nervous excitement and hesitant hope and an entirely unanticipated shyness and sweetness and softness where he was really expecting to get more like . . . brash and cocky reckless energy and just . . . very different things, really. This is really just not what he expected to get from Superboy, of all people.Â
Not even a little bit, is this what he expected.Â
And Superboy . . . Superboy looks flushed and flustered and fascinated, and Tim has the thought that if they, like . . . hugged or something like this, then their marks would touch each other, and then they'd be sharing the empathy bond through them directly, and . . .Â
Yeah, okay. That's . . . a thought, definitely.Â
Fuck.Â
. . . although if either of them were, like . . . turned on or hard or anything, then they'dânever mind.Â
Any potential platonic-ness of this mark is really, really losing ground here.Â
Tim really does not know how he worked with Superboy last time without tripping over himself, at this point, but to be fair at the time he hadn't known what the guy would look like with his costume all ripped up and their shared soulmark exposed for the whole damn world to see.Â
Tim is definitely, definitely kidnapping this guy. If it takes six months or six years, he's kidnapping him. He absolutely refuses to leave that soft little curl of shy hope and unexpected sweetness in this goddamn bullshit situation. He is kidnapping him and getting him legally recognized as a person and out of the stupid predatory contract with his manager and out from under Cadmus's supervision, and he is burning down literally anyone who tries to stop him at literally any point during the whole process.Â
He will burn down fucking Superman if he has to. And also the US government and all of Cadmus andâ
Justâanyone. Literally anyone it takes.Â
"What's your name?" Superboy blurts, and Tim cannot believe he didn't even fucking introduce himself before asking the guy to touch his soulmark. What kind of fucking idiot is he, exactly?Â
"Tim," he says quickly. "UmâTim Drake. I'm from Gotham. Just, you know, visiting."Â
"Hi, Tim," Superboy says, and gives him a soft little smile that all those lame teen magazine posters don't even deserve. Tim's heart does a rapid series of Dick-Grayson-level acrobatics in his chest. God, he hopes Superboy doesn't have super-hearing yet. He doesn't, right? God.Â
Justâgod. So, so many gods.Â
"Hi," Tim echoes, feeling ridiculous. He clears his throat, then reclaims his hands from Superboy's soulmark. Superboy bites his lip, then does the same and takes a step back.Â
Tim wants to throw himself off this roof, but unfortunately the lack of grapple is going to interfere with that theoretical escape attempt. Crap.Â
Superboy's hands are still bare.Â
So is his soulmark.Â
"You did good with that guy who wrecked the street," Tim says, putting on Smiling Normal Civilian Face #2, which is a little more reserved than #4. Superboy turns red again.Â
"Technically I also wrecked the street," he says, looking embarrassed.Â
"It was already a wreck when you got there," Tim snorts. Property doesn't mean shit next to people. "And this way nobody died or got hurt too bad."Â
"You helped with that part," Superboy says, still red-faced. "Made it a lot easier to keep everybody safe with somebody who was thinking straight about getting them all out of the way, like I said. It's hard to, uhâconcentrate on that many at once, you know?"Â
"Keeping track of where all the civilians are has to be a pain in a fight," Tim agrees, though he tries to make it sound more like he's following Superboy's logic than already fully aware of the vitality of situational awareness from his own vigilante gig. Superboy blinks, cocking his head.Â
"Ohâno, that part's easy," he says. "I can feel everybody. It's just, uh . . . actively spreading the force field out that much? I gotta concentrate a lot harder. So it's just way easier when nobody's in the line of fire."Â
Tim . . . pauses. Tilts his head. He is, technically, aware of how Superboy's tactile telekinesis works, but that sounded like . . .Â
"Sorry," he says. "You had everybody there in your TTK field?"Â
"Mostly," Superboy says. "Like I said, it's hard to concentrate on that many people, especially if they're running around all freaked out."Â
"Why would you split your focus like that?" Tim asks, a little mystified. Though he guesses this explains how Superboy noticed what he was doing without ever actually looking at him, come to think. "Doesn't it weaken your powers?"Â
"Well, yeah, but that dude was blowing up the whole street, man," Superboy says, making a face. "Somebody could've gotten shrapneled or something."Â
It occurs to Tim, slowly, that the amount of injured civilians really wasn't as high as it should've been, and in fact most of the injuries he did see had almost definitely been caused in the initial attack. So that means . . .Â
Oh.Â
. . . huh.Â
"Huh," he says. "I didn't realize that was something you could do.âÂ
"I try not to advertise that one," Superboy says sheepishly. "So, uh, bad guys won't start going after civilians harder when I'm fighting 'em. Or pick crowded areas to pick fights in."Â
"I was under the impression that you advertised most of what your powers can do," Tim says wryly, though again, he did get that impression from stolen files and cheap magazines.Â
"Well, yeah," Superboy says with an awkward shrug. "Otherwise people don't think I'm doing anything. Like, that I'm just punching stuff or whatever. Uh, soâhow long are you in town for, then?"Â
"Just for the day," Tim says while making further mental re-evaluations of his soulmate. And it's an admittedly terrible cover, butâ"I'm flying back to Gotham on a redeye. I just dropped in to get some time to myself, but I've got school on Monday and a paper to write for it. You know how it is."Â
"Not so much, man, I don't do that," Superboy says, and Tim . . . pauses, again.Â
"You don't . . . what, go to school?" he asks.Â
"Naw," Superboy says, shaking his head. "On account of supervillains attack it when I do.âÂ
"So you're home-schooled?" Tim assumes, trying not to cringe at the idea of Rex Leech teaching Superboy math or economics or anything even vaguely in that wheelhouse. That could not possibly end well.Â
"Naw," Superboy repeats with another shrug. "Got superhero shit to do. And also, like, brand deals to do. Not really my thing anyway."Â
. . . Tim is reminded, again, that Superboy is not in fact legally a person and is therefore not in any way protected by labor laws, and Rex Leech and every single dodgy opportunist he's been selling Superboy's likeness to probably knows that. Not even the laws intended for civilians or metahumans or minors or animals would apply, in fact.Â
Fuck.Â
The next six months of this kidnapping plot are going to be an agonizing wait, Tim's already realizing.Â
Fuuuuuck.Â
"Oh, I see," he observes non-committally, trying to figure out if he can move up that six-month timeline somehow. There's got to be some corner he can cut or something he can cheat, if he justâ
"Do you wanna hang out for a little while before you leave the island?" Superboy asks hopefully. Tim stares blankly at him for a moment. What kind of question is that? Most people would be upset to find out they'd only have a little while to hang out with a newly-discovered soulmate, but Superboy's asking like he expects him to want to just . . . what, swap cell phone numbers and then go on about their original plans for the day?Â
First of all: no. Second of all, Superboy doesn't know it, but this is Timâs plan for the day, so still no.Â
"That sounds cool, yeah," Tim says, applying Smiling Normal Civilian Face #5, which is a little softer. Superboy brightens, inexplicably turning red again. Tim has the even more inexplicable urge to pat his head about it.Â
This is definitely not a platonic soulmark, no.Â
Okay, so Tim's . . . gay, he guesses? Bi? Pan? Justâsome sexual orientation that includes telekinetic alien hybrids that are at least male-presenting, anyway. That or Superboy is a trans girl and just not out yet, which he supposes is an equally logical option.Â
. . . probably Tim being at least a little bit gay is likelier, though, because Superboy really is a look in that torn-up skin-tight costume he's (sheâs?) barely wearing right now. Though Tim could also be bi and Superboy could be trans; it's not like either of those possibilities precludes the other. Actually, that combination would probably work out pretty well, right? In theory?Â
At least, he assumes it would. Tim has admittedly not looked into that kind of thing too much, what with assuming it wasn't ever going to be directly relevant to his life. He infiltrated a GSA-style support group for a month and a half once for Robin-business and that's all he's really got to go on. His cover had been "kid with a newly-out older brother who was seeking basic information", just to minimize any potential concern about him dropping off the face of the earth after the necessary recon in the center was done, so he hadn't had to know anything even then, really.Â
Apparently he should've been paying less attention to the layout and staff and more to the actual conversations.Â
Go figure.Â
"We could go grab some lunch," Superboy suggests, leaning towards him a bit. "I know all the best local places. Like, the not-touristy shit, I mean. Or maybe hit the beach?"Â
"This is going to sound ridiculous, but I didn't pack a swimsuit," Tim admits. The possibility of the slutty beach day plan would've required a very different cut of swimsuit than his usual trunks, so he'd just figured he'd just buy a new one if he needed it.Â
"I could lend you one," Superboy offers. Heâs a little bigger and broader than Tim is, so Timâs sure they donât wear the same size, though he supposes if he had a pair of trunks with a drawstring waistband, or at least an elastic one . . .Â
"Do you have a spare?" Tim asks, mildly dreading the thought. He's a Gothamite. They're not bred for the beach. And also, that would entail wearing Superboyâs clothes.Â
Why didnât he just say yes to lunch? Why is he stupid?Â
"It's Hawaii, dude," Superboy says with a laugh, flashing him a wide grin. "Half my closet is swimsuits. Actually pretty sure I have more swimsuits than T-shirts, come to think.âÂ
Tim isn't sure if that means Superboy likes the beach that muchâwhich would admittedly make sense for a Kryptonian hybrid, given the ridiculous amount of yellow sun that's out there free for the takingâor if that means that Superboy just literally never wears civilian clothes. He must sometimes, right? In theory?Â
. . . Tim hates Rex Leech, he's pretty sure. Like. Really, really hates him. And also Cadmus. And Superman is on thin fucking ice, at this point.Â
Very thin ice.Â
He could get out the kryptonite ring again, if he had to. Like, that's an option that happens to be available to him. Just in case.Â
"We could do the beach," he says as he reverts to Smiling Normal Civilian Face #5, because heâs an idiot, apparently. "Since it is Hawaii and all."Â
"Cool," Superboy says, grinning wider for a moment before seeming to remember himself and straightening back up from leaning in so close. "Uhâcool, yeah! C'mon, I'll give you a lift."Â
Tim, again, doesn't even have time to register the instinct to hit Superboy with a nerve strike before he's in the guy's arms and they're taking off into the air again. Does Superboy have super-speed? Tim was pretty sure he didn't. Like, at least not yet, anyway. Maybe all that constant island sun is paying off early.Â
Hm. Note to self: look into that. He should really know if his soulmate has super-speed or not.Â
Superboy doesn't actually tell Tim where they're going, but Tim assumes "his place" is a safe enough bet. Which is . . . a whole thing, actually, since it includes a marked risk of running into Rex Leech, who Tim absolutely cannot threaten this time. Which is really unfortunate, frankly.Â
Then again, maybe if he can get the slime alone while Superboy is digging out that swimsuit for him, he can say something with some plausible deniability to it and Smiling Gotham Civilian Face (Nighttime Edition), which Tim has on good authority terrifies just about every other possible flavor of Normal Civilian. At least in the States, anyway.Â
He'll have enough mercy not to use the Crime Alley version on the guy.Â
Maybe.Â
The flight isn't long, but the view is still nice, so Tim wouldn't have minded either way. Superboy sneaks a few glances at him from behind his sunglasses and Tim politely pretends not to notice so he doesn't have to deal with the weird fluttery feeling it puts in his stomach every time he does. It's not like Superboy can't feel him perfectly well with his tactile telekinesis right now, and also just his normal sense of touch; there's no real reason to keep sneaking peeks at him unlessâ
. . . wait. How well can Superboy feel him with his tactile telekinesis right now? Like . . . exactly how well?Â
Oh god, Tim thinks, and desperately pretends that his only concern in regards to the answer to that question is if Superboy might notice he has more muscle and scars than a normal civilian should, whether they're from Gotham or not.Â
Actually, if he can potentially feel something as subtle as scarsâ
Oh god, Tim thinks again, and then very quickly stops thinking altogether in self-defense.Â
The flight to Superboyâs presumable place isnât too long, like he said, so Tim manages to keep his brain from running off in too many buck-wild directions, and theyâre landing in front of a big but slightly shoddy-looking plain wooden house before heâs catastrophized too badly. Or like . . . maybe not too badly. In theory. Probably.Â
Superboy lands in front of the porch and the little group of people who appear to have been talking on and around it, and doesnât even let Tim down before heâs excitedly blurting, âEverybody, this is Tim, heâs my soulmate! Tim, this is, uh . . . everybody.âÂ
Timâs done his research at this point, so he recognizes Rex Leech sitting in a chair on the porch, Dubbilex sitting in another with a ratty-looking little white dog in his lap, Tana Moon standing by the steps, and Roxy Leech sitting on them. He doesnât know the dogâs name or whose it is, but the rest of them heâs researched, for obvious reasons. They all look startled, then bewildered.Â
Tim feels a little awkward about the whole situation, considering Superboy still hasnât let him down from the bridal carry, but ignores it in favor of Smiling Civilian Face #4 and a polite little wave.Â
âNice to meet you, everybody,â he says.Â
They all stare at him blankly for an awkwardly long moment, at which point Superboy finally seems to realize he should put him down, and then Roxy Leech lights up and jumps to her feet to run over.Â
âOh my god, SB, thatâs amazinâ!â she says brightly. Tim immediately clocks her as full of shit, but more in the sense of âtrying to be happy for someone when not remotely happy herselfâ than âjust being a fake assholeâ. âHi, Tim! Iâm Roxy!âÂ
âHi, Roxy,â Tim says, offering her a handshake to go with Smiling Civilian Face #4. She throws her arms around him and hugs him instead. Again, heâs too baffled to register the nerve-strike instinct. âUm . . . hi?âÂ
Dubbilex gets up and comes over with the ratty little dog in his arms and stares intently at Tim, who does his Bat-training best to think nothing but normal civilian thoughts. The dog sniffs him curiously and then jumps out of Dubbilexâs arms and straight for him. Tim barely catches it in time, which means now heâs got a dog and Roxy attached to him. Which . . . okay, sure. This might as well happen.Â
Oh god, the dogâs licking him now. Why is the dog licking him now?Â
âKrypto seems to approve of you,â Dubbilex observes. Tim continues to think very normal civilian thoughts, and Dubbilex tilts his head, looking . . . thoughtful.Â
. . . Tim hopes these are normal civilian thoughts.Â
âHeâs cute,â he lies with Smiling Civilian Face #2, taking a blind guess on canine gender. The dogâKrypto, apparentlyâlooks like a wriggly wet rag, actually, but thatâs not the dogâs fault. Well, aside from the wriggling. Dubbilex still looks thoughtful.Â
âDonât lick him, you little shit,â Superboy says, eyeing Krypto dubiously.Â
âAw, you donât think your soulmateâs lickable, SB?â Roxy asks with a sly grin, and Superboy turns bright red.Â
âDonât you lick him either,â he threatens, grabbing her off Tim and floating up into the air a few feet with her in his arms. She cackles delightedly and throws her arms around his neck. Tim wonders if sheâs his girlfriend. Itâd track with her being anxious about him finding his soulmate, but recon on Superboyâs interpersonal relationships was . . . unclear.Â
Meaning, he couldnât for the life of him figure out if the guy was platonic about a single woman or girl in his life, so who fucking knows.Â
Tim really doesnât know what that means for their mark, considering.Â
He pats Kryptoâs head, for lack of a better idea, and gets slobbered on again for it. Dubbilex still looks thoughtful. Rex and Tana come over a bit more grudgingly than he and Roxy did, Rex looking leery and Tana just barely frowning. Tim pretends to be an oblivious moron and ignores both their suspicious expressions to keep up Smiling Civilian Face #4. He is a perfectly normal civilian with a perfectly normal smile and perfectly normal thoughts, and that is all. Really.Â
( and heâs going to get Superboy away from this fucking BULLSHIT living situation and into literally ANYTHING better, and away from Rex Leech and Cadmus and every single shitty person whoâs trying to take advantage of him, and into legal recognition as an actual fucking PERSON while heâs at it, no matter which politicians he has to Bat-blackmail into passing some goddamn LEGISLATION already! )
Dubbilex tilts his head. Tim doesnât panic, because heâs a perfectly normal civilian having perfectly normal civilian thoughts. Thereâs absolutely nothing in his head that Dubbilex would hear and think was weird. Nothing. Normal thoughts. All of them. Normal.Â
. . . Tim needs to work on his normal civilian thoughts, maybe. Like, just a little.Â
âA pleasure to meet you, Tim,â Dubbilex says, tone mostly neutral but still polite. âMy name is Dubbilex.âÂ
âNice to meet you too, Dubbilex,â Tim says like someone who definitely didn't already know that. He puts on Smiling Civilian Face #11: âMeet the Parentsâ Edition. It is . . . not actually one he's really had to use before. Like, not even with Ariana orâand actually also itâs probably not the right face to be using either, really, but Dubbilex is the closest thing to a not-an-asshole adult in Superboyâs life and he doesnât want to be an asshole to him.Â
Unless he turns out to be one after all, in which case all bets are off. But only then, obviously.Â
âYou sure this guyâs your soulmate, Kid? Not just some weirdo fan trying to take advantage or something?â Rex Leech asks suspiciously as he finally comes over, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes at Tim skeptically. Tim finds that a deeply ironic statement. And also a deeply hypocritical statement.Â
Prick. Like Leech hasnât been taking advantage of Superboy since he first fucking heard ofâÂ
Civilian thoughts. Niiiiice civilian thoughts. Nice and normal and civilian, just like all his thoughts. Normally!Â
. . . donât think about white elephants, Tim tells himself, and immediately winds up with a full stampede of albino pachyderms in his head.Â
Itâs not non-civilian thoughts, so heâll take it.Â
âRelax, Rex, he showed me his mark,â Superboy says as he lets Roxy back down and lands again, the tips of his ears turning just a little bit pink. Tim considers both the reaction and the fact that he just noticed said reaction, then puts another point in under ânot platonicâ. Itâs . . . getting to be a lot of points, at this point. No pun intended. âIt matches. Like, it definitely matches.âÂ
Superboy doesnât mention the fact that theyâve already touched each otherâs marks to confirm, even though thatâs a pretty normal thing to do upon mark-recognition. Tim makes a mental note of that, but doesnât comment. He assumes thereâs a reason for it, or otherwise why wouldnât he? Not like Leech could argue with that, after all.Â
Tana Moon follows Leech over to the group, looking a little wary herself. Tim sizes her up in his peripheral vision, pretending not to notice her approach. Heâs âjustâ found out who his soulmate is, so he can sell the illusion of only paying attention to Superboy right now. Itâs not an unusual reaction.Â
Itâs a pretty typical one, actually. The fact that Superboy decided to immediately show him off to everyone he knows is actually the less usual option, in fact. Not unheard of either, of course, but still. A lot of newly-discovered soulmates tend to just forget about the outside world for a few hours. Or days, even. A few missing person cases that Timâs been involved in solving turned out to be cases of âI met my soulmate and we just eloped/ran away/went on a road trip/holed up in a hotel room without telling anyoneâ.Â
Tim had thought it was ridiculous at the time, if obviously preferable to ending up with either a dead body or a traumatized victim, but Tim is currently in the process of planning an ethically-necessary kidnapping less than twenty-four hours after first cracking into Superboyâs file and not that much longer after first meeting him, so he supposes soulmates just bring out most peopleâs less pragmatic sides.Â
Though he personally thinks carefully-planned ethical kidnappings are an improvement on spontaneous weekends in Vegas, pragmatically-speaking. But whatever.Â
âHe showed you?â Tana Moon says, glancing Tim over suspiciously. Superboyâs face reddens this time and he tugs at the slash in his own suit.Â
âHe, uh, saw mine first,â he says. âKinda got into it with a dude downtown and Tim here was in the area, and like, he recognized it, obviously.âÂ
âItâs fairly noticeable as a mark,â Tim supplies helpfully, figuring he should be being supportive of his soulmate here, and also be shutting Rex Leech up as efficiently as possible. âAnd Superboy came over to check on me after the fight, so it was hard to miss.âÂ
âSure it was,â Leech says, his face souring. âSo then you wonât mind showinâ yours toââÂ
âShut up, Dad!â Roxy hisses, kicking him viciously hard in the ankle. Leech yelps in pain. Roxy is immediately his favorite, Tim decides. By far Roxy is his favorite. The dogâs kind of cute and Dubbilex seems decent, but definitely Roxy is his favorite.Â
Her dad definitely fucking sucks, though.Â
And as for Tana Moon . . .Â
âYouâre a tourist?â Tana says, just barely frowning down at Tim. Sheâs taller than him. Sheâs also taller than Superboy, because sheâs a grown-ass woman and why, exactly, is a reporter even here right now? How is that necessary or reasonable?Â
. . . admittedly sheâs also taller than Leech and heâs a middle-aged man, but thatâs not the point here. If Tim has to âno commentâ this situation and figure out how to get either his parents or Bruce to kill a story, he absolutely will. He isnât even slightly gonna hesitate there. He is gonna the opposite of hesitate, in fact.Â
âYes,â he lies, which might not endear him to Moon, given sheâs a native, but is better than confessing to having premeditated designs on kidnapping a teen idol superhero. Especially to a reporter.Â
Even if it is legally salvage.Â
âIâm just in town for the day,â he continues. âI needed to get away for a little while, you know how it is.âÂ
âSure,â Moon says, narrowing her eyes at him. âWho doesnât.âÂ
âHeâs from Gotham. And he helped the civilians get out of the area while I was fighting that guy downtown!â Superboy says eagerly, which is . . . odd, actually, and throws Tim off a bit. That seems like a weird thing for Superboy to be eager about, considering. Like . . . just very weird.Â
âWell, thatâs a Gotham thing, probably,â Tim says, putting on a sheepish Civilian Smile (#7). âWeâre used to rogue attacks with area of effect concerns involved, so we get pretty good at clearing a street.âÂ
âYou did awesome, man!â Superboy says, grinning excitedly at him. That is . . . still weird, yeah. Tim really doesnât get it.Â
Well, maybe Superboyâs just relieved to have a soulmate who knows how to stay out of the line of fire and what to do in a crisis, given how often crisises probably come up in his life. That would make sense, considering.Â
âIt was nothing, just a little light crowd control,â Tim tries, assuming thatâs what a normal civilian would say. Probably, right? Almost definitely. âNobody even needed any urgent medical attention. And you used your TTK really strategically and contained the guy too, that was much more impressive to pull off in a mess like that.âÂ
Yeah, that was normal civilian talk, he thinks, pleased with himself for managing it.Â
Superboy turns pink, then grins again. Dubbilex . . . tilts his head.Â
Normal. Normal. Normal civilian. Thatâs what Tim is. A civilian! Whoâs normal! Very, very normal!Â
Normal.Â
He smiles Normal Civilian Smile #4 and pats Kryptoâs head again. Krypto makes an enthusiastic attempt at licking his fingers off.Â
Ew.Â
ââLight crowd controlâ,â Moon echoes. Thatâs what Tim said, yeah, so heâs not sure why sheâs repeating it. Wellâreporter, again, so itâs probably a trap.Â
Itâs almost definitely a trap, actually.Â
Really definitely itâs a trap.Â
âSorry to just show up like this, hope Iâm not interrupting anything,â he says to Roxy and Dubbilex with a smile, politely pretending not to be ignoring Moon. He is definitely ignoring Moon, though. Again: reporter. She may not be a Lois Lane or even a Vicki Vale, but heâs still not giving her any information he can avoid giving her. And heâll just ignore Leech while heâs at it, too.Â
âI invited you, dude!â Superboy says with a laugh, shaking his head. âWeâre gonna hit the beach for a while, go hang out. Just swung by to grab Tim a swimsuit I can lend him.âÂ
âYou came to Hawaii to âget awayâ and didnât pack a swimsuit?â Moon says skeptically.Â
âYup,â Tim replies with the most placidly innocent expression heâs ever worn in his life. Nothing. He is giving her nothing. Let all her reporter instincts strike against mirrored glass and high-security privacy windows and come to naught.Â
Moon stares at him in silence, clearly waiting for him to fill it. Tim doesnât fall for the incredibly obvious bait and just keeps the placidly innocent expression on.Â
She frowns.Â
âCâmon, man,â Superboy says cheerfully, apparentlyâand fortunatelyâoblivious to their stand-off. He grabs Timâs arm and drags him towards the front porch. Tim seriously doubts its structural stability, from the look of it, but tactile telekinesis is hard to argue with.Â
The steps manage not to collapseâpossibly also because of tactile telekinesis, Tim canât help suspectingâand Superboy pulls him straight into the house, which is . . . not particularly well taken care of, no surprise. The furniture looks like it all came from a thrift store, and not a nice thrift store.Â
Admittedly Timâs upbringing might be showing here, but also the corners need swept and thereâs random boxes of assorted Superboy merch everywhere, most of which looks like cheap junk, and a huge stack of mail and four empty pizza boxes on the coffee table and overflowing trash cans with random junk scattered around, and itâs just . . . it doesnât look taken care of, no. Which is something Tim would expect from a teenager or two, and maybe Dubbilex doesnât know how chore wheels work or whatever, but fucking Rex Leech should at least be capable of getting out the broom once a week.Â
Assuming there is one, anyway. Tim isnât particularly optimistic on that one, honestly.Â
Superboyâs room is even messier than the living room, covered in dirty clothes and abandoned comics and crumpled-up papers, but Timâs bedroom looks like a bomb went off in it so heâs not gonna judge. Anyway, thatâs Superboyâs personal space, not a common area. He can keep it however he likes, Tim figures.Â
Somebody should really sweep that living room, though. And throw out those old pizza boxes, too.Â
Tim isnât judging, justâwell, no, he is very much judging, actually. Specifically what heâs judging is Rex Leech, noted asshole sleazeball manager with predatory business tactics.Â
Fuck that guy, seriously.Â
âYou want trunks or a speedo?â Superboy asks as he lets go of his arm to fly over to the cluttered dresser. Tim turns seventeen different shades of red and nearly disassociates.Â
âTrunks,â he says quickly. âPlease.âÂ
âGotcha, man,â Superboy says easily, and then all the dresser drawers yank out at once and dump out crumpled piles of . . . mostly swimsuits and super-suits, it looks like, yeah. Like, basically nothing else but swimsuits and super-suits and a couple of cheesy-looking Hawaiian shirts.Â
Well, that might be one lonely, lonely pair of cutoffs sticking out from underneath the swimsuits. But otherwise, thatâs pretty much it, yeah.Â
Fuck, thatâs depressing, Tim thinks.Â
Superboy comes back over with an armful of swimsuits, just about all of which have the S-shield either printed or stitched on them. Tim wonders why the guy even has this many swimsuits, especially considering he barely has any other clothes at all. At least not as far as he can see, anyway.Â
He also wonders if heâs gonna die if he wears Superboyâs clothes. Is that a thing that might happen? Because it really might happen, yeah.Â
Also wearing something with an S-shield on it feels like just a little too much to handle right now, so Timâs hoping for a basic black option to be buried somewhere in that pile. Given Superboyâs apparent fashion sense, it seems unlikely, but hope springs eternal.Â
âTake a look, see whatâs good,â Superboy says, dumping the entire armful of swimsuits on Tim. Timâs just grateful he remembered to stick to just the trunks, at this point.Â
âSo you spend a lot of time on the beach, huh?â he says wryly.Â
âCâmon, man, itâs Hawaii,â Superboy says with a sheepish grin. âAnd I mean, I look good in anything but wet leather is just not a comfortable fit, you know?âÂ
âI guess it wouldnât be, no,â Tim says, giving him Civilian Smile #4 again. Superboyâs ears redden a little again, and then he leans back and zips back across the room to shove all his drawers back shut. Tim lays out the pile of swimsuits on the bed, since itâs right there anyway, and then immediately feels embarrassed to be this close to Superboyâs bed. Which is stupid, even if they arenât platonics. Theyâve just met; itâs not like anythingâs gonna happen.Â
. . . even if Superboy is a notorious flirt and totally shameless andâ
Tim is just not gonna pursue that line of thought right now, he decides. Just for his own sanity and all.Â
He accidentally knocks some paper off the bed as heâs laying out the suits to get a look at them, and reflexively leans down to pick it up. The roomâs a mess, yeah, but itâs Superboyâs mess. Itâs still rude to just drop shit wherever.Â
The paper isnât as crumpled as some of the others, and Tim sees a glimpse of color as he picks it up. His inner detective reflexively wonders what it is, and . . .Â
Tim uncrumples the paper a little, and blinks down at it in surprise. Itâs a little kidâs drawing, it looks like. A sunny beach rendered in bright colored pencil and simple, awkward shapes all painstakingly but clumsily colored in andâ
Superboyâs suddenly right back next to him snatching the paper from him and immediately hiding it behind his back, looking absolutely mortified. Timâs confused, for a moment. Whatâs he embarrassed about? Itâs obviously not anything heâd have drawn himself. Itâs probably just something a fan or a neighborâs kid gave him, or . . .Â
Tim pauses. Then he recontextualizes just how much crumpled-up paper is lying around Superboyâs room and wonders, very briefly, if a bunch of STEM majors with delusions of grandeur wouldâve bothered programming their custom-designed âSupermanâ with anything resembling art skills.Â
So . . . maybe that is something Superboy drew himself. If Cadmus didnât program him with the muscle memory or knowledge of how to draw . . . well, then he probably would draw like a little kid, wouldnât he.Â
And given Superboyâs cocky, braggart personality and defensive ego and how all that paper is all crumpled up as if in frustration . . .Â
âGift from a fan?â Tim âassumesâ with Smiling Civilian Face #4, pretending to be oblivious.Â
âUhâyeah!â Superboy blurts quickly as he jumps on the provided excuse, though he keeps the paper behind his back. âYeah, justâyou know, just some kid gave it to me at a signing, whatever. Uh, bathroomâs through there, if you wanna get changed. Or like, whatever.âÂ
âThanks,â Tim says, and resists the itching urge to peek at a few more of those crumpled-up papers. Itâs just a lot of paper, especially if Superboyâs upset with the results.Â
He wonders why the guy draws so much, if heâs that frustrated and embarrassed by it. Maybe itâs a rebellion thing, since itâs something Cadmus didnât want him to know how to do. Tim would definitely understand that logic, if he were in Superboyâs situation. Or maybe heâs just bothered not to know how and trying to teach himself to make up for the perceived failing.Â
Or maybe he just likes it, Tim supposes. Thatâs an option too.Â
Probably a less likely one, though, given that itâs Superboy. Not to be an asshole or anything, just itâs a lot easier picturing the guy assuming he should be able to do something and getting fixated on trying to pull it off than just, like . . . liking to draw. Also, judging by all that balled-up paper, it doesnât seem like thereâs all that much there for him to âlikeâ, either.Â
Tim takes the plainest set of trunks with a drawstring waist, which are black and dark blue but still have an S-shield iron-on patch sewn onto their waistband, for whatever reason, and ducks into the bathroom with them. He realizes belatedly that said S-shield is probably going to rest right up against his soulmark, then feels like an idiot for feeling flustered by that idea and just sets his bag against the wall and starts getting undressed.Â
Heâs definitely wearing one of the spare shirts in his go-bag for this, he decides as he stuffs his clothes into his bag. Justâdefinitely, yeah.Â
The trunks fit once he cinches the drawstring enough, but the S-shield definitely does rest right against his soulmark. Tim has never actually considered the sight of the S-shield to be, like . . . relevant or interesting outside of work, but heâs realizing that he sure does feel differently about it now that he knows his soulmateâs one of the people wearing it.Â
Which is a little ironic, really, considering Superboy wears the S-shield as a branding thing or whatever and lets Leech slap it on whatever cheap shitty merch he can think of. Like, heâs probably the least respectful S-wearer there is.
Tim pulls on a plain clean T-shirt and a short-sleeve button-down to go over it, figuring thatâs beach-friendly enough. He shouldâve packed sunglasses, probably, but he was a little distracted by his kidnapping plans and didnât think to.Â
Seriously. He didnât think to bring sunglasses to Hawaii.Â
This whole situation definitely has him off his game, yeah.Â
Soulmate thing, he guesses.Â
Tim eyes himself in the bathroom mirror, mentally decides heâs being an idiot to worry about how he looks right now, and then grabs his bag and heads back out into the bedroom. Superboyâs changed into low-waisted S-shield-themed trunks of his own and flip-flops and nothing else, which does in fact give Tim an embarrassingly good and embarrassingly distracting view of their soulmark. Itâs not quite distracting enough for him to miss the fact that the amount of crumpled papers strewn around the room has noticeably decreased, though. And thereâs definitely more of them sticking out from under the bed and dresser and in the back of the closet than there previously were.Â
Which is kinda cute, honestly, but Tim should probably not say that. Like, ever.Â
âThanks for waiting,â he says, smiling Normal Civilian Smile #4 at Superboy as he hitches his bag up a little higher on his shoulder. âAnd for the loan.âÂ
Superboy stares blankly at him for half a second, then seems to startle a little and puffs himself up.Â
âUhâsure, yeah!â he says quickly. âNo problem, man. Anytime.âÂ
ââAnytimeâ seems pretty open, as an offer,â Tim jokes, because normal civilians make that kind of joke, and Superboy turns red.Â
âOh, uhâyou know what I mean!â he sputters awkwardly, holding his hands up, which seems kind of a lot as a reaction, and then somehow manages to nearly knock over his dresser without even touching it. Wellâthat'd be the TTK, Tim guesses.Â
It wasn't even that much of a joke. Like, lame suburban dad joke territory, that's all.Â
âI do, yeah,â he says with a wry smile. Superboy finds a way to turn even redder and shoves his dresser back into a corner. That also seems like kind of a lot as a reaction, but Tim doesn't comment. Just seems, well . . . awkward? Unnecessary? âAre we good to go, then?âÂ
âUm, yeah, yeah,â Superboy says, clearing his throat and then zipping out into the hall. Tim wonders if he always flies indoors this much. âAll good, dude! Let's head out.âÂ
âSure,â Tim says, keeping the smile on. Superboy is still red, but floats along down the hall. Tim follows. Okay. Theyâre almost definitely not platonic, but Superboy clearly isnât any more sure what to do with that than Tim is, so . . . small favors, he guesses. Likeâthat theyâre at least roughly on the same page there, he means.Â
Unless heâs just reading into things because of weird personal biases he didnât even know he had, and Superboy is completely straight and just kind of socially awkward around civilians, and Timâs just being socially pressured by the background radiation of living in a society that over-values romantic soulmates in comparison to platonic ones and sometimes disavows the value of platonic soulmates altogether.Â
He supposes technically they could be familial, rare as that is. Itâs not like he really knows how heâd feel about having a brother. Dickâs the closest thing to one heâs ever had, and thatâs just . . . not actually the same thing, obviously, even if sometimes he wishes . . .Â
Anyway. It doesnât matter. Heâs pretty sure having a brother wouldnât in any way involve this level of embarrassment and unexpected hormones and just general sexuality-questioning over every little thing. Like, that seems very much not like what having a brother would be like. Soâmaybe he isnât straight, or maybe Superboyâs not actually a boy, or maybe both of those things are true, or maybe heâs just really, really bad at having a soulmate.Â
Entirely possible, under the circumstances. Timâs not really all that good at getting close to people. If he got a little confused about how to handle having a soulmate, well . . . that wouldnât really be a surprise, would it.Â
Or maybe he just doesnât want to have to figure out how to come out to his dad or Dana or the goddamn Batman.Â
One or the other, probably.Â
. . . statistically speaking, the likelier explanation probably is not wanting to come out to the goddamn Batman.Â
âWanna fly someplace or just chill on the beach out front?â Superboy asks as he floats backwards into the living room. Krypto runs up and jumps on Tim excitedly, his tail wagging so hard his whole little bodyâs wagging with it. Heâs a weird-looking little mutt, but heâs really friendly, apparently. âKrypto, oh my god, get off him.âÂ
âI don't mind,â Tim says, leaning down to give Krypto a polite little pat on the head. Krypto barks happily and wags his tail so hard he knocks himself over.Â
Yeah, weird dog in general, Tim thinks. But again, really friendly.Â
âWe can go wherever,â he says. âYou're the local, you know the best places to get a little time alone to hang out, right?âÂ
ââAloneâ?â Superboy repeats, his ears reddening again as he somehow manages to trip in mid-air and hits his head on the doorframe. Tim can probably safely write off the idea of âplatonicâ at this point, but is still a little bit wary of his personal bias interfering. Though . . . âUhâyeah! Totally! Yeah! We can do that!âÂ
Yeah, Superboy really isnât selling the âplatonicâ idea here either.Â
Does Tim have a boyfriend now? Is this how boyfriends happen?Â
. . . well, or a girlfriend, maybe. He still hasnât ruled out the âmaybe Superboyâs just transâ option. That seems like a thing that might confuse his sexuality a little, if nothing else.Â
This is definitely not anything like any previous girlfriend-getting heâs experienced, though. Like, not even a little bit. Heâs not complaining, exactly, because admittedly itâs actually a little bit easier going into a new relationship with a plan and a cover established, even if the plan is still in flux and the relationshipâs âromanticâ vs âplatonicâ status is still unclear. Itâs still something he can approach like a case, which is much more straightforward than just floundering around trying to figure out how normal people work.Â
And Superboyâs about as far from a ânormal personâ as it gets, so really, this is a pretty ideal set-up on Timâs end.Â
Hopefully Superboy feels similarly, though he also, like . . . is lacking some pretty important information there, so . . . yeah, that might be an issue. Bruce would definitely not have appreciated Robin telling Superboy he was his soulmate, though, and who knows how Superboy wouldâve even taken that. Going in as a civilian is going pretty smoothly, though, so Timâs pretty sure it was the right choice.Â
Hopefully it was, anyway.Â
âCool,â Tim says, keeping up the placid harmless civilian face and thoughts and Totally-Not-A-Vigilante vibes. Superboy does a very bad job of pretending he didnât just bump into the doorframe and ducks back outside, putting on a cocky grin of his own as he does. It occurs to Tim, briefly, that maybe Superboy has his own catalog of performative expressions. None of his friends really seem to, but Superboy is in the community too, so . . . well, itâd make sense, right?Â
Also he does sell his likeness via a sleazy managerâs sleazy business deals, so yeah. It does kind of make sense.Â
Huh. Thatâs . . . a thought, he guesses.Â
Not a thought heâd really had yet.Â
Just . . . something they might have in common, Tim guesses.Â
Though so is being in the community to begin with, obviously. And they're physiologically about the same age and have similar coloring, though Superboy isâwell, not actually mixed with East Asian, because Krypton did not have an actual place called âAsiaâ, but he does have subtle hints of that look, same as Superman. Easy to mistake for just being white, but recognizable if you know what you're looking for. Superboy would be at least half-white given Westfield's DNA, Tim guesses, but . . .Â
Yeah, no, he doesn't even know how to begin to figure out the nuances of racial identity on a dead planet he knows next to nothing about, much less any potential experience parallels there might be for a second-generation half-alien immigrant with effectively zero access to their own culture, but maybe he couldâ
Right, okay, he needs to focus here. There's some fascinating stuff there that he can theorize about and investigate later, once he's kidnapped Superboy properly. The kidnapping is the current priority, though. Like, it is very much the current priority.Â
Tim follows Superboy back out onto the porch. Everyone else is still out there, which is fine in regards to Roxy and Dubbilex and not fine in regards to Leech and . . . well, jury's out on Moon, maybe.Â
Also the dog. He doesn't really know about the dog. Though said dog does run after him and jump up for attention wagging his scruffy little tail hard enough to wag his whole little body, which is sort of cute.Â
Or as cute as a wet dishrag can get, anyway.Â
Timâs trying not to judge Krypto for that, since obviously he didn't ask to be born as the living embodiment of a wet dishrag, and anyway he's a really friendly dog, so judging by appearances seems like a dick move. Even if Tim kind of wants to iron him, to be honest. Steam-clean, maybe.Â
At least take him to a decent groomer, if nothing else.Â
âDown, you little shit, Jesus!â Kon says, scowling down at Krypto and trying to shoo him away. Krypto growls at him, which seems weird, then goes back to fawning all over Tim. Tim leans down and pats his head, figuring it might calm him down.Â
âItâs okay,â he says. âHe is cute.âÂ
âWhatever,â Superboy grumbles, folding his arms and inexplicably glowering at his dog.Â
âYou gonna go swim, or just hang out?â Roxy asks curiously as she comes over to them again.Â
âOh, weâreââ Superboy starts, but Moon cuts him off.Â
âWant some company?â Moon inquires, pleasant and suspicious all at once. Superboy looksâconflicted, momentarily, and then awkward.Â
âUm, wellâTimâs only in town for today, so . . . next time?â he hedges. Tim resists the urge to eye Moon. Can I just spontaneously insert myself in your first day with your brand-new soulmate? is incredibly rude, as a suggestion. And incredibly fucking disrespectful to boot. Like, what entitled-ass kind of thing is that to ask, exactly?Â
How old is she again? Twenty? Twenty-one? He should look that up later. Wellâno, sheâd graduated college and started her career by the time Superman had died, which was a good eight or nine months ago now, so unless she skipped a grade or two in there, sheâs gotta be closer to twenty-four, if not twenty-five or twenty-six.Â
Thatâs . . . a thought, considering there is definitely news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. Like, Tim very definitely saw news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. And she was very definitely kissing him too.Â
In retrospect, that seems like something someone shouldâve, like . . . done something about? Or at least addressed? And is definitely further proof of how fucking useless and slimy Rex Leech is. Sure, let the five-minute-old clone make out with a twentysomething reporter and hang out with her at home; all publicity is good publicity, so itâs fine, right? Sure. Why wouldnât it be?Â
Tim is going to absolutely decimate that bastardâs credit the first chance he gets. Leech probably already has terrible credit, mind, but heâll make it worse. Heâll find a way.Â
. . . though heâll wait until heâs sure Roxy is eighteen and financially independent, he doesnât actually know if she is or not. Roxy seems nice, she doesnât deserve that particular fallout.Â
âItâd be nice to get to know each other later, Iâm sure,â Tim says before Moon can say anything, smiling Gala Smile #1 at her, which is a targeted psychological attack and not actually very moral to be trotting out this quick, probably.Â
He has no regrets, for the record. Absolutely none.Â
Moon narrows her eyes suspiciously. Tim blithely strokes Kryptoâs ears, Gala Smile #1 flawless and unphased.Â
âIâm sure,â she âagreesâ frostily. Superboy remains apparently oblivious to the tension and grins brightly at both of them.Â
âCool!â he says. Oh, sweet summer child who has clearly never socialized with sharks, Tim thinks resignedly, petting Krypto again. Has Leech taught him literally nothing about conversational warfare, for fuckâs sake? At least living with your sleaze of a manager should be good for that, dammit!Â
Then again, Leech is probably not actually competent enough to teach Superboy anything actually useful, so maybe thatâs for the best.Â
If nothing else, Superman couldâve taught him a bit of âbless your heartâ, but apparently thatâs not a thing either.Â
Tim has a brief moment of dread that maybe underneath his personal list of performative expressions, Superboy might just be a straightforward and honest person, which is a concerning thought. He doesnât even know how to talk to a straightforward and honest person at this point, after this long as Batmanâs emotional support sidekick. How do you form a lasting relationship with someone who isnât habitually using at least three layers of double-talk and constantly locked in on all your microexpressions, anyway?Â
Thatâs going to be a weird experience, yeah.Â
âReady to go?â Superboy asks Tim, grinning brighter at him. Tim feels momentarily overwhelmed and just sort of . . . has to collect himself about that, a little.Â
Or a lot.Â
âLead the way,â he says, smiling at him. Heâs flustered enough to forget to use an appropriately-planned smile, which is embarrassing, but Superboy just grins even brighterâwhich should not be physically possible, but apparently isâand reaches out to scoop him up into his arms and into the air again as Krypto lets out an offended bark. Itâs totally overkill and not even slightly necessary.Â
Tim isnât complaining, justâwellâ
Itâs really flustering.Â
âAir Superboy up, up, and away!â Superboy says cheerfully as they float up over the othersâ heads. His face is way too close to Timâs face.Â
Tim is gonna need a bit longer to collect himself this time, heâs pretty sure.Â
âDo I get an in-flight meal?â he asks, raising an eyebrow. Superboy laughs, which is even worse than his grin, and then takes off across the beachfront with him. Itâs another bridal carry, which is quietly mortifying but could be worse, probably. Maybe.Â
Somehow.Â
Superboy flies them straight across the beach and then straight out over the water, skimming them along just above the waves. Tim makes a briefly startled noise, reflexively tightening his grip on the strap of his bag.Â
âThis isnât waterproof,â he says just as reflexively, and Superboy laughs again.Â
âIâm not gonna drop you, dude,â he says. Tim actually more assumed Superboy was intending to either dive-bomb them both into the water or just dump him in on purpose, because that seems like Superboyâs sense of humor, but maybe that was an unfair assumption.Â
He really is not prepared for how it feels to be held in close against Superboyâs bare chest and arms like this, even if heâs still wearing a shirt himself. The idea of possibly doing that while theyâre both wet seems a lot worse.Â
Yeah. Definitely worse.Â
Tim shouldâve worn long sleeves. And maybe a wetsuit. And maybe a few layers on top of that.Â
Jesus.Â
âIâm gonna hold you to that,â he says, barely resisting the urge to loop his arms around Superboyâs neck as the other hangs a right and swoops them back around towards shore. Flying over the water like this is a pretty cool experience, admittedly, now that heâs not worried about Superboy dumping him in the water.Â
Well. Less worried, anyway.Â
Camera next time, Tim promises himself, glancing back over Superboyâs shoulder towards the shining horizon. The sun reflects off the waves bright and beautiful, and the sky is a smooth and perfect blue dotted with sparse but billowing clouds, and everything smells like salt and sea and leather, which is probably Superboy, even without the jacket on anymore.Â
Definitely camera next time.Â
âDefinitely holding you to that, actually,â he says, and Superboy laughs again and brings them down in the surf just past the tideline with a splash. Neither the splash or the water goes high enough to soak Tim's bag, so he figures it could've been worse.Â
Assuming Superboy isn't planning to toss him or anything before he can put his bag down somewhere safe, anyway.Â
They both settle down into the surf and onto their feet, and Tim becomes very aware of how close together theyâre standing and also how very, very shirtless Superboy is, and in fact the only thing between their soulmarks is the very thin layer of cotton of Timâs own shirt, and if he leaned in just a little bit . . .Â
Jesus, Tim thinks faintly, and forces himself to take a step back before he can make it weird.Â
He smiles Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 just to make sure he doesnât look like a creep or anything, and Superboy grins excitedly at him. Tim allows himself all of two seconds to be overwhelmed by that gorgeous expression and their physical closeness and the reflection of the light in Superboyâs eyes, as bright and perfectly blue as both the sky and water, and then reasserts standard operating procedures and keeps Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 locked in place on his face.Â
âThe waterâs really warm,â he observes, glancing down at it. âIs that normal?âÂ
Itâs probably not an impending supervillain thing, he tells himself.Â
Maybe global warming or something, though.Â
âI mean, feels normal to me?â Superboy says with a shrug. Tim considers mentioning the average ocean temperature, comparatively speaking, or at least the average temperature of the water off the docks in Gotham. Admittedly, Gotham waters barely count as âwaterâ, legally speaking, but thatâs not the point.Â
âItâs pretty out here,â he says instead, and Superboy grins at him and leans in. Heâs pretty sure itâs more an instinctive thing than a deliberate one, just from the way Superboy does it, but that doesnât exactly make it less flattering.Â
Or flustering.Â
âI mean, itâs Hawaii, man!â Superboy says, grinning wider before kicking at the surf. ââCourse itâs gonna be pretty!âÂ
Actually you specifically are possibly the prettiest damn thing that I have ever seen, Tim thinks, but isnât stupid enough to actually let out of his mouth. Superboy, unfortunately, continues to be all warm and grinning and lit up by island sun. Tim did not come prepared enough for this.Â
âI donât know, Iâm pretty sure Iâd be the guy who came to Hawaii and got a monsoon,â he says wryly, and Superboy laughs brightly.Â
Tim really did not come prepared enough for this. Like, not at all. Not even slightly.Â
âGuess youâd just have to come back, then,â Superboy says, grinning wider again and kicking at the surf again as he floats back up out of it. Itâsâweird, a little, looking up at him like this.Â
Well, not weird, just . . . yeah.Â
Something like that.Â
âGuess so,â Tim agrees, feeling embarrassingly flustered. Superboyâs friends can probably still see them from the porch, distant though it is, but part of him is still just considering very weird and dumb and insane ideas like maybe tugging Superboy back down to earth and into the surf and just . . . confirming the little sexuality crisis heâs been having since breaking into the otherâs file and seeing their soulmark in it, maybe.Â
Just, you know, ruling things out. Making deductions. Going through the process of elimination.Â
Kissing him, maybe.Â
He could very, very much kiss Superboy right now. Theyâre on a gorgeous beach in the surf and under the sun and Superboy is floating in front of him and grinning as happy and excited as could be and Timâs stomach is fluttering in a stupid and also-embarrassing way, and . . .Â
He could kiss him. Thatâs all.Â
âI mean, itâs a nice place to visit, right?â Superboy says casually, linking his hands together behind his back.Â
âThe tourism industry seems to think so,â Tim says, wry again, and wonders what the ânormal civilian who didnât come here specifically looking for his soulmate to kidnap/salvage him to begin withâ thing to say is here. He has absolutely no idea, because he actually has absolutely no idea how normal civilians react to superheroes. Robin is . . . not exactly an urban myth, necessarily, but definitely not a publicly-recognized superhero. Heâs a vigilante thatâs just barely allowed to operate outside the law, and not one with any kind of publicity or celebrity involved.Â
Superboy, on the other hand, is not only a superhero, but a professional superhero. Heâs selling his likeness and doing events and has signed a stupid predatory contract with a sleaze of a manager that technically shouldnât even be legal, given Superboy isnât even considered a legal person by the government. Apparently no one has ever realized that, though, or at least no oneâs ever let Superboy realize that.Â
Tim really doesnât love that thatâs a thing, to put it mildly.Â
Actually, he just fucking hates it.Â
Superboy laughs, and looks very, very pretty doing it. Tim continues to wonder what a normal civilian would do here, and for lack of a better idea falls back on small talk.Â
God, his best plan right now is small talk. What is his life, even?Â
No wonder heâs gonna have to take six months to kidnap Superboy, ugh.Â
âSo, uhâthis seems like a weird question to be bringing up this late in the conversation, but whatâs your name?â he asks, because itâs occurred to him that he actually has no idea what Superboy goes by when heâs off-duty. He knows he doesnât have a secret identity, obviously, but thereâs no way his friends just call him âSuperboyâ. Wellâmaybe his slimy asshole manager does, but otherwise. âI mean, if thatâs okay to ask. Marks or not, I understand if you donât feel like weâre there yet, given the whole superhero thing and all.âÂ
Robin knows Superboy doesnât have a secret identity, after all, but Tim Drake is a normal civilian and shouldnât act like he knows too much about any superhero in general, soâ
âNaw, itâs fine, I donât even have one,â Superboy says, for some reason just beaming at him, which is . . . weird, Tim thinks, but nowhere near as weird as that answer is.Â
âYou donât . . . have one?â he repeats slowly, and Superboy shrugs easily. âLikeânot at all?âÂ
âYeah, everybody pretty much just calls me 'Kid' or 'SB', when it's not Superboy,â Superboy confirms. âOh, and Knockout calls me 'Pup' when she's around but like, that's really just a 'her' thing and sheâs low-key a supervillain, so yeah. So, you know, you can call me whatever.âÂ
Tim stares blankly at him for a long, long moment, speed-runs all five stages of grief, and also discovers a couple of new and unexpected ones.Â
Alright. Well, he officially regrets literally nothing about this impending kidnapping.Â
âOh, okay,â he says. âUmâsorry, I guess I just assumed youâd have a more . . . civilian-ish name too, I guess?âÂ
âIâm a clone, man,â Superboy says, looking like he thinks Timâs said something funny. âThe only other name Iâve got is âExperiment Thirteenâ, which is definitely not something I answer to.âÂ
Tim discovers a few more stages of grief that hit with all the subtlety of a spiked baseball bat and makes himself nod as much like a normal person as he can.Â
âYeah, I donât think Iâd go for that one if I were you either,â he says. âKind of a mouthful, if nothing else.âÂ
Superboy laughs, then grins at him again. He is actually doing so, so much of that, Timâs realizing. Tim was really not prepared for how much of that heâs been doing, in fact. He just did not come prepared for any of that at all. Heâs got some nebulous kidnapping plans, but everything else hereâfrom the supervillain attack to Superboyâs ripped suit and exposed soulmarkâhas been a crime of opportunity.Â
He probably shouldâve done more research. Actually, he definitely shouldâve done more research. He kind of just panicked and bought a ticket and flew right over, and just because Dick didnât stop him doesnât mean it was a good idea. He justâhe shouldâve done more research. Planned more. Not shown up without something concrete.Â
Admittedly Superboy doesnât hate him yet or anything, but this was just . . . yeah, this was not his brightest idea at all. Not even slightly.Â
Why didnât he do more research?Â
âYou really can just call me whatever you wanna, donât worry about it,â Superboy says with another one of those too-easy shrugs as he settles back down into the surf, which, unfortunately, puts him back into kissing range and is therefore incredibly distracting.Â
Dammit, Tim thinks, trying to beat his stupid teenage hormones into order. Why is he even a teenager at all? Itâs so inconvenient. He really needs to live to twenty just so he can stop being one, because god forbid he die at fifteen too and end up, like, a teenage ghost or something. He would just not be okay with that. He feels even worse for Jason thinking about that, actually.Â
âWhatever I want?â he repeats, because heâs an idiot with no control over his hormones whatsoever.Â
He really needs to make it to twenty.Â
âWell, except for Experiment Thirteen. That one sucks,â Superboy says with another grin. Tim politely pretends not to notice the slight tightening of the corners of the otherâs mouth as he says it.Â
âUh, okay,â he says, clearing his throat. He guesses Superboy doesnât really care what his name is, then, but being told to just call him whatever he wants to is . . . well, a weird feeling, maybe. âWhat do you do when you just want to be a civilian for a while, though?âÂ
âI donât,â Superboy says.Â
â. . . donât . . . what?â Tim asks slowly, not sure if he should be dreading the answer or not, butâ
âBe a civilian,â Superboy says.Â
Timâs running out of new stages of grief, heâs pretty sure.Â
âAh,â he says.Â
Superboyâfor a second, Tim thinks he looks self-conscious, but then heâs grinning again before he can be sure, and . . .Â
âWhy would I, man?â Superboy says, puffing up proudly. âIâm Superboy! Nothing else Iâd rather be.âÂ
Given how limited Superboyâs options for anything âelseâ he could be probably are . . . well, Timâs not sure what to think of that statement. He doesnât think itâs anything good, whatever it is.Â
Yeah, he thinks as he looks at Superboyâs too-bright grin and thinks about how he just said "nothing" and not "no one". Definitely not anything good. Whether that was intentional or just an unknowing slip . . . well, who wouldnât pick being âSuperboyâ over being âExperiment Thirteenâ?Â
And what else would Superboy even know how to pick, if he thought those were his only options?Â
âDoesnât that get . . . tiring?â Tim asks carefully. âBeing Superboy all the time?âÂ
Superboy blinks. Tilts his head.Â
And so, so obviously doesnât understand the question.Â
Dammit, Tim thinks.Â
âNaw, man,â Superboy says confidently, grinning at him. âItâs great!âÂ
Tim genuinely cannot imagine how it could even be mediocre. Theyâre very different people, obviously, butâalways? Always being the hero persona? Only being the hero persona?Â
Not even being able to call it a persona, because it was all you ever were or had been?Â
Even normal celebrities dress down sometimes or try to sneak around under the radar. A celebrity superhero . . . how does Superboy even do anything? Ever? Itâs not like he lives in a gated community or a wealthy area or around any other famous people or superheroes; heâs an anomaly in both Hawaii in general and in his neighborhood specifically, as far as Tim can tell. Wellâas much as heâs in a âneighborhoodâ, anyway. There seems to be a decent amount of space between houses, which makes Tim wonder exactly how expensive this house was, especially since itâs basically right on the beach, but also itâs not in particularly good condition andâÂ
God, he really wants a look at the setup of Superboyâs licensing deals, actually. And his bank balances and investments and just anything like that. And specifically, Rex Leechâs finances in relation to those deals and balances and investments.Â
Seriously, fuck that guy. Tim wouldnât trust Rex Leech with his spare change, much less literally everything about the entire livelihood of a teen idol with limited legal personhood.Â
âOh, cool,â he says with a very careful reissue of Civilian Smile #7, trying to sound like he isnât actively fantasizing about faxing all of Rex Leechâs tax returns for the last entirety-of-Superboyâs-existence to the IRS with some very pointed notes in red pen.Â
Very pointed.Â
Superboy grins at him again. Tim thinks heâs going to have to start just inventing new stages of grief, at this point. The current ones arenât going to cover this situation.Â
âSorry, I didnât mean anything by it, I just thought it might be a little harder to hang out together if youâre really never doing the civilian look,â he tries, and Superboyâstills, suddenly, and the grin vanishes all at once. Tim has a moment to be split between having an anxiety attack about having said the wrong thing or having an anxiety attack about the supervillain attack thatâs about to land on his head when he still doesnât have a mask, and thenâ
âYouâwhat?â Superboy asks, looking startled. âI mean, uhâlikeâyou wouldnât get bored doinâ that?âÂ
â. . . hanging out with you?â Tim asks blankly. Theyâre soulmates. And also Superboy is quite possibly the literally least boring person he has ever met, douchey shades or not, and the list of âleast boringâ people in his life includes Bruce and Dick and more superheroes than he could shake his bo stick at. How is someone getting bored around him even a concern that would occur to Superboy? Like, literally ever?Â
âNo, I meanââ Superboy turns red, looking briefly embarrassed. âYou wouldnât have more fun hanginâ out with Superboy than just, uhâsome guy?âÂ
It takes all of Timâs Bat-training and gala-experience to not stare at him over that. Thatâwhat kind of question is that?Â
âI mean, Iâm just some guy,â he lies. âBut I just meant itâd be way easier to hang out if we werenât having to deal with people bugging you for selfies or autographs or whatever all the time, you know?âÂ
âIâuh, I guess,â Superboy says, still looking flustered. âLikeâprobably, I guess.âÂ
âAlso I donât want, like, a Gotham rogue randomly deciding you being in town is a good reason to start some shit,â Tim says wryly, because he definitely does not want that, in fact. âFeel like Batman wouldnât like that very much.âÂ
âYou believe in Batman, dude?â Superboy asks, raising an eyebrow at him.Â
âYouâre a half-alien clone and you think Batmanâs hard to believe in?â Tim attempts to deflect with, because that was definitely a fuck-up on his part, and Superboy just laughs.Â
âNo, man, I just have literally never met a Gothamite whoâd admit to believing Batman was a real dude,â he says. âI literally met Robin like a week ago and, like, pretty sure he was low-key trying to convince me he didnât believe Batman existed.âÂ
It was not even a week, Tim thinks, mildly indignant for no good reason, then puts Dubious Civilian Expression #1 on his face and rolls his eyes.Â
âOkay, Batmanâs one thing, but no one actually thinks Robinâs real,â he snorts, and Superboy laughs again, sounding straight-up delighted about it.Â
âNo, he totally is!â he protests, grinning at him again too and linking his hands together behind his back as he leans towards him, which is incredibly, incredibly distracting for him. âDudeâs got the sick flips and everything and I totally saved his ass from Metallo. And, uh, then he totally saved my ass from Poison Ivy. Long story. Also heâs got a stick up his ass, like legit you would think that was where he kept that quarterstaff thing of his.âÂ
This is a dangerous topic, Tim recognizes while forcing down the instinct to reply itâs a bo staff, actually, theyâre pretty different, and tries to figure out how to change the subject as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Robin talk is not a good idea right now, when thereâs a risk of Superboy possibly noticing something about him, what with meeting Robin a reasonably fresh experience in his mind.Â
Not that fresh, apparently, since he thinks it was âlike a weekâ ago. But whatever. Not the point. Timâs just annoyed by the inaccurate intel.Â
. . . seriously. A week?Â
âBatman or not, you apparently already have beef with Poison Ivy, so definitely Iâd be worried about you being publicly in town without needing to pack a super-powered weed-whacker,â he says wryly instead of anything more damning or secret-identity-blowing. Superboy looksâweird, for a moment, leaning back a little bit to straighten back up.Â
âYouâd, likeâactually be cool with me visiting you in Gotham? Likeâthat wouldnât be annoying or whatever?â he asks, sounding just barely uncertain about it, and Tim again has to force himself not to stare at him. First: Superboy being any kind of uncertain whatsoever is the weirdest thing heâs ever seen, and second: theyâre soulmates. People will spend a lot more time with their soulmates than occasionally visiting each other in different cities, especially five minutes after meeting them when theyâre still trying to figure out who and what they are to each other. Again: Tim has investigated multiple missing persons cases that turned out to be âI found my soulmateâ cases! Multiple! In Gotham, even!Â
âYes,â he says instead of any of that. âI would actually really like you to, in fact.âÂ
âOh,â Superboy says, and turns red again. âIâuhâyeah, I guess thatâd be cheaper than you needing to buy a plane ticket or run up your phone bill if you ever feel like shooting the shit or whatever, huh?âÂ
âI have unlimited minutes, actually,â Tim says, forcing down another stare. The staring would not help, at this moment. Or likeâever, probably. âAnd the plane ticket was only like a weekâs allowance, plus my dadâs got a disgusting amount of frequent flyer miles saved up he never remembers to use anyway. Iâll buy you a plane ticket if you donât feel like flying yourself.âÂ
â. . . uh,â Superboy says. Tim should stop talking, probably, butâÂ
âAlso youâre my soulmate,â he says. âI could get, I dunno, an after-school job if I actually needed to cover anything like that. I just figured we could take turns flying over or something. I mean, if you decided to go to college in Gotham in a couple years or something I wouldnât complain, obviously, just weâve just met and that seems like a bit much to suggest first thing. Especially, uh, since you donât actually have any transcripts, apparently. Um. Just, well, if you ever did want to be a civilian sometimes . . . like, eventually, I mean? Well, Gotham would probably be a good place to hide a Super, right? Nobodyâd expect to see you there, and itâs not like you canât commute.âÂ
Superboy is staring at him now. Tim thinks maybe he said something wrong after all. Or maybe the lycra rando is about to jump him from behind.Â
Fifty-fifty, given the way his life tends to go.Â
âUm,â he says. âLikeâno pressure or anything. I could also look into colleges out here, do you know if thereâs any good programmingâuh, programs around? Like just tech in general.âÂ
Superboy is still staring at him.Â
. . . okay, at this point, itâs probably that Tim said something wrong, yeah.Â
God, heâs usually so much better at subtle social manipulations. Is this the panicking thing again? Is he panicking again?Â
Apparently, yeah.Â
âUm,â Tim says again. Superboy jolts like heâs just gotten shocked by static electricity or something and turns blazingly red.Â
That is definitely not a color achievable by human circulatory systems, yeah.Â
âUh!â Superboy says, looking incredibly awkward for a second and then clearly forcing a casual, cocky pose as he raises an eyebrow at him with a smirk. It might come across as more convincingly casual if he werenât still blushing, but Tim isnât going to judge; blushing is generally an involuntary response. âI dunno, man, I donât ask the college babes what their classes are like, you know? Not really my priority in the conversation.âÂ
. . . Tim might judge a little. Just, likeâin passing.Â
He really needs to figure out if theyâre platonic or not. Justâvery much so does he need to figure that out.Â
âWell, if you get the chance next time, maybe you could just see what they think about the curriculum,â he suggests, because maybe they are platonic, and Superboyâhesitates, for a second, and then Timâs not sure if he said something stupid or not, and then Superboy just grins at him again, crooked and easy, and it sort of fries Timâs brain a little.Â
Okay, so like . . . uh. Another mark against platonic, Tim guesses while heâs trying to remember how his slightly-fried brain even works. At least another mark against platonic on his end, anyway. Superboy talking about âcollege babesâ is kind of a mark for platonic, admittedly.Â
Unfortunately, Tim is still the guy whose first reaction to finding out Superboy was his soulmate was âwait, am I gay?â, so . . . yeah.Â
So like, thatâs a few things heâs gonna have to process at some point this week, he guesses.Â
He can probably fit it in Thursday, he tells himself.Â
âI mean, if you want me to chat up some campus coeds for ya, I guess I can be a soul-bro like that,â Superboy says, grinning wider. His grin is unfortunately gorgeous, and the statement is unfortunately heterosexual. Or at least very strongly platonic-soulmate-leaning, anyway.Â
And Tim, to his awkward embarrassment, thinks he might actually be disappointed by that.Â
. . . maybe heâll fit in his processing on Sunday, he amends. Sunday he has a little more spare time to work with, and thereâs just . . . going to be a lot of it, definitely.Â
Just a lot.Â
#timkon#tim drake#kon el#conner kent#dc robin#superboy#wip: kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit#anonymous
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Go for his brother part 3
Part 2
Part 1

charles_leclerc The day @/y/n_leclerc and I decided to spent the forever together
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y/n_leclerc Did I mention I'm in love with you? đ
âłcharles_leclerc Yeah I think you mentioned that a few times in the vows, ma chĂ©rie
y/n_leclerc I love it when you call me french terms of endearment oh my god đ©
username1 SHE'S HOOKED
âłusername2 FOR LIFE đ€
pierregasly And I really thought I wouldn't see that day
âły/n_leclerc Life's full of surprises isn't it?
username3 Charles calls her ma chĂ©rie, Arthur used to call her mon bĂ©bĂ© đ do you get deja vu
âłusername4 y/n: *breathes* y'all: do you get deja vu omg she used to breathe with Arthur đ
âłusername5 You remember mon bĂ©bĂ© but do you remember chouchou? đ
username3 OMG YES he used to call her chouchou and she used to call him Thurthur đ
username4 GET. OVER. THEM. Y/n is now married to Charles BESIDES Arthur CHEATED on her. She deserved better than Arthur and now she has it.
pascale_leclerc Congratulations my loves â€ïžđ the wedding was beautiful
âły/n_leclerc Merci mamanđ«¶
âłusername3 Pascale is just happy to have Y/n in her family and I live for this
username2 Maybe it was all Pascale's idea, when she found out Arthur cheated, she told Charles to keep Y/n in the family lmao
username3 And he stayed committed to the jobđȘ
danielricciardo The instant photos part was awesome, I bet it was Y/n's idea
âły/n_leclerc Yes it was đ«Ąand it was really nice to see you, Max, Lando and Carlos having lots of fun with it once the alcohol kicked in
charles_leclerc Not to mention now we have some things to blackmail you with
danielricciardo Bold of you to assume I'd be ashamed of any of these, Charles
carlossainz55 Looking forward to seeing Y/n in the paddock more often! đ
âły/n_leclerc You know, Carlos, some people have jobs... You should look it up sometime...đ«¶
âłusername5 Is she now gonna go for Carlos lmao
scuderiaferrari Big day for our favorite couple â€ïž evviva gli sposi đ
âłcharles_leclerc Grazie milleâ€ïžâ€ïž
âły/n_leclerc We're the favorite couple đ„č
georgerussell63 Even though you were engaged I didn't believe you'd actually do it until it happened
âłcharles_leclerc Thanks George, supportive as always

username1 That's what I call KARMA
username2 But when are we going to talk about the argument Arthur and Charles had before the wedding?
âłusername3 What were you in their house? Lmao
username2 Another gossip page said that Arthur and Charles argued in front of the wedding chapel
username3 That's so unrealistic, don't trust everything you see on these pages
username4 Hey so do we know if there were any arguments?
âłf1gossip There's no way we'd have any information on that, it was a very private ceremony. That is highly doubtful though, I don't think this could've happened. Even Arthur knows better than acting like this on his brother's wedding day.
username3 That's so right, Arthur isn't dumb enough to act like a dick on his brother's wedding day, he knows it's his own fault
username5 Yeah it would be so weird if Arthur was playing angry now like man it's all consequences of your own actions, be an adult
username6 Even if it wasn't showing, Arthur was definitely dying on the inside. Imagine seeing your ex girlfriend at the altar next to your brother. You're thinking "it should be me with her", but it's too late
âłusername7 One day Y/n and Charles will have kids, they'll be a happy family. Charles will have everything Arthur could want - a seat in F1, Y/n as his wife, little Leclerc(s) running around. Arthur will always be the "less successful" Leclerc. No wonder Lorenzo stays out of the spotlight
username8 Now you're making it sound depressing lol
username7 Tbh I cried a little thinking about this even though I know that's what Arthur deserves for cheating on Y/n
username9 I wonder what happened between Arthur and [ex best friend's name]
âłf1gossip She allegedly broke up with him and a few days later was seen on a date with a fellow Formula 2 driver.
username7 This keeps getting better
username9 WHO???? I NEED TO KNOW???
username8 I saw someone say she was seen with that Piñacolada guy
username9 Piñacolada?? Do you mean Franco Colapinto?? đ

y/n_leclerc Charles isn't my fiancĂ© anymore đ°ââïžđ€”
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charles_leclerc I told you it's not the best way to say it
âły/n_leclerc You can't stop me, tesoro
username1 OMG I've just noticed Y/n changed her username
âłusername2 well, she got married...
lilymhe Wedding of the century
francisca.cgomes Every little girl dreams of a perfect wedding. That was this wedding
âłexbestfriend I've never dreamt of a wedding as a kid
francisca.cgomes Girl nobody asked
exbestfriend Why would a kid think about it? Don't they have better things to do? Like playing with toys and BEING A KID?
y/n_leclerc Pls not under my wedding post, get your jealous ass outta here
yoursister I'm so proud of you Y/n đ
âły/n_leclerc I know, you couldn't stop crying đ
yoursister You know it were happy tears, I love you so much đ
username3 LMAO [ex best friend's name]'s comments are pure comedy đ do you think she'll try to steal Charles now?
âłusername4 Doesn't matter, Charles will never cheat on Y/n
arthur_leclerc You looked amazing
âłusername2 Get the fuck out of this comment section
âłusername3 All you can do about it now is cry, you wasted your chance
âłusername4 The way Y/n doesn't even bother to reply
alex_albon I bet you wouldn't have the guts to wear the dress to the paddock next race
âły/n_leclerc You're right, I won't đ it's too beautiful to take any risks
charlottesiine Dream dress đ€
âły/n_leclerc I know right đ„č when I saw it I knew right away THAT'S THE ONE
âłusername5 wtf what's Cha doing here
username6 They follow each other since that one time they hung out together
username5 ahh the famous "we both suffered a Leclerc" thing
username7 GUYS I AM CRYING Cha said dream dress, I wonder if she's thinking it should be hers, like she should be in Y/n's place đ„čđ
âłusername8 Y'all need to stop, first talking about Arthur, now about Charlotte. Go touch some grass
username7 but, unlike Y/nArthur, ChaCha broke up on good terms, so this could be her
username8 But it's not. Grow up. So disrespectful to talk about it on a wedding post
username9 I am really happy for Y/n and Charles. But I can't stop thinking this could be Y/n and Arthur. Or Charles and Charlotte
âłusername7 I bet Arthur also can't stop thinking about this lmao he'll never find someone who'll love him as much as Y/n did
username9 Let's not go that far maybe...?

username1 Their voices are so similar đ do you think Y/n sometimes accidentally calls Charles Arthur?
âłusername2 Do you think she sometimes says the wrong name in bed? đ
username3 This whole story, from the moment Arthur cheated to the end of this interview, is my Roman Empire
username4 I love that they stay on good terms even after what happened with Y/n
âłusername1 In this exact interview Arthur said he didn't talk to Charles for WEEKS, he didn't even show up on the family dinners, until one day he understood he can only blame himself
username5 You can see that Arthur is happy for his big brother, but in his voice you can hear the pain đ
username6 When Arthur said "Now I see what I did was hurtful and I'm glad it was Charles who took care of Y/n after it happened, instead of some random guy who would possibly repeat my mistake" it broke me đ
âłusername7 "Y/n is an amazing woman and I hope Charles will give her everything I couldn't." đđ
username8 when Ch asked "do you think you'd deserve a second chance? if Y/n and I weren't married, of course" as a joke and A replied "honestly? no, I was a douchebag and the cheating wasn't the only issue in our relationship, she truly deserved better" AND THEN GAVE HIS BROTHER A BIG SMILE WTF?? đđ
username9 At least he realizes his mistakesđ
username4 Not only cheating?? What else?? I need to know immediately
username8 They didn't say it in the video, I doubt they would ever say it publicly unless Y/n decides to speak about it (but I don't see why would she, being happily married now)
username10 They should release one interview of the Leclercs just talking about this whole Y/n situation

y/n_leclerc Maybe it all happened a bit quick, but my husband is a race driver for a reason
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lilymhe I GASPED when I saw the caption
âłcharles_leclerc I asked her nicely to look for some basic quote đ
pascale_leclerc Can't wait to meet our little Leclercâ€ïž
âły/n_leclerc You'll be the first one to find outâ€ïž
yoursister That's how I find out? Through a post?đ
âły/n_leclerc I wanted to surprise you đ„č
yoursister I'm kidding, I'm happy for you guys đ©·
francisca.cgomes Someone check on Arthur
âły/n_leclerc KIKA!!!!
âłusername1 I love Kika đ
âłusername2 Jokes aside someone really needs to check up on him
arthur_leclerc It really suits you đ©·
âły/n_leclerc Don't say that to Charles, he already told me he'd like 2 more đ I don't think I wanna go further than just this one
charles_leclerc I'm not gonna force you! If you wanna stop at one, that's fine by me
y/n_leclerc We can get a puppy instead? Right now it would be perfect so the puppy and the baby can entertain each other and grow up together
charles_leclerc Alright, ma chĂ©rie, we can talk about that đ
âłusername1 "I hope Charles gives her everything I couldn't" đ so that's what he meant
âłusername2 Alexa play the one that got away by Katy Perry
username3 I just know Arthur will be the fun uncle omg
âłusername4 I don't think he'll spend much time with the baby, if I were him it would always make me think "wow, that baby could be mine if I didn't mess up" đ
username3 It seems like he understood his mistake and came to terms with the consequences. Plus, he didn't say it, but I feel like in the video shared by the gossip page he implied not wanting kids
username4 What do you mean? How?
username3 "I hope Charles gives her everything I couldn't" and then said the cheating wasn't the only reason for the breakup and now, a few weeks pass and we get the pregnancy announcement
username4 Well, maybe getting cheated on didn't work out so badly for Y/n in the end
alex_albon Project Verstappen? đ
âłgeorgerussell63 *project Hamilton
charles_leclerc *project Leclerc đ
alex_albon Better start saving up for the baby's therapy then

charles_leclerc Welcome home, Jules HervĂ© Leclerc, born July 17 đ€
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#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc imagine#f1 smau#f1 social media au#charles leclerc smau#Charles leclerc social media au
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