#I decided to rewrite it in my notes

[mymelodyisme]

3, 24, 46 for those asks, my love! 💞

Libby!!! My phantasmic simulation!! Don’t ask my why that 😄 It came to me in a dream ♥️

3: Do you leave the window open at night?

Ooh okay no 😭 see our windows don’t open they’re kind of stuck our home is a death trap BUT even then if they could I would never!! I’m too scared that someone or something is going to come inside. Plus I’m already very freaked out by any time of intruder situation in general that I always check our doors during movies or lets plays that involve that!

24: If we were together on a rooftop, what would we be doing?

OKAY OKAY OKAY. SEE, I thought about this one because I could easily say we’d have a sweet endearing heart to heart as we stare at the moon but honestly I think I’d throw something off for funsies and we’d end up throwing to see who could make it the farthest. 🤔 as for what we’re throwing I thought of water balloons but maybe golf balls or rocks if we’re feeling spicy 😄 I’d hate to be anyone walking by! We gotta aim for the head!!

46: favorite holiday film?

So I also had to really think about this one 🤔 let’s do both Halloween and Christmas.

Halloween would have to be the Scary Godmother films. I haven’t seen them in a good minute but they’ve never left me!! I love them so much. AND monster house!!! Without a doubt 😭 the way she dies OOOF and he loved her so much

Christmas!! That ones tricky cause we always rewatch the same movies every year but if I had to pick out some of my favorites it would be Klaus, Richie Rich’s Christmas wish, and the National lampoons Christmas vacation!!

♥️ Ask Game Questions ♥️

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

Wei Wuxian and Narrative Agency – Part Two

For Xiantober Day Three: Conviction (of a sort)... in which the author temporarily forgets to focus on narrative agency or on Wei Wuxian, in favour of analysing relevant themes and characters that relate to Wei Wuxian. But he does get focus, and again, contextualising him is why i’m exploring these other things, so no harm done.

(Part One | Part Three | Full version on AO3)

It’s Not Just Optimism: Resentment and Self-Definition 

Before we discuss the narrative again, let’s take a break to discuss one of my other favourite aspects of Wei Wuxian. We’ve seen how the narrative treats tragedy, and we’ll soon explore how it reflects Wei Wuxian’s views on tragedy. But what actually are these views? 

Because the thing is – the narrative and plot can emphasise agency and choice all it likes, but focusing solely on that leaves out the character. And it’s Wei Wuxian’s character that deserves the credit for how he defines himself (…in-universe). If someone had gone through everything he had, who could blame them for being unable to keep going, unable to let go of resentment, unable to see anything that was still worth living for, to see any value in altruism?

(Also, I do have to emphasise this: you can have perfectly healthy coping mechanisms, but still get extremely traumatised. Everyone has a limit to what they can take, that limit differs, and that isn’t your fault. It just so happens that Wei Wuxian’s limit is extremely high (and even he reaches it when everything falls apart in such quick succession near the end of his first life!))

This isn’t something that’s ignored in MDZS. We see multiple characters who have gone through similar levels of suffering as Wei Wuxian, or even less suffering than him*, who do react in some of the ways mentioned above. Whether or not the narrative condemns them depends on if they hold onto resentment from their tragedies and use it to harm others – Xiao Xingchen and Qin Su, for example, aren’t condemned for their suicides (nor should they be, suicide/suicidal ideation isn’t anything anyone should be blamed for), because nobody was intentionally hurt as a result. But people like Xue Yang, who was treated cruelly and senselessly lost his finger, but went on to murder an entire clan as a result; or Jin Guangyao, who remembered the slights against him and his mother down to the exact wording of Jin Guangshan’s dismissal of her freedom, which may have justly hurt him but also unjustly lead him to both burn down a brothel and (separately) kill or imprison multiple innocent prostitutes; or Jiang Cheng, whose resentment for Wei Wuxian due to the latter’s actions lead him to harm many others after his death simply because they were similar**, are condemned.

Why mention this? Well, these different reactions show it isn’t just a quirk of the universe that people are more tolerant to pain – Wei Wuxian’s reactions are a deliberate choice on the part of MXTX, not a writing flaw stemming from misunderstanding the severity of trauma***. But more importantly, many of these characters deliberately foil Wei Wuxian, and so they can give us a good insight into what sets him apart from them (or rather, from the characters who aren’t completely broken by their pain, because that way we know it isn’t simply a difference in tolerance but rather one in attitude). And as I’ve discussed, this has to do with accepting events and letting them go, rather than holding onto resentment.

Part of this may come from differences in personality (though that’s never an excuse for hurting others) – but, though Jiang Yanli may claim Wei Wuxian was someone “born with a smiling look” (Chapter 24, EXR), there are two philosophies Wei Wuxian consciously holds onto that have to do with this attitude:

“Let the self judge the right and wrongs, let others decide whether to praise or blame, let gains and losses remain uncommented on.” Chapter 75, EXR translation

“Remember the things others do for you, not the things you do for others. Only when people don't hold so much in their hearts would they finally feel free.” Chapter 113, EXR translation 

And crucially, these ideas directly contrast the actions and mindsets of the antagonists above. All three focus on their ‘gains and losses’, with their suffering at the hands of others being a major motive to harm those others/those affiliated with those others (Xue Yang’s finger; the slights against Jin Guangyao and his mother due to the latter’s job; Wei Wuxian’s ‘betrayal’ and his role in Jiang Yanli’s death, as well as false blame on him for the deaths of Jiang Cheng’s parents, and Jiang Cheng’s inferiority complex). Jin Guangyao and Jiang Cheng are also very focused on their reputation, or in other words, on whether ‘others decide (…) to praise or blame’ them (according to Chapter 10 of the EXR translation, in what seems to be omniscient POV heading into Jiang Cheng’s, the latter ‘cared about maintaining his reputation above anything else’. Meanwhile, much of Jin Guangyao’s actions were taken to protect his reputation, including the brothel burning, as a part of the aim was to conceal which brothel he grew up in (Chapter 104)). 

Additionally, much of Jin Guangyao’s resentment stems from how others treat (‘blam[ing]’ him, insulting him), compared to how they treat others (‘prais[ing]’ them):

“But do you know what it was that made me lose hope completely? I’ll answer your first question now. It wasn’t that I’d never be worth a single hair on Jin ZiXuan or one of the holes in Jin ZiXun, it wasn’t that he took back Mo XuanYu, it wasn’t that he tried every possible way to make me a mere figurehead either. It was the truth he once told the maid beside me when he was out indulging himself again.” Chapter 105, EXR

Though the other points didn’t make him lose hope completely, the implication is that they did affect him too (as shown by how he speaks about them), with Jin Guangshan’s words about Meng Shi being the final straw. ‘Los[ing] hope’ here of course relates to holding onto resentment, as Jin Guangyao’s loss of hope is what led him to murder out of his hatred.

Finally, both Jin Guangyao and Jiang Cheng also hold resentment due to holding onto what they’ve done for others, or even onto who they themselves are, without being treated accordingly – and though it makes sense to be hurt by all these things and these reactions are valid, the pain from holding that in your heart and the danger from holding onto it is precisely why MDZS condemns it:

“Why is it that even if I face everyone with a smile, I might not even receive the lowest form of respect, while even though your father was extremely arrogant, people flocked to him? Could you tell me why we were born from the same person but your father could relax at home with the love of his life playing with his child, while I never even dared be alone for long with my wife, shivering out of fright at first glance of my son? And I was ordered to do such a thing by my father as if it was natural—to kill an extremely dangerous figure who could flip out and conjure up a bloody massacre with his corpses anytime! “Why is it that even though we were born on the same day, Jin GuangShan could host a grand banquet for one son, and watch with his own eyes how his subordinate kicked his other son down Koi Tower, from the first stair to the last!” Chapter 105, EXR

(He brings up his role in Wei Wuxian’s downfall due to this as well, in addition to creating any excuse he can to absolve himself of others’ blame – he’s being treated unjustly and hated for something he’s done, even though he was ordered to do that thing by his father and it made sense!)

Jiang Cheng, “Are you stupid? You only counted the time to return and not the time to go there? Let alone the fact that after I got there I had to lead people and search through the entire mountain for the old banyan tree, then dig open the hole that got blocked up by Wen Chao and his people, and rescue you within seven days. Where’s your gratitude?!” (…) He raised his voice, “You killed the Xuanwu of Slaughter together with Lan WangJi, bathing in blood! How great is that?! But what about me?!” He punched his fist into a pillar in the hall, clenching his teeth, “… I have also been running around for days, completely exhausted, with not one second of rest!” Chapter 56, EXR

(And, a bonus to show this being a part of Jiang Cheng’s mindset without stemming from being hurt by a specific event, even when he’s being encouraging:)

“So it seems that both of you killed it together. What’s yours is yours. Why would you give him all the credit?” Chapter 56, EXR

(This moment is a nice display of the contrast between Wei Wuxian’s and Jiang Cheng’s mindsets as well, with the former focusing on what Lan Wangji (‘others’) did for him instead of seeking credit for his role!)

To repeat – of course these feelings are understandable, and I’m not blaming them for feeling this way. What I am placing blame on is letting those feelings drive you to murder many innocent prostitutes, or to let this sense of a debt you’re owed (which is what the philosophy is actually warning away from, because if you hold onto what you do for others, the natural expectation is that they’re indebted to you and should do something for you as a result) turn into resentment towards someone for not acting the way you think they should, leading you to help murder them, even if your sister sacrificed herself specifically to save their life.

This is the danger of holding onto resentment. And are these actions not a choice? Would you, independent of MDZS, absolve someone of a crime because their ‘personality just leads them that way’?

The same is true for acting on these two philosophies, and letting resentment go. And it’s all the more impressive when someone has as much potential resentment to hold onto as Wei Wuxian does.

Of course, Wei Wuxian himself isn’t completely infallible – which further supports the idea that this isn’t just a natural, unalterable quirk, since we see him act contradictory to his usual self as well. But the narrative’s view of resentment in these moments doesn’t change. Importantly, the times he does let resentment drive what he’s doing, during the Sunshot Campaign and Nightless City (as well as him being quick to anger at Phoenix Mountain, etc), it isn’t presented as in the right**** — and though he still lets go of it quickly enough to protect a group related to the one that hurt him (people of the Wen sect, the cultivators who participated in the Siege), it doesn’t prevent the harm done during these times. Additionally, the times he metaphorically can’t control and reign in his resentment in the form of guidao – at Qiongqi Path and, again, at Nightless City – pain is caused to innocents (Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli). This is what his internal thoughts have to say when he comes across cultivators gossiping about him, shortly after Wen Qing and Wen Ning have sacrificed themselves:

No matter what he did, not a single good word would come out of these people’s mouths. When he won, others feared; when he lost, others rejoiced. Chapter 77, EXR

He’s hurt by other people praising and blaming him! Holding onto this philosophy isn’t automatic, that decision isn’t simply encoded within him somehow.

But that brings us to another relevant theme: that these characters aren’t infallible, because they’re not mythical creatures or concepts brought to life. Everyone is human.

However, although he thought that his heart was like a stone, in the end, he was still human, not some emotionless grass or plant. Chapter 8, EXR

OuYang ZiZhen, “HanGuang-Jun, why did Senior Wei collapse?” Lan WangJi, “Fatigue.” Lan JingYi was amazed, “I thought that Senior Wei would never get tired!” The other boys felt somewhat astonished as well. That the legendary YiLing Patriarch could collapse from fatigue from dealing with walking corpses—they all thought that the YiLing Patriarch should be able to settle them with just a snap of his fingers. However, Lan WangJi shook his head. He only said four words, “We are all human.” They were all human. How could a human be tireless? How could they stand forever? Chapter 84, EXR

Even with Wei Wuxian’s temperament, even with his attitude, he’s still human! Just as he’s not immune from being affected by harsh words to do with his past, just as he’s not immune from being affected by exhaustion, he’s not immune to being hurt by or angry at his circumstances. As we see in the Sunshot Campaign and at Nightless City, he’s not immune to dwelling on his misfortunes, to being driven by his hurt and anger and by resentment he holds onto (consciously! At Nightless City, Wei Wuxian deliberately accepts the curses thrown at him, because ‘anger was the only thing that could suppress the other feelings within his heart’ (Chapter 78)). 

But nearly always, he chooses not to. The Wen remnants he saved were innocent, yes, and Wen Ning and Wen Qing helped him previously – but in his second life, he could’ve easily kept holding onto his resentment and left the cultivators who besieged him, who killed him and those under his protection, to die at the Second Siege. But he didn’t! He held true to his own philosophy, to judge the right and wrongs yourself independent of what others do, and saved them.

Because this is what’s important to him, because this is how he wishes to act in the present, and because he doesn’t let himself be defined by the tragedies he went through.

The donkey seemed as if it knew that he wasn’t in a great mood [due to others bringing up what happened in his past], and for once, it wasn’t being loud out of impatience. A moment of silence passed, and it turned around to leave. Wei WuXian sat by the stream, not responding at all. It turned around to look, throwing its hooves onto the ground, but Wei WuXian still paid no attention to it. The donkey had to come back sulkily, biting and tugging on the corner of Wei WuXian’s collar. He could choose to go, and he could choose to not go. Seeing that the donkey had [gone] as far as to use his mouth, Wei WuXian decided to follow him.  Chapter 8, EXR*****

Immediately after this, he’ll continue investigating the puzzle of Dafan Mountain’s night hunt; he’ll come across a ghost, ask where it’s hurt and offer to take a look at it; he’ll rush off to save Jin Ling and the Lan juniors, figuring out the truth behind the dancing goddess and being the only one to do so. Just as it’s more important to the narrative, this – quick thinking, problem solving, compassion, doing the right thing, even seeking out excitement – is what Wei Wuxian finds more important about his own self, and what he chooses to focus on.

Some final questions to end things.

If you saw Wei Wuxian, without any knowledge of what happened in MDZS, without any work done by the narrative structure or by knowledge of tropes – would you have expected the backstory he had? Would you expect his parents to have died when he was at an age where he could barely remember them? Would you expect him to have lived on the streets until he was nine years old, or to have been taken into an unjust and extremely volatile household, or to have (chosen to) lose the source of powers he was very proud of – shortly before he was thrown, now powerless, into the equivalent of hell for three months? Would you expect his first life to have ended because protecting innocents (knowingly) led to the entire world crusading against him, because their siege resulted in him being torn apart? Or would you not think of tragedy when it comes to this person who gleefully jokes and teases, who’s so smart and competent and knows it, who doesn’t focus on the negatives, who acts so confidently on his morals, who revels in life so much?

If you only saw Wei Wuxian’s backstory with no context of his character, would you expect him to remain this way?

And, if you saw Wei Wuxian’s actions in the present day, without knowing what tragedies happened in his past, would he feel like an incomplete character?

It’s impossible to answer, of course – even in the present day, you get information about his past.

But I’m inclined to say no.

(Part One | Part Three | Full version on AO3)

—

*But again, let me emphasise – especially in real life, doing the trauma olympics is never good! As I said, everyone has limits, everyone’s limits differ, and just because one person can cope with something doesn’t mean another person can, even with the same mechanisms. And that shouldn’t lead to any judgement!

I say ‘especially in real life’ because in fiction, some characters’ experiences are often made similar or different to others’ in order to parallel or foil them  – in which case comparison is often the point. But trauma olympics (‘this person suffered x amount so the other person should be able to take it!!’) is still bad, guys (especially since, as with MDZS, those parallels or foils are often there to explore the harm they do to others as a result, not simply how much trauma they can take).

**My thoughts on rumours here. Tl;dr, if Jin Ling (someone who’d want to defend him!) is saying he did (and that he “never let anyone go” – Chapter 24), if sources like Lan Wangji and Lan Sizhui act as if this is the case (Chapter 10 – to defend, you could say personal feelings play a role, but Lan Wangji especially is someone who knows not to, and explicitly doesn’t, make judgements without conclusive evidence. Again, see my thoughts on rumours) – and if Jiang Cheng backs up this behaviour (eg by telling Jin Ling to kill every demonic cultivator he sees and feed them to his dogs in his introduction – Chapter 7), it’s probably not a simple unbased rumour. There’s enough evidence to support its veracity.

***However, do note that Wei Wuxian isn’t an outlier, either – Lan Wangji, Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui (once he learns of his heritage) are all examples of other characters who aren’t overcome or twisted by their pain, instead still aiming to make the world a better place. And this is Jin Ling’s whole arc, too!

****I delve a lot more deeply into this here!

*****The role this moment plays isn’t actually something I caught myself – it came from a post about a reread of MDZS’ earlier chapters. I can’t find it myself, but if anybody has the link, that would be great (so I can cite it)!

—

Also, a shoutout to this incredible meta by @righteousinadversity – it’s what made me want to delve into this aspect two years ago! It’s still one of my favourite metas, and you enjoyed this, you’ll definitely enjoy that, too.

[stuft]

i feel like a cranky toddler about things rn

[siffrins-therapist]

I wonder if I can get these guys into the gardening room for this chapter...

[basicallyjaywalker]

A Brief History of the Element of Love

Recorded by... (the name is scratched and scrawled. You cannot make out any letters beyond M and T)

Type: Metaphysical

Previous Known Master(s): Elizabeth Chumsworth (née Lamoree)

Current Master(s): Nataly Chumsworth

Abilities: Masters of Love are known for being able to sense emotional connections. Unlike the Element of Peace, they are unable to manipulate or persuade these connections in any direction, only sense them.

Personally, I have sometimes questioned the use of Love as this element's name, as it goes beyond the realms of platonic and romantic affections into those of hate.

At the start of--and according to Elizabeth Chumsworth's personal account, even before--training, Masters of Love are attuned to three types of affection: Romantic, Platonic, and Malicious.

Romantic

Described as feeling like one's heart is on fire and/or feeling like they're "floating."

Platonic

Described as feeling like "sparklers" in one's mind, also compared to "eating an entire bag of pop rocks."

Malicious

Described as feeling a bottomless pit in one's stomach or throat. Hollowness.

According to some personal correspondence with Nataly Chumsworth, multiple of these feelings can be present at once. Additionally, there are "sibling" feelings that appear under the umbrellas.

Familial affection is understood as falling under platonic, but has a feeling more akin to the "crackle of a hearth," comforting as opposed to zealous.

Additionally, Nataly Chumsworth has described a type of "Toxic" love that is a mix of the romantic and malicious categories. She's said the two combine to create extreme nausea, almost like an acid reflux response. She says she's only had the experience twice, but both times she felt physically ill.

"It was like being trapped in vengestone, complete disconnection from my element..." - From personal correspondence with Nataly Chumsworth.

Some evidence suggests Masters of Love have strong emotional capacities and tend toward aiding others in emotional strife, both personal and interpersonal. It is unclear whether this is a product of their elemental powers or not.

Currently, there are no other known abilities tied to being a Master of Love.

First Appearance: Secondary, appeared after the initial share of powers by the First Master and within the second generation, led by his sons. First known Master was Elizabeth Chumsworth

This Element could have spawned as a way to manage the passing of Elemental Powers to mortals, or could have been made in the wake of interpersonal conflicts between the first generation of Elemental Masters. It seems to work with the Element of Peace, acting as its passive counterpart. With Love sensing animosity or affection, it can correspond with Peace to help with mediation. The tendency of Masters of Love to help alleviate personal issues could also be connected. Further research and possible historical analysis needed.

[icecoldwilliams]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐋: 𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐈𝐙𝐘𝐒 | ✲・*:✲・*:･ﾟ

|| TW: Grief, drinking, death, hinted suicidal ideation (if you brought your magnifying glass)

Humanity has such a understated habit of spreading turmoil.

Various causal hubris's parallel incurable viruses running rampant across the globe, left undetected by the immune system even without a soul spared from the infection. War, misgivings and countless tragedies often rooted in the minimized concepts of pride, jealousy, and senseless rage ; Mere misguided ideations disguised in order to justify even the indefensible.

Assumptions. Even something so simple, so moronic as assumptions could control the world in the right hands.

— Cold, cruel, merciless, unloving. An emotionless robot only capable of caring about monetary gain.

Idiots spread the labels given her throughout the masses in the form of insults, as if she didn't meticulously craft the initial mask herself.

She'd load the gun with blanks. And if it meant shrouding the more... undesirable truth, they could pull the trigger over and over again as many times as they please.

Let the bullets hit the frozen glass window on dreary grey nights, let them rain against it with the water dripping from the sky - but never, ever, pull back the curtain to the dim-lit condominium. ; Blind your eyes of the blonde sitting at the kitchen island, empty bottle of Jameson and it's half empty friend joining a downed glass of kin.

Fatal digits tonight not gracing euros, yen or dollars, but instead infirmly running across sorry excuses for 'names', made up of mere letters and numbers. Listed in a worn file only alongside otherwise meaningless dates, biological info and synonymous statuses printed in bold ink:

'ꜰᴀɪʟᴜʀᴇ ; ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴀꜱᴇᴅ'

'ꜰᴀɪʟᴜʀᴇ ; ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴀꜱᴇᴅ'

'ꜰᴀɪʟᴜʀᴇ ; ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴀꜱᴇᴅ'

Victims of supposed sepsis. Embolisms. Organ failure. Repeated into the double digits. The words littered the pages like the alcohol tainted the assassins typically rational mind. Tempting her to again sit here, head in hand senselessly pondering the negligible. Reviewing the short lived, the manufactured, all that were apparently unfit for the cruel fate forced upon them. Debating useless questions in regards to how their lives could've played out.

Some nights it revolved around names and the string of them that followed based on whatever pleased the cold woman's ears. Others, inherited traits, interests, career fields, genetics.....

Maybe they would've inherited her infamous azures, currently staring yet not seeing. Sans any despair.. ; Glassy yet winning against any hint of tears.

Any hint of love.

If anything, outsiders wouldn't see the traces of responsibility lacing the withdrawn for mere blips with only two left to remember their existence.

For those on this list who wouldn't have been tortured, poked and prodded from the day of their conception to the day of their death if it hadn't been for rare misjudgment, and those who wouldn't find solace in a frigid heart, but atop resolute shoulders.

Only momentarily slumped under their weight.

Because come tomorrow, the sun would rise even if behind remaining clouds. Her head would pound. Files would again be concealed both where only she would be able to find them and where she would never look without whiskey's aid. And just as expected, ever frigid Nina Williams would walk per usual, head held high, shoulders back.

No cracks in the apathy. Burdens invisible and never assumed just as she preferred. Spite fueled and dwindling will again go toe to toe with loose ends. ; Bodies lost to an uncaring and all but considered mythical sea.

— Even had fate been different, the mercenary wouldn't love the negligible names. One sole survivor walking this earth was enough. - But for now, at the very least, this cold hearted bitch would live for them to both be remembered and stay drowned far below sheets of ice another day. | ✲・*:✲・*:･ﾟ

[ruindunburnit]

Has anyone written a Death Note fic but it's a Dune crossover, with Light believing himself to be the subject of a messiah prophecy as Kwisatz Haderach Lissan al Gaib Kira?

[rhys-ravenfeather]

Off now.

Today was pretty good.

Like I said, I had work today, but only from 10-3. So after getting a ride back home from a friend (because it was raining), I rewatched Klaus with pizza, Dr. Pepper, and ice cream and, as you guys could probably see, drew a new OC.

Plus, I got cookies from my friends!

My one regret is that I didn't get to read a fanfic chapter I'd been hoping to...well, I have tomorrow off for Christmas, so hopefully I should be able to catch up then :P

Well, I'll see you guys when I see you, and Merry Christmas in advance (for those who celebrate it).

[sleep-deprived-luka]

I've been thinking about wolf au Shizuai again, specifically about the different dynamics in the Hinomori estate and how I could describe them from Airis forest spirit perspective.

Most interesting is how to convey Arisas position as a lesser noble who has to work as the headmaid in the Hinomori estate, before she can inherit the position as head of her house and how that conflicts with Shizukus situation (who also has the duty to overlook the household before she inherits the position of the head of the Hinomori family) who will always hold a higher position despite her apparent incompetence, from Airis perspective. A perspective biased by Airis own motivations of holding a one sided competition on who is the worthiest owner of her forest.

Like the funnest part is describing the world of Wolf through the perspective of Lynx-Airi, Dog-Airi and lastly just Airi... Altho according to my drafts the only thing the last one entails is Airi being gay (nothing new) and "woah hey I think the city is under attack"

[dragonsgirl572]

You know what? Fuck it.

Mar 13 -> The amount of notes that this post gets by the end of April is the amount of words I'll write for one of my books.

Update: May 1 -> AND TIME!! Thank you all so much for participating! The amount of words I got, at the time of me looking at this post, are...

Holy shit that's a lot-

Update: May 2 -> Currently outlining a storyline! I couldn't decide which fandom I wanted to do so I'm just doing a self-indulgent crossover.

Update: May 12 -> Got an idea for an Optimus-centric story. I'm keeping my original storyline but I'm started to plan out this new one.

Update: Jun 1 -> Nevermind. Currently rewriting a story of mine. I think that'll be the chosen one. Though, I have seven planned chapters so I dunno how the hell I'm gonna do it.

Update: Jun 28 -> Nevermind x2 lol. I'm continuing on with the Optimus-centric story. It was inspired by Not A Prime Situation and it's a really good book, I highly recommend it. I asked permission from the author to start writing and I got it so chapter 1 is in the works! (P.S. I'm gonna wait until after all 21 chapters are finished to start posting just in case I lose motivation halfway and stop writing for 2 years again.)

Update: Nov 6 -> Sorry y'all, suffered through multiple depressive episodes and a massive writer's block. I'll try my best to write this though.

[fawniswriting]

Mr. Congressman

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: After Congressman James Buchanan Barnes buys you a drink at the bar, your night takes a turn for a more passionate one.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warning(s): no use of Y/N. use of the nickname angel and sweetheart. alcohol consumption. lots of flirting. smut (18+ mdni)—dirty talk, so much praising, handjob, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), multiple orgasms (reader), unprotected sex (p in v), creampie. lmk if I missed anything!!

Author's Note: I decided to drop this while I'm rewriting the next chapter of Faithfully Yours. I've wanted to write Congressman Bucky for awhile but didn't know what kind of story to make until this idea came upon me. For the record, smut is my kryptonite, and it took a lot of miracle for me to even finish this up. I genuinely have developed a new kind of appreciation for all of you smut writers out there. Anyways, the concept of this story sounded a lot better in my head, but hopefully this isn't that bad for a first attempt and I hope you'll still like it xx don't forget to comment/like/reblog to support :)

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

“Your drink, Ma'am.”

The bartender slides a tall flute across the counter, settling it beside the empty glass of spritzer you downed earlier. It doesn't take long for you to recognize the fruity aroma wafting through the air, the rusty red liquid rising in tiny bubbles as you scrutinize the drink with furrowed brows.

The Minimalist Bar and Lounge is nestled on the ground floor of Rosewood Hotel in Georgetown, Washington, D.C. The bar's interior exudes subtle sophistication, its dim lighting casting amber reflections across the polished mahogany counter. Soft piano jazz hums through the speakers overhead, cruising into the low murmurs of the sparse Thursday night crowd. 

You look up towards the bartender, a middle-aged man with laugh lines creasing his tan skin, and push the glass slightly towards him. “I didn't order this.”

“A gentleman sent it over,” he apprises, tapping his fingers against the counter with a knowing smile. “Says to tell you that you've got an admirer.”

Before you can say more, the bartender gives you a cheeky wink, striding away to whip up an order from another customer.

You drag the slender glass closer, spinning the drink around until the golden liquid at the top simmers into the red. As soon as you take an intrepid sip, the sweet tang of blackcurrant explodes in your mouth, compelling you to hum favorably at the familiar flavor coating your tongue.

You have barely set your glass back down when a deep voice suddenly erupts by your side.

“May I join you?”

The low, rough timbre of the voice sends a shiver down your back, chased away immediately by the warm presence that has settled next to you. Shifting in your seat, you tilt your head and lock eyes with another pair in cerulean, breath hitching in your throat when you take in the scent of fine spices mixing sedulously with bergamot.

Congressman James Buchanan Barnes is a sight to behold within the quiet establishment. With his tall stature and lean muscles stretching taut under the fancy suit, he is bound to attract every thread of attention in the room. The faint gray dusting his stubbled cheeks only adds to the man's overall charm, and as he peers down at you from his full, subjugating height, you can't help but ponder about how none of his pictures ever did his attractiveness justice.

Gathering your composure, you manage a small smile before nodding towards the empty seat beside you. ”Of course.”

The congressman doesn't waste time sliding into the stool, reciting his order towards the bartender with a practiced speech and a methodical gesture of his hand. His whole focus is back on you in a matter of seconds, bright ocean blue eyes taking in your features like curators would a priceless piece of Monet. You burn under his blatant appreciation, trying to mask the crack in your poise by taking another sip of your cocktail. 

“How's the drink?” he asks, the curve of his lips discreet but genuine under the warm lighting.

“It's good.” You set the glass down, tilting your body to the side until your knees nearly touch his. “I gather you're the one who sent it?”

Congressman Barnes doesn't say anything in return. He only continues staring at you—as if nothing else exists in the world at that moment except for the woman sitting in front of him—but the glint of mirth in his pupils tells you everything you need to know.

Your knees bump into his. “Very smooth, Congressman.”

The corner of his lips tilt higher. “Call me Bucky.”

Your eyebrows rise.

Before you can give a response, the bartender returns carrying the congressman's order of a classic Old Fashioned. Congressman Barnes accepts the drink with an easy nod, his fingers curling around the short tumbler as he turns towards you again. 

“It's what my friends call me,” he adds, smirking behind the rim of his glass.

“Is that what we are now?” you muse, eyes flicking twice between his hypnotizing eyes and kissable lips. “Friends?”

The man chuckles. He puts down his glass with a deliberate slowness, each stretch of movements calculated and needlessly arousing. Then, he leans in, just enough to steal the air between the two of you, just enough to make the world beyond to begin blurring around the edges.

“Angel—” his voice dips, the raspy edge floating along your skin, “—we can be whatever you want us to be.”

A shudder runs through your spine. You try convincing yourself that it is due to the chill in the air and the sheer material of your dress, but the simultaneous quickening of your heartbeat, along with the rush of goosebumps across your skin completely banishes that attempt. It was all your body's reaction to Congressman Barnes, and he knows this. He can read you like a goddamn open book—pinpoint the slightest change in your posture, detect the tiniest rise in your pulse, and spot the way your pupils dilate with each second your gaze stays locked on him.

He leans even closer, the ghost of his metal fingertips venturing the skin of your knee until he catches the silent gasp in your throat.

It excites him.

Biting your lip, you shuffle slightly to your side to escape his electrifying touch, putting on a pristine smile while pretending as though your composure weren't currently lying in tiny broken shards on the floor.

“Well, Bucky—” your voice is soft, baiting as you reach for your flute on the counter, “—thank you for the drink. How'd you know Kir Royale's my favorite?”

The smirk on Congressman Barnes’—Bucky's—face widens. 

“Simple, sweetheart.” His velvet voice drips with amusement. “I just picked something that suits you the best.”

Bucky's fingers drift along the edge of the bar, brushing against your own hand and pulse point, lingering there as if committing the rhythm of your heart into memory. By the dark flicker in his gaze, you know that he must have caught the stutter in your heartbeat, the indisputable evidence of his infuriating effect on your being.

Without breaking eye contact, Bucky plucks the glass from your grasp, his fingers warm where yours have been.

“Something sweet,” Bucky murmurs, swirling the red liquid before lifting the drink to his lips. He takes a long, unhurried sip, letting the moment stretch, cerulean blue smoldering into your eyes over the rim. “Seductive.” 

He sets the glass back down with a soft clink. Never once taking his attention off you. Tracing his heated gaze over your entire body in a way that sends fire searing through your skin.  

“And dangerous,” he finishes with a husky whisper, heavy with tension and unspoken revelations.

“Dangerous?” Your eyes twinkle. “How am I dangerous?”

Bucky huffs a quiet laugh, flashing you his striking pearly whites. “You kidding me? A woman like you, looking like that.” 

His eyes roam the length of your legs, landing on the skin of your thigh peeking through the slit of your dress, delicate and tempting. Bucky's tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he takes a moment to admire you.

“And that dress—” his eyes dip lower to your chest, drinking in the sight of your exposed collarbones and the shape of your curves, lingering too long as if it were the first time he ever laid eyes upon a woman, “—is the very definition of sin, sweetheart.”

A surge of delight curls your lips as you sway slightly in your seat, letting the dress grip tighter around your frame like a second skin, feeling the material shift just enough to taint Bucky's eyes with something prurient. Your fingers slither down the side of your body, half-conscious of Bucky's heated gaze that seems to map the path of your provocative touch.

“Do you like it? It's new,” you goad coyly, caressing your body through the silk. “I bought it today for a special occasion.”

Bucky's eyes crinkle at the corner, his pupils glistering with intrigue. “Yeah? Like a first date, Angel?” He takes a casual sip of the amber liquid in his glass, his nose scrunching up in thought as he plays along. “Bought it for a boyfriend? A husband, perhaps?” 

You fight off the thrill traveling through your veins and answer, shrugging nonchalantly, “Something like that.”

The tip of Bucky's mouth lifts. “What a lucky bastard,” he says earnestly, eyes drilling into yours as if he wants to bury himself there.

You evade his intense stare, feigning interest at your cocktail instead. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well,” you pause purposefully, studying all of the sharp edges that forge the man sitting in front of you, picturing all of the tenderness that he has concealed beneath the crisp white shirt and that impeccable tux of his. “Are you here on business? Or something else?”

Bucky's eyes wander towards the rows of bottles and liquors lining the wall of the bar, tweaking his bow tie as though just now remembering that it was there in the first place.

“Business,” he replies, straightforward, the pad of his index finger circling the lip of his glass on the counter. But then his eyes fly upward, sealing you in place. “Maybe a bit of pleasure as well.”

You hum, leaning closer until you feel the neckline of your dress flitter recklessly from your skin, divulging parts of you that manage to reclaim Bucky's sole interest. “Is that so?”

His throats bob.

There is no mistaking the whirr of his vibranium arm as the fingers clench, metal plates shifting in tandem with the torrent of desire rushing through Bucky’s mind. He imagines dropping his head to your chest, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses on the expanse of skin, coaxing gasps and sounds of pleasure from those perfect, alluring lips. He imagines sinking to his knees, running his mouth up the length of your leg until he reaches the one place that would make you quiver and crumble in his mercy. Worshipping at your altar like a madman finally finding the true meaning of religion.

Public decency be damned. 

But before he can open his mouth, before he gets the chance to act on the budding ache tightening his slacks, the ringing coming out of his suit pocket stops him dead in tracks.

Bucky curses.

You study him curiously, taking in the augmenting scowl on his face as he glimpses at the screen of his phone. Nursing your drink, you let your voice soften while asking, “Something urgent?”

“No.” Bucky is quick to answer, shoving the phone back into his pocket like he is eager to be rid of the gadget. “Not at all. Nothing more important than you, Angel.”

The next round of ringing downright betrays his words.

It takes Bucky a copious amount of willpower to not launch the despicable device across the room. He grits his teeth, blue eyes hurling invisible daggers towards the number on the screen, a number belonging to one of the jerk-ass faces with whom he has no intention of doing business at this moment in time. Bucky wishes he could just block the sleazy bastard's number and be done with it.

But he can't.

Because as hard as Bucky tries to shed the new title when he steps out of the confined spaces of his office, at the end of the day, he is not merely Bucky Barnes anymore.

He is Congressman James Buchanan Barnes.

And playing nice with people he would rather punch in the face is, unfortunately, part of the unofficial job description.

Bucky heaves a sigh, running an exasperated palm across his face before his repentant gaze finds yours. 

“I have to—” he pauses, voice thick with guilt and frustration.

Bucky expects you to scowl, to see the same kind of disappointment that is gnawing at him etching on your beautiful face. Instead, all he finds is your effortless smile, the kind that has the power to wage a war or two. It makes something inside him lurch.

“You should take the call, Mr. Congressman.”

You glide out of the comfort of your seat with ease, finishing your drink and collecting your stone-studded clutch in hand. Bucky moves to protest, nearly leaping out of his own seat to prevent you from leaving, but the soothing press of your palm against his chest renders him back in place.

“Finish the call,” you tell him, adamant. Above the counter, your hand skims forward, furtively sliding something under Bucky's own palm before your fingers squeeze his in fervent. “And when you're done, come find me.”

Upon your departure, Bucky turns his hand over, smiling to himself when he sees the key card with a room number scribbled on the paper holder. He examines your retreating figure once his head lifts, consuming the languid sway of your hips, the way your silk dress is clinging to every hard and soft edges that sculpt your captivating figure. 

His body tenses with the urge to follow, to sneak his palm onto the small of your back and guide you towards where he knows this night is leading. But the shrill ringtone of his phone is relentless against his eardrums, ousting the compulsion away, forcing him to tear his gaze off as he answers the call with a clenched jaw.

As he brings the phone to his ear, Bucky's flesh hand flexes around the key card, letting the corner dig into the center of his palm, a silent reminder that the night is far from being over yet.

The clean smell of cotton bedsheets and the tang of lavender air freshener greet you the moment you step into your hotel room. Inside, though, your lungs constrict, yearning instead for the scent of cloves and bergamot that you left behind at the bar alongside the handsome gentleman who possesses it.

Your heels are discarded somewhere in the foyer before you tread indolently towards the bathroom, going to the sink to splash some water on your face, mindful not to mess the makeup you have expertly painted on earlier in the evening. The cold water does little to eliminate the heat on your cheeks, the same one that now travels through your entire body as your skin tingles with the phantom touch of a certain super soldier turned congressman.

It should be illegal—the facile power he holds over you.

The carpet is plush underneath your steps as you exit the bathroom, sauntering towards the balcony and delighting in the breath of late May’s fresh air that hails you when you walk through the sliding doors. Washington, D.C. sprawls out beneath you in a tapestry of scintillating lights and colossal silhouettes. From your vantage point, The Potomac snakes through the city like a ribbon of obsidian, its surface catching the occasional reflection of passing headlights, glinting in contrast against the ink-dark sky. The Capitol's dome gleams in the distance, a beacon of order and principle, while the Washington Monument stands unyielding like a silent sentinel. 

The city buzzes with life even at this hour, cars speeding through the streets and far off laughter resonating from the avenues below. And yet, even with all of its grandeur, the city's view still pales in comparison with the images of him in your mind—the way his blue eyes darkened when he took you in, the way he ignited your body just from a single touch. No matter how much you try to focus on the cityscape, your thoughts inevitably circle back to him: Bucky Barnes. Every time you blink, he is there—braided into the crevasses between your heartbeats, dithering in the warmth still coiled beneath your skin.

As though summoned by the constant notions of him in your head, you catch the unmistakable sound of the front door unlocking, followed closely by the echo of heavy footsteps entering the room.

When you emerge from the balcony, Bucky is already standing in the middle of the lush executive suite, shedding off his tuxedo jacket and bow tie where they end up in a pile above the sofa. He looks up at the sound of the sliding doors being locked, the stress in his shoulders dissipating when his eyes finally find yours. 

Examining him from head to toe, you lean your shoulder against the balcony door and ask, “How was the phone call?”

“Fine,” Bucky answers simply. “I took care of it.”

“Hm. Good.”

The atmosphere desiccates with tension. There is a flame starting in the pit of your stomach, one that you’re trying miserably to quell before it grows into something destructive and menacing. But the way Bucky is looking at you from the distance, so stubborn and piercing, suggests that he already knows what kind of turmoil your body is currently battling with itself.

Clearing your throat, you walk over to the assortment of liquors available in the mini bar, avoiding Bucky’s stare as you ask, “Would you like something to drink?”

Reaching for the undoubtedly expensive wine, you turn it over in your hand, nearly dropping the bottle when Bucky replies, “I don’t know, sweetheart. Kinda craving something else right now.”

Your chest hammers as you listen to the scratch of shoes against the floor, the surrounding temperature rising with each breadth of space Bucky erases with his footsteps. He is a fortress when he finally stands behind you—a man of battle and steel, whose hands have seen bloodshed beyond your wildest nightmares, whose same hands are now ghosting over your arms with a tenderness that tugs at your heartstrings.

Bucky drops his head on the nape of your neck, his breaths spluttering as he grounds himself with a grip around each of your forearms. Your stomach folds at the brush of his plump lips against your skin, the nudge of his nose as he breathes in your scent like it was an appropriate substitute for oxygen.

“What are you doing to me?” he bleats, almost to himself, sucking in a bruise to your pulse point that wrenches a gasp out of your throat.

“Bucky.” You sigh, the bottle of wine long forgotten as it stands lonesome on the counter. Turning in his arms, you are faced instantly with the intense blue of Bucky’s eyes, brimming with a hunger so conspicuous it threatens to consume you whole. You card your fingers through his hair, rejoicing in the gravelly rumble Bucky makes over the simple touch. “I could ask you the same thing.”

In Bucky’s company, the extravagant suite around you feels smaller, as if the walls were closing in to bear witness to the charged moment simmering in the meager space separating you both. Metal fingers sweep your jaw, featherlight yet sizzling, treading carefully before finding purchase on the side of your face. You barely register what is happening before Bucky’s lips are suddenly on yours—kissing you, claiming you, molding against yours in a dance of affection that soon bleeds into desperation. 

Bucky swallows every whimper and plea, his tongue exploring your mouth as if the kiss itself has become his soul's main source of sustenance. His vibranium palm on your cheek is alleviating, but his flesh hand on your waist is rough, gripping tenaciously, pushing you back until your spine is pinned between his imposing frame and the mini bar's counter. His lips teeter away from the kiss to find your jaw, trailing a path down your neck until there is no inch of skin free from the adornment of his marks.

He slots his thigh between your legs, nudging against the place where you yearn for him the most, making you mewl.

“Bucky, please,” you cry out, grinding yourself down on the toned muscles of his thigh.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Can't believe you're wrecked and bothered already,” Bucky muses, eyes drifting downward to drink in the erotic roll of your hips. “And I haven't even started yet.”

You should be embarrassed, should be alarmed by the mess you have become from just a single kiss. But any semblance of self-consciousness in your body evaporates in the blink of an eye, especially when Bucky yanks at the flimsy straps of your gauzy dress without so much as a warning, tearing it clear from your frame and letting it pool in a pathetic heap around your feet.

“Bucky!” you shriek, half from shock and half from the cold air that has suddenly enveloped your skin.

The man only licks his lips. “I'll buy you another one.”

You do not protest after that—not when his eyes rove over you as if you were the long-awaited feast to his ravenous beast. A thrill runs down your spine, satisfaction blooming in your chest at the way his stare lingers on the lacy matching set you so carefully chose to don for the night. It was meant to be a simple indulgence—a cute little thing you bought on a whim after catching a glimpse of it while you were out window shopping with friends—but now, under Bucky’s shameless admiration, the lacy number feels like the most brilliant spending decision you have ever made in life.

“Goddamn, Angel,” Bucky rasps, his teeth sinking down onto his bottom lip. “You sure as hell know how to send a man to their knees.”

“And yet, here you are.” You raise your eyebrows. “Still standing.”

The grin he rewards you is a thousand times brighter than the sun. “Not for long.”

Bucky drops his head lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your décolletage, nibbling on the silky skin that borders the line of your lacy bra. He makes quick work unclasping the garment and tossing it to the side, the cool air briskly nipping at your skin before his mouth is back on you once more, lavishing attention on each sensitive peak until you are trembling in his arms.

“Oh, Bucky,” you murmur amorously.

“I know, sweetheart.” He pinches your nipple, forcing you to bite his shoulder to stifle your squeal. “God, you’re one beautiful thing.”

His journey continues southward, across your torso, all the way down to your most private area. Bucky is kneeling before you now—the madman finally paying reverence to his most beloved goddess—and he looks absolutely fucking ecstatic. The sight of him between your legs, mouth-watering and aching to taste, is enough to have your head spinning in anticipation.

“I can smell you.” Bucky groans, sinking his head to press a kiss on your clothed core. The contact sends you spiraling over the precipice. “So fucking pretty. My pretty angel.”

Bucky's hands caress the back of your thighs, the contrast between flesh and metal sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. He dips his head again, this time wrapping his mouth around your mound, and starts eating you out despite the barrier of your panties.

You moan wantonly at his sinful attention, nearly collapsing to the floor if it weren't for Bucky's firm support keeping you upright. He fidgets with the fringe of your underwear, holding the fabric to the side to coat two of his flesh digits with your wetness.

“So wet for me already,” he murmurs, lapping at his soaked fingers with a blissful look across his face. “Tastes like nectar, sweetheart.”

“Bucky,” you whine, pulling at his shoulder-length hair until his blue eyes are locked onto yours. “No teasing.”

The shit-eating grin on his face would have aggravated you if it weren't for how unbelievably gorgeous he looks, kneeling at your mercy.

“Yes, Ma'am.”

Without wasting another second, Bucky lets go of your underwear with a final kiss on your covered clit, standing to his feet and hauling you up in his arms all in one breath. You yelp in surprise, securing your legs around Bucky's waist as he carries you efficiently towards the bed, the delicious friction of his pants compelling your inner walls to tense in ardor, making you crave him even more.

Bucky ensures that your back meets the mattress gently before he withdraws, though your whine of protest stops him before he can go far, your arms reaching for him as he takes your hands with a laugh.

“Eager, are we?” he asks impishly, peppering tiny kisses across your knuckles.

“Only for you, Buck.”

Bucky's smile softens, his lips securing a final kiss on the back of your hand before his deft fingers start undoing the buttons of his shirt. You observe with bated breath as he reveals the muscular panes of his torso, biting your lower lip when his hands begin working on his belt buckle and dress slacks.

Once he is back on you again, this time in nothing but the thin fabric of his boxer, it feels like everything in your life has slid right into place.

“Hi,” Bucky says, breathless, a boyish grin stretching his lips into a charming curve.

“Hi, handsome.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, lugging him down into a heated kiss and relishing in the feeling of metal fingers pinching your hip. Every sensation is amplified as his breath stumbles in your mouth, the softness of his lips contrasting with his metallic touch. Your hand wanders the expanse of skin, exploring the river of veins and the constellation of freckles, drawing random patterns down Bucky's abdomen until you reach the waistband of his drawers.

When your palm slips inside, circling around his hardening length, Bucky stammers into the kiss.

“Angel.” His voice comes out as a guttural moan. “What are you doing?”

“Wanna make you feel good, Buck.” You bury your nose in his temple, kissing the corner of his eye. “Please.”

Bucky barely has time to nod before your fingers scramble to rid him of the last barrier casing his body. His underwear is gone in a swift motion, ditched somewhere in the room through the haze of urgency. 

At last, Bucky is there—above you, all around you, entirely overwhelming in his presence—and the sight of him alone steals the breath from your very lungs. The austere glow of the room carves shadows along the solid lines of his body, every muscle and sinew sculpted into something unreal. His skin is littered by old scars and the passage of time, telling a story that you long to trace and memorize with every subtle scrape of your heart.

He is devastating—an Adonis chiseled not by gentle divinity, but by violence and calamity. And yet he is here, flesh and blood, naked and glorious, a whole man despite history and remorse masticating him bit by bit. And right now, Bucky Barnes is looking at you like you are the only thing in this world tethering him to reality.

Your heart constricts, synchronously with your pussy, catching you somewhere between awe and want as you reach for him once more.

At the first grip of your fingers around his shaft, Bucky lets out a hiss.

“Is this okay?” you ask cautiously.

“God, yes,” Bucky respires, forehead creasing when you give an experimental squeeze around his girth. “Yes, sweetheart, it’s more than okay.”

His rough response motivates you to start pumping.

It doesn't take long for you to settle on a rhythm, moving your hand up and down, twisting and clutching until you are requited with his morose sighs and moans. Bucky is utterly beautiful like this—eyes shut, long hair shielding his face as his hips snap up to meet your depraved ministrations. Each moan that escapes him only drives you to move faster, your own pulse quickening as you feel him unraveling beneath your touch.

When your thumb resolutely swipes over his slit, Bucky's entire body staggers, a shuddering gasp tearing through his throat as he jerks in your grasp.

Your chest inflates with titillation. “You like that?”

“Y-Yes. Oh God,” Bucky stammers, burying his face in your neck when you repeat the movement again, collecting his precum. “Shit, Angel. M’ not gonna last if you keep that up.”

His admission only spurs you on, tightening your grip, encouraging your strokes to grow bolder. Bucky is a mess above you—all ragged breaths and sweat-slicked skin, every muscle in his body coiled like a rubber band on the verge of snapping. It is an addictive view, so intoxicating that you could live off it, spending the rest of your days ravaging him like this.

But before your dream can materialize, a calloused hand clamps around your wrist out of the blue, putting an end to your movements and forcing the thrill in your veins to a halt.

Your forehead knits in confusion as you stare into Bucky’s eyes.

“Gotta stop, sweetheart,” he pants, an easy but wrecked smile embellishing his gorgeous face. “Or else I'd blow before we even get to the good part.”

Heaving a deep sigh, you jut out your bottom lip and sulk. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“Christ, no.” Bucky chuckles. “Another time, I might take you up on that. But tonight?” He ducks his head, stealing a quick kiss that has you seeing stars. “I wanna be inside you when I cum.”

The promise catches you off guard, sending a dash of anticipation through your ribs and into every corner of your being. Bucky's fingers gently unwrap yours from his length, his cock still red and leaking from your recent attention. He regains control in no time, his lips descending upon your skin like a voyager mapping out a sacred route, pressing open-mouthed kisses as he charts a path down the curves of your body.

 His breath is warm against your stomach, each kiss dragging lower, teasing ruthlessly, until his fingers hook into your underwear and strip it away in one hasty, practiced motion. He groans at the sight of you, his voice thick with admiration and something more primal as his mouth lets out a muttered curse. 

“Jesus, sweetheart.” Bucky’s dark lashes flutter, drinking you in. “You’re a damn masterpiece.”

The raw compliment nudges your heart, brewing the fog in your mind until you are nothing but a heap of fire and lust. 

Words fly out of your head as Bucky eats you out like a man starved—licking, sucking, and biting with a desperation that borders on worship. His tongue moves in volitional strokes, alternating between featherlight flicks and deep siphoning of your bundle of nerves. Your fingers twist into Bucky's hair, tugging hard enough to earn a growl, the sound vibrating in pleasurable waves all throughout your body.

As if his current ministrations weren't enough, Bucky suddenly brings his metal fingers to your opening, prodding and unfolding gently, pushing two of his digits in until they are sheathed inside the heat of your weeping hole.

“Holy shit, Angel. Look at ya,” Bucky mutters, watching your walls throb around him as he pushes and retracts his vibrainum hand. The sight alone makes his own hardness twitch. “Soakin’ me like a dam, sweetheart. This all for me?”

“Yes, Bucky. No—ah! N-No one else,” you let out between helpless gasps, grinding despairingly onto Bucky's hand.

Bucky's pupils dilate, his eyes scanning you from head to toe as if immortalizing you into memory. The pace of his fingers is increasing by the minute—scissoring, curling, grasping for that one magical spot that never fails to ruin your whole being. Bucky's mouth returns on you in no time, nibbling and tracing with his tongue, humming heartily with every wrecked sound escaping from your chest.

“S-Shit. Bucky, that feels—mpphh. I'm s-so close—ah!”

The climax crashes into you in a matter of minutes, arriving like a tsunami, abrupt and earth-shattering. Bucky is patient as he guides you through it all, continuing the lazy licks on your clit and the slow pumps of his fingers inside you. He only relents when you begin squirming away from him, whining at the over-sensitivity aching through your bones.

“Are you okay?”

You blink through the mist in your vision, your eyes slowly refocusing on Bucky's concerned face.

He is a perfect picture of debauchery—kneeling on the bed in all of his majestic nudity, remnants of your release coating the nether part of his face. His question should be startling—the way it juxtaposes everything he has done to you thus far. However, Bucky Barnes is no man if he is not a decent one, and you let yourself find solace in that little fact as your lips widen into a smile.

“Bucky.” Your voice is sheer, grated away by the daze of satisfaction that still muddles your mind. “I am fantastic.”

A cheeky grin overtakes Bucky's lips as he crawls up your frame. 

“Fantastic, huh?”

“Hm.” You nod, cloaking his neck with your arms. “You're fantastic.”

Bucky seizes your lips in a kiss, allowing you to taste your own desire on his tongue. Moans spill out of your mouth at the delectable shove of his shaft on your wetness, cherishing the way Bucky returns each roll of your pelvis with his own, his haze-lidded mind reducing the once mighty soldier into a mess of broken whines and crushing rapture.

With a sudden tide of momentum, you push against the formidable wall of his chest, catching Bucky off guard as you send an abrupt shove that sends his back straight to the mattress.

Bucky blinks up at you, stunned, taking in the sight of your body above his, straddling his hips like they were a throne created specifically for you to sit on. His hands instinctively come up to grasp your thighs, fingers flexing against fiery skin as his gaze darkens with an avid yearning.

“Damn,” he breathes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t see that one comin’, sweetheart.”

You brush your mouth against his jaw. “I can’t wait any longer, Bucky. I need you inside me.”

A responding groan rumbles from Bucky's chest the moment you start to sink down, his cock stretching you open, filling you inch by inch until the two of you are joined as one. The world outside ceases to exist as you take him in, your bodies fusing together until there is no distance separating you two, no way of knowing where Bucky ends and you begin. 

You take a speculative roll of your hips, testing the waters, finding your footing before descending on a lascivious, steady tempo. Bucky's hands are explorative on your skin, caressing down your thighs and up your hips, all while mumbling breathy curses and gentle encouragement that crackles down to your hankering core.

"That’s it, Angel," Bucky rasps, his hands squeezing the plush flesh of your backside. "So damn beautiful. Feels like you were made for me.”

“Buckyyy,” you wail, your hands bracing on top the sturdy surface of his chest. “You feel—oh! S-So—uhh—so good.”

Euphoria stumbles past your lips in a concoction of jumbled words, babbling against Bucky's chest while occasionally littering his hard panes with kisses. Every nerve ending in your body is alight, every drag of him inside you a luscious reprieve. Your entire senses are heightened with everything Bucky.

The gallant man beneath you sits up slightly, drawing you down by your neck until your foreheads are wedged against one another.

“You tired, sweetheart?” His voice is the epitome of lust, woven discreetly by a tenderness that threatens to liquefy your bones.

A breathless nod is all you can manage. Before you can fully grasp what is happening, Bucky is already taking control, wrapping you in his embrace and thrusting up into you like there is no tomorrow. Each snap of his hips sends you spiraling closer to the edge, his name spilling from your lips over and over again like a prayer to the moon, the stars, and the universe.

“B-Bucky!” Your voice hitches. “P-Please, I want to—ahh.”

“I know, sweetheart. Come on,” he urges, rough and terse, a drastic contrast to the kiss he presses to your forehead. “Give it to me.”

The pinnacle crashes over your whole being in an explosion of colors and light. A sharp cry tears from your throat as your walls tighten around him, your entire body convulsing while Bucky holds you through it, murmuring praises into your cheek and peppering soft kisses all over your face. You lose track of how long the two of you stay in that position—your face nestled safely in the crook of Bucky's neck, his hands skimming abstract patterns on the dimple of your spine. 

The room is still buzzing in the aftermath of your orgasm when Bucky gently maneuvers you onto your back, switching places with you so that he is now hovering on top of your spent body. A quiet whimper escapes your throat the moment you feel him nudge against your over-sensitive core, the aftershocks still humming through your nerves like the echo of a symphony’s final crescendo.

Bucky notices immediately, his lips curving into a smirk as he brushes a hand down your cheek. “Too much, sweetheart?”

You swallow an empty air, the heat returning to your belly at the way Bucky is looking at you, like he is not nearly done devouring your body, mind, and soul. Still, he waits, his breath warm against your lips as his vibranium fingers stroke slow circles along your outer thigh.

“I know you’ve got one more in you,” he coaxes, sprinkling teasing kisses to your jaw, your throat, and the curve of your shoulder. “But I need to hear you say it, Angel. You want this?”

Despite the delicious ache between your legs—the overstimulation still singing beneath numerous layers of your skin—you don’t hesitate. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him grunt.

“Yes,” you whisper, breath staggering when he moves his hips against yours. “Please, Bucky. I need you.”

Your confirmation is all he needs.

With a low, unruly sound, Bucky slams back into you, his restraint disintegrating as he buries himself to the hilt. This time, there is no leisure buildup—just raw, unadulterated need that ignites the blood coursing through your arteries. His rhythm is frantic and desperate, his hands bruising your waist like he needs to hold onto something real before he completely loses himself deeper in the bliss.

“Fuck. You're so tight, sweetheart. So warm and wet,” he groans, his forehead dropping against yours. “You feel perfect around me.”

You gasp at the thickness of him, the drag of each ridge of his length against your tender walls. Bucky is pounding relentlessly into you as he chases after his own release; the air between you thick with heat, with the sound of your bodies moving in an erotic, exquisite harmony.

“Oh, Bucky. Feels s-so good. So big.” You meet each of his thrusts eagerly, your body welcoming him as if the two of you were always meant to be one. “That's it. Ah, ah, t-take what you need, baby.”

A ragged moan rips from his throat, his movements turning erratic as he barrels toward the edge. Your walls shudder around him, making him stutter in his rhythm. 

“Grippin’ me like a vice, sweetheart.” Bucky's eyebrows furrow, jaw clenched as his gaze finds yours. “Can't last long. Gonna—fuck. Shit, shit, m’ gonna cum.”

You pull him down into a frenzied kiss, pouring every ounce of your need into him, letting him listen to the way your blood, your organs, and every other thing inside you chant his name like a prayer recited in reckless devotion.

Bucky trembles as he reaches his peak, spilling everything he has to give into the deepest crevice of your heat, his body tensing before melting into a pliable mass above you. A broken moan catches in your throat as the pleasure pummels into you once more, your limbs clinging to him with whatever bit of strength remains in the fragmented pieces of your body.

For a while, there are no words spoken between the two of you. Just the shared intakes of your breaths, the soft press of Bucky’s lips against your temple, and the grounding strokes of his fingers tracing along your skin. 

You shift slightly beneath him, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, and what you find there steals what little breath you have left—something reverent, something vulnerable. His thumb brushes over your cheek before he leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss so gentle and profound, a stark polarity to the frantic passion that has consumed you moments prior.

Bucky exhales a quiet chuckle once he withdraws, resting his forehead on top of yours.

"Christ, Angel," he mutters hoarsely, his voice strained with exhaustion and something unguarded. "You're gonna be the death of me.”

You hum, an appeased smile decorating your lips as you thread your fingers through his damp hair.

When Bucky finally pulls out, the absence of him leaves you aching and remarkably empty. Your body, already boneless from exhaustion, instinctively reaches for him, fingers grazing over his flesh hand in an attempt to search more of the warmth he naturally emits. Bucky chuckles, low and affectionate, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to the clammy skin of your forehead.

"Stay put, sweetheart. Gotta take care of you," he says before putting on his boxer and disappearing into the bathroom.

Bucky returns a moment later with a damp towel in hand. He goes to kneel beside you, his touch reposeful as he cleans you up with a forbearing care.  The first press of the cloth against your sensitive core has you sucking in a breath, a whimper slipping free before you have the mind to stop it from resonating in the air. Bucky’s gaze flicks up at the sound, concern knitting his eyebrows as his hand stills above your pelvis.

“Easy, Angel,” he soothes, trailing a hand up your thigh in a comforting caress. “I know what you're gonna say. But you took me so damn well. Gotta make sure you don’t wake up hating me in the morning.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes despite the fond smile wresting your lips. “Pretty sure I already hate you a little.”

Bucky's responding beam is radiant, his chest deflating in the assurance that you are okay—or at least, okay enough to still have the fire to put him in place—before tossing the used towel onto the floor where it lands with the other discarded fabrics of your clothes.

“Nah,” Bucky shakes his head, flumping beside you on the bed and gathering you in his arms. “You love me.”

You sigh in contentment the second Bucky's arms surround you, keeping you pressed to his side and pulling the covers over both of your satiated bodies. You fit against him like two conjoined puzzle pieces, like you were always destined to lie in each other's arms and slot perfectly into the apertures of each other's lives. Bucky’s flesh hand finds your right palm on his chest, bringing it to his lips to fleck tiny kisses across each knuckle, the matching golden bands wrapped around your ring fingers glinting against one another.

Something in the cerulean blue of his eyes shifts. By the next time you blink, Bucky is already claiming your lips in a kiss so compassionate you fear your heart might burst from the sheer ferocity of it. 

When he pulls back, Bucky is grinning, utterly smitten as he nuzzles his nose to the apple of your cheek.

“Happy anniversary, Angel,” Bucky murmurs, his voice heavy with selfless devotion and helpless exaltation. “I love you.”

A slow smile spreads across your lips, your nose wrinkling in happiness as you return, “Happy anniversary, my love.”

Your wedding bands catch the dim lighting of the bedside table lamp as Bucky laces his fingers through yours—sure and steady, a silent vow renewed without the necessity of spoken words. He exhales deeply, thoroughly at peace, and you let yourself sink into the warmth of his love, knowing with absolute certainty that there is nowhere else in the world you would rather be.

Nowhere but here, in the safety of your husband's arms, where your heart has always meant to stay.

[bambiihee]

ROMANTICISM HANDLED WITH DISCIPLINE ── 박성훈

your professor catches you reading a not-so-safe-for-school book in the middle of his class. in an effort to make things better, you fear that you may have just made them worse.

⧼ 📜 ⧽ 一 pairing༚ ⸝⸝⸝ professor!park sunghoon ✗ student!fem!reader includes ༚ ༚ ༚ jungwon, jay and jake of enhypen, giselle and karina of aespa

genre ༚ ༚ ༚ smut, fluff, porn with plot

warnings༚ ⸝⸝⸝ teacher/student, age gaps, power play, light dom/sub dynamics, dom!sunghoon, masturbation (f. rec), erotic literature, explicit language and sexual content, spanking, dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, name calling (slut), wet dreams, impact play, oral (m. rec), cumming in pants, facefucking, deepthroat, big dick sunghoon, doggy style, sex on furniture, unprotected sex, creampies, talk of contraception (reader is on birth control), alcohol mentions, drinking and partying, hair pulling, size kink word count༚ 12 . 2 k | ⧼ 🗝️ ⧽ 一 to library༚

[notes.] a rewrite of a rewrite of one of the first ever fics i've ever written! this fic was originally written for soobin of txt, but i took that one down when i decided to discontinue writing for that group. but thanks to my lovely mutuals, they asked (demanded) that i rewrite it for hoon <3 this is a romanticization of student/teacher relationships where both parties are consenting adults, but it is important to note that these relationships can be problematic in real life due to one parties authority over another's and unstable power dynamics. banner done by my beloved mootie @heechwe! reblogs and feedback are very appreciated <3 i hope you enjoy!

YOUR FRENCH LITERATURE professor embodies everything you find detestable in a teacher. His classes are a monotonous drone of information, devoid of anything exciting or engaging, though that might not be entirely his fault with how painfully, mind numbingly boring the subject he teaches is. He rarely ever deviates from his tight-lipped script, and he absolutely refuses to entertain any questions or foster any interesting discussion. He never accepted late assignments or gave any extensions, his tests are ridiculously hard, and he’ll dock points off your assignments for the tiniest, stupidest reasons. Sure, it’s a difficult course, and it’s important to your major, but you swear he seems to take some kind of pleasure in making his students miserable. Each class feels like an eternity, and often you find yourself counting down the minutes until you can escape the insufferable, suffocating atmosphere of his classroom.

Yet, for some strange, inexplicable reason, you find yourself absolutely obsessed with him.

Maybe it was because you spent your time in his class focusing more on him than any of the words that came out of his mouth. His irritatingly handsome, angular face and his pouty, kissable lips, the moles on his cheeks framing his tall nose. The way his thick brow furrows and his lip curls when one of your classmates asks a question that he deems too stupid to grace with an answer. His big veiny hands and how they look shuffling papers and twirling pens, filling your head with thoughts of how they would look caressing your body. His tall, fit frame and how he towers over you whenever you come up to him, the way he has to lower his head to look you in the eye, a soldering heat bubbling in your belly from the way he makes you feel so small. You can’t stand to be his student, but you dream at night about being something else to him entirely— it’s a paradox that drives you to detrimental distraction. How can you be so obsessed with someone you loathe? His perplexing combination of qualities was like some kind of mystery you felt compelled to unravel, at the very least to put your own mind at ease.

That was when you found the novel. It was hidden in the romance section of your favorite used bookstore, squished between two old technicolor cover harlequin novels, it’s dark and simple spine juxtaposing against all the bright colors and ornate fonts. It intrigued you enough to pull it from the shelf and look it over, your cheeks heating up as you take in its cover. A headless, well-dressed man sat in a chair with his legs spread invitingly, the smart suit he was wearing disheveled and his undone belt held tightly in his hand, the leather strap resting against his inner thigh. The title Lessons in Attraction was printed where his head would be, vague but provocative enough to make your stomach flip. The man immediately reminded you of Professor Park, from the way he was dressed to the prominent veins in his hands, and when you flip the book over to read the synopsis you understand the connection. It outlines the story of a steamy romance between a strict economics professor and his teaching assistant, an innocent, young virgin who wants nothing more than to please. It was as if the author had plucked your deepest fantasies straight from your head and printed them out on paper, then planted the book in the perfect spot for you specifically to discover. You knew just from skimming through the pages that reading it would only do you more harm than good, but you just couldn’t put it down, drawn to the story like an addict needing a fix. You hid it in your stack of textbooks, and you refused to look the cashier in the eye as they checked you out.

At first, you had intended to keep it hidden in your bedroom, only to be read late at night when your roommates were either out or asleep. But as your obsession with your professor continued to deepen, so did your obsession with the novel; soon you found yourself taking it with you everywhere you went, reading snippets whenever you had the chance and quickly shoving back into your bag anytime someone would walk by or glance over at you. Your dreams devolved into graphic, vivid replays of your favorite dirty scenes, with Professor Park in the place of the professor from the story. You wake up hot and bothered every morning, and his class becomes even more difficult with your head now full of illicit, naughty fantasies. Everything he does makes your belly swirl with need, even something as simple as running a hand through his hair or adjusting his glasses— you can’t even bare to look at him, and instead try your hardest to focus on whatever boring tangent he was rambling on about… until you caught yourself fantasizing about how his deep voice would sound whispering dirty words in your ear.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Professor Park's lectures were beginning to feel more like sick torture— you needed something to keep you distracted before you went insane.

So, against your better judgement, you started to bring the novel to read in class. You sat far enough in the back that you were certain he wouldn’t notice, and your poor classmates were too bored out of their minds to look your way. It was easy to keep it hidden away tucked in your lap, so you could pretend to be writing in your notebook while you read. Something about it excited you, reading about fucking your professor with your real professor standing there in front of you, none the wiser. Being able to admire him as you indulged in your secret desires. If he caught you, you would be humiliated, but you would be lying if you said that the thought didn’t excite you…

"Miss L/N, what are you doing?”

You nearly shoot straight out of your chair, your professor’s sudden call of your name shocking you out of your reverie. You had gotten so absorbed into your novel that you had forgotten to check to see if he was looking your way. “H-huh?”

“You keep looking at your lap.” Professor Park remarks, peering up at you from his spot at the podium with an unamused frown. His thick-rimmed glasses made his pretty brown eyes appear even larger than they already were, blinking up at you like he was studying you through a magnifying glass. “You’re not on your phone, are you? You know I have a no-tolerance policy when it comes to electronics.”

“Oh! No, sir, I’m just…” your startled gaze bounces back to the book in your lap, and you swallow nervously. “Reading.”

“Reading?” Professor Park echoes, raising his brow. “What are you reading? I assume it’s not the textbook, from the look on your face.”

You blanche, trying your hardest to appear nonchalant as you snap the book shut and shove it down into the recesses of your school bag. “It’s nothing!” You reply far too quickly, sounding guiltier than sin.

Professor Park's lips pull into a thin line, his magnified eyes raking over your sweating face before trailing down to your bag, clasped protectively over your lap.

“Give it to me.” he orders curtly, stretching out his hand.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. “What?! W-why?!”

“Reading anything that isn’t the course material is against my class rules— I have it printed clearly on the syllabus, though with how you can never seem to pay attention I wouldn’t be surprised if you missed it when I went over it at the beginning of the semester. I would recommend looking over it again to see if there’s anything else you’ve forgotten. Now, get up and hand me that book.”

The entire class has turned to look at you now too, dozens of pairs of eyes fixated on your every move. The silence is absolutely deafening. Your heart races and your hands tremble as you squirm in your seat, trying desperately to come up with some sort of escape as if you were in a horror movie; you might as well be, because out of all the ghouls and monsters you can think of, this has to be your worst nightmare.

You consider refusing. Technically, Professor Park couldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to— hell, you could walk right out of the classroom right then and there if you really wanted to, with both your book and your dignity intact. After all, you were a grown adult paying to further your education out of your own pocket. Trying to confiscate your belongings as if you were a child was borderline insulting.

But you can��t risk your grade over something like this, as embarrassing as it was, and you wouldn’t put it past him to penalize you in some way for defying your orders. You were already struggling as it was, partly because of how difficult the coursework was and mostly because of how you could never concentrate whenever Professor Park was around. To make matters even worse, passing was a requirement for your degree. Getting even more on his bad side than you already were simply not an option.

It takes every ounce of energy you have to force yourself to stand up out of your seat and trudge down to Professor Park's podium, clutching your novel against your chest like you were clutching pearls. He has to pry it out of your hand with a considerable amount of force, because you can’t seem to loosen your fingers around the cover.

You scamper back to your seat, but not before turning back to see Professor Park eye the cover with a startled expression. It would have been comical if you didn’t feel like you were seconds away from throwing up all over your desk.

He places it gingerly face-down on his desk like he was handling a dead fish, and you’re both grateful and horrified that he noticeably avoids making eye contact with you when he steps back up on his podium. “You can come by my office later to get it back, Miss L/N. I have a free period at six.”

“Yes, sir.” You answer glumly, staring at your shoes.

Luckily for you, he dismisses the class only a few minutes later, muttering about something to do with grading papers. You’ve never ran out of that lecture hall so fast in your life.

“Whoa, what’s up with you?” your friend Jungwon asks when you walk by him in the hall, looking up from his phone and tugging out his earbuds to cock his head in your direction. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

You stop just long enough to realize that you were still running, even though you had made it nearly halfway across the building. “I’m so fucked.” You state simply.

“What? What happened? Did you do something to piss off Professor Park again?”

“Yes. No. Kind of?” you cringe inwardly. There’s absolutely no way you’re telling Jungwon about any of what happened; he’d laugh at you to the point you fear you might actually start crying. “I don’t want to talk about it. I gotta go.”

You shuffle away before he can respond, and while you feel bad ignoring him as he calls out to you in confusion, you’re focused solely on finding somewhere quiet and empty to hide out until your next class. And maybe grabbing an iced coffee or something. Just to drown out the tears as you wallow in your own misery.

Against all odds, you manage to make it through the rest of your classes. The wait was almost worse than getting caught, barely able to sit still in your seat as you panic inwardly for hours on end. If it was Professor Park's intention to psychologically torture you, he wildly succeeded.

And you’re absolutely sure it was, because the first thing you see once you step into his office is your professor lounging back in his chair reading your book.

“Professor!” you yelp.

He glances up from your book, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes as he sends you a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, Miss Y/N! You’re just in time. I was just flipping through your book here, it seems awfully… interesting.”

You gulp, your trembling hands clutching the strap of your bag in a vain attempt to ground yourself. “Um, sir!” you squeak, rushing to his side to glance over his shoulder at what page he was on, praying to whatever god that will listen that he hasn’t read anything raunchy. “I think it would be best if you, um, didn’t read that…”

“Oh?” He flips the page and quirks his brow, not even sparing you a second glance as he adjusts his glasses, “What do you mean?”

You rack your brain desperately for a good enough excuse, but you can’t think of anything other than just how mortified you were, watching helplessly as your professor’s keen eyes scan over the pages. “Can I have it back now?” you say instead, your voice small and shaking.

“Surely you can wait just a little longer— now I’m dying to know why you don’t want me to read this.” Professor Park's crooked smirk infuriates you.

Was there any possible way that you could talk your way out of this without telling him upfront that what he was holding in his hands was an erotica, one about a teacher and a student no less? You shuffle nervously, stumbling over your words as you try to stutter out something, anything, “You, um… you wouldn’t like it.”

He turns his head to look up at you again, the look in his eye sharply changing when he takes in your frightened state, into something you don’t recognize and aren’t sure you like. “How can you be sure I wouldn’t enjoy it? I’m a fan of many different genres of literature, though I’ve never read anything quite like this before. Is it some sort of romance novel? If it is, you don’t have to be ashamed, Miss Y/N. I’m sure many young women such as yourself read these sorts of novels, though I strongly discourage reading them while I’m in the middle of a lecture. It’s simply disrespectful. Now, where was I?”

He trails his finger down the page as if he was looking for his place, and you bristle. “Sir, seriously, don’t—!”

“I followed my professor to his office, watching with bated breath as he rounded his big wooden desk.”  Professor Park begins to read aloud. You barely stop yourself from screaming, instead letting out a sort of pained choking sound. “He stopped to stand behind me, looking down my shoulder as if he were looking over my essay just as I was. I had made three errors in my writing, each one circled in bright red ink. He seemed more upset about it than usual.”

“Professor, please.”

“’Put that essay on my desk.’ he said, so I did.” Professor Park continues, ignoring you. He had gave the professor character a stupid, high pitched voice when he spoke, which would have been funny if you weren’t so humiliated. “’Now bend over with your elbows on my desk, so that you are looking directly at the essay. Keep your face very close.’”

“Stop it! Just let me have it!” You hated to talk to him this way, but if he continued reading any further… it took everything you had to keep yourself from running out of his office and crawling into the nearest ditch to die in.

“That’s not how you should speak to me, Miss Y/N. Now you certainly aren’t getting it back.” Professor Park retorted, his evil little smirk growing even wider. You wanted to hit him, or kick or scream, but you couldn’t do anything except stand there and try your hardest not to cry. “I was puzzled, but I followed his instructions, bending over the top of his desk so that my chest, belly and arms were pressed against the hardwood. My nose was merely a centimeter or two away from the letter, which made it difficult to read. My skirt was starting to… to slide up the backs of my thighs, but I was sure that if I moved to tug it back down, I would just get into even more trouble.”

You grimace when Professor Park's voice broke, his smile slowly starting to slide off his face and twisting into something unreadable. But he did not stop reading. “’Now read the letter to yourself. Read it over and over again.’ My professor said. I read: “In today’s rapidly evolving global landscape, the integration of technology in…” and at the word “integration”, which I had misspelled, he— he… um… Oh.”

You began to feel less like wanting to die and more like you were actually dying. Professor Park stares hard at the pages for a painfully long moment, his ears turning bright cherry red, but to your surprise and absolute mortification, he began to read aloud again. His voice had dropped that cheerful quality, however, sounding winded as if he had been hit upside the head. “At the word “integration”, which I had misspelled, he reeled his arm back and spanked me hard. I stopped reading with a loud gasp, shocked— the sting reverberated through my core, fiery hot, and despite my embarrassment I began to soak through my panties. At my silence, I was spanked again, even harder. ‘I said read it.’ My professor reminded me. ‘Be a good girl and follow instructions.’”

Professor Park shuts the book closed abruptly and looks up at you with a very red face and wide eyes. The tears that had been pooling in your lashes threaten to spill down your cheeks, so overcome with fear and embarrassment that your stomach turns like you're going to be sick. That was just what you needed to top off this already life-ruining experience, wasn’t it; vomiting all over your professor after he uncovers your darkest, dirtiest secret.

“This is extremely inappropriate material to bring on campus.” Professor Park finally says, his voice wavering.

“Yes, sir.”

“And that relationship, it’s… wrong. It’s against the university’s code of conduct. I— he could get fired for that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You shouldn’t be reading this. It’ll put... thoughts in your head that don’t need to be there.”

“…Yes, sir.” Part of you wants to argue with him, remind him that you’re an adult and can read whatever it is that you would like, but you don’t have the strength to.

He sighs heavily, like something important is weighing on his mind, and he hands you back your book before turning back to pour over the scattered, forgotten papers on his desk. “Go home, Miss L/N. And get rid of that book.”

You turn tail and scamper out into the hall, but you can’t help but glance back into Professor Park's office as you leave. He’s hunched over his desk with his elbows resting on the wood, his fingers tangled in his dark hair as he rests his head in his hands. It seems like something is bothering him, something bigger than grading papers or your stupid, silly book.

You don’t stick around to find out what it is.

The next morning, you receive a rather hastily written email from Professor Park telling you that he’s cancelling classes for the rest of the week. He’s come down with a cold, he claims— you and the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach know better than to believe that.

You don’t see him until that next Monday, but even then he might as well not have shown up at all. He struggles to get through his lesson plan even more than usual, and he wouldn’t look away from his papers or the projector, even when one of your classmates raised their hand to ask a question. You spent the entire period gathering up the courage to go up to him after his lecture, but when you do he brushes you off with a lame, half-baked excuse about having papers to grade and no time to talk, grabbing his things in a rush and scampering out of the lecture hall before you can call out for him to come back.

The pit in your stomach opens up into a black hole, swallowing up everything except for overwhelming, gnawing anxiety. It’s eating you up inside, manifesting itself in how you’ve chewed your lips until they bled, and then bit your nails down to the quicks— anyone with eyes could see that something was weighing on you, and you became increasingly tired of all your friends asking if anything was wrong, so once you were finished with your classes you took to hiding out in your dorm room curled up on the couch, your favorite fluffy blanket wrapped around you as you sullenly binge-watched a k-drama you’ve seen a thousand times.

While you were more of a homebody, your two roommates were much the opposite. Karina and Giselle loved to go out and party. Tonight was no different, the two of them flittering around the dorm as they got ready to go out to some club, and while they had given up on trying to get you to join them a while ago, something about the way you moped about seemed to reinvigorate Karina’s desire to get you off of your ass and out on the town. She knew you better than anybody, and immediately she could sniff out that something was off.

“Why don’t you come with us? You can borrow one of my dresses.” She offers, rummaging through her collection of high heels. “It’s a Friday night, everyone’s out! We can dance, we can find some boys to take home; it’ll be fun. You look like you need some.”

“I don’t need to have fun. I need to study.” You reply solemnly, scowling, but you make no moves to get up off the couch. It was a shitty excuse even to your own ears; it was obvious you didn’t have any plans to do anything tonight except feel sorry for yourself.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” She huffs. You don’t even have to look at her to know that she’s rolling her eyes. “Something’s bothering you and you won’t even tell me or Gigi what’s wrong. Don’t you think a drink or two would be good for you? You can vent to us all night, too. I promise we’ll listen.”

“I don’t know if I even want to tell you about it.”

“Why not? We’re your best friends, Y/Nie. You can tell us anything, even if it’s stupid or embarrassing. If it’s bothering you this badly, it’s clearly something serious.”

You peer out from under the blanket to look over at Karina— the worry in her eyes makes your heart sink. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t even consider taking her or Giselle up on their offers, but the way you were stuck running circles inside your head was far from normal. “You promise not to laugh at me?” She smiles warmly. “Nope. But I promise I’ll hear you out regardless.”

The loud, thumping bass reverberating throughout the club did very little to help ease your pounding headache. Your temples throbbed with every beat, the pressure so severe it felt as if your skull was just moments away from splitting in two. You don’t think you’ve ever been this uncomfortable in your life; the dress that Karina gave to you was a size or two too small, the shiny fabric so tight around your chest that you gasp for air. It would be difficult for you to breathe even in properly fitting clothes, the air hot and heavy from the throngs of sweaty bodies that surrounded you. You felt claustrophobic, the crowd closing in on you and threatening to swallow you whole— the only place to escape was to the bar, but even there you’re bombarded with flashing lights, deafening music, and the overlapping voices of everyone around you. You have to strain your ears to make out what Giselle was saying, and she was just on the barstool right next to yours.

“Aren’t you glad you came?” She giggles, sipping on a brightly colored cocktail. She had ordered a round of them for all three of you, and the amount of alcohol mixed in them felt like a sucker punch to the face, even with all the sickeningly sweet grenadine the bartender had used to try and mask the flavor. You watch in abject horror as both she and Karina downed them one by one like they were water.

“No.”  you reply honestly.

“You will once you tell us what’s going on with you!” Karina interjects from your other side. “I meant it when I said I wanted you to vent to us, let it all out and give us the tea! Aeri’s dying to know.”

“It’s really embarrassing…” you admit, staring forlornly down at your own drink. “I’d rather just forget all about it.”

“It can’t be that bad. You didn’t drop your pants in front of everyone or anything, did you?”

You cringe. “God, no. It’s not like that.”

“Then it’s nothing you can’t tell us about.” Giselle shoots you a smile over the rim of her glass.

“It’s… it’s about Professor Park.”

“You and Gigi's lit professor?” Karina asks, cocking her head. “Isn’t he the one you have a massive crush on?”

Your cheeks flush, your drink becoming even more interesting as you avoid looking at either of them in the eye. “Maybe.”

“Ugh, your taste in men is the worst.” Giselle snickers. “I don’t understand why you like him so much. He’s such a dick.”

You fight down the urge to defend him— for some odd reason, you feel a surge of protectiveness over Professor Park, even when you completely agree with what Giselle is saying about him. “Yes, I like him, but that’s not the point. The point is that I totally fucked up and now I think he hates me.”

“What did you do?! Please tell me you cursed him out, he fucking deserves it.”

“No, Gigi, oh my God.” Even the mere thought of doing something like that sends shivers down your spine. “He caught me reading during class.”

“…That’s it? You’re freaking out over that?” Giselle blinks.

“It’s what I was reading that’s the problem.” you lament miserably, gathering your courage with a sip of your disgusting cocktail. “I have this book; it’s about a teacher and a student… getting together, if you know what I mean. It’s really dirty… and he caught me reading it in class. He took it, and then he read it himself right in front of me! He thinks I’m a freak. It’s been two days and he won’t even look at me.”

Karina and Giselle stare at you.

“Why the hell were you reading a smut book in class?!” Karina gasps, her dark glittery makeup making her wide eyes look even wider. “And one about a professor, too— were you trying to get caught? There’s better ways to go about telling him that you want to fuck him.”

“I don’t know— I was bored and stupid, okay?!” You had been asking yourself the same question for days, mentally beating yourself to a pulp every time it crossed your mind. “I thought he wouldn’t notice me since I sat in the back… now he’s going to tell the dean, and I’m going to get expelled, and—”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Giselle stops you in your downwards spiral, grabbing your shoulder to ground you. “You’re thinking too hard about this. He’s probably just a prude. If he was going to do something like that, he would have probably done it by now. Plus, I don’t think that’s really something you can be expelled over.”

You lean into her touch, resting your head on her shoulder as she pats your back comfortingly. “He’s mad at me…” you whine petulantly. “I was trying to get that TA position, too… fuck, I’m so screwed.”

“What would he be mad at you for? Being horny?” Karina laughs, “It’s really his own fault for snooping in your stuff.”

“I think you’ll still get it.” Giselle supplies helpfully. “You’ve really got nothing to worry about. Sure, your grade sucks, but I’ve seen the two of you talking in the hallway before— the way he looks at you is insane. And the way he looks at your ass when you leave is even crazier. You just showed him that you feel the same way about him that he does about you.”

“Don’t say that.” You groan. “You think that about every guy I talk to. There’s no way in hell that Professor Park feels anything for me except hatred.”

“If you’re really that worried about it, you can always just apologize.” Karina says, drumming her long nails against her glass. “It might not do anything, but it’ll make you feel better.”

That was the first bit of real advice either her or Giselle had given you in a while, even if it left a bad taste in your mouth. “I don’t know. I feel like that would just make things worse. I need to go to the bathroom.”

You scramble off the barstool in a rush, teetering on your heels— you weren’t even that tipsy, but every step made you feel like a newborn deer. Karina and Giselle watch you hobble away in pity.

You stumble through the crowd in search of a bathroom sign, quickly getting lost in the sea of bodies. There’s little room to move around, everyone pressed up against each other dancing, too intoxicated to notice you trying to politely squeeze by. They jostle and knock you around, and you nearly trip over your own wobbly feet multiple times. Your headache grows nearly unbearable, your desperation to find an escape leading you to start pushing people out of the way so you can continue to move forward. One particularly drunk woman nearly knocks you to the ground, and she shoots you a dirty look over her shoulder when you shoulder past her roughly. You hate to be rude, but you’re teetering dangerously close to your breaking point. You need to find some peace and quiet, and fast.

But all of that goes out the window when among the countless bobbing and weaving heads, you spot a frighteningly familiar pair of broad shoulders.

“Professor Park?!” you call out in shock, shoving your way towards him. “What are you doing here?!”

Without his suits and big clunky glasses on, you almost don’t recognize him. He was leaning back against the wall with two men who you vaguely recognize as other professors at the university, talking and laughing amongst themselves with beers in their hands. You admire the profile of his strong, angular nose, the way his pronounced collarbones peeked out from the loose linen shirt he wore, the first few buttons undone to show a delicious strip of tan skin. His dark hair, usually gelled back to show his forehead, was left fluffy and untamed, framing his dark, intoxicating eyes. He jumps a little at your voice, turning away from the men to look at you.

His eyes widen sharply, moving slowly from your face down to your chest. They linger there for a moment, blinking owlishly, before he tears them away from you completely, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

“Oh, um. Hello, Miss L/N.” he covers up his stutter with a weak cough, suddenly very interested in the state of his shoes. You make a quick mental note to thank Karina later for convincing you to squeeze yourself into this stupid dress.

“Oh, this is Y/N?” One of the two other men slurs gleefully, a grin stretching across his handsome face. There was a certain hunger in the way he undresses you with his eyes, scanning you head to toe like a predator. You could tell from his flushed pink cheeks that he was very drunk. “I’ve heard all about you! It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Something odd flashes in Professor Park's eyes and he jerks his head to shoot his friend a deathly glare. He was far too tipsy to notice.

“You’ve… heard about me?” you cringe, your heart sinking. Out of whatever Professor Park had to say about you, none of it could be anything good.

“Oh, not much, just that you’re one of the brightest students that he’s ever taught.” The other man cuts in, chuckling. He tips his head back and takes a swig of his beer, flashing you his sharp jawline. “One of his favorites to have in class, he says.”

“Such a smart head on those little shoulders! You should consider taking my econ course next year, it’d be a gift to see your pretty face in my class.” The first man adds, his crooked smirk widening.

“Jake, Jay, please.” Professor Park grits out through gritted teeth, anxiously running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, what did you say, Miss L/N?”

You splutter as your lips refuse to form words. You?! The brightest student he’s ever had?! That was just a complete and utter lie; if it wasn’t for Giselle helping you with an extra credit assignment you had practically begged him on your knees for, you would be failing his class spectacularly. You couldn’t fathom why Professor Park would say something like that to these two men, when nearly every class he was scolding you for being late, distracted, forgetting your deadlines, a combination of all three and more. Not only that, but with what had transpired the other day still fresh and stinging… they had to be saving face or making some kind of sick joke. As you collect your thoughts, you half expect them to start pointing and laughing.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, peering up at Professor Park's blushing face. He avoids meeting your eyes, just like how he did in class.

“Am I not allowed to enjoy the start of my weekend?” he retorts, fiddling with the pull tab on his beer. “Clearly, you’re doing the same.”

He spits out the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth. It stung like an insult. “I thought you said you were busy.” you assert, biting your lip to keep from scoffing. The liquor giving you a little too much courage; he was still Professor Park, even if now standing in front of you he looked like just any other guy.

“I… was.” He mumbles, “And now I’m not anymore. It’s really not any of your business.”

It takes everything you have to keep from blurting out that your book really wasn’t any of his business either, but you manage to hold your tongue.

“I’m sorry, I just— Sir, I need to talk to you.”

 “There’s nothing to talk about.” He says matter-of-factly. It’s far from what you were expecting him to say.

“What do you mean?” you challenge, your annoyance starting to turn sour. “It’s about the other day.”

Professor Park continues to play dumb, though he keeps throwing sidelong glances to his coworkers. “What about it?”

“I want to apologize.” You bite hard on your lower lip. For doing nothing wrong.

Professor Park's eyes snap up to meet yours, inky dark irises wide in shock. “Y/N—”

“Apologize?” Professor Park's friend— Jake, you think— butts in, raising an eyebrow. “What happened?”

All the color leaves Professor Park's face, even the blush that was slowly trailing from his cheeks down his neck. He awkwardly clears his throat and averts his gaze, putting on a show of cupping his ear and pretending to be confused. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over all of this noise! If you have a question, I’ll be in my office tomorrow afternoon. Go on and have a good night.”

“Wait, Professor—!”

“Have a good night!”

It takes you a long time to find your way back to the bar, drunk, defeated, and stewing in your own thoughts. You’re pleasantly surprised to see that Giselle and Karina have been sat waiting for you all this time, but you don’t have it in you to feel happy or grateful as you plop yourself back onto your empty barstool. Their irritation quickly shifts to confusion and worry, both shooting you odd glances as Karina tentatively hands you another cocktail.

“Are you okay?”

“Did you get lost or something?”

You take a long sip, the disgusting sweetness and the bitter liquor overpowering your senses enough to calm your racing thoughts. “I think I’m going to go and talk to Professor Park tomorrow.” is all you say.

“If you fuck him, please put in a good word for me.” Giselle slurs drunkenly in reply. “I need to pass that fucking class.”

“You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you, Miss L/N?” Professor Park whispers in your ear, his deep voice dripping with honeyed venom. The fabric of his dress shirt ghosts over your back, his body so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. He has you trapped against his big wooden desk, bent over it obscenely with your ass in the air as you whimper and squirm. Your skirt and panties pool at your ankles, leaving your most intimate areas exposed for him to view. Your leaking pussy quivered from the icy cold air, your hole clenching desperately around nothing and aching to be filled.

“I’m sorry!” You mewl, voice wavering.

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you sorry for?” he presses, so deliciously condescending in the way he feigns ignorance, “Apologize to me properly and tell me what it was that you did.”

“I’ve been bad, sir. I was reading during your lecture, and I’m sorry—”

“Oh, you weren’t just reading.” Professor Park scoffs, straightening himself up and off your back. He rounds the desk to circle you like prey, his slow methodical steps echoing throughout the quiet of his office. They echo in your ears and strike a dizzying mix of fear and anticipation in your heart.

“I-I was reading smut and…” your face burns hotter than the sun, and you close your eyes and take a deep breath to will yourself to have the courage to admit what it was you were caught doing. “…And I was touching myself.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” He stops to stand at your side, his mere presence hovering above you enough to make you shudder. “Tell me exactly how you were touching that slutty little pussy.”

His words go straight to your core, making you squeeze your thighs together in need. Just a little friction was all you needed, and the edge of his desk granted a great opportunity… but as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t let yourself give in to desperation and grind yourself against Professor Park's desk like a dog in heat. He would notice immediately, and it would only worsen your punishment.

“I was… I was rubbing my clit through my panties.” you admit ashamedly, “Grinding against my fingers. I was going to put one inside but you… you stopped me.”

“I could see your hand up your skirt all the way from the back of the class.” Professor Park spits, his carefully controlled demeanor cracking and his wild, untamed anger boiling to the surface. “It’s like you’re trying to get the two of us caught. You’re lucky no one else was looking… or was that what you wanted? Did you want everyone to see what a slut you are?”

“N-no!” you gasp, but the idea gets you even wetter; you wanted nothing more than for everyone to know that he was much more than just your professor, that he was yours and in turn you were his. “I’m a slut j-just for you, no one else!”

“Fuck, that’s right.” he groans lowly, his voice dripping sex. He picks up a long wooden ruler off his desk, right by your head, and points the tip at the nape of your neck. It ran slowly down the curve of your spine, a ghostly barely-there touch that left a trail of fire erupt across your skin. He stops at the plush swell of your ass, gently caressing your flesh with the cold wood. “You’re all mine. My favorite little student. You just need some discipline to put you back in your place, hm? Show me what a good girl you can be and count for me.”

He rears his arm back, poised and ready to strike. You can hear the ruler whooshing through the air, sharp and fast as he swings his arm forwards—

Your eyes snap open with a gasp. Suddenly, you’re back in your bedroom, curled up safe and sound in your bed, groggy and disoriented as you slowly come back down to reality. While you dreamt about Professor Park often, never had one felt this vivid, this real. You can still feel the echoes of his touch, the phantom pain of his ruler against your asscheek haunting you like a ghost. Your panties are soaked through completely, sticky arousal pooling in the fabric and dripping down your thighs, creating a wet spot on your sheets. You toss and turn to try and go back to sleep, but it’s no use; you’re so horny you can’t think straight, can’t ignore the dull throbbing in your core.

As your hand slides under the waistband of your panties, you decide that enough is enough.

You were at your breaking point. Your life had spiraled completely out of control in the span of just two days, all because your stupid puppy-love crush of a professor had to be nosy about your reading material. He just had to find a way to humiliate you even more than he already did, didn’t he? He could’ve just given you your book back and the two of you could have gone on with your lives. He shouldn’t have even taken your book in the first place! You could have continued fantasizing about him from the back of the class, not a worry in the world, instead of losing precious hours of sleep and mentally beating yourself up.

And after your interaction at the bar, you feel even more ridiculous. If Professor Park truly had the intention of telling someone about what he had caught you reading, wouldn’t he have told the other professors that he was with? And lying to them about you being his smartest student…  you couldn’t wrap your head around it.

It was clear that he didn’t want to talk about it. But even if he wants to pretend like none of this ever happened, you just couldn’t.

There was simply no other way for you to get over all of this other than finally confronting him. You needed to make the endless spiral stop, tell him exactly what was on your mind and finally put this to bed. The longer you stew over everything that has transpired, the more your fear and anxiety boils over into anger. This was all Professor Park's fault! You needed to give him a piece of your mind, or you don’t think you’ll ever be able to move on.

Professor Park doesn’t answer until after the fifth knock, his face immediately dropping once he swings open his office door to see you standing there in front of him. His hair is a mess and his clothes are disheveled, his tie half undone and his shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Anxiously he adjusts his glasses, the wide brown eyes behind them looking like a cornered deer’s. “You actually came over to apologize?” He blurts out before you can even open your mouth, genuine surprise taking over his features. “I didn’t think you—"

“Actually, no, I’m not here to apologize!” you declare, the words spilling out before you gave yourself the time to second guess yourself. You had lied awake until the sun came up thinking about what to say, and you weren’t going to let those wasted hours go to waste. “I’m here to tell you, sir, that going through my book was an invasion of my privacy! And that it’s none of your business what I read! I’m an adult, not a child, and I can do whatever I damn well please!”

Professor Park blinks owlishly, staring at you in stunned silence for so long that your newfound confidence falters and you begin to shuffle nervously.

“Oh. Um… alright.” He finally says.

“Alright?!” you echo incredulously, your irritation coming back in full swing. “You’ve been avoiding me for days and all you have to say for yourself is alright?!”

Professor Park's eyes flicker around anxiously, and it suddenly hits you that you were yelling at him in a public hallway. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Yes you do!” you shriek. This really wasn’t how you were planning on any of this going, but it was far too late to turn back. You open your mouth to continue your rant, face burning hot with unbridled rage, but Professor Park quickly grabs your wrist and roughly pulls you into his office. The sudden act shocked you into silence, your eyes wide and mouth agape as he drags you all the way back to his desk. 

“Listen.” He growls, his voice octaves deeper than you’ve ever heard it before. “You’re acting way out of line right now. Don’t you dare ever talk to me like that, you understand me? I’m still your professor, even when we’re not in class. You’re to treat me with respect—”

“Then you treat me with respect first!” you retort, though you do manage to calm yourself down enough to lower your voice. “Playing dumb and refusing to talk to me after humiliating me in front of everyone! What was even the point of doing that? Was it just for your own sick pleasure?!”

“Y/N.” Professor Park sighs, the second time you’ve ever heard him call you by your first name— the first was at the club, but you were far too distracted to dwell on it. “I know you have some sort of feelings for me. You’re not very good at hiding it.”

Your entire world comes crashing around you, though you suppose that you shouldn’t be too surprised. You had just let yourself hope beyond reason that he would never pay you any attention.

“What I’m trying to say is… Y/N, you need to stop it. Get rid of the book. I can’t be with you, it’ll never work, okay? I’m your teacher, and ten years your senior. There’s plenty of college boys around campus for you to ogle over instead.”

“You say you can’t but… do you want to?” you ask quietly, barely above a whisper.

Professor Park doesn’t meet your eyes. “I could get in a lot of trouble, Y/N. You could too.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You challenge, a hopeful spark igniting in your chest. He didn’t say no… and you may be looking too into things, or just clinging onto hope, but that was more than enough proof to you that your professor was hiding some feelings of his own.

“We can’t do this.” He mumbles, his voice growing wilder, more defiant.

“Sure we can! I’m an adult, you’re an adult… did I scare you away with my book or something? Look, it’s okay if it wasn’t up your alley. There’s nothing wrong with being vanilla, Professor. You don’t have to, like, spank me or anything—”

“But I do!” he interjects suddenly, his head shooting up to look at you with wild eyes. His entire face was bright crimson red.

“You… wait, what?” you must have misheard him. That was the only explanation, surely; There was no way he actually—

“I can’t stop thinking about it! I thought there was no way you’d be into anything like that, that I needed to stop thinking about you and move on like a professional, but then you go and pull this, and now I can’t go a single second without thinking about putting you over my knee! It’s driving me insane! I can’t even look at you!” 

“Professor—”

“Sunghoon. God, just call me Sunghoon. I can’t handle you calling me that right now.”

You open and close your mouth a couple of times, surely looking like a fish out of water— This was the absolute last thing you expected to come out of your professor’s— Sunghoon's—mouth. Your eyes bulge out of your head, your face burns hotter than the sun… your pussy clenches pathetically. It felt like you were in a dream, almost, which might have been why you suddenly felt so brazen— if you wanted him, and he wanted you, who were you to deny him?

“Then do it.” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He looks just as shocked at your proclamation as you were. “If you want to do it that bad, do it.”

He moves in a flash, giving you no time to prepare— within seconds has you thrown over his lap on his office swivel chair, your hair hanging in your face as you blink wildly at the floor. Sunghoon brushes one of his big hands against you skirt-clad ass, barely a brush of his fingers, but you still gasp all the same.

“Do you really want this?” He breathes, voice low, his breathing hard—the outline of his cock presses hard against your stomach through his slacks, making it considerably hard to focus on the words that came out of his mouth.

It takes you a moment, but you manage to choke out a whiny “Yes, sir, please.”

Sunghoon stutters out an uneven breath, his fingers inching down to the hem of your skirt, teasing the tops of your thighs for just a moment before pulling the fabric up to expose your ass, a noticeable wet spot present on your panties.

“So pretty…” He coos. You can feel his cock twitch against your stomach, those long knobby fingers trailing along the edge of your lacy thong. “Is it okay if I take your panties off, bunny?”

You whimper and nod your head— Sunghoon lands a gentle love-tap to the junction of your thighs with an airy chuckle. “Use your words like a good girl.”

This couldn’t be happening. You had to be dreaming, or hallucinating, or something, anything except truly living through this fantasy come to life— Boring, bland Professor Park, the biggest prude you thought you knew, was just way too good at this, at making your legs shake and your pussy throb all the while barely touching you. In just an afternoon your reality had shifted from thinking that he had to be the world’s biggest loser virgin to thinking that he was even sexier than the professor in your book.

You weren’t sure how to feel about it, but your cunt did. 

You must have stayed silent for too long, because without much warning Sunghoon lands a much harsher spank to the top of your asscheek. “Bad girl!” he admonishes, and you can hear the teasing, rotten grin in his voice “C’mon baby, use your big girl words. Tell me how much you want it.” His hot breath fans over your ear— you couldn’t hold in your moan even if you tried, the broken whine sounding weak and pathetic even to your own ears. 

“P-Please, sir… please take my panties off. Please spank me.” you whimper, your face beet red and your pussy drooling— his deft fingers stroke slowly up and down your folds, feeling the wetness seep through the cotton fabric of your panties. You bite your lip to keep from screaming.

“That’s my good girl.” You could hear your panties rip as he tears them off of you in one solid motion, the biting cold air meeting your hot soaking cunt and making both you and Sunghoon hiss. He admires the slick leaking down your thighs for a brief silent moment, deep breathy voice cooing at the way you arch into him and his touch, before he straightens back up and lands a stinging, eye watering spank deliciously close to your core. You yelp at the sting.

“That’s for being a fucking tease,” he states, soothing your reddening flesh with a soft caress of his palm. “Being so fucking sexy all the time and driving me crazy because I thought I could never have you.”

You hadn’t realized that this was confessional. Shooting him an evil smile over your shoulder, you giggle, “You could’ve just asked.”

Another spank, this time with even more force. Your hips buck with a shrill cry spilling from your open, panting mouth, your eyes watering— you had no idea Professor Park was this strong. He refuses to give you any time to prepare, never warning you when the next hit to your ass will come. “I didn’t say you could talk back to me.” He growls.

You’re on the verge of tears from the red-hot stinging in your ass, but you still giggle at his words. “You’re kinky.”

He just rolls his eyes, spanking you again, albeit a little softer. “And this one’s for being a brat. How about you start counting for me, little girl? That’s one.”

“One?! You’ve hit me four times!” Maybe you were pushing it too far, but it just came naturally to you to fight back, make him work for your submission and obedience. You relished pushing him as far as he would go; you relished losing.

Sunghoon grabs a handful of your hair and yanks hard, making you gasp loudly and your empty pussy flutter. Leaning down close to your ear, he lets out a warning growl; “I said fucking count.”

You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. Torn between bucking your hips into Professor Park's bulge and pushing back into the touch of his hand, you give a quiet, watery whimper of “One…”

The hand holding your hair lets go, your head falling limply over his knee. “That’s my girl.” He coos lowly, stroking your head.

It distracts you enough that the next harsh slap to your ass feels even more intense than any of the others before it. “T-two…”

“That’s for being so fucking disrespectful. And in front of my colleagues too, no less. It’s like you were asking for me to ruin you.” he tsks. “You need to learn to watch your mouth.”

The urge to say something smart tugs at you again, even if just to prove his point, but another spank rains down on your sore, bruising asscheeks before you can seize the opportunity.

“T-three!”

“And that’s… that’s for pushing me to put you over my lap in the first place. You couldn’t just leave it alone, could you? And now look at you, making me risk my job to teach you a lesson.” Sunghoon's voice wavers, filling with an emotion you couldn’t quite place— it was extremely difficult to focus on his words when his fingers began to trail down the curve of your ass to your sticky, quivering folds, rubbings the tip of his thumb right over your clothed core. You moan unabashedly, shifting your hips and opening your legs to give him better access to what was peeking out between your thighs.

The fifth spank never comes. He pushes two long, thick fingers between your folds, stuttering out a low moan like he was the one being touched. He starts a rough, dizzying pace almost immediately, his fingertips searching for that spongy spot inside of you. You grind your hips back against Sunghoon's fingers, a drooling mess against his slacks.

“Pr-Professor…” you whine high in your throat — you want more, want him to speed up, slow down… his touches were driving you wild. You hadn’t been touched like this ever before.

“I told you not to call me that.” He hisses, curling his fingers against your sweet spot and making you keen. “Please, call me by my name.”

“Sunghoon!” you cry out, writhing against him. You felt a passion rising within you like the hottest fire, clouding your brain. You couldn’t think of anything except of the pleasure that he gave you, couldn’t utter out anything other than his name.

“Such a slut, falling apart just on my fingers…” he chucks huskily, enamored with the filthy wet sounds your cunt made and how they echoed through the quiet office. “I’ve thought about doing this for forever, God… you’re just as beautiful as I thought you’d be.”

His thumb, wet from your arousal, comes down to rub tight, delicious circles against your sensitive, engorged clit, your strangled wail no doubt loud enough to be heard from the hallway. The building ecstasy distracts you enough for him to push in a third finger into your tight hole. The stretch burns but you love it, your hips kicking and moans growing louder and louder as he effortlessly takes you apart. 

“...Too much…!” you manage to choke out, digging your teeth into the fabric of Sunghoon's slacks to keep yourself from screaming out in bliss. You felt full to the brim, pushed closer and closer to the edge with every rough flick of your clit and thrust of his perfect talented fingers. He teases a fourth finger around your leaking, stretched out rim, the threat of it alone enough to make your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh baby, if this is too much there’s no way you’ll be able to take my cock…” 

The tears that had been brimming in your eyes start to stream freely down your burning cheeks, choked hiccups and sobs wracking your body, but it was the most pleasurable agony you had ever been in. Your hips move with a mind of their own, bucking against Sunghoon's cock, thick and hard as a rock, only seeming to grow bigger and bigger every time you rub against it. You relish the sharp intakes of breath he takes every time you move against him. He was starting to fall apart too, you could tell, his voice sounding a lot less dominating and a lot more whiny and pathetic with each roll of his hips up into your tummy.

“I’m gonna… gonna make you cum on my fingers,” he whines low in his throat, his hand completely soaked in your arousal up to the wrist. “You gonna make a mess for me?”

His fingers dig impossibly and wonderfully hard into your sweet spot, that white-hot band of desire in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with each perfectly aimed thrust. You wail and sob, your hand reaching back to grab a tight fistful of his shirt sleeve. “I-I-m— ‘m gonna cum!”

Sunghoon's other hand, the one that had been stroking your hair, then comfortingly up and down your back, rises up to smack your ass, the sudden burst of stinging pain making you scream, and for real this time.

 “You gotta ask first, bad girl! Gotta ask for permission b-before you cum…” His voice starts to break, his hips stuttering helplessly— the feeling of his big fat cock grinding hard against you only added to the fire in your belly. 

“Can I cum? Please, sir, can I cum? I’ll be a good girl, I promise, just let me cum!” you had no control over your mouth, hardly any conscious at all— all you could focus on was the tightening in your belly, the way Sunghoon's fingers thrusted in and out of your pussy so good… you were his brainless whore, fucked dumb on his fingers. 

“Shit, go on honey, my good girl… cum all over me, make a mess!” with his permission you let yourself topple over the edge, moaning and whimpering like a whore as you soak your thighs, his hand, his shirt and slacks with your juices. You lay across his lap twitching for quite some time afterwards, your chest heaving like you had just run a marathon… you’d never come before like that in your life, not as hard or for as long. Sunghoon was with you the whole way as you come down from your high, sweet as can be as he coos praises into your hair and pats your back, kissing your head when you raised it to look over your shoulder at him.

Slowly, you realize that you no longer feel his bulge poking at your belly. You release your iron grip on his shirt to slide your hand down his chest and abdomen, all the way down to gently cup his very wet crotch. “Sir…?”

“F-fuck... sorry, baby… couldn’t help it…” he turns his head away from you to hide his glowing red face, but you can see how his blush spreads down his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

“Did you just… cum?” you ask in awe and disbelief, looking down to see a dark stain spreading across the fabric of his slacks. Sunghoon only mumbles in response, refusing to answer or turn back to look at you, his blush growing an even deeper shade of red. It was all the confirmation you needed.

Professor Park came in his pants like a virgin without you even needing to touch him. Something about that alights a blazing inferno in your core, your senses overtaken with need even though you had just had an orgasm yourself.

“I want to taste it.” You breathe out, your overwhelming desire eclipsing any rational thought and taking control of your words.

“Y-you… what?” his head snaps back to you in surprise, his eyes wide and clouded with lust as they gaze headily into yours.

“Your cum, wanna taste it, want it on my tongue…” you’ve never spoken like this to anyone, your voice not feeling like your own— the words spill out from between your lips mindlessly, desperate for more of his brain numbing pleasure as you rub him through his slacks. His cock twitches underneath your fingertips, beginning to harden again from the ministrations. “Can I please suck you off, sir?”

“Fuck.” Sunghoon moans, rough and deep in his chest, the sound shooting straight to your sensitive pussy. “Yeah you can, naughty girl, come on, get on your knees and suck my cock. Clean up my mess.”

Your entire body feels limp and weak, not wanting to cooperate with you as you slide off of his lap to the floor. It takes great effort to get yourself situated, kneeling on the floor with your unsteady hands grasping at his thick thighs. He widens his legs to give you more room to get comfortable, one of his big hands instinctively coming down to tangle in your hair as your own begin to slide up the insides of his thighs towards his straining belt buckle.

Ever so slowly and meticulously you unbuckle Sunghoon's belt, the jingling of the metal buckle as it’s casted aside like music to your ears. You pull his pants and boxers down together in one rough tug, Sunghoon canting his hips to help you guide them down his thighs. His cock springs free and slaps obscenely against his belly, smearing the light fabric of his dress shirt in his thick, viscous cum. You can’t help but stop and stare, enamored by the sheer size of it— nearly as thick as a can and twice the length of one, throbbing veins making your mouth water. Cum still leaks from his angry red tip, fat and bulbous, the entirety of his length wet and shiny down to his heavy, twitching balls and neatly trimmed pubes.

You kiss the tip with a delighted grin, the contact barely-there but enough to make him throw his head back and whimper in delight. Your tongue peeks out from between your lips to slide across his slit, earning a high-pitched needy hiss from the man above you, his long fingers tightening their grip on your hair as you lick down his dripping shaft. His thick, salty cum tastes like ambrosia on your tongue, the delicious bitterness quickly getting you drunk. You can’t stop until you lick him completely clean, and even then it’s impossible for you to pull away, the feeling of his weeping cockhead heavy on your tongue far too addicting. Greedily you suck him into your mouth, relishing in the way his girth stretches your lips before swallowing him deeper and deeper until his tip knocks against the back of your throat. You can hardly fit your hands around him, let alone your mouth, fisting what couldn’t fit down your throat as you start bobbing your head. More broken tears collect on your lashes and drip down your wet cheeks, looking utterly ruined and wanton as you gaze up from between Sunghoon's legs into his hazy, unfocused eyes.

The eye contact is too much for him— his eyes roll back in his head with a whimper and his cock twitches violently inside of your mouth, the grip he has on your hair shifting from guiding your head along his shaft to tugging you off him with a sudden and disorienting strength. He pulls you off him with a wet pop, a foamy string of saliva connecting from his shiny cockhead to your needy whimpering lips.

“I’m gonna cum again if you don’t stop,” he pants, gasping for breath, “I gotta fuck that pussy first, little girl, please. Need to feel that tight cunt squeezing around me.”

“D’you wanna cum inside?” you goad, a lustful, mischievous grin overtaking your features, “Don’t worry, Hoonie, I’m on the pill. You can fill me up if you want to.”

Your words make him visibly shake, the nickname making him whimper, what was left of his flimsy resolve crumbling right before your eyes, leaving nothing but primal hunger. “Get on the fucking desk.”

You obey immediately, hardly able to contain your excitement as you stumble to your feet and bend over Sunghoon's big oak desk, wiggling your ass in the air invitingly. Your skirt was pushed up past your hips, exposing your dripping puffy hole for his eyes to feast upon.

“So pretty…” he croons behind you, his hands caressing your hips and waist. They smooth over the exposed globes of your ass, his fingers ghosting over your sticky, quivering folds. Pretty pink skirt that compliments your flushed skin, looks so delectable running through his fingers as he grabs your asscheeks and spreads them wide. “You look so cute in pink.”

he hisses in appreciation at the sight of your dripping hole quivering, sliding a finger down between your pussy lips to circle at your engorged clit. “Holy fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, accentuating his claim with a flick of his hand— your pussy squelches obscenely, the lewd, pornographic sound making your cheeks flush. “I can’t take it anymore, I have to be inside of you— you can take it, right doll?”

“Please!” you beg, hardly able to string together a sentence, “Please, sir, put it in, I need it so bad, need your cock—”

You’re interrupted by the feeling of his cockhead slapping against your entrance, Sunghoon running the leaky tip up and down your slit a few times just to hear your little whimper before burying himself inside to the hilt in one smooth thrust. He rams into you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs, his long fat shaft stretching out your hole much more than you could have ever been prepared for. The burn is indescribable, overwhelming every single one of your senses in the best way, your tight gummy walls gripping his cock like a vice as the both of you struggle to adjust.

He's so deep inside of you it feels as if he’s poked through your cervix and into your womb, his big fat mushroom head snug right beneath your belly button. You’re so deliciously full that it makes your head spin, already fucked completely brainless before he had even begun to properly move.

“Does it hurt?” he asks you softly, so gentle compared to how he carved out your insides. In any other circumstance you would find it sweet that he was this concerned, but you were certain that if he didn’t start moving inside of you right then and there, you were going to die.

“More.” you croak back in response. “Give it to me.”

With a winded groan, he relents. He pulls his cock out until just the head was inside of you, giving you not a single moment to prepare before slamming back in with a force that knocks you further up on the desk. The hardwood against your cheek does nothing to muffle your loud, unabashed shriek, so he improvises by shoving two of his thick fingers past your open lips, the musky tang of your own juices filling your mouth when you suck hungrily at the digits. He set up a punishing rhythm within seconds, his hips clapping loudly and wetly against your ass while he muffles your whines and wails. His heavy balls smack against your oversensitive clit with every rough thrust, sending shockwave after shockwave of pleasure straight to your core. The desk cuts into the skin of your hips painfully, but if anything, it only adds to the burning sweetness building steadily in the pit of your belly.

“F-fuck, I’m close already!” Sunghoon puffs against the shell of your ear, pressing himself up against your back— you’re suddenly thrown back into your dream from the night before, the way the sensations were eerily similar yet nowhere near as good as the real thing. “Gonna cum inside you, is that okay? Wanna see how pretty your pussy looks dripping my cum.”

You can only drool in response, your thoughts fragmented and scattered, babbling desperate nonsense and rolling your hips back to meet his thrusts with a dizzying force. Your body vibrates with liquid fire, heating your puffy cunt and quivering thighs— faster than ever before were you hurtling towards your climax, that familiar tightening in your core growing harder and harder to bear. You wanted nothing more than to yield to the tide, let it overtake you completely, and in turn pull Sunghoon down with you.

Your professor was going to cum inside of you. The fantasies that had haunted you for months truly became a tangible reality. What did you do to make you so lucky?

“This slutty pussy’s sucking me in so fucking tight,” he groans, his thrusts growing sloppier, “Tell me you want my cum, baby, come on. Who’s cum do you want inside of you? Tell me and I’ll give it to you!”

“Yours!” you shriek with the last remaining bits of your energy, your words nearly incomprehensible to how you sniffled and sobbed around Sunghoon's fingers. “Want your cum— my professor’s cum inside of me!”

You took a gamble, but it was just what he wanted to hear. With one last aggressive thrust, he bottoms out inside of your pulsating cunt, his bulbous cockhead kissing your battered cervix as he cums with a broken cry. The sensation of his sticky, hot seed splashing against your insides is just what you need to tip over the edge yourself, your walls clamping down on him and milking him for all he’s worth as you ride out your own climax with long, surrendering moans. He hisses from the overstimulation, but he makes no movements to pull out, letting himself soften inside of you as you both struggle to catch your breaths. Thick viscous globs of your mixed cum leak out from where you’re connected, dripping down your thighs and Sunghoon's balls to collect in a puddle on the floor.

You gaze over your shoulder to watch as he slowly and carefully pulls out, a creamy, foamy white ring formed around the base of his cock. His glasses were fogged up from his heavy breathing, his hair and clothes even more a mess than it was when he had first opened the door, his pink face so irritatingly kissable when he shoots you a nervous smile.

You cant help but giggle at him.

“You’re not going to… tell anyone about this, are you?” he asks you anxiously, opening one of the desk’s drawers to retrieve a packet of tissues.

“As long as you explain to me why you told those other professors that I was your best student.” You reply smartly, your grin widening when he scowls.

“It was the only way I could think of how to explain why I talk about you so much.” He admits, a little shy, wiping down the mess between your thighs with a fistful of cheap, scratchy tissues. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather if we continued that charade so it doesn’t look suspicious when I ask you to come to my office every once in a while.”

“Will you give me that TA position then?”

“You technically don’t qualify,” He laughs, “but I thought that was a given.”

“You won’t regret bending the rules a little, I promise.” You tell him with a wink and a smile. The love-stricken grin he shoots back at you in return makes your heart soar.

“I know I won’t.”

[simpurnatural]

"Together Forever" | Oneshot

Sinners | Bo Chow X Fem!Reader

Note from Nat: "Don't even look in my direction guys. I'm just down bad but I hope you all enjoy this oneshot hehe!"

Warning(s): Spoilers, Smut, Language, Semi-Proofread

Pre-Read Summary: You’re a cashier at Bo Chow & Co and have been tasked with taking care of business while the Grace and Bo are out the opening night of Club Juke. However, the night takes an unexpected turn.

🚧undergoing minor rewrite revisions🚧

You tapped your foot impatiently as the clock hands moved to indicate that it is almost well into the night. The Chows had entrusted you in watching the shop and cleaning up, promising to be back in time to take pick up Lisa.

“Now we’ll be back by eleven, which is just enough time for Bo and I to enjoy ourselves,” Grace explained with a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“Y/n gets it honey,” Bo called from the back room, trying to calm his wife’s worries. “No need to be a worry wart now,” he ensures, emerging from where his voice could be heard.

Grace, on one hand, was showing off in a pretty party dress with her hair done up all nice. But Bo, his look was something that had to be forcibly taken from your imagination. Not that he’s never dressed up all fancy, but the dress shirt, khaki slacks, and navy blue vest really did a number on you. The way his sleeves were rolled up just to show the veins so evident on his forearms. Or how his hair was groomed and parted so nicely, but nothing compared to his sweaty and hard-worked figure after a long afternoon.

You felt a sudden wetness across your lips, not realizing for a split second that you had dragged your tongue across so provocatively. In an instant, you turned scarlet and quickly dabbed your apron across your lower lip.

“It just may be a lot for one girl to take care of,” Grace justified as she flattened the skirt of her dress for what seemed the millionth time.

If you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t so sure how Grace scored someone like Bo. With her ‘by the book’ behavior and his laid back demeanor, a feeling deep inside you wondered if he ever wanted something more. Someone who could offer more.

“We won’t keep you out all night Y/n,” Bo swore as the couple got settled into their truck.

“Take care baby,” Grace waved to Lisa, who was manning the check out counter.

She gave her parents a small wave, not knowing it would be last time she’d see her mother. But neither did you, arms crossed as they drove off down the road.

Grace seemed like a safe choice, the right choice. Straight forward and easy love. But the thoughts that kept your mind working all night didn’t mind if you could be the wrong choice, the dangerous lover. Forever in the shadows, not ever daring to step into the light.

Bo always reminded himself to not give into you. Though you had no clue of his true feelings nor did you know of the thoughts that plagued his mind. Hell, he has a wife and kid-a whole life he was already living. But he itched to know the life he could live if he had you.

That’s why when he turned, and Grace couldn’t fathom joining him. Even though an eternity with her husband was right at the door, Bo decided on you.

“Why don’t you catch some shut eye,” you said, turning to Lisa who’s tired eyes met yours. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon,” you assured.

“It’s been hours,” she groaned like the teenager she was, trudging her feet as she made her way to the backroom where a couple chairs were.

You wouldn’t lie and say you weren’t worried yourself, with the klan and other evil entities out there-you could only hope that Grace and Bo were alright.

That’s when you heard a car engine getting closer, cautioning you to move from behind the counter and check the window. Before you could reach it, the sound of a car door opening then shutting. The couple finally returned, or so you thought.

Tilting up one blind with your finger, there stood Bo who you weren’t able to make out his face. But the familiar muscular slim build was enough to identify him. He tossed his head back slightly, gliding a hand through his dark hair as if to settle it back into place.

But just he alone walked up to the store doors, promptly knocking slightly. Your eyes looked for Grace but perhaps she was still in the truck. When you decided to move toward the door lock, Bo’s voice called out.

“Y/n Darlin’, mind letting me in?” He asked which stopped you dead in your tracks. Bo not once ever called you anything but your name.

So when your legs buckled slightly at the pet name, your knee knocked into the newspaper stand right beside you. The weekly newsletter was scattered across the floor.

“It’ll only be a minute, and I’ll be on my way home,” he added, a smile evident in his tone.

You didn’t wait a second before opening the door for him. But when he was finally in the proper light, you realized how disheveled he looked. His dress shirt was slightly untucked, a button was knocked off his vest, and there was a noticeable silver glint in his eyes.

“Bo-Mr. Chow, are you alright?” You asked as your eyes glazed over him in worry.

“Nothing but a good time at the juke joint,” he waved off before stepping a little closer towards you but not exactly in the store. “How about you let me on in there?” he asked, glancing around behind you.

“Of course,” you breathed, clearly shuffling out of the way.

“And let’s get this cleaned up,” he sighed as he got on one knee and began collecting the newspapers on this floor.

You gulped hard with Bo basically at eye level of your womanhood. He was close, you could’ve sworn he could hear your beating heart. Once he gathered all the papers, he placed them back on the stand.

“Did you and Ms. Chow have a good time?” You asked trying to make kind conversation.

“You’d just have to be there to see how grand the whole thing was,” Bo said, pondering on the moment for a second. “Folks from all over coming to dance, drink, and eat-nothin' better than that,” he commented.

He noticed how your hands fumbled together as if trying to come up with the next thing to say. The same half smile still plastered on your face, unsure of what to do next. Chuckling at this, Bo moved past you and towards the back room, as if he knew Lisa was resting there. As you waited for the two of them to come back, you had collected all your belongings from the counter.

“Where’s mama?” Lisa questioned sleepily, walking along side her father.

“She’s still at the joint cleaning up with Miss Annie,” Bo muttered back almost like it was rehearsed.

Your brow perked up at this. He left Grace on her own this late at night? But you decided not to ask any questions that weren’t your business.

“You comin’ Y/n?” Bo asked, glancing over to you.

“I could walk,” you replied as if the thought alone didn’t give you the least bit of creeps.

“All the way home with no help at all?” Bo scoffed. “Come with us and you can spend the night n’ we’ll take you home tomorrow,” he said, a bit more like an order than a suggestion. “Too late for a young pretty woman to be walking alone,” he added.

“If it’s no problem,” you said, not wanting to inconvenience them for a last minute house guest. “Mrs. Chow won’t mind?” You wondered.

The three of you made your way out to the car after you switched off the lights-making sure to lock the front doors as well.

“Don’t worry about her, it’ll be fine,” Bo ensured.

You couldn’t help but worry on the ride back to their home. What if Grace thought of you as disrespectful for staying the night? But Bo suggested you could and how could anyone decline an offer from someone as charming as him.

It felt as though you took a long blink and then you were right in front of the Chow’s home. To which Bo turned to you and handed you the keys.

“Could you open up the house and I’ll carry Lisa on in,” Bo instructed already getting out of the truck.

“Alright,” you said quickly, fumbling with the keys as you headed towards the door. “There we go,” you huffed and reached to switch on the porch light.

You motioned to Bo that the front door was open as he approached with Lisa in his arms. You knew he was strong but he seemed to carry his daughter in with no problem. Kindly, you held the door open as they stepped inside.

Upon placing the keys on the front table, you slid off your sweater and purse. The house seemed very in place and had Grace written all over it. The wildflowers in vases around the house. Colorful fabric curtains and family photos adorned the windows and walls. It was clean and tidy, nothing out of place.

“I’ll just put this little one to bed then I’ll help get you settled in Y/n,” Bo announced in a hushed tone before heading up the stairs.

You moved around to the living room area, taking a seat on the sofa. Part of you felt like this was a bad idea, that Grace was gonna be coming in hot any second now. As if your anxiousness hadn't already been at a high, your eyes set on what seemed to be Bo and Grace's wedding photo on the table across from you.

A young couple grinning ear to ear, the photo probably taken right after the ceremony. Grace with a beautiful bouquet of roses and Bo with a matching boutonniere on his suit jacket. Now you were in their home with the farthest from pure thoughts about the man of the house.

The photograph alone was enough to sway you, making you want to leave right then and there. Placing the framed photo back on the table, you moved back towards the front door where your belongings were. Slinging the purse on the shoulder and your sweater in the crook of your arm. Your hand reaching for the front door-

"Thought you were stayin' the night?" a voice called out, almost tauntingly.

"I-I really shouldn't Mr. Chow," you insisted with your hand now firmly resting on the door knob. "Grace isn't even home and I would hate for this to be improper," you added nervously.

"Now you shouldn't be letting your pretty little head worry about her," Bo sighed, emerging from the stairs.

"Isn't she coming home soon?" you gulped, glancing at all the photos on the wall.

Bo didn't answer but rather slowly sauntered toward you. He almost loomed over you like a shadow bigger than the figure casting it. Your hand wavered from the door know, turning to fully face him. Eyes registering the fact that there was a bit of blood on the corner of his lip.

"Y-you're bleeding," you blurted out quickly, a quivering hand pointing to the crimson liquid.

"It seems so," Bo played off, rubbing it off with the back of his hand. "Too damn drunk to remember knocking into anything on my way down," he chuckled trying to lighten the mood. "But honestly darlin'," he sighed looking you up and down. "You ain't goin' no where."

"What?" you muttered, blinking quickly.

"Seeing that it's late and all," he explained with a shrug, "I'll show you to our spare room," Bo said as he tilted his head-motioning for you to come upstairs with him.

The floor boards creaked as you both ascended to the second floor, a dimly lit hallway with a couple candle lights. Bo showed you to the bedroom at the end of the hall which included a smaller room for bath, sink, and toilet.

"Hopefully you find this of comfort for the night," Bo smiled from the door as you placed your things on the dresser where a mirror carefully set atop.

"Yes. Thank you again Mr. Chow." you smiled back politely.

"Bo is alright," he said, "You can call me Bo," he clarified.

"Bo." You nodded, his name rolling off the tongue smoothly just like how you'd say it while lying in bed. Eyes shut to welcome the dirtiest of dreams, fingers in your panties, and your body twisting in pleasure.

The shutting of the bedroom door ripped you out of your daydreaming. Taking hold of the candle dish on the nightstand, you used it to guide you into the bathroom to freshen up before bed.

After changing out of your dress and into your undergarments, you shuffled back into the bedroom, noticing another door next to the bed. Curiosity took control and it felt as though you floated towards it, opening it quietly as to not alarm Lisa or Bo.

In front of you hung both clothing that belonged to a man and woman-obviously Bo's and Grace's. You decided to check the dresser as well and found another framed photo tucked away under a couple pairs of boxers. This confirmed that you were staying the night in the couple's room. An odd feeling felt as though it was crawling up from under your skin.

Why would Bo give you the main bedroom when his wife was to arrive home at any time? Why did he dismiss your worries about Grace? Where was Bo and Grace supposed to rest tonight?

Millions of these questions raced around your mind, but you decided to get the answers. Checking out the windows, you saw no other cars except Bo's truck outside. You could still see dim lighting from under the bedroom door. Perhaps Bo was just waiting in the kitchen for Grace?

You decided to check for yourself, just for peace of mind. You started with the door across from yours. No soul in sight through the hallway, but lights seemed to be on downstairs. Twisting the door knob quietly, you pushed it open to reveal that you were in Lisa's room.

She laid snoring softly while not even being tucked under the covers, remaining in her day clothes. Stepping closer, you saw that her wrist hung off the bed, something dripping from it resulting in a soft tapping sound. It was too dark to make out what the liquid was without getting closer so you reached your candle beyond and realized that it was blood.

Alarmed, you swiftly turned on your heel and made way in search of Bo. However, your whole body halted abruptly when he mysteriously came into view out of the darkness.

"Sweet of you to check on her, darlin', but she's just resting," he said with an almost evil tone in his voice.

"Bo-Lisa is bleeding," you replied, turning back to the point at her.

"I was just making sure my little girl was gonna be taken care of," he uttered as if the sight wasn't anything to worry about. "It's all part of the plan-the vision," he said coolly.

A bit shaken, you step out of the room with Bo, allowing him to shut the door behind you. He wordlessly took your hand and brought you back to his and Grace's bedroom.

"It's time to turn in for the night I suppose," he sighed as he began to remove his vest.

"This is isn't proper." you voiced, placing the candle dish on the table. "Grace would-"

"She ain't coming back," Bo declared as if tired of the mentioning of her name. "She didn't see the vision, despite me offering a life that wouldn't end-she just couldn't accept it".

"What vision are you even speakin' of?" you remarked and in an instant the silver glint in Bo's eyes grew heavy and his sly smile you knew all too well revealed his sharpened set of teeth.

"The vision I'm offering to open your eyes to darlin'," Bo stated like it was simple as he went back to the shedding his clothes. "The kind where you and I don't gotta worry about what others may think. The life we can live together-forever," he said, kicking his clothes to side and making his way to you. "Wouldn't you want that?" he prompted.

"I don't know," you replied flustered at the intimacy in the question.

"You don't know if you'd want me to care for you, to love you, to treat you the way you've been itchin' for late at night?" he asked as if he had known all along. "I know what my Lisa knows, she catches the looks you give her daddy when you think I ain't lookin'" he smirked.

Bo stepped closer, hands on the hem of your undergarments. You turned your head slightly to avoid his gaze, resulting in mistakenly giving his access to your ever exposed neck. He leaned in and inhaled your scent. His lips barely grazing your soft skin as his hands moved to place themselves at your waist.

"Baby, I could give you that life," he whispered. "Then no one could take you away from me," he added before pressing a kiss along your neck, earning a gasp from you.

"Bo-" you moaned, egging him on to plant more kisses across your exposed skin.

His arms moved to lift you into his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist securely as he walked over to the bed. Bo placed you on the cot gently, watching as you let out of a breath and your eyes widening at the solid state of his manhood underneath his boxers.

"Want me to give this to you?" he asked, his hand softly stroking his clothed cock.

You sat up slightly as you wordlessly nodded, unsure if there was even a wrong answer to his question. Bo smirked at your eagerness and ridded himself of his remaining clothing and you did the same.

"Darlin' you sure are pretty," Bo sighed in awe at your perky tits. "You're everything I imagined you'd like underneath all that ruckus," he admitted as he joined you on the bed. "C'mere baby," he motioned from the head of bed whilst on his knees.

As you scooted closer, Bo turned you around so that you'd be facing the mirror. Your eye lids grew heavy at the sight of the two you naked, skin to skin.

You heard a moan leave Bo's lips as your ass rubbed against his cock. Suddenly it came to you that you've never done nothing like this before. Now the man that you could only imagine of doing this to you was staring back at you from the mirror.

"Bo I ain't never done anything like this with someone before," you rambled anxiously.

"Baby you ain't gotta worry, I'll be real careful." he said, calming you instantly, "Just lean on me and let love on ya," he insisted and pressed his palm to your chest.

You watched as Bo fondled your tits, rubbing your nipples which allowed for the most erotic noises to leave your throat. His hands drifted down south and right where your button was and began rubbing it in a circular motion.

With you back arched, Bo used his other hand to ensure that you were still looking into the mirror. Both of you moaned at the sight, your slick let him know just how bad you wanted him.

You leaned forward slightly as Bo moved your hair onto one side, giving himself access to suckle on your neck. He didn't mind leaving marks that would remain for the next couple days. Neither did you at this point.

Bo was feeding off the explicit noises you let out and the sight alone could've made him come undone. But he wanted to take his time on you, after all, you both waited so long for this.

"Let me in baby," Bo huffed, the thick tip of his length teasing at your folds. "Tell me it's alright that I do darlin'," he pleaded as your slick began coating his tip.

You let out a guttural moan as his face rested on the crook of your neck, the feeling of sharp teeth dragging along your skin. Part of you acknowledged that once Bo turned you, there wouldn't be one bit of normalcy to return to. But you were willing to give it all up. To give everything to him, to have him for eternity.

"Yes," you whimpered as you watched Bo's jaw begin to open. "I let you in," you sighed.

It felt synchronized, the feeling of Bo as he slid his cock passed your folds and into your pussy along with his teeth sinking into your neck. You gasped at the intense pain and pleasure you felt in that moment, Bo's thrusting up into your cunt as he held your arms captive.

Bo loved the taste of you and watching as you gave your entire body to him. Your eyes fluttered continuously as he sucked your lifeline diligently.

"This what you've been wanting darlin'?" he whispered into your ear. "For me to fuck you and make you mine?" he asked, not caring that your mouth was left agape letting all the noises you were making escape.

"Mhm," you mumbled, your body rocking with every thrust.

Bo looked down and watched your pussy take every inch of him. Every time he pulled out the wetter the coating of your slick became. He was in control and finally he was able to have you all for himself.

"How about you let me fill you up baby?" he asked, feeling himself grow closer to cumming with every thrust. "I would love to see myself drippin' out of you like a faucet." he groaned at the mere thought.

"P-please yes Bo," you gasped as his hips snapped into your. "Fill me please," you yearned.

Your moans copied the slamming of his cock, your hair becoming more a mess. A knot began to build up in your stomach as Bo re-adjusted himself and aimed for that sweet spot.

"Oh Bo," you cried as he repeatedly fucked into the spot with no sign of stopping.

"I'm gonna fill you to the brim darlin', don't you worry." he snickered into your ear. "But I wanna make sure come undone for me baby." he said, "Can you do you that for me?"

"Yes b-baby," you assured, which sent Bo over the edge.

Your walls clenched around him as your knot released and hot seed began pouring into your cunt. Bo's thrusts faltered before your both fell back onto the mattress.

"You're mine. Forever darlin'. "

MAY 2025

[404lizzylizard]

Acts of Service

pairing: spencer reid x coworker!reader

tone/content : Flirty, slow-burn workplace tension with classic Reid awkward charm

Word Count: ~1,050

a/n: from the poll yall. I had to download the app on my phone and transfer it🤧. Don’t worrry I come in clutch (not proof read….🧍‍♀️)

It started with the Garcia file.

You distinctly remember it being halfway done — notes scattered, references highlighted, a sticky note with a reminder to cross-check timestamps on page five. But when you opened it the next morning, it was pristine. Fully annotated. Color-coded margins. Footnotes. With APA citations.

At first, you chalked it up to a moment of overachieving late-night productivity. Maybe you'd done it in a fugue state. Maybe your brain was broken. Or maybe Emily had gotten bored and overly helpful after one too many Red Bulls. Wouldn’t be the first time.

But then it happened again.

And again.

By the fourth mystery-completed file, you were suspicious.

You glanced across the bullpen, eyes narrowing. Emily was sipping coffee innocently. Morgan was deep in conversation with Hotch. Garcia was mid-rant about someone in Cyber Crimes who dared call her a “data analyst.” Everyone looked appropriately overwhelmed.

Except Spencer.

Dr. Reid sat at his desk, tapping his pen against his lip while reading over a document — your document. The unmistakable teal header from your case notes peeked out beneath his hand. And was that… your handwriting?

You stood slowly, squinting. Then crossed the bullpen with all the subtlety of a jungle cat.

“Hey, Spencer.”

He startled like he’d been caught breaking into a safe. “Hi! Hello. Hey. Good morning.” His voice did that pitchy nervous thing, the one that meant his brain had already cycled through nine potential exit strategies and decided none of them would work.

You leaned on his desk.

“That’s my case summary.”

He blinked. “Oh. Right. I—uh—I was just reading it.”

“Reading it. Or rewriting it?”

Spencer flushed.

You crossed your arms, trying not to grin. “Reid. Have you been… finishing my files?”

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Define ‘finishing.’”

“Rewriting case synopses. Cleaning up victimology timelines. Adding footnotes in Latin.”

“…okay, yes. But it’s not like— I didn’t mean to! Not at first.” He rushed to explain, words tumbling. “It started because I saw your file on the coffee table and I noticed the timeline had a two-hour discrepancy between when the suspect left the gas station and when the body was found, and I thought, well, that’s probably important, so I checked the timestamps, and then—then I realized it needed clarification, and by the time I looked up, it was…done.”

You blinked.

“And then it kept happening?”

Spencer nodded, sheepish. “They’re just… fun to work on. Yours are fun.”

You tilted your head. “You think my case files are fun?”

He smiled, that shy, endearing half-smile you hated how much you liked. “They’re very organized. And you leave sarcastic comments in the margins sometimes. It’s like… an annotated tour of your brain.”

That one caught you off guard. A little flutter somewhere deep in your chest.

“I thought maybe you were annoyed,” you admitted, quieter now. “I figured you were fixing my mistakes.”

Spencer looked horrified. “No! Not at all. You don’t make mistakes. I mean- statistically, everyone makes mistakes, but yours are minor and usually spelling-related and once you spelled ‘unsurvivable’ with two R’s but I thought it was kind of charming-”

You laughed, covering your face. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

He cleared his throat, trying to regain composure. “Sorry. I’ll stop. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

You glance down at the neat stack of color-coded papers on his desk, your name typed at the top, your scribbles still faintly visible beneath his tidier notes. Something warm unfurls in your chest. You shake your head.

“You don’t have to stop.”

Spencer blinks. “Really?”

You shrug, a little self-conscious now. “If you like doing it, and I still get the credit, I mean… who am I to take away your nerdy acts of service?”

His ears go pink. “Acts of service?”

You smile, grabbing your folder back from his desk, fingers brushing his as you do. “Spencer, this is the workplace equivalent of braiding my hair and packing me lunch. Admit it.”

He looks momentarily dazed. “Do you… want me to pack you lunch?”

You laugh, walking backward toward your desk. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Romeo.”

Spencer watches you retreat, stunned and very clearly flustered. When you sit, you peek up just in time to catch him smiling stupidly at his paperwork.

It happens again the next day. And the next.

Eventually, the team stops asking why your files are always perfect.

But you catch the way Hotch glances between the two of you. The way JJ smirks when Spencer brings you coffee. The way Garcia fake-swoons every time he quietly slips a revised summary onto your desk like some criminal-profiling fairy godmother.

You don’t mind.

Because now, every time you open one of those perfectly polished files, you find a new note — sometimes just a margin doodle, sometimes a quote, once an actual equation that solved a joke you’d made in passing two weeks prior.

Eventually, one of the footnotes reads:

P.S. If you ever want dinner instead of coffee, I’m available.

—S.R.

You don’t annotate the note.

You just write your number on a sticky note and place it under his favorite pen.

[dawnwriterimagines]

Rewriting Part 5 of Traitors Among Us

CLEAR SKIES (A Rewrite)

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x PLATONIC!FEM!READER Rewrite of PART 5 of Traitors Among Us

Traitors Among Us Masterlist

Summary: With your resignation approved, Price discovers you've resigned. You head back to begin to pack your life away from Task Force 141, running into those who've betrayed you.

Author Note: Soooo, I decided to rewrite Clear Skies: part 5 of Traitors Among Us because...I didn't like it as much lol, and it wasn't received as nicely as the other parts. It's pretty much completely different lol. So, here I am rewriting this part! Don't worry, the multiple endings of Traitors Among Us will be releasing very soon...

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Silence filled the air in the Chief Officer’s office, thick with tension. Captain John Price stood rigid, arms crossed, eyes locked on Laswell as she calmly sipped from her tea, her lips set in an almost casual line. He’d expected a straightforward debrief, not this.

“You did what?” Price’s voice was low, disbelieving. His brow furrowed, the anger creeping in like a slow burn.

Having arrived at the administrative building, delivering his mission reports and making his way into Laswell's office. Captain John Price wasn't expecting to receive the surprising news so casually that the woman in front of him had signed off on your resignation, without so much as consulting with him, your Captain.

"I gave her what she wanted, John," Laswell rolled her eyes, sitting in her seat. "I let her go. She was never about to meet with you, and I won't let a soldier like that leave, under my supervision, without some type of severance," she speaks, casually, tapping her spoon of tea along the rim of a porcelain mug. "I do apologize, I was actually preparing a better way to tell you this. Time got away from me, I suppose." Although, Laswell says so unapologetically as she takes her first sip with a hum.

Price blinked, caught off guard by the detached nature of her words. He shook his head slowly, still processing.

"Severance?" Price gritted. "She didn't lose her place on the force, Laswell. She's on temporary leave for recovery not discharged--I would've never--"

"Oh, stop it, John," Sweeping away a few locks of hair, Laswell sits back in her chair. "Even if, would it matter? The girl's petrified of you, if she saw you she might actually kill you," she can't help but release a humored hum. "Willing to turn down her pension, her insurance, just to resign in peace.

She would've never come to you, and you were foolish enough to think she'd stay," she laughs this time at the absurdity of it. "She wanted an out," she takes another sip, shrugging. "I gave it to her." She then slides a few papers her way, preparing to continue her paperwork, interrupted for the second time today.

Slamming a hand over the stack of papers, Price can't contain the expression twisting his face, his anger, his grief. "Let her what?! You stripped her of her title, does she know that? There is no lawful resignation without my signature, what've you done?"

"Well, you are in need of a Demolition Operative now, I will say," she hummed, tapping the spoon against the rim of her mug, her voice annoyingly casual. "I already have someone in mind, luckily for you."

"Operative Gray is an integral part of this Task Force, it's not up to you how I handle my team anywhere outside of our missions, Laswell," Price hardly held his tone.

“Funny, John,” Laswell mused, not looking up, her voice dripping with dry amusement. “I seem to remember you handling a certain... situation under my orders.” Her eyes met his now, sharp and calculating. "Just fine."

Price’s jaw tightened, and the old guilt gnawed at him. “The worst mistake I’ve made on the force.” His voice was quiet but raw.

Laswell’s smile didn’t fade a bit. “No, John,” she said softly, her tone almost teasing now. “Your mistake is thinking you have any authority here that I don’t already have.”

Price froze for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. He reached for the papers on the desk, his hand curling into a fist before he let them go. Laswell slid the stack back across the desk with a single, deliberate motion, then stood up.

As she passed him, her shoulder brushed against his, and he stiffened, barely holding himself together.

“Oh, John,” she said, almost too sweetly. “The military is engrained in all of us. In your blood. In hers. Don’t worry,” she hummed, tapping the edge of a file. “She’ll be back. They always come back. In one way or another.”

"Well..." Laswell shrugs, calmly. "Just never to Task Force 141," she turns back to Captain Price, dismissed him with a wave, leaning back in her chair., slipping a file from her desk. "Not like that wasn't the original plan before our informant came clean, hm?"

Wary, grieving eyes drift away from the Station Chief, chest tight. "Well what about Gray?" Price swallows. "I can't allow her to leave without everything she deserves from her service, I won't."

"Christ, John, you take the fun out of everything nowadays." Laswell’s smirk faded into something more calculating, more serious, before rolling her eyes. "We'll hold off on that for now," before Price can interject, she holds up a new folder, stamped a harsh red CLASSIFIED, it glares up at him. "You and your team have other matters to discuss."

Price hesitated, brows furrowed. He took the folder, the tension in his muscles still tight. He opened it quickly, scanning the document with a sharp eye. His face darkened as he read, the information weighing a heavy burden, but nothing he could say was undeserved.

Lips pressing tight together, John Price presses down into the folder hard, creasing the papers and clenching his jaw. Fuck.

---

The sliding doors open automatically, the lobby going quiet at the sight of your sopping wet figure stumbling through the entrance. Dropping your hands from over your head, you pause to stare down those who held eye contact too comfortably, quickly their stares dropped.

Entering the residential building, it's nearly midnight, the mess halls still quite lively, soldiers prepping for their next mission or staying guard in the halls. Your boots squeak with every step unwarrantedly, trailing a puddle as you shuffle your way down the hallway, face flushed cold from the rain.

The hall seems much too long suddenly, the wet squeak along the marble floor, the damp cling of your clothes to your skin, the uncomfortable twist of your brace around your legs, the pruning of your fingers. You were ready to just lock yourself away in your room, pack and never see even the silhouette of this place ever again.

Rushing to the elevator, ignoring the whispers, the burning eyes on the back of your head, you rub your clothed arms to warm yourself up, soaked to the bone. Stealing a jacket from one of the racks before leaving the building, it wasn't as insulated as you'd hoped but it was better than nothing, or Kyle's pity wear.

Pressing the upper arrow, you wait for it to light up.

It doesn't.

So you press it again. This time it does glow, finally.

...But, no opening.

You wait a few seconds, then check the electronic number above.

1.

First Floor.

You press the arrow again. Waiting for the doors to open.

Clearing your throat, you press down on the down arrow this time. Just open up.

Nothing again.

Motherfucker...

A few heads turn while you press the buttons on the elevator one too many times, taking a breath as you continue to tap on the buttons along the panel. You didn't care as long as it would just open. Up. Down. Up. Up. Up. Down. Fucking somewhere, just open the fuck UP!

"Just fuckin open..." you grit out, attempting to keep your nerves down. For all you knew, Simon or Price, or Kyle or Johnny, could've seen you enter the building, they could be walking up to you right now. The very thought had you anxiously holding down on the elevator buttons, contemplating the stairs but walking was already a hassle with your brace. "Open. Open, open, open!"

"Open!" Your fist coming up in frustration to slam into the panel, the metal creaks and bends back but it doesn't make the elevator go any faster. It does hurt your hand though.

Taking your now sore fingers into your grip, pressing into your knuckles, your nostrils flare and you take a breath. You don't dare turn around as you hear the chuckle behind you, you can feel your teeth already grinding to nubs.

"So, you're the reason this thing breaks down every week, huh?" sliding up next to you, a soldier, lieutenant by the single silver bar on the shoulder of his uniform, his kevlar unhooked and new, prepping for departure. "Ya know, you can't make it go any faster that way?" nodding to the dented panel, before flashing a charmed smile your way.

Narrowed eyes link with his. "Excuse me?"

For a moment, all he can do is stare back, words lost on his tongue as he darts between your eyes, mesmerized. His smile doesn't drop even as he clear his throat, "I just mean, you'll hurt your...hand."

"Oh, will I? I didn't know that," you wonder, sarcastically. Before, hitting the panel again, a louder bang sounds in the hallway, causing attention. "Maybe I'm doing it wrong." A screw comes loose with a cling, your jaw twitching at the sound as he only huffs a humored sound.

"Yeah," he chuckles briefly as the metal falls with a klunk. "You're quite the mechanic."

"Can I help you, lieutenant?"

"Just a stranger, looking out for another, that's all," the lieutenant says simply.

"Ok, Stranger," you speak, this time turning your back as the elevator finally beeps as it descends to the ground floor. You direct your chin back to where he came. "You can leave now."

He feigned disappointment. "Ouch," he sported a playful grin. "I thought we were getting along pretty well."

"Well I'm sure you've got a flight to catch, don't let a stranger make you late."

"The only stranger I've met worth being late for," he says, genuinely.

"Oh!" Surprised, you glance away from him. "Subtle," you take a step back, uncomfortable with the space between the both of you now. You lean against the edge of the elevator door, it dings again, your knee brace wasn't helping your leg pain at all.

His charming smile fades, brows lifting as he quickly backs off, reading the lines. "Oh, sorry, I-"

"No," you clear your throat, hearing the ding of the elevator behind you. "No, no I'm just..." your hand goes to your ring finger, you used to fidget with your engagement ring all the time, there used to be a tan line imprinting it along your skin, now that same finger was scarred up to the nail. "I'm just not the flirting type right now." Your hand tensing up, balling into a fist, you'd nearly forgotten...

"Ah," He notices, clearing his throat, embarrassed at himself. "You're with someone."

You wanted to scoff at that, not anymore.

"No," Your knuckles cracked. "Just uninterested." Your hand falls to your side. The years you'd spent loving Simon, adoring him, fighting beside him, all that time...it was painful to know it would all just lead up to this. But, it was easier now to just feel nothing because it ended such a way.

The elevator opens and the both of you looks back towards it.

The lieutenant's eyes flicker back to you. "M' sorry," your brows lift in question. "About your...lover."

"He's not dead," you say.

His lips press together, thoughtfully, before nodding once. "Sounds like quite the guy."

"No idea," you scoff, an understatement indeed.

After a moment of silence, the elevator door, with a squeak, beginning to close. The persistent stranger puts his hand out before you have to, fully stopping the closing door before it can seal, taking a large step to catch it.

You froze as he unintentionally corners you, for the moment take him in, analyzing every detail as you'd always done as a soldier. His hair and clothes damp from the rain, cheeks flushed for a reason you weren't sure of.

He reminded you terrifyingly of Simon. Though the two had to be quite different in all capacities besides ranking and muscle definition.

He's tall, wide broad shoulders, a scar curved through his left brow to his temple, green wide eyes and he smelled...warm, was the only way you could describe it. You're sure his skin would feel as so.

You were quite cold from the rain, though you've been freezing ever since that day and you've never gotten past the phantom cold, eager to be warm again.

Not once in this disturbing, cold and humiliating event had you ever felt a moment of comfort. Of warm, loving comfort. A single embrace would destroy your every resolve. Not a minute, not a second, not a breath of warmth.

Your eyes flicker up, surprised to meet his staring back, seemingly taking you in the same way. His hand leaving the opening elevator door, to rest above the wall above your head. He was close enough for you to feel the leather of his kevlar against the back of your hand, for once your first thought wasn't to push someone away. His gaze lingers on the fresh scar beneath your eye, the tinted pink fading in the white of it.

"You shouldn't do that," you breathe.

There's nothing good here left for you anymore.

You're no longer a soldier.

"Do what?" he asked.

No longer apart of the Task Force, no longer apart of any of this.

And the scars you'd be left with just for being here...

Bringing your hand up to your face, running over the raised, ruined skin, your jaw tightening and your lips pressing together. You shift to the side, your hand finding the handle grip along the sides of the elevator doors.

He notices, straightening, awkwardly. Swallowing thickly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to, uh..." he squeezes his fist, as if berating himself internally. "--that's quite the memorabilia." Again his expression twists at his own question, fist squeezing, that was a dumb thing to ask.

"It is," you grazed the tender flesh of your scars. "Isn't it."

"I'm sure you've got quite the story."

Lips pressing together hard, fingers curling into your palm as if your own scars had burned you.

"Um..." going into detail meant a lot of things you didn't want to confront right now, pressing the button for the elevator again, it opens this time. "I appreciate the conversation, stranger. But, you should go."

"I'm sorry-" he realized he'd touched unsavory ground, voice lowered with regret. "I didn't mean..."

"It's fine," you swallowed thickly, taking a breath. "It was nice to meet you truly."

He follows you to the divide of the open elevator as you step in and though the divide, turning to see his face, desperate for a glimpse of yours.

Your stranger speaks soundly. "Wes."

His name you realized, you press your lips together, thoughtfully as he stares at you, not expecting anything in return, seeming peaceful with you just...knowing. The elevator doors slipping closed. You say nothing else, but you can't help but look at him differently, humming softly. You supposed he was no longer a stranger.

"Ok..." you managed a meaningful smile that struggled to begin. "Wes, then."

You could see the relief in the drop of his shoulders.

As the metal doors ding in preparation to close, you catch a glimpse of someone beyond your persistent stranger, as he turns to leave.

An approaching figure that enters the building, exiting the rain with heavy steps, dragging his feet along the marble, a black mask painted white along the curves of his mouth and nose, a skull. Stalking the halls like the ghost he preferred to be, Simon.

And he haunts you as so.

You hardly notice as the doors begin to close, a sinking feeling in your stomach erupting as you made eye contact with Simon Riley.

His slow, deliberate steps become nonexistent, he's instantly rooted to the floor, you were sure he'd even stopped breathing.

Though you felt your blood run cold, your chest squeezing violently with ache, and a rage in your soul that begged you to claw his fucking eyes out and rip out his heart like he'd done to you weeks ago, you didn't freeze.

No, instead your hand comes out, taking the closing end of the elevator door. It pauses with an electronic strain of its gears beneath your resistance, while you stare unblinkingly at your Ghost. And it opens again with a light ding.

Simon's eyes widen a fraction, he straightens noticeably, hopefully. His hand coming up, pulling at his mask, the skulls creasing down to reveal himself to you, but he'd remain as so...your ghost.

"(Y/n)..." you can hear the whisper of your name from his lips, but you've turned from him now.

Stepping forward and off the divide of the elevator, you take Wes by the arm, pulling him back around to you, his eyes are wide in surprise, innocent enough to have never expected more from your encounter and unable to find the nerve to speak smoothly now that you're making a move.

"Sorry..." you breathe to him, before reaching up and pressing your mouth to his.

It's not a messy kiss.

It's hardly a kiss.

But, it gets the message across.

You had loved Simon, completely and utterly. There was no punch or kick you could ever throw at Simon that could convey the collapse of those feelings.

So this, was the next best thing.

As Wes melts into your lips for the brief moment of surprise intimacy of a stranger, you cup the back of his neck, as you've done many times for Simon. Eyes opening to gaze back to your ghost, and as you do, you're not surprised to see him practically looming over the two of you.

He's a mess of himself. A fraction of the man he was before. A ghost of himself.

But, he'd always been a ghost to be feared.

As Wes's hand climbs up to grip at your hair, you retreat back, tucking your hair back and taking a breath.

Your guiltless eyes blink up to Wes, "You should go."

Hardly given a moment to recuperate, still reorganizing the thoughts you'd taken and filled him with all in the seconds you'd spared him with. He, rightfully confused, breathes. "What?"

"She said, you should go."

As Simon speaks, voice heavy with emotion, anger and resentment but most of all hurt, PAIN. Only then do your lungs fill with air again, untainted by the weight of your fears of him, of broken dreams and memories your defiled love.

"My dead lover's risen again," you speak, sarcastically. Staring down the hollow-eyed man, "A ghost."

The metal doors close with a light thud.

And so, maybe you had no fear of him anymore. Maybe you were tired of being frightened. Whatever it was had more guts than you had the energy to have in the last few weeks.

Because the next thing you know, you're shoving past Wes, blood red in the tint of your vision, your fingers expertly popping the gun out of his holster and you take your aim at Simon.

He doesn't flinch.

Neither do you.

Your finger is steady on the trigger. And you pull.

---

The subtle light of the safe house cast shadows across the room, the usual tension of Task Force 141 momentarily replaced by an air of anticipation. Everyone knew but you. Ghost stood slightly apart from the group, his mask hiding the myriad of emotions that flickered beneath. He’d planned this moment carefully and yet being trapped in a safe house during the night of the dinner he'd planned for you both wasn't apart of it. It was still meant to be tonight.

Your lover stared at you in the reflection of the window, catching your beautiful eyes in the glass, they sparkle and his bones feel liquid and he nearly loses his grip on the velvet box. What better time could there be?

Ghost turned to you, pulling his mask away, revealing Simon Riley, garnering your attention with a surprised stare, "What's...goin' on?"

His deep voice steady yet laced with a rare vulnerability. “Wherever you are, I wanna be,” he took a step. "Wherever you go, whether you like it or not, I'm goin' too."

"Stalker," you quipped, though your voice could barely reach a whisper as you stared at the tiny box in his hand, watching as he came closer.

He cracked a smile, but he continued. "Everywhere you are, anywhere you want to be, if you'll let me, since you're right...I just can't stay away," he teased, watching as you short circuit as he approaches steadfast. "...and if you want me, as you'll have me...I wanna be everywhere you are."

The team fell silent, the weight of the moment sinking in. Price raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk dancing on his lips, while Johnny tried to stifle a grin, Kyle cursed quietly shifting in anticipation. "The best thing I've ever held onto in this life is you. It will always be you."

Simon takes the closing steps to you, watching you closely, the two of you sharing the same overwhelming expression, though yours freer in its willingness to express. He was being serious. This was really happening. "I can't imagine taking on this life of chaos without you."

With a small, almost hesitant movement, Simon revealed the velvet box. The flicker of metal caught the light as he produced a small box, his hands surprisingly unsteady. His eyes momentarily flickering downwards before gathering the nerve to look you in the eye again. “We’ve been through hell, we're in the aftermath of it now, another glimpse not far behind, but there’s no one I'll ever know, that I’d rather have by my side.” He dropped to one knee, the rest of the team exchanging glances, a mix of excitement and surprise evident in their expressions. "No one but you."

As Simon kneels before you, your heart races, disbelief clear on your face, brows furrowing into each other, watering as you look to him, all your feelings flooding your senses. His words echo in your mind, and the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you.

“Marry me...” His voice was firm, yet you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he waited with baited breath, his shoulders halting all movement as he wouldn't take a single breath until your answer. "I'll choose you. I'll choose you every time..." The room held its breath, the only sound the quiet rustle of fabric as the team leaned in slightly, as if to witness a moment that transcended their usual world of warfare. "Marry me..." his voice is a breath against your skin.

You feel your heart race with feelings that seared itself into your soul, a moment that would never leave you, your vision blurred with tears. "Simon..." the world narrowing down to Simon and the hope in his gaze. The silence was palpable, a shared moment of vulnerability among seasoned soldiers. Finally, you nodded, emotions swirling as a smile broke across your face. “Yes,” you laughed with a sob, nodding as you wiped your face. "Of course, Simon. Yes!"

Simon rose, slipping the ring onto your finger as cheers erupted from the team. The laughter and joyful roars of Task Force 141, your family, fade into the background as you focus solely on Simon, the man you love.

Johnny clapped Simon on the back, Price grinned widely, laughing heartily in glee, and Kyle let out a whoop of approval. In that moment, amidst the chaos of their lives, there was a rare glimpse of hope and happiness—a reminder of what they were truly fighting for.

---

The clouds, still held hostage by the night, moved almost imperceptibly through the midnight air, the rain having stopped by now and the stars taking action to be seen beyond.

You breathe evenly, stroking the broken skin of your knuckles, smearing the blood that still leaked through and picking at the dried specks of it along your nails.

Heavy hangs the air as you sit in your silence, nothing but the light scrapes of your nails along your own skin. Then, a heavy padding of footsteps outside the door, your eyes drawing to the movement as a shadow pulls along the flooring of the lighting beneath the doorway, the door clicks open.

A round-faced, army suited man, your attorney, enters the room, behind him two men standing at attention, stomping his dark boots down onto the old wood eager to be noticed, lifting a document to read. "Sergeant (L/N), due to potential endangerment of yourself and your fellow man, you are to be supervised continuously throughout the night until the remainder of your scheduled departure from central Orloz Military Base.

From there, as requested, all contact will be terminated, all personal and packaged requests, terminated. All inquiries, all personal and otherwise familial advises for continued contact, terminated. Due to the nature of your injuries and the unprecedented circumstances brought upon by the events of June 23rd 2023, you've been pardoned from additional..."

What use is there listening to more?

Leaning your head against the cool glass, you let yourself fall blissfully unaware of his voice, drowning in the sea of your own mind.

You stare down at the scars enveloping your hands, your wrists, still raw and sensitive even now. Along your ring finger was the imprint of your engagement ring, it would fade with time, but nothing else would.

You felt so blind, so dumb for thinking this family was ever real, that they were anymore than colleagues, soldiers of war. An idiot for believing in Ghost, believing that he was more than the soldier you'd fought beside for a decade.

Who would've thought things would've turned out this way.

The weight of everything—the heartbreak, the disappointments—were pressing down on your chest like a block of cement.

Letting the absent, warm tears fall down your cheeks, soaking into the dampness of your shirt.

You press your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, but the overwhelming feeling spiraled further, tightening your throat till it hurt.

---

Simon's face is burned red with scratches, blood smeared along his face. His hand holds tight to your wrist, the gun having long fallen from your grip, the entryway still smoking from a missed fire.

Your teeth pull at Simon's exposed skin, biting down on the skin of his wrist until you can feel it snap away from the bone, resistance failing the muscles.

With a pained groan, Simon pushes you back into the metal doors of the elevator, "Stop this, (Y/n)!" he hissed at you, as he locks you into his grip, cornering you as soldiers come forward at the commotion.

"You promised," came your voice, your mouth filled with blood, a chunk of his flesh from your mouth as he shoves your neck into the metal divider, keeping you as still as possible. "You promised you'd choose me..."

Simon's twisted expression unravels as he hears his own vowed words from your tortured lips, seeing glimpses of the woman he's always loved in the livid, scorned woman he'd left behind in that cell.

"(Y/n)..." he began, his grip loosening.

Clicks of rifles and heavy booted steps filled the dormitory, interrupting him. "HANDS UP!"

---

"...if you're in understanding of these terms, we can proceed as stated."

"...Yeah," you whispered. "Understood."

"Thank you for your service, Sergeant (L/N)," he saluted shortly, before picking his beret off the table and walking out of the room. "Your assistance to the dormitories will be available shortly."

So, when he leaves, claiming to be back to escort you back to your quarters, you sit there. You sat there for hours. Or maybe it just felt like it. Either way, it didn't matter.

This time tomorrow you'd be off base, no longer a soldier but a citizen of no one, with no one to turn to and disowned by your family...

What was there to look forward to now?

Your hand comes up, tracing the water lines running down the glass, the ray of light from the street lamps that burn into the room, stinging at your eyes and lighting up the evening.

A streak of red follows your stained fingers.

Dried blood melting off your skin and running down the glass, falling slow.

Nothing to look forward to at all...

Multiple Endings coming soon. The end of Traitors Among Us... STAY TUNED

ENDING ONE

[horrorhot-line]

metanoia

(n.) the journey of changing one’s mind, heart, self or way of life. 

➵ pairing: saiki kusuo / immune! reader

➵ word count: 14.2k

➵ genre: of avoidance and coincidences

➵ warnings: none

➵ summary: s1 ep 3. for the life of you, you couldn’t understand why your peaceful life had been turned upside down. no matter what you did, you always found yourself dragged into saiki’s problems. worst of all? at first you wanted nothing to do with him, and slowly, without even realising it, you didn’t mind being around him as much. 

➵ masterlist  (requests are open)

➵ previous part - serendipity

horrorhot-line © 2020. all rights reserved.

before you read:

‘saiki telepathically communicating with reader.’

‘reader thinking or interacting with saiki through thoughts.’

“saiki talking without moving his mouth.”

“saiki talking using his mouth.”

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

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

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

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Your plan to swerve the scary psychic you had the pleasure of calling your classmate worked well enough—until 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 très 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 watch— 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 it— 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? 'No— 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 brai— 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 right— 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! Très 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 très 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 crowd— 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 him— 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 true— 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 scene— 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, alright— 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 speed— 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 face—" Chono cut himself off when he looked down at the hat he took off his head. "—PICO!" 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 ended— 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. Wait— 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 background— 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 fu— 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 right— 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 trick— 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 why— 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 très 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 truck— 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 finally—' 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 it— you had to admit, this was far more entertaining.

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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 though— 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 existence— 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 on— 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 tantrum— which he was. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot— 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.' 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,  guys— 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/n— 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.' 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, Kusuo— 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 irresponsible— 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.' Wow, Saiki sure was cold, dissing his father like it was nothing.

'I guessed all that already— 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 it—" 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 nice—"

'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 question— continuing his not-so-inner monologue, 'She's a caring soul— well, to me.' You were taken aback when the sweet air around Mrs Saiki changed to something sinister. "—But, 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 bi—h!" Mrs Saiki looked extremely pissed off, a tick mark appearing on her face. Hang on— 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 bad— earthy with a slightly citrus finish. Don't let the name fool you— 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,' Saiki continued to eat the coffee jelly, turning away from his parents to take another bite, '—and 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 jelly— 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't— 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 husband— 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! Ah— 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 have— are a sham.'

Your brain hurt— 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, me—'

'Don't forget me, buddy. I didn't ask to be dragged into this.'

'—Those 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 lunch— you can have it, Kusuo."

When you called him by his first name without thinking, having heard it so many times today from his parents— 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.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

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 clothes—when 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 letdown— 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, yeah— 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 co— 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 Très 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 time— 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 view— 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 that— 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 and— 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 would— 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 crate— 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." 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 Micheal— 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 wait— 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 show—" 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 me— 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/n— 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, Kusuo— you need to come back.' You winced at the heavy concern lacing your voice— 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 could— 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 lie— 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 eyebrows— 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 alight— 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? Wait— 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 way— 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 box— 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 psychic— what did you expect? Of course, he'd make it out alive.

'I know. I said I liked TV because it can still surprise me— 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. "Très 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 next—" 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 come— 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, yeah— 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 head— 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?' 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?' 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 close— 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 with— 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 tsundere— 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 read— 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 hair— what a day.

You were too busy dealing with your inner turmoil to realise that Saiki had stayed for more than three minutes.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

Nothing had changed the next day at school— 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 yourself— 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," 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 some— 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 least— 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 worse— 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 involved—' 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 you— do a better job choosing your other friends.' 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 what— the whole place was trashed, and the words dark reunion were plastered on the wall. The graffiti had been your handiwork.

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"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.

"Ku— Ku— 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, too— 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 friends— 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, yeah— 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.

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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. "N—no. Th—that's not true. I know how to swim, jerk! I—I'm not afraid of the water." You almost felt bad for him; why was he here again?

'Well, he's turned on the waterworks.' 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? Hah— so long, sucker!

You looked from Saiki to Hairo whose pants had slipped when he ran to save Kaidou from drowning, Nendou— 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 sand— 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 that— 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 eyes— 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 swim— 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't—" 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 do— 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.

"What— 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 out— 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." 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.

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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 was— 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.

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next part -  anemoia (coming soon!)

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