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fortunxa · 2 months ago

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THESIS: DEVOTION . . . (nsfw)

I Think, Therefore I Beg

# cw. sub-top!reader, power bottom!Jinx, oral (Jinx!receiving), thigh riding/humping (r!receiving), loser!reader, free-use!reader, degradation, taunting/teasing, dumbification, worshipping, r!passes out, fwb(?), smut with plot, college au, “aftercare”/soft Jinx moments. mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ

# wc. 2.4k + short bonus

Jinx has a type. not the loud ones, not the cool ones. no—she has a soft spot for the shy, brainy girls. the ones who can’t quite meet her eyes when she smirks at them, who flinch when her knee brushes theirs under the table, then apologize like it wasn’t the best part of their day. those are her favorites.

they’re easy to spot—blushing behind thick glasses, nervously fiddling with pens or sleeves, trying so hard not to look when she stretches just a little too far or speaks just a little too slowly, hearts already halfway in her hands before she even smiles.

she likes the way they react to her. one offhand comment laced with innuendo, and they short-circuit—eyes wide, throat tight, cheeks burning. it’s addictive. she likes watching them come undone and likes the way they try so hard to keep it together when she leans across the table, fingers brushing theirs. her voice is low and syrupy sweet as she asks them to “just explain that one little part again.”

she doesn’t need the help, of course. she’s smarter than most people on campus, probably smarter than some of the teachers, but that’s not the point. the point is watching those sweet girls fumble over their words, cheeks flushed, thighs pressed tight under the desk while she twirls a strand of their hair and hums like she’s thinking of something much more interesting than equations.

it fascinates her, watching how far they go to keep her attention, how easily they fold when she says please in that low, honeyed tone that turns yes into a reflex. she never has to lift a finger—unless it’s to trace lazy little circles on a thigh while they work, just to see how long they can keep their hands steady. sometimes, she murmurs praises into their neck, low and slow, and watches them squirm like she’s lighting them up from the inside out.

and the best part? those girls are givers, desperate to please. Jinx will bat her lashes, pout a little, and suddenly her assignments are done, her projects are perfect, and her inbox is full of carefully written notes with highlighted sections and color-coded tabs. all because they want to impress her. all because they want her to stay. chasing her approval like it’s the only grade that matters.

she likes what they can do for her—in every sense. those shy little things, trying so hard to be good, will do anything to keep her attention. and Jinx? she makes damn sure they never know if she actually means the things she says, or if she’s just playing with her food.

because when she crooks a finger or tilts her head with that wicked little smile, her nerdy girl of the month will come running—books in hand, heart pounding, already apologizing for being two minutes late. it’s adorable, really. the way she scrambles to impress, how she lights up when she so much as acknowledges her.

Jinx loves making smart girls stupid, and this time? you’re her victim.

it’s routine at this point—one that you follow like a well-oiled machine. she’ll stretch out across her bed, headphones in, humming to some glitchy beat while you fumble with her laptop, trying to perfect her assignment or fix her code. she’ll barely glance at the screen, just stroke your hair and murmur lazy praise when you get her formatting right.

and that praise? it’s currency. one “good girl”, and you’re glowing. one moan, soft and breathy, and you’re working harder, always hoping to be rewarded.

and she does reward you—when she feels like it. sometimes, she lets you put your mouth on her while she scrolls on her phone, legs thrown over your shoulders, only glancing down when you make a particularly pretty noise. other times, she makes you wait, just to watch your frustration bloom.

Jinx doesn’t care if you break. in fact, she wants you to. she wants you to shake and sweat and whimper from the effort of pleasing her. she expects nothing short of full devotion—and she always gets it. she only has to say, “be useful,” and you will do anything—begging, shaking, soaked through your cute little panties—just to hear her moan.

that was her favorite thing. how girls that smart can still fall apart for her. how all those degrees and good grades don’t mean shit when she has her legs spread and a hand in your hair, lazily pulling as she reads through the essay you wrote for her like it's a bedtime story.

and you love it. you love being used, love the challenge of keeping her satisfied. she edges you for hours while you beg into her thighs, and then she just grins, purring, “c’mon, baby. smart as you are, you still haven’t figured out how to make me come?”

you love every second of her ignoring you in public but curling into your lap in private. you love being ordered to type while she straddles your thigh, grinding slow and lazy while you try to keep your hands off. try to stay focused. try to be good.

so when your phone lights up with a succession of messages, you don’t hesitate to snatch it up.

jinx [9:47 PM]

hey brainiac

you’ve been so good lately, thought you deserved a treat

(it’s me. i’m the treat)

you’ve got like 10 mins before i start faking it with a pillow

that’s it. not even an emoji to soften the blow.

and it still hits you like a fucking spell.

your stomach drops, heat pooling between your legs so fast it makes you dizzy. your hand is shaking as you grab your keys, leaving your laptop open, the essay you’ve been outlining still blinking at the top of a google doc titled ‘DRAFT 3 - FINAL (for real this time).’

it’s ridiculous how fast your body responds to Jinx’s voice—even when it comes through a screen. your mouth is dry, your thighs already slick. every erratic step closer to her dorm feels like your brain is shutting down and your cunt is taking over, like your body knows exactly what it’s going there for.

you barely knock. just the softest brush of knuckles—more habit than necessity—before you push the door open with trembling fingers. and there’s Jinx, lit by nothing but her purple LED lights, sprawled out across the bed like temptation itself, waiting in a hoodie and thigh-high socks. she’s grinning like a spoiled dream, legs parted to display the lack of underwear, eyes half-lidded with the kind of smug boredom only someone worshipped too often can wear.

“there she is. my favorite little honor roll slut,” she greets, voice low and ruined like she’d been waiting with fingers between her folds for longer than she’d admit. “you look like you ran.”

you stand there in the doorway, chest rising too fast, sleeves bunched in your fists like you’re trying to hold yourself together.

you’re not doing a very good job.

Jinx tilts her head slightly, that slow, lazy grin tugging wider at her lips. “well?” she drawls, voice a husky thing wrapped in smoke and heat. “you gonna keep panting in the doorway, or are you gonna get on your knees and make the walk worth it?”

that does it.

you stumble forward like you’ve been yanked by a leash, the door clicking shut behind you. each step is half-mindless, guided more by want than will. she watches you crawl across the bed, eyes wide behind your glasses, lips already parted, trembling with the kind of reverence most people save for altars. because that’s what she is to you—something holy. something sharp and shining and above you.

Jinx doesn’t just fuck. she gets worshipped.

and now, there you are—her favorite little overachiever. so good. so smart. so utterly fucking wrecked already.

no words. no breath. just mouth on cunt—moaning as soon as your tongue meets slick, licking like you’ll die if you don’t get every drop. you lick up, then down, then in, sucking her clit into your mouth like you’re trying to memorize the shape of it, earning a groan as she throws her head back.

“god, you’re such a fucking sucker for this pussy,” she gasps. “i could probably get you to drop out if i let you live down there.”

she spreads her legs further and leans back like a goddess, licking the inside of her cheek while you work. your mouth is open, your jaw is shaking, and your cheeks are wet from something you can’t even name anymore by the time she comes for the third time. sweat, slick, tears, spit—it doesn’t matter.

“good girl. now do it again,” she simply whispers after coming back down from another high. “and maybe i’ll let you rub that filthy little cunt on my thigh.”

that’s all the motivation you need. glasses fogged and askew, fingers curled into her thighs like you need something to ground you while your mouth moves with the kind of desperation that doesn’t come from hunger—it comes from need, from obsession.

because that’s what you are. Jinx’s obsessed, overstimulated little genius, so smart on paper and so fucking dumb for her. the kind of girl who begs to be useful, who gets off on obedience, who’s already grinding her soaked little cunt against the bedsheets while sucking Jinx’s clit like her life depends on it.

she lets you struggle. lets you sob into her skin and tongue-fuck her like you’re starving. you’ve been there a while—maybe too long—trying so hard to make her come, again and again, needing to hear that low, lazy purr of approval. she doesn’t rush you. she doesn’t help you, either.

she just watches, calm and pretty, hips shifting just enough to guide the rhythm when you start losing it, jaw locking. Jinx knows just how long to keep you down there—long enough for your thighs to ache, long enough for your brain to fog over, long enough to make you forget yourself.

you lick her like you mean it—flat, deliberate strokes of your tongue from base to clit, slow enough to make her hips twitch, hard enough to make her throb.

and when she finally shatters again—soft and slow, spine arching, breath caught on a quiet gasp—you whimper like you’ve been blessed, collapsing after, face buried in her thigh, body twitching from the effort. she doesn’t say thank you. she just glances at you like you’re something cute and wipes a thumb across your soaked lips.

and you get lucky tonight—you worked for it, after all.

“c’mere,” she says softly, still coming down from it as she pats her thigh. “you’ve been so good. go ahead. rub that soaked little pussy on me.”

and you obey fast, clumsy, nearly falling off the bed in the rush to kick your panties off, knees red and sore as you straddle her, already apologizing under your breath for how wet you are before you even start moving. your hands grip Jinx’s shoulders for balance as you drag your swollen clit on muscle and skin and nothing else, grinding down in slow, stuttering rolls, making obscene little wet sounds.

and you must’ve done something really right, because she doesn’t push you off after you come for the first time that night. she doesn’t push you off after the second or third, either.

“uh—fuck—please—” you’ve been at it for what feels like hours, your rhythm messy and sloppy now, like you’re chasing something you can barely hold onto. you’re sweating, sobbing, leaving claw marks as you rut down, again and again, slick smearing across skin like you’re trying to fuse with her. all that intelligence and you’re just humping her thigh like a bitch in heat.

you’re dumb for it now. absolutely, irreparably stupid—babbling nonsense, half-words, desperate little gasps. you used to correct people’s grammar, now you can’t even form a sentence unless it starts with please and ends with Jinx, body jerking every few seconds like it can’t decide whether it wants more or less. it stopped being about pleasure a long time ago. you don’t even feel your cunt anymore—just heat, pressure, friction.

“you’re so fucking gone. riding me like the whole semester depends on it,” she taunts, voice low and full of delight. “what happened to all those big words, baby? what happened to my honors student?” a sound tears out of you—something between a sob and a moan—but you don’t answer.

your brain is fucked.

“you don’t know how to stop, do you?” she whispers. “so smart, and now you’re just… stuck. dumb little thing fucked herself into a loop.”

no answer.

and then—between one gasp and the next, between the frantic roll of your hips and the whimper that follows—it slips out:

“i love you—fuck—Jinx, i—”

soft. shattered. mindless.

Jinx hears it, but doesn’t say a thing. doesn’t stop you, doesn’t react. just sits back against the headboard, half-lidded, one hand on your waist as you keep fucking yourself into oblivion.

it’s not the first time someone says it, but this? this is different, because you don’t even know you said it. and somehow, that makes it worse. she’s not thinking about it, not really. just replaying the sound in her head—those three words, cracked and filthy, pulled from a mouth too wrecked to lie.

“c’mon, baby,” she finally whispers. “be my little dropout and come for me.”

your body jerks once, violently—hips slamming forward, clit catching just right—and you shatter, a silent scream falling from your mouth as your pussy pulses in waves you can’t ride anymore.

and then you collapse, right there in Jinx’s lap. she catches you before you can slump backward, arms looping around you just as your head drops to her shoulder, breath stuttering. she pulls back just enough to see your face—peaceful, lips parted, out cold.

out. cold.

she blinks—once, twice—then laughs, low and slow, rubbing a hand down your back as your soaked cunt still flutters against her thigh.

“holy shit,” she whispers breathlessly, grinning into your damp hair. “passed the fuck out on my thigh,” she murmurs, voice soft with something dangerously close to fondness. “guess we found your limit, huh?”

she doesn’t move for a while, simply watching you. blank-faced at first, expression unreadable. then, slowly and carefully, she reaches for the edge of the blanket and pulls it over your bare shoulders. not tucked in, not coddled. just… covered, like a quiet little claim.

she sits back against the wall, hoodie half-zipped, her thigh still damp, her breath finally starting to level out. normally, this is the part where she gets bored, where the affection fades, the attention drifts, and she starts thinking about who she’ll get her mouth on next month.

but then she looks at you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face with a surprisingly soft touch. “might keep you around.” a pause. “might not even fuck it up.”

── .✦ BONUS (for the lover girls) ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

you’re curled up in Jinx’s bed, both of you warm and clean and full of leftover vending machine snacks. you’re drowning in her hoodie, hood up, sleeves over your hands, a granola bar only halfway eaten resting on your chest like you’ve been too exhausted to finish chewing while your thighs are still twitching every now and then like your body hadn’t figured out how to stop remembering the orgasms.

she reaches for a bag of chips, opening it with her teeth. “okay,” she says, shoving one in her mouth, “serious question.”

you groan, half-asleep. “if it’s about sex, i’m gonna cry.”

she grins around a crunch. “it’s always about sex.” she grabs her phone from the nightstand, opens notes, and starts typing. “you’re lucky,” she says. “you’ve been selected for an exclusive, post-orgasm academic assessment.”

“no,” you mumble, immediately dragging the covers over your face.

“too late. i’m the professor now. pop quiz, bitch.” Jinx peels them right back, uncovering you. “i call it—‘Am I Allowed to Fuck You Again Yet?’”

you can’t help but groan once more. she just pulls you a little closer, then clears her throat dramatically. “question one: can you walk?”

“no.”

“honest. good. bonus point.” she keeps typing. “question two: is your pussy still thinking about me?”

you cover your face with both hands. “Jinx—”

“is that a yes?”

a whimper. “unfortunately.”

she kisses your forehead as a reward. another chip, another line. “question three: are you emotionally prepared to be fucked into oblivion again right now if i promise to kiss your thighs after?”

“Jinx.”

“that’s not a no.”

“that’s a crime.”

“still not a no,” she whispers, grinning. “god, you’re acing this.”

you bury your face in her shoulder, half-laughing, half-mortified.

“question four,” Jinx says softly, suddenly quieter. “do you feel safe?”

the answer comes fast. certain. “yes.”

she looks at you for a long second. no teasing. just… that look. then she drops her phone, pulling you tighter, and whispers into your hair: “cool. then i’ll wait.”

she reaches back and grabs a half-empty water bottle off the nightstand, passing it to you gently. “bonus question: are you emotionally prepared to feed me a granola bar while i grind on your thigh for ten minutes like a perv?”

a deep, slow sigh. “…i will if you stop asking questions.”

Jinx’s eyes light up. “consent confirmed.”

the inspo (durrrrr):

1K notes · View notes

anisespice · 1 year ago

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“ baby steps ” || tokyo rev.

continuation of this post.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ mikey, ran, sanzu ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, ANGST w/ comfort (mostly in mikey's), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be A LOT of errors :// mikey's is LONG, ran + sanzu's are silly goofy, mikey + sanzu's are a lil unhinged lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: can i just say thank y'all so much for showing "accidents happen" the love that i didn't think it would get, it was made on a whim so i'm so so so happy y'all enjoyed! i tagged as many as i could (or that tumblr would allow) sorry if i missed some of you :( thank you for your patience and let me know how you feel about this continuation format :) !! notes ii: also also, pt. 2 for "accidents happen" coming soon! notes iii: MY COMPUTER CRASHED AND I THOUGHT I LOST EVERYTHING BUT IT'S OKAY IT'S OKAY :'))))

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @illegalspacecow , @captaincyberqueen , @cherryblossiren , @niragiswhore , @awkwardaardvarkforever , @valentsoup , @lovely212 , @miffysoo , @yandere-kouhai , @i-am-just-a-girl-ur-honor , @wisteriarose214 , @kindadolly , @yuwaimo , @sweetbella1221 , @simpingfor-wakasa , @sirachano0dles , @yutahg , @slowlikehonee , @blurpleuni-squid , @haruchiyoreen , @istanstraykidss , @loyard176 , @msluccapotato , @luv444lay , @backgroundcharactera , @jegelskeranime

Ever since you picked up your daughter, there’s been a hovering presence that wouldn’t go away no matter where you went. From the park, to the grocery store, all the way home it clung to you like a bad itch. Despite looking over your shoulder and being met without any sort of threat, that didn’t stop the uneasy feeling. And it only intensified when you received a knock on your front door.

You made a confused hum, checking the time on the microwave to confirm that it was indeed past the reasonable hour for potential visitors. Not to mention, you weren’t expecting anyone.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, instincts telling you that something wasn’t right, that your best option was to pretend you weren’t home. However, the person on the other side knew otherwise as they knocked on the door again, this time with more fervor. You inhaled sharply, taking hesitant steps towards the door until you were mere feet away from it. Eventually, you worked up the courage to look through the peephole, your brows furrowing in distress when all you could see was black—They were covering it. All the more reason not to open the door…

What if it’s a robber? Ridiculous, they don’t knock.

What if it’s just the neighbor? Why cover the peephole?

More and more did your mind swirl with endless possibilities, each one becoming less and less believable. Taking a long, deep breath, you doubled-checked the door-chain was on before slowly cracking it open. And as you attempted to peek through the sliver, nothing could’ve prepared you for the arm that forced its way through, startling you as you yelped, stumbling back as it made a grab at you.

Before you had the thought of shoving the door closed on the offender’s arm they grabbed the little chain, then yanked it clean out of the wall. To your terror, a dark hooded figure entered your home, head hung low, concealing their identity.

You began to hyperventilate, backing up to keep distance as they staggered further into your home before kicking the door closed behind them, effectively blocking you from the exit. Surely, someone heard your scream and would check in, or call the police. But, how long did you have before the intruder decided to make a move? Not to mention, your sleeping child just down the hall…

With that last thought in mind, you immediately steeled your nerves.

Even if you had to use your bare hands, you were going to do whatever it took to keep your baby out of harms way.

You reached for the closest weapon without taking your eyes off the figure, hands clasping onto a discarded umbrella that was leaned up against a closet door. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. Taking a defensive stance, you prepared for what you assumed to be the inevitable.

“I-I don’t know who you are, or what you want…b-but if you don’t leave…my..my boyfriend will be home any minute! H-He knows how to fight, and he’ll fuck you up if you try anything!”

Your means of intimation fall on deaf ears. It were as if you hadn’t spoken at all. They just…stood there. Watching you from the darkness. That feeling, that hovering presence you’d been weary about all evening…there was no doubt in your mind it was because of this individual. Suddenly, they gave a watery chuckle, hand coming up to rub the lower half of their face as the chilling noise dissipated into soft snickers.

You sweatdropped. “I mean it! He’ll be here real soon, so you better get out of here before-”

“[_____]…” the figure finally rasped, voice heavy with an emotion you couldn’t decipher in the moment. You froze, eyes widening.

“…How the hell do you know my name?”

Without much urgency, they stepped forward into the light. Beneath the warm glow, it took you mere seconds to recognize the person standing before you. You gasped, trembling hands dropping the umbrella, it landing with a harsh clatter. Soft, mortified hitches in your breath echoed through the small space, memories flashing before your eyes as you covered your gaping mouth.

“M.. Ma..” you whimpered, throat tightening. A shell of a man, who gazed upon you with stormy eyes flooded with tears at the mere sight of you.

He gave another strained laugh, muttering to himself as he soaked you all in. “Needed to know.. Needed to know it was really you…”

Mikey eyed you up, intensely, eerily silent as he did so. Then, he took in the surroundings, the warmth, the interior, the smell of dinner—It truly felt like a home. A bitter pill to swallow once he reminded himself that you built it without him.

His sharp gaze returned to your stunned expression. He sneered.

“Must’ve been easy for you. To forget me and move on, just like that. Like I was nothing.”

You blinked, taken aback. All you could do was remain speechless, cemented to the ground with thoughts and questions racing in your head. Now matter how many times you opened your mouth, no sound would come out aside from choked whimpers.

“Do you know…how long I’d been searching for you? Been mourning for you?” He hissed through clenched teeth. “When you left, I thought… I thought someone had taken you. That I lost you all because I was too stubborn to say I’m sorry…”

As he spoke, Mikey slowly closed the space between you. The more he came into the light, the more you could see how the years had treated him. His cheekbones were more pronounced, the dark circles under his eyes as well. His lips were dry, cracked, his fair skin now ghoulishly pale. If not for the black hoodie you would’ve mistaken him as such; ghost of your past.

Your shoulders shook, hands hovering over your face as you gaped in disbelief. He’d been looking for you?

That night, that stupid fight you could barely remember…he made it crystal clear that he wanted nothing to do with you. He pushed you away. Pushed so hard that you almost believed he really wouldn’t have cared if you dropped dead. You knew he didn’t mean it, knew it was just another dark impulse…but none of that mattered when all your pregnancy tests came back positive just hours prior.

That night, you made the decision for the sake of your daughter. And also, for his sake. At the time, you were certain he wasn’t ready to be a father. He was quick to rage, merciless, losing himself to the darkness you tried to protect him from. If you had stayed, you were certain Mikey would’ve never forgiven himself if he lost control in front of his own flesh and blood, if the child grew to resent him for something he struggled to control.

You thought you were doing him a favor…but it appears to have done the opposite.

“And this whole time…you’ve been here, alive. Playing fucking house with someone else.”

You stiffened. Someone else? Your visible confusion only irritated him further.

He scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. You said it yourself. Too bad he won’t be coming home anytime soon. I’ve already got Sanzu and the Haitanis looking around for the bastard. And when they find him, I’ll make him regret sticking his filthy dick inside you.”

Confusion morphed into realization. You did threaten him with said hypothetical boyfriend…But, that was before you knew it was him!

“Oh, Manjiro…” you whispered. He glared, scorned.

“Don’t you dare pity me. I mean, you got the family you always wanted, right? So who cares who it was with, right? Congratu-fucking-lations.”

You shook your head, exhaling deeply as you held your face in your hands. For years, he thought you dead. Then, when he received word of your appearance, he finds you with child. And not once did he consider that child to be his? It’s like…he couldn’t fathom the thought.

If only he had looked just a little bit closer, he would’ve seen that she had his eyes. How they resembled those pools of ink that used to shine with so much hope back in his youth, so playful and full of love…those same eyes that now gazed upon you with contempt.

It stung.

He thought so low, not only of himself, but of you as well.

Taking a deep breath to reel in your emotions, tears began to well up in your eyes. He assumed they were tears for your doomed lover, further breaking his heart as Mikey clenched his fists to the point of nearly drawing blood. Luckily, even though you struggled to find the right words, someone else happily found them for you.

“Papa..?”

Both of you instantly drew your attention on the toddler standing near the kitchen, one fist clutching her blanket while the other rubbed the sleep from her eye. You glanced at Mikey, and he was stiller than stone. His once dead-stare had morphed into what could only be described as incredulous. Surely, he heard her incorrectly…

With a sniffle, you crouched down to address her, offering a soft grin as you nodded earnestly. “That’s right, sweetheart. Papa’s finally come home.”

The little girl blinked sleepily, taking a second to reboot. But, as soon as the words registered, a bright smile stretched across her face as she excitedly rushed towards Mikey, throwing herself onto his legs and hugging them like a koala as she chirped, “Papa, home!”

Said man hobbled a bit at the force, arms windmilling as he caught himself to keep from falling backwards. He didn’t know what to do with himself, especially when those big, round pools of ink opened and stared right up into his soul. Mikey’s heart nearly stopped. With a hitch in his breath, the gangster did everything he could to hold his composure, looking between you and the child as you both gazed at him with so much warmth…it was suffocating.

Sensing he was overwhelmed, you reached down to scoop up the bubbly bundle, holding her close as you eyed Mikey, apprehensively.

He resembled a cornered animal—Muscles stiff, jaw tight, eyes wild. After a moment, Mikey began to slowly back away into the shadows of your home, conflicted, devastated. It wasn’t until his back hit the door did he eventually fall to his ass, of which caused your child to giggle at how silly he was being. However, all you could do was hold back tears, watching as the reality started to weigh down on a man who just discovered he was a father.

Nervous, you gently explained. “I didn’t leave you because of our spat, Jiro…and I never moved on. I just…thought that I’d be doing more harm than good sticking around when I found out I was pregnant…I didn’t want to add any more stress on your plate, so I…”

Mikey didn’t respond. He sat there, stare vast and unfocused. But, you knew he hung on to every word. So you continued. “I wanted to tell you. But…I wasn’t sure how. At the time, I believed you had stopped caring about me altogether. And to hear you’d been looking for me, I-I’m…I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you harbored all that guilt. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

Your daughter wiggled around in your hold, making small grunts in complaint. Her eyes were trained on his figure huddled in the dark, wanting to be acknowledged, wanting his attention. “Papa!”

Mikey flinched. He focused his gaze on the two you, haloed by the light emitting from the living room. You both were like salvation, reaching down to a broken sinner…How could she want anything to do with him? When he had missed so much already…

To keep from accidentally dropping her, you placed your daughter back on the ground, watching wearily as she wobbled all the way to Mikey, blanket in tow. You weren’t worried about him hurting her, far from it…if anything, he appeared to be the fragile one.

Eventually, she made it to her destination, standing before him with a curious, but eager expression as she rested a hand on his knee. Mikey watched her, took in all of her features, every last detail as he engraved it to memory. She was beautiful, just like her mother. One would think his genes didn’t stand a chance. But the eyes. That was all him. From his mother to his older brother to himself, there was no doubt in his mind that those were Sano eyes.

His lower lip quivered, reaching out hesitantly to caress her cheek. She didn’t cower away, merely babbled as she began patting his knee, allowing his thumb to rub over her chubby cheek. You clasped your hands over your mouth, growing even more emotional at the delicate moment. Mikey looked enamored already, eyes subtly sparkling from what you could see as they interacted.

“I-I told her stories, about you. And I made sure to show her photos, too. Old ones, but still you nonetheless. I wanted her to know who her father truly was. Despite everything else…”

Your daughter cooed, then placed her blanket in Mikey’s lap before climbing into it. Mikey didn’t dare move, rigid as she made herself comfortable. He looked up at you, looking for guidance, for reassurance. Your encouraging smile was enough for him to hesitantly place his hands on her small back for support, carefully adjusting so that she was stable. She laid her head on his chest and stuck her thumb in her mouth, sighing contentedly.

And, for the first time in years, he smiled.

When you hadn’t seen her familiar pigtails bobbing around, or heard any of her excited chatter with the receptionist up front, worry couldn’t even begin to describe what you felt the moment you realize…your daughter wasn’t here.

As soon as the meeting looked like it was wrapping up, you politely excused yourself from the room. Masking your worry wasn't too difficult, but there's no doubt a couple people might've noticed the spring in your step as you exited. One of them being Rindou Haitani. He watched you speed down the hall with mild interest, corner of his mouth ticking up ever so slightly as he thumbed around on his phone beneath the table. Having been updating his older brother during the meeting while he was on his smoke break, he was more than eager to inform him of the storm that was no doubt heading his way.

Little did the younger Haitani know, he was already dealing with one.

"And then, Haruka-kun tries to take Momo-kun's bento box because she had cuter animal shapes, but Momo-kun already said no, and so Haruka-kun pushes Momo-kun, and then tries to take it! But I pushed him and hit him with my fist, like this," she clenched up her tiny fist and held it up to Ran before striking down on his forearm with all her might. It didn't even pitch. "Like that."

The lavender-eyed man merely gazed upon her with mirth. "Did you now?"

"Mmhm! And teacher got so mad, and said that she would tell Ma about me fighting, but she's stupid because Ma didn't pick me up today, and I told Haruka-kun if he snitches, I'll beat 'em up!"

Ran lowly whistled. "Quite the little menace, ain'tcha?"

She pumped her fists. "Yeah!" Then, she paused, holding a finger to her chin in thought. "Wait...what's a menace?"

"Ah, something you inherited from your old man." He ruffled her hair, much to her displeasure. Though her innocent jab earlier regarding his age still hit a sore spot, he was starting to like the sound of it. She, on the other hand, wasn't convinced.

"I already told you; Ma was on her happy juice when she said that. She said not to believe anything she says when she's on happy juice. It makes her do silly things."

Ran chuckled. He knew that all too well. The little girl wouldn't be in this world if not for your inability to hold your liquor. But judging based on how you've raised her so far, clearly you made the right decision keeping him in the dark.

He'll admit, he wasn't the best in terms of commitment. Throughout his day to day, Ran just didn't have the energy. With being in Bonten, keeping an eye out for his younger brother, handling business, dealing with numbskulls and disposing of their bodies, there was never a time to even consider settling down. One-night stands and on and off flings were the easiest choice. At least, until he stumbled upon you.

You were the whole package and more. Classy, independent, witty, and a looker to top it all off. When Bonten started collaborating with the organization you worked in, he couldn't help but to be drawn to you—Like a moth to a flame. It started out as the occasional bantering, trying to one-up the other, catch them off guard. Ran was smooth with his words but could never quite beat your sharp tongue. Thus, things escalated to something more flirtatious. Harmless, but it didn't take long before the months of tension between the both of you began boiling over...and throwing alcohol into the mix, it was the first time Ran finally felt like he had the upper hand. Seeing how poorly you handled just a few glasses of wine, it endeared him. Seeing a piece of you that no one else had the privilege to witness. Your sloppy side, the clumsy, whiny, touchy side. After that long, passionate night beneath the sheets, the one time you and Ran allowed yourselves the space to be vulnerable with one another...you found yourself pregnant. And Ran found himself being nonethewiser.

He wonders, if he hadn't left the next morning and completely ghosted you...would you have kept him in the picture?

Suddenly, his phone dings. Reaching back to pull it from his back pocket, Ran half expected it to just be another update on the meeting or Rindou cursing at him to hurry his ass back inside. But, it wasn't that at all. And at the sound of your kitten heels rushing out of the building and halting at the top of the steps, Ran didn't even need to look up to know who was glowering down from them.

"Hey, Ma! Guess what, the purple man isn't such a meanie after all!"

Ran snorted, finally looking up from his phone to greet the woman who not only still had his heart, but evidently his first child. You, on the other hand, weren't so thrilled to see him.

"Rika. Wait inside. Ma's got some words for the purple man."

He smirked. "Wanna say 'em over a glass of wine?"

"You son of a-!"

"Bad word!" Your daughter covered her ears. You flushed, your composure nearly slipping just by being in his prescence. Ran, immediately seeing the opportunity, teasingly pouts at you whilst covering her tiny hands with his larger ones, shielding her.

"Honey, please, not in front of the child. Can't have her repeating those dirty words at school, can we?"

You fumed, speaking through clenched teeth. "Haitani, as soon as I get her in this building, away from you, I swear to God, I'm gonna wring your neck."

He hummed, amused. "Well. Guess she didn't get her violent side from me after all. Speaking of which, did you know at school today-"

"Hey! No snitching!"

“...What did you say?”

You were hoping you heard the teacher wrong. Surely it was just your exhaustion taking the wheel. But, when her kind smile didn’t falter, nor did her gushes for the supposed “adorable display”, you immediately grew suspicious.

While heading home from work, you went to pick up your children from daycare. And when you arrived, the teacher merely informed you that it was already taken care of by your very handsome and very devoted husband.

“I-I think you’re mistaken. My boyfriend and I aren’t married…”

The teacher, finally coming back down to earth, tilted her head in confusion. “Eh? You aren’t?”

“Did he…say we were?”

“Well, no. I just assumed since it was easy to tell who he was here for. Hikaru and Kaoru look so much like their daddy.”

You choked on your spit. Hikaru and Kaoru look so much like their daddy. Hikaru and Kaoru look so much like their daddy.

You did everything in your power to keep from strangling the poor woman. Sure, she didn’t do anything wrong per say…but she sure did make a grave error. And your struggle to restrain your intrusive thoughts must’ve shown on your face from the way she placed a concerned hand on your arm. “Are you alright, miss? You look like you’re about to faint.”

“M-Mhm, yep, great, just peachy.” You squeaked through clenched teeth, sweatdrop on your forehead. “Could you um…confirm something for me?”

“Uh.? Er, sure. I’ll try my best.”

With tense shoulders and a tight smile, you asked, “Their…father…did his mouth have two scars in the corners?”

The teacher blinked, confused. Shouldn’t you already know that answer yourself?, she was probably thinking. And she would be right; you did know. But her simple, hesitant nod was the final nail in the coffin that was your delusion—Haruchiyo Sanzu had found you. And to make matters worse, he had the children.

Your smile faltered, twitching ever so slightly. Covering it with a forced chuckle, you cried, “Oh, that’s..wonderful! He’s always been self conscious about them, and I’m j-just.. beaming with joy that he’s embracing them more. Have a nice evening, Ms. Yuki.”

The teacher didn’t get a chance to respond as you quickly turned on your heel and began speed walking home. You’d apologize for your abrupt exit another day…right now there were more important matters to worry about. For instance—How on earth did Sanzu find you? How did he know about the twins and where they were? Oh, God…did he know about Satoru?

Dialing him up a few times only for the calls to go straight to voicemail weren’t reassuring in the slightest, having you rush across oncoming traffic just so you could avoid any further delays for your fraying nerves. You could see your apartment complex up ahead, heart thumping in your throat at the familiar, black SUV parked a couple blocks down. Had it not been for the heavily tinted windows and no license plates, you probably would’ve overlooked it. He knew where you lived. Stomach in knots, muscles stiff, nerves shot. You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or devastated. Your kids were safe at home, but at what cost? You stood in front of the building, rooted to the ground. Despite mentally preparing for this exact scenario for years, it all went down the drain the second you went to that daycare and discovered your children were missing.

It wasn’t until your phone vibrated did you snap out of your thoughts, shakily pulling the device out of your back pocket to check the notification.

from : unknown 1:06 pm “ hi, mama.~ ”

Your stomach twisted. Attached to the message were two photos.

The first photo was of your kids eating McDonald's in the kitchen, happily cheesing and waving at the camera. You couldn't hold your choked gasp, hand coming up to hold your quivering lower lip—They were safe.

The second photo...was of Satoru. Tied to a chair, gagged, and beaten senseless. And standing behind him, holding him by his hair so that he could pose for the camera, grinning like a cheshire cat...

Another message pops up. Your grip tightened around your phone.

from : unknown 1:09 pm " daddy's home.~ "

#🍁wasabi #*weakly holds up to the light*#it...is...FINISHED #tokyorev #tokyo revengers #tokyorev x reader #tokyorev headcanons #tokyo revengers x reader #mikey x reader #mikey sano #manjiro x reader #manjiro sano #ran x reader #ran haitani #sanzu x reader #sanzu haruchiyo

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ari-sa · 6 months ago

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·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻

roommate!geto x reader. part three

cw: mdni. smut, a little bit of breeding, oral (f!receiving)

a/n: part three! thank you all so much for the support on the first two parts!!<3

this will probably have one more part but i wanna try to make it as more of an actual drabble/fic rather than this headcannon format!

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻

roommate!geto who you go looking for at 3am when you’ve had a nightmare.

roommate!geto who says “you alright baby?” when he sees your tall, slender figure at his door-

as you walk up to him, teary eyed in your cute sleep shorts and tank top, he opens up his blanket to welcome you in. he sleeps only in his underwear?

he kisses your temple as you get into bed before covering you both with the blankets and taking his spot behind you. does everyone's roommate care so much about them?

roommate!geto who presses his hard on against your back while he cuddles you <3

roommate!geto who spoons you all night and peppers open mouthed kisses down your neck and shoulders~

roommate!geto who’s touch you lean into because it feels so genuine and sincere~

roommate!geto who starts fondling your boobs until he’s on top of you kissing you-

you finally get to feel his tongue piercing when he swipes his tongue against yours.

he slowly works his way down as he’s undressing you- worshipping your body as he uncovers it. littering your body with love marks. how long has he waited for this moment?!

roommate!geto who’s hands roam your body while he eats out your pretty pussy~

you let out a moan when you feel the cold metal of his tongue and lip piercings against your sensitive clit.

roommate!geto who literally whimpers when you say “please sugu, I need you”

roommate!geto who’s favourite position is missionary because he loves watching how your facial expressions change with every thrust

“shit baby, this pussy was made for me- you’re taking me so well”

roommate!geto who goes crazy when you scratch your nails into his back~

roommate!geto who's thrusts become so animalistic and rough. all he can think about is your abused cunt overflowing with his load. you'll finally be his~

roommate!geto who’s face flushes when he tells you he loves you as he stuffs you full of his cum~ “fuckkkk, I love you so much baby”

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hhhwnr · 21 days ago

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ꨄSweet enough — S.R

masterlist + navigation

author’s note: a soft little scene I couldn’t get out of my head <3. This is my first time writing in tumblr format and in English, which isn’t my first language, so please be kind. I will appreciate any input on how to improve my writing/ tips / etc, but only in a respectful manner ! :)

genre: fluff/domestic. word count: 774.

pairing: soft!Spencer x reader. (established relationship)

Warnings: none! Just domestic fluff about Spencer and reader cooking together on their day off. Reader is a scientist in research but I’m not sure if it’s relevant to the story.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

“You know baking is a science, right?”

Spencer asks, raising one eyebrow as you crack an egg into the bowl with reckless confidence.

“I thought I could get away from work for one day,” you say with a smile. “But no—science still finds me.”

It was the first quiet moment you’d shared in weeks. Between his cases, your research, and flights across the country—not for vacation, unfortunately —this lazy afternoon at your place felt like stolen, precious time. Domestic, slow, and completely yours.

“You know, back in the 1960s, boxed cake mixes were really popular because they were quick and convenient,” Spencer says, handing you a spoon. “Originally, you didn’t even need to add an egg—the mix had everything included. But sales started to drop because many women felt like they were cheating, like they weren’t really baking. So, companies changed the formula. They made it so you had to add an egg, just to give people the feeling they were more involved in the process. And it worked—sales went back up.”

You smile as he talks. God, how you loved his facts. You let him ramble non stop, even if you were a little lost in the amount of information he had reserved in his mind, you made sure to listen.

Most people don’t. They dismiss his excitement, call his facts useless and tune out attempts to share those little pieces of knowledge— like that time on the jet when Agent Seaver said, “Sorry for asking,” right as he started one of his rambles you would’ve found fascinating. It stung, even if Spencer didn’t say anything.

Besides, it’s Spencer Reid, your boyfriend we’re talking about here. How could you dismiss the ramblings of the love of your life, standing in your kitchen with a ridiculous pink apron on, rolled up sleeves that revealed his absolutely beautiful hands that you adore so much.

“I think that’s stupid,” you chuckle, looking up at him. “People complained about baking being too easy?”

“Apparently,” he says, laughing softly.

You pour the batter into the dish and slide it into the oven, brushing a bit of flour off his chin. “Good thing we’re doing it the hard way. Just for the authentic experience.”

“Very authentic,” Spencer agrees, leaning lightly against the counter. “Flour everywhere, questionably measured ingredients, and a complete disregard for time.”

You bump your hip into his. “It’s called freestyle baking. You wouldn’t get it, Doctor.”

“On the contrary,” he says, his voice softening. “I think I’m starting to like it.”

There’s a pause—not awkward, but familiarly charged, in the sweetest and most domestic way. The kitchen hums around you, the oven ticking, the warm smell of vanilla starting to fill the room.

You glance up at him, already watching you with that look—gentle, curious, like you’re a puzzle he’s happy never solving.

“What?” you whisper.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head slowly. “You just look really… happy.”

“I am,” you say, stepping closer. “Are you?”

“Mhm, very.” He almost purrs.

And then he kisses you—soft and unhurried, like there’s nowhere else to be. You taste sugar on his lips and warmth on his fingertips as they slide to your waist, his palm settling there with easy familiarity.

Your hands glide up to his shoulders, pressing yourself closer, closer, closer — so there will be no way to tell where you end and he begins.

Spencer’s kisses are never rushed, never urgent. Just good. Familiar. The kind of kisses that makes you want to forget the cake entirely and just stay in the moment.

He holds you close, one hand warm and steady on your waist, the other one on your cheek, caressing it like the slightest pressure might break you. His lips move in slow tandem with yours, and you can taste the sugar and the raw, sweet batter he insisted on trying “for research purposes”.

Spencer’s tongue brushes against your lower lip in a silent question for slipping in, and you let him. You don’t devour each other — not really. Rather slicing piece by piece from each other — gently, tenderly, incredibly sweetly so, like you’re the most precious thing in the world, and so is he.

Eventually the natural need for oxygen wins, and both of you pull away — slightly flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

“You know,” you whisper, your voice hoarse a little. “You’re going to make me burn this cake. No chance it turns out edible.”

Spencer’s grip on your waist tightens slightly, and his hand returns to your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin.

“I’ll eat it anyway, even if it’s terrible.” He says with a boyish grin.

Thank you for reading ♥︎

#spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #soft spencer reid #fluff #domestic fluff #spencer reid fluff

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interact-if · 1 month ago

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Writing Spotlight: Infamous (Interview)

We had the great pleasure to interview Amy, author of the massively beloved IF Infamous (@infamous-if). She shared some tips, tricks, and insights on her approach to writing.

One of the most notable things about Infamous is how quickly readers get sucked into its world and invested in its web of characters — be it Orion or Blake or G or Victoria or the slightly controversial Seven. They are all incredibly multi-faceted, complex, and sometimes heartbreakingly real.

Amy says:

“I’ve read something by a writer once that I’ve followed faithfully: you should always know what’s happening in the other room. Even if it won’t be available to readers, it helps establish the world and characters as real, tangible things that don’t just poof out of existence once they walk ‘off-screen’ so to speak.”

Here’s the full interview:

1. What drew you to interactive fiction as a storytelling medium? Did you have any experience writing in other formats before, and if so, would you say there’s any differences in the way writing for IFs should be approached?

There’s so much about writing interactive fiction that I love, but I think the main one is the freedom that comes with it! There are so many ideas I can explore, so many endings and storylines. It’s just as fun for writers as it is for readers to push the limits of what their world and characters can do. You can truly sink your teeth into it and develop the story in ways you don’t see often.

Coming from writing traditional fiction and having never written an interactive story before, I did need to change my mindset a little. You have to learn to be flexible. Very often, I’m writing routes I wouldn’t particularly take as a reader, and it’s interesting to go against my gut to offer a varied experience. I’ve discovered a lot of fun things about Infamous and its characters from routes I would never take if I were reading it in another IF!

2. What does your writing process look like?

I am a plotter to my core! I am endlessly envious of writers who can pants their way through a scene or a chapter. I need to outline every single beat, every scene, every conversation. The plot comes to me first and then I slowly build the main character around that and ask myself what kind of story I want to tell with that main character.

The MC in Infamous leans heavily into the ‘underdog’ trope. That’s how I got much of MC’s personality from. The main thing I ask myself when building the main character is: what do they have, what do they want, and what do they need? I use that to inform the rest of the cast and the stats. My main goal is that every piece works in tandem with the others. They all make sense in my head!

3. What does good writing / good characters / good world-building etc. mean to you, and what are some central tenets or principles you follow to achieve that?

A story that gets me invested is a success in my eyes. I want to care for the characters and feel like the world is one that truly exists somewhere. I’ve read something by a writer once that I’ve followed faithfully: you should always know what’s happening in the other room. Even if it won’t be available to readers, it helps establish the world and characters as real, tangible things that don’t just poof out of existence once they walk ‘off-screen’ so to speak. The characters had lives before the story started, people they knew and things they’ve experienced. It informs their personalities and builds them what they are once you meet them on page.

The world is still turning even while the main character is asleep. Things are still happening everywhere…even when we don’t see it. That’s how I try to approach every story to bring it to life.

4. What’s one piece of advice you’d give to someone just starting out in interactive fiction?

Be firm! It’s so easy to get swept up in the excitement of having an audience and wanting to keep that audience. It’s not uncommon to make the mistake of overpromising to please every reader. You won’t be able to, trust me! You’ll only write yourself in a corner. It’s healthy to find a good balance between sticking to your gut and accepting/being open to suggestions.

A tinier one but: know your endings! It’s best to know what you’re writing toward. It’ll be so much easier to stick to the story and avoid meandering through the plot if you know how each route ends. Everything I write is to get to that ending in one way or the other.

5. Where do you find your ideas or inspiration for new stories or mechanics?Where did your story idea originate? Has it strayed far from that concept/evolved during the writing process?

I guess it’s quite on brand to say that almost every story idea I’ve had came from a song, Infamous included. My head is always thinking of songs as potential needle drops or playlists as movie soundtracks. Infamous in particular, was formed from Brie Larson’s cover of Black Sheep in the Scott Pilgrim movie. It features a Battle of the Bands sequence that made me want to read a story with the same concept. I scoured and scoured for a band IF that scratched that particular itch but didn’t find any. Eventually, I gave in and did it myself! That’s one of the best parts of the community; you can just do it.

Surprisingly, this is one of the few stories of mine that hasn’t strayed far from the original idea. I think it helps that I’m writing exactly what I wanted to read once upon a time.

End of interview

—

A big thanks once again to Amy for her insightful answers, and @veswrites-if for taking the time to coordinate the interview. Hope that this was a fun and interesting read.

Stay tuned for more of these interviews :)

#interactive fiction #cscript game #author interview #writing Spotlight #writing tips #infamous #interview series #author feature

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horrorhot-line · 26 days ago

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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

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.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

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.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

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.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

"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.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

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.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

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.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

next part - anemoia (coming soon!)

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

2025 taglist:

@too-many-fandoms666 @nikolaisfingersinfyodorsmouth @crescent-bluemoon @beehoppingaround @budijojo @shrewbles @art-missy @zenmiren

comment below to be added <3

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

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dancingaliensfics · 2 months ago

Text

Remmick NSFW Alphabet

This is pretty self explanatory. I haven't really formatted this or proof read it, I'll do that tomorrow. Right now I'm tired and need to sleep lol but I wanna get this posted since it just came to me. Wrote this in my notes app bc I couldn't be bothered opening docs, thats how quick this came to me lol so theres not even spell check really.

I do personally prefer sub remmick but I've tried to have a mix in here of both because I think it's more realistic to him as a character. I might add some more stuff it tomorrow idk.

Warnings: nsfw content, mentions of drinking blood, one section with gore mention that you can skip, idk i can't remember tbh

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He doesn't like to clean you up after sex. Not because he doesn't care but because he likes how you look all dirty and messy. So cleanup is out of the question unless you're willing to wait 30 minutes for him to have his fill, by which point he's usually ready to again lol. He does like to cuddle though, he's quite a physical guy and keeping contact with you is important to him.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He really likes your hands. I've made a post already about how he likes to have your fingers in his mouth and i stand by that. So i wont say too much about it again here.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's nasty guys. He like to cum on you. His favourite place is probably your stomach but he doesn't really care where as long as he can see it dripping down you. He cums a lot and because he's a vampire he can go again pretty quickly, probably after like 10 minutes, so by the end of the night you're covered. He also likes to spread it around with his fingers cause he's a weirdo.

He will absolutely eat his own cum. When he cums in your mouth make sure to kiss him afterwards because he loves it, it gets him hard so quick. Or you can just scoop it up with your fingers and push it into his mouth.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Ok I have two things for this. The first one isn't particularly scandalous but it is something I think he'd be embarrassed by. When he's alone and feeling himself he imagines you and him back in his home town from when he was alive, living a quiet life in his childhood home. He loves to imagine you in the dresses the pretty girls used to wear when he was young. Honestly he creates pretty vivid scenarios, bringing you flowers back after a day working on the farm, putting your children to bed after dinner, undressing you slowly, pressing soft kisses to your shoulders. Climbing into bed together and just making gentle love before falling asleep in each other's arms. He keeps this a secret because it goes against his whole philosophy that vampirism is a gift. You two can't have children, atleast not in that way, and he'll never be back in that little house on the farm.

Now for the actually dirty one. I'm not really sure how to explain this but I'm gonna try my best. Basically he likes being told to use parts of you. Like for example, being told he can only use your thighs or your hand to get off. There's something so degrading about it that just really gets him going. It's another one that he wouldn't be able to verbalise, but having to make himself cum while only being able to rut against the sole of your foot or the space between your thighs is humiliating in a hot way. He doesn't have specific body part fetishes, he's not into feet or anything specifically, it's just being told he can only touch that part of you i guess.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Very but also not. He's had a lot of sex and he's very good at it, but he doesn't have much experience being vulnerable and having that Intimacy he would have with you if you're in an actual relationship. Remmick is also not very experienced with being cared for by someone and wanted in a way that goes beyond the physical. So yes, he can give you the best night you've ever had, but hold his hand and promise to stay with him forever and he's a bit stumped.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes to look at your face so you'll often find yourself in some variation of missionary. Tbh I don't know all the fancy names and neither does remmick, he just wants to look at your eyes. He's quite fond of prone bone though and anything that let's him look up at you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He definitely goes back and forth. I think simply through his nature or being a vampire, sex isn't always serious for him. He's very old and doesn't view sex in the same special way mortals might, especially in the 30s. But that doesn't mean it isn't special when he's with you. He always values your Intimacy together and often will be quite serious, especially if he's in a more melancholic mood. But he's a Goofy guy, he doesn't take things very seriously and he makes jokes in inappropriate situations that don't usually land. Obviously a lot of his silly guy persona was fake, but i think it's also clear from other interactions where he's trying to really connect with people that remmick is quite an odd guy and that does bleed through into sex. Sometimes he just does weird or random stuff. So yeah I think sex with remmick is a real mixed bag when it comes to seriousness.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is not groomed at all. He is quite hairy and doesn't see a problem with that. He does trim every so often, but being from a time where shaving body hair just wasn't a thing, he doesn't often think about it. He has a lovely happy trail that leads right from his navel all the way down. He has thick dark curls down there that run wild. If it really bothered you, you could ask him to groom more but I don't think he would. He likes a hairy bush and doesn't get the modern fascination with hairless pussies and balls so he has no interest in it on himself. I just really isn't something he thinks about.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Sex with remmick is always very intimate. Even when it isn't serious, the Intimacy is always there. There's a few reasons for this really. The first is that sex with remmick using involves one of you bleeding, and the exchange of blood is something he sees as very meaningful. It's not only his food source, the thing he survives on, but he also still has many old world believes about humours and the transfer of energy through blood. The second reason is that sex is one of the few times remmick will be vulnerable. You can really break down those walls and see another side of him, especially if you've been at it for a while. And the last is that if you're also a vampire, you and remmick have a mental link that connects all of your feelings, sensations and thoughts. There's really nothing more intimate than that.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He does it a lot lol. Being in a relationship does nothing to slow him down. Whether you're away from each other, in another room or sat right in front of him, it doesn't matter, he loves to feel himself up. He actually is quite a voyeur and loves to Jack off while you watch, especially if you give him instructions on how to do it. He also loves to have your smell around him while feeling himself, whether it's by just straight up sniffing you or from something of yours he has with him. He always takes something of yours with him when he goes on trips away, usually underwear or a scarf since those have the strongest scent but he'll even take a handkerchief if you offer it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Honestly, it's probably easier to list things he isn't into. But I'm gonna touch on one isn't haven't really seen or talked about before. Remmick is a masochist. He's also a sadist but there's plenty of fics about that. He loves being hurt. Honestly sometimes he goes too far with it, and he really needs a partner who cares about him enough to draw that line. He talks a big game but he has a lot of self hatred he refuses to acknowledge and pain is a good way for him to ignore that. So its good to put him in a control environment where you can make sure he doesn't go too far. Slap him, choke him, bite him, scratch him. He loves it all.

He also likes to be treated like a dog. I've mentioned this a few times on my blog now haha so hopefully I don't become that girl, but he is really into that. Make him crawl on his hands and knees, tell him to pick your hands, let him hump your leg, he loves it. He likes to lick your face a lot which can be a bit icky but indulge him. He like to be punished and rewarded, it's a good way to keep him in check. And he likes this dynamic outside of the bedroom as well. Send out on errands and call him a good boy when he does well. Give him head pats when hes good and smack him when he's bad. Ah I can't get carried away here.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere and everywhere. I've already talked about this but he will fuck you on the side of the road or in the middle of a bar he doesn't give a shit. He likes for people to watch and he likes to be dirty. But there is something special to him about a private bed, it's somewhat nostalgic and makes his old man brain feel good or something I guess.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Again, anything and everything. This man is so horny, he is ready to go 24/7. But simple things like the wind blowing through your hair, watching you walk barefoot through a field or the smell of you as you walk past, are often the ones that do it the most him. Oh and watching you perform, if you're some kind of artist. That really drives him wild.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don't thing he likes the thought of really degrading someone he's actually in love with much. Don't get me wrong, he can be a mean dom when he wants, but I don't think he would ever do something that would actually make you feel bad. His whole world revolves around his partner, they're his god in a weird, possessive way, and he wouldn't do something like brand you or insult your physical appearance. He would also never make you feel bad about your personality. While he might call you a slut or pathetic, things like insulting you for being needy he just wouldn't do. I think he also would be interested in others degrading you. So while he enjoys bringing others into your sex life, it's purely for them to service you. He'll never tolerate someone insulting you in anyway.

He also won't let any of the fresh vampires near you because he doesn't think it's a good idea. Even if you're also a vampire, they can be too rowdy and he doesn't like it so yeah there's a waiting time for anyone freshly turned.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

HES A MUNCH.

Cmon we all know that. This man loves eating pussy, day and night. If it was possible he would never stop. He loves the taste, the smell, the feeling of your legs squeezing his head. He just can't get enough. He eats like man starving, and he laps that shit up like a dog. He also moans so loud while eating you out. He honestly doesn't like 69 very much because he wants to focus on the task at hand lmao.

I also have to say, he loves sucking dick. He find it so relaxing, he could honestly fall asleep with a dick in his mouth. He loves to struggle on a big cock and he loves to take a small one fully into his mouth. The one thing I'm sad about is that I don't have a dick for this man to suck because it really is one of his favourite things.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Ah it really depends. His mood changes quite quickly and that influences how he fucks. A session can start out one way and change up half way through. There's not much consistency with Remmick.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Remmick loves a quickie. He'll ask for them all the time, at every opportunity. God forbid you have to be somewhere on time because he will stop you at some point to ask for a quick fuck. Most of the time he asks for a quickie though, it isn't so he can fuck you, it's so he can get a taste of your pussy.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes yes yes. He will give almost anything a try atleast once, although most things he's already done. He's also a massive voyeur as I said before so he doesn't care about getting caught. I mean he shares a hive mind so it doesn't really matter to him anyway.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He's a vampire so his Stamina is very good but not impossibly so. He can if he wants to last a long time each round but remmick is not a patient man so he usually doesn't. You can tell him to hold out though and then he's happy to. But to him it doesn't matter because whether he's cum or not, your fussy is getting eaten. He can go for quite a lot of rounds honestly, probably 4 or 5 most days but stretching up to 7 if he pushes it. But he still needs time between and he doesn't like to over do things so most days it's gonna be more like 2 to 3.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

What toys did they have in the 1930s? I'm not sure i need to do some reading on that. But I think remmick quite likes involving toys both on himself and you, whatever they are. He especially likes bondage on you both although he keeps breaking all the pretty rope you get.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This man is the king of teasing. Good luck if he gets in one of these moods because there is no escape. It will start at dusk as soon you're up, with light touches and coy looks and continue right up until dawn when he finally let's you cum after hours of fucking you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Remmick is so loud jesus. If you have neighbours, they hate you. And if you're trying to stray hidden you'll have to gag him. Even then you can still hear his panting and muffled moans. He also talks none stop during sex, I mean really runs him mouth. The man does not know how to shut up.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Big gore warning here, i personally feel a bit sick reading stuff like this even though I wrote it so just warning you guys first.

He wants you to bite him. Ok yeah that's obvious. But not just a few times, he wants you to cover him all over in deep, bloody bites. He wants it to hurt. He wants people to look at him and think he's been attacked by some wild animal. Honestly he wants you to eat him. To tear chunks off and swallow them. To crack his bones and tear parts off him. Break open his ribs and pull out his heart and rip pieces out with your teeth. He finds the idea of being consumed deeply erotic and also very intimate. It makes him feel very safe, knowing pieces of him are inside of you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Nice and thick. Probably a solid 6 to 6.5 inches with a good girth. He stretches you out just right. Uncut and a red tip. Heavy balls that hang low.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

All day everyday, ask and you shall receive. He really is hungry as a dog lol.

You know he's ready for it when he starts drooling. The drool really isn't something he can control, it just happens when his body decides its time to eat which often gets mixed up with being horny. So yeah, it's pretty common for you to look over and see him covered in drool, mouth open and shameless.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep)

Depends. Some days he's straight to sleep while others he gets kinda sad and wistful after sex and stays awake watching you. He also gets kinda stressed you're gonna disappear or leave if he closes his eyes sometimes so you might occasionally find him staring at you for a long time. But your presence is very comforting for him and he always sleeps better with you.

#remmick #remmick x reader

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moonselune · 2 months ago

Note

I've been playing alot of harvest moon/stardew recently and was wondering how the companions would react to a tav or durge prefering to settle down for the farming life post game. I know Shadowheart would love it anyway but Astarion would be the type to groan about the summer heat at times.

Btw love your work ❤️

Awh thank you! I freaking love stardew valley, I actually got to the point where I would see things in real life and be like oh i need that for my bundle...

Minthara:

Minthara had agreed to come with you back to your little patch of dirt. That was the first miracle.

She stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the rows of squash you'd lovingly planted weeks ago. Her elegant armor had been swapped—begrudgingly—for leather trousers and a dark green blouse with the sleeves rolled up. She claimed she only wore it because it “blended well with the shadows.”

In reality, she looked dangerously attractive, and you told her so often enough that it stopped earning you eye rolls.

“I still don’t see the appeal,” she muttered one morning, kneeling beside you in the loamy soil as you both weeded a row of carrots. “Endless dirt. Scratching at the ground like a deep gnome grub. You truly believe this is more fulfilling than conquering the Underdark?”

You grinned, pushing your hair back and letting the sun warm your face. “The carrots don’t scream when I pull them out of the ground.”

Minthara snorted—an actual laugh, short and sharp. She caught herself, frowning like she hadn’t meant to let it slip.

“I could grow mushrooms,” she said after a pause. “Real mushrooms. Not these surface-dwelling imitations.”

You perked up. “You want to farm?”

“I do not want to farm,” she snapped, yanking a weed a little too aggressively. “I simply think someone must bring standards to this pitiful excuse for agriculture.”

That night, you caught her carefully organizing mushroom spores in neat rows in the shaded part of the garden, whispering Drow words of encouragement under her breath.

And every evening, she helped you without complaint. She said it was only because you were “hopeless on your own,” but there was a softness in her touch when she handed you tools, when she brushed dirt from your face. Once, she found a fat, horned beetle in the lettuce patch and spent nearly an hour observing it before letting it crawl onto her hand and releasing it at the edge of the forest.

“I could get used to this,” she murmured that night, curled beside you on the porch. The stars glittered above like Underdark crystal formations, distant and sharp.

“You already have,” you whispered back.

She didn’t argue.

Karlach:

Karlach loved it from the very first moment she stepped onto the farm.

“This place is sick!” she bellowed, boots thudding across the dirt as she chased one of the goats around the field. “Look at this little beastie—oh, she’s got attitude! Just like me!”

You could barely keep up with her enthusiasm.

Where you had slowly learned the rhythm of the fields, Karlach plunged headfirst into it—planting, harvesting, repairing fences with her bare hands. She named every single animal and gave them nicknames too. Your prize ram? “Sir Headbutt.” The hen with the limp? “Motherclucker”

You’d wake some mornings to find her sitting in the barn, curled up with your herd of goats, one snoring against her shoulder as she scratched behind its ears.

You stood in the doorway, arms folded. “I’m starting to think you love the goats more than me.”

Karlach looked up, grinning that wild, warm grin. “Babe. You don’t chew cud and you hog the blankets. These little sweeties are pure, no complaints.”

You made a show of gasping in betrayal, and she laughed so hard she nearly toppled into the hay.

She was clumsy with gardening, planting seeds so deep they never saw the light of day, but she didn’t care.

“I’m all about the brawn of the operation, baby!” she said, hoisting a broken fence post like a weapon of war. “You’re the one with the gentle hands. You’re the heart. I’m just the muscle.”

You couldn’t count how many times you found her fixing things, adding improvements. She built a rainwater system for the fields, oiled the hinges of every barn door, and even made a small, hand-carved sign with all the names of the animals.

She hung it crooked on purpose.

And on summer days, when the sun burned and the sweat clung to your back, she'd scoop water straight from the well and splash it over both of you, laughing as you sputtered.

“You look good with dirt on your nose,” she’d say, brushing it off with her calloused thumb.

And you’d smile, because she was the kind of fire that didn’t burn—it warmed. And here, among the goats and gardens and peace, her flame could finally just... flicker, without fear.

Lae'zel:

No one had expected Lae’zel to take well to the slow life of a farm. She had always been all sharp angles, roaring fire, and a blade ready at a moment’s notice. But then again—no one had expected her to stay, either. And she did. With you.

What none of you accounted for was how seriously she’d take the training of the livestock.

"These creatures lack discipline!" she declared one morning, standing in the field, arms crossed and unimpressed as a trio of goats casually ignored her barking orders and continued to gnaw on the same patch of fence they’d been told—repeatedly—not to chew.

She turned to you, eyes narrowed. “Do they understand Common?”

"They understand,” you said, trying not to laugh as a particularly rebellious chicken pecked at her boot. “They just don’t care.”

You would have offered to help, but you were too busy melting at the sight of Xan, the tiny Githyanki infant wrapped securely to her chest in a sling you had made together. Lae’zel had first insisted that she didn’t need it—that she could carry her hatchling in her arms at all times like a proper warrior—but even she couldn’t argue with the convenience of two free hands. Especially for chicken combat.

You’d find her some mornings standing in the pasture, her face serious as she recited commands to the goats and hens like they were soldiers on a battlefield. "Form ranks! Maintain spacing! No, Clucker, no! That is not your perch—”

And all the while, little Xan would nap contentedly against her, a bundle of soft green skin and big yellow eyes, utterly unmoved by the chaos of the yard. Occasionally he’d gurgle and tug at her leathers with one hand. Every time you saw the two of them, your heart swelled nearly to bursting.

You leaned against the fence one afternoon, watching as a pig stubbornly refused to move out of Lae'zel's designated “training circle.”

“You know,” you said, grinning as she glared at it with more intensity than she had ever shown a goblin, “maybe farming isn’t about commanding obedience.”

“It should be,” she replied sharply. “They would be more efficient.”

Still, you saw her lips twitch when a goat headbutted her in protest. And she didn’t stop them from clambering all over her later when you both sat in the grass and let Xan play in the sun.

Shadowheart:

The house was small, sun-dappled, and always smelled like hay and something baking. Scratch lay sprawled across the front steps most days, belly-up, completely spoiled. The owlbear—too big for the barn, too curious to be penned—had taken to nesting in the orchard, gently knocking apples from the trees like it was performing some kind of divine rite.

Shadowheart had fallen in love with it all faster than even she expected.

You found her in the mornings tending to the goats with a quiet, practiced grace, her long hair tied up messily, a smear of dirt across one cheek that she never noticed. Her cleric’s robes had been replaced with linen tunics and earth-toned skirts—though her armor still hung by the door, just in case.

“What happened to the chicken pen?” you asked once, only to be met with a long sigh and her pointing silently toward Scratch—muddy, feather-covered, and absolutely unrepentant.

You were never alone. Not really. The animals had adopted you both. Scratch followed you everywhere. The owlbear guarded the house like it was the holiest temple. You even had a few stray cats that Shadowheart swore she didn’t feed, but you caught her slipping them treats more often than not.

Still, there was one part of the land she hadn’t explored yet—because you were keeping it a secret.

You worked on it in the evenings, tucked away behind the western slope of the hill. A dozen rows of posts were driven deep into the soil, with the first few vines already climbing, green tendrils reaching for the sky. You’d been studying grape varieties, borrowing books from Gale, and mapping sun paths like your life depended on it.

And finally, one golden evening, you took her hand and said, “There’s something I want to show you.”

She followed without question, her fingers warm in yours, and when you rounded the hill, her breath caught.

“You—” she started. “You planted a vineyard?”

“For us,” you said simply. “I know you love wine. I thought… one day, you could make your own.”

She stared in stunned silence, eyes glossy in the light.

“This is…” Her voice trembled, and she smiled so wide you saw the dimples that only showed when she was truly, deeply happy. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

“I do.” She launched herself at you, arms thrown around your neck, kissing you with such fervor that you stumbled backward into the half-dug earth. “You sappy, wonderful thing. I don’t deserve you.”

“You absolutely do,” you whispered, burying your face in her hair.

And from the other side of the hill, the owlbear let out a low hoot of approval—promptly followed by Scratch barking and barreling toward the two of you like a freight train.

“You know,” Shadowheart said as you braced for impact, “we might have too many animals.”

“I regret nothing.”

Jaheira:

Jaheira had said no at first.

She’d crossed her arms, brow furrowed in that eternally war-hardened way, and declared she was not the “settling down type.” A Harper, a druid, a warrior—too much duty still ran in her blood, and she wasn’t one to lie to herself.

And yet, you often found her on the porch in the morning, sleeves rolled up, tending to the basil or trimming back the ivy that tried to swallow the trellis. Her hands were calloused, steady, already shaped by years of coaxing life from the soil—and the moment she touched the earth here, she remembered. Not war. Not rebellion.

Peace.

She fit into the rhythm of the farm as if she’d always belonged. Milking the goats, harvesting herbs, reorganizing the tool shed within an inch of its life.

“A sharpened blade is less likely to betray you than a dull one,” she’d say when she caught you leaving shears in the dirt. You tried—gently—to get her to stop sometimes.

“Jaheira,” you’d say, handing her a mug of tea in the shade, “you’re supposed to relax. Remember that? The whole ‘breathing’ thing?”

She’d huff, but her smile would betray her.

“I’ll rest when the tomatoes stop growing unevenly,” she’d mutter, before adding with quiet fondness, “Besides… this is good work. Healing work.”

And the best days—the very best days—were when her children visited.

The younger ones would come tumbling down the trail with satchels and stories, running up to greet their mother, who stood like a pillar of strength at the garden gate. The number of times Jaheira had to pry Fig from a scarecrow as she was practising her 'wrestling moves' was one too many. You’d watch her soften visibly, smile lines crinkling, arms open as they piled into her.

They helped with the animals, with mixed results. One of them always ended up covered in chicken feathers, another face-first in a flowerbed, and Jaheira would roll her eyes while secretly delighting in every second of it.

It was domestic. Soft. Loud and messy and full of warmth.

Every now and then, you’d catch her staring out over the fields as the sun set, a quiet melancholy in her eyes. You knew she felt the pull of Harper duty—that someday, she’d have to return to that life. But she never pulled away from this one.

And you never stopped reminding her: “This moment is yours. Don’t let it slip away.”

Gale:

Gale loved farm life. Maybe a bit too much.

He delighted in every step of the process—from sowing seeds to baking fresh bread in the stone oven. He was the first to rise (with magically summoned coffee, of course), and the last to go to bed, always muttering about “optimal composting cycles” and “rotational planting enchantments.”

You never had to worry about the crops failing. Not when Gale enchanted the soil to stay perfectly moist and fertile. Not when your scarecrow occasionally waved to you and politely asked for new clothes.

And that might’ve been fine.

Until he started taking the produce to Blackstaff Academy.

"Look at this carrot!" he’d proclaim with the glee of a proud parent, holding up a perfectly orange, absolutely normal vegetable.

Then he’d bring it back.

And it would be the size of a horse’s leg, glowing faintly, humming with a magical pulse, and—for reasons unknown—smelling like cinnamon.

"Gale!" you’d exclaim. "It’s a carrot. It does not need to be arcane-tuned!"

“But imagine the nutritional value!” he’d insist, delighted. “It now increases constitution by two points for an hour! Also, I added a small glamour charm—look, it sparkles in the moonlight!”

You buried your face in your hands. “It was for stew. Now it looks like it is for a health potion with a beard.”

The tomatoes came back one week with eyes and a faint sense of existential dread. The potatoes exploded on contact with fire. A single cucumber once tried to recite Elminister.

You instituted a new rule: No magical alterations unless specifically requested.

Gale apologized with his signature dramatic charm, bowing deeply and presenting you with a bouquet of roses (grown in your garden, made of light, that sang quietly when touched). You forgave him. Eventually.

You did catch him sneaking a pumpkin to his satchel the next week. You pretended not to see it.

After all, the man who once swallowed a Netherese orb deserved a little whimsy.

But gods help him if your wine starts talking.

Astarion:

The summer sun blazed above your little stretch of farmland, turning the sky into a wide, cloudless expanse of light and heat. Cicadas sang from the trees. The golden fields shimmered. You were sweating through your shirt, but you'd gotten used to it by now. Not everyone had, though.

“I am wilting,” Astarion declared from the shade of a fig tree, fanning himself with a piece of parchment and looking like the most glamorous corpse in Faerûn.

You were knee-deep in the garden bed, dirt up to your elbows, pulling weeds with the satisfied sort of grunt that only came from knowing your tomatoes were going to thrill the next farmer’s market.

“You know, you are wearing a magical ring that lets you walk in the sun,” you reminded him, not even glancing back.

“Yes, and I am grateful,” he said in a tone that was both long-suffering and exasperated. “But that doesn’t mean I must enjoy it. Honestly, do farms not understand the concept of ‘shade’? Or a cool breeze? Or a bloody parasol?”

You chuckled and wiped sweat from your brow. “I can take the ring back, you know. Could always go back to lurking in crypts and brooding in velvet.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then: “How dare you.”

You turned just in time to see him stalk toward you, predator grace still intact despite his muttering.

“That was a threat, wasn’t it?” he said, tone mock-scandalized. “You’d condemn me to a shadowed existence just to win this argument?”

Before you could get a word out, Astarion planted both hands on your chest and shoved. You stumbled backward with a yelp, landing with a mighty splash in the nearby pond, water closing over your head with a slap. When you surfaced, spitting water and pushing your hair out of your face, he was at the edge of the pond, arms folded, grinning.

“Next time you threaten to take away my precious accessories,” he said smugly, “perhaps you’ll remember who you’re dealing with.”

“Oh, I remember,” you said, swimming toward him with a grin of your own. “I also remember that you’re a terrible swimmer.”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t you—!”

You grabbed his ankle and yanked. Astarion screeched like an offended seagull as he tumbled in after you, limbs flailing in the most elegant way a vampire can flail. The water swallowed him with a splash, and when he resurfaced, gasping, you were already laughing.

“Well,” you said, treading water beside him. “You’re cool now.”

His curls were plastered to his forehead, pale skin gleaming with pond water, clothes clinging in all the right places.

“I loathe you,” he hissed, completely unconvincing as he waded toward you.

“You love me,” you replied, and when he tried to dunk you under, you laughed even harder. He did try to drown you (with affection), and the pond echoed with splashes and laughter long into the afternoon.

Wyll:

Wyll loved the farm. Really, truly loved it. He dove into farm life with the same unshakable optimism he brought to battle: sleeves rolled up, a bright smile on his face, and an absolutely terrible sense of crop rotation.

“Look!” he said, beaming, holding up a vaguely wilted carrot. “That’s my fifth one! It only took me six tries!”

The carrot was... lopsided. And slightly blue.

You peered at it. “Wyll... did you plant it next to Gale’s ‘experimental vegetables’ again?”

He gave you a sheepish grin. “Maybe?”

Despite his noble upbringing, Wyll took to labor like it was second nature. He loved feeding the chickens (even if they pecked at his boots), singing as he milked the goats (who responded by trying to eat his shirt), and tending the soil (even if he constantly mixed up which plants needed full sun or partial shade).

But he tried. Gods, did he try.

He’d wake up before sunrise to help gather eggs and bring you wildflowers with muddy fingers and a bashful smile. He gave names to every single pumpkin, saluted the cows like old comrades, and taught the pigs how to sit. (One of them sort of learned. You suspected it was coincidence.)

The vegetables he harvested often ended up a little too bruised, or crooked, or tiny—but he presented them with the proud air of someone who had just defeated a demon lord.

“This one’s for you,” he’d say, placing a funny little beet in your hand like it was a diamond.

And honestly? It was perfect. Because Wyll’s joy was infectious. His laughter echoed over the fields. His presence made every sunrise feel warmer, every day brighter. Even if his corn always grew sideways.

“I might not be the best farmer,” he’d admit, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I’m exactly where I want to be.”

And when you kissed him, fingers brushing dirt from his cheek, you couldn’t help but agree.

Halsin:

If anyone was born to thrive on a farm, it was Halsin.

Where others groaned about early mornings and sore backs, Halsin greeted the day with that warm, deep voice and a calm certainty that made the roosters crow more enthusiastically. Shirtless more often than not, with the morning light catching on his golden skin and broad shoulders, he looked like a god of the harvest incarnate—muscles flexing as he hefted hay bales like they were pillows.

You tried not to gawk every time he wiped the sweat from his brow with the hem of his tunic.

(You failed often.)

“I thought you were a druid,” you teased one day, leaning on a fencepost, watching him load the cart with fresh hay. “Shouldn’t you be turning into a bear and napping under trees or something?”

Halsin smiled, the kind of smile that settled in your bones like warmth. “Being one with nature doesn’t mean shying away from hard work. Besides, the goats get nervous when I shift. And they like it when I talk to them.”

He said this while gently stroking the head of a particularly moody billy goat, who stared up at him like he hung the moon.

You raised a brow. “Are you telling them secrets?”

“I’m telling them not to eat your herb garden,” he said. “Again.”

It wasn’t just his strength or his ease with the animals—it was the way Halsin belonged here. The land responded to him. Trees leaned in closer. The soil felt richer. Even the bees seemed to hover around him longer than they should’ve. And when the chores were done and you sat together beneath the old oak with your hands dirty and your hearts full, it felt like everything was in balance.

He never rushed you, never questioned your need for this life. He only helped shape it into something stronger, steadier. More alive.

And when he pressed a kiss to your temple after a long day, murmuring about stew for dinner and the chickens needing checking, and building some new play equipment for the goats -and the orphans, you couldn't help but smile.

Because your druid? He wasn’t just a bear in the forest. He was the heart of this little farm.

OMG how freaking wholesome was this, I did it more as a drabble style as I kinda had rambling thoughts about this, but I hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

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wvyik · 4 months ago

Text

nsfw alphabet. d.w. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

dean winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: my take on the infamous NSFW alphabet where each letter represents a different aspect of dean’s passionate, playful, and sometimes possessive side!

⤿ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, mature themes, adult language, graphic sexual content, explicit descriptions of intimacy, kinky stuff, possessiveness, lowkey fluffy, sub! dean at times, but mostly dom! dean.

⤿ notes: here’s the template i used!! (slightly tweaked it) tbh i love writing headcanons sm im thinking of posting them more often. let me know if you liked this format!! at SOME points i lost the plot and wrote a whole ass fic.. but hey. this is my first time.

A = AFTERCARE..

After a night of passion, Dean’s first instinct is always to make sure you’re okay. He’s gentle, tender, almost like he’s still in awe of you. He’ll pull you close, tucking your head into the crook of his neck, running his fingers through your hair as he mutters soft words of reassurance. Even in the aftermath of something intense, he needs you to know you’re safe, that you’re everything to him. He’s not about that “wham-bam” stuff. He’ll get you a glass of water, make sure you’re comfortable, and maybe even wrap you in a blanket while he quietly watches over you, his thumb tracing circles on your skin as you both catch your breath.

He’s the type to make it feel like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, and even though he’s usually tough and rugged, with you, he’s all heart. It’s about comfort, care, and making sure you feel cherished. It’s his way of showing that the connection doesn’t end after the heat of the moment; it only deepens.

B = BODY PART..

Dean’s hands— they’re his favorite body part, and not just because they’re strong or capable. No, it’s the way they feel when they’re touching you, when they’re pulling you closer, slipping under the fabric of your clothes, and tracing the softest parts of your skin. When it’s just the two of you, alone in that quiet space, his hands will roam over your body with purpose. He’s all about the slow burn, his fingertips brushing across your neck, making your breath hitch as he dips lower to the curve of your waist. He’ll take his time, working you up, feeling every inch of you as if he’s memorizing you, ensuring you’re completely in his control.

As for his favorite part of you? Dean can’t stop thinking about your thighs. When you’re alone, he’ll have you straddling him, your legs wrapped around his waist as he slowly moves against you, feeling the heat building between you two. Your thighs are soft, but firm, the perfect balance of strength and vulnerability, and when you press them together, it’s like a promise of something hotter. His hands will travel down, gripping your thighs, pulling you closer until he can feel every inch of you moving against him. He’s obsessed with the way your body reacts to him; your thighs pressing tightly against his sides as you rock against him, your breath shaky, your skin heated under his touch. He’s rough when he wants to be, but in those moments, when it’s just the two of you, he’ll make sure everything is slow, deliberate. Each kiss, each touch, each movement a way of savoring you.

C = CUM..

His favorite spot to cum is definitely inside of you.. Not just for the convenience of making less of a mess— it just feels way more personal. When Dean finally hits that point, it’s like everything just snaps. His hands are gripping your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you down on him. He’s moving deep, hard, every thrust bringing him closer to the edge. He can feel himself losing control as his body trembles, and when he finally releases, it’s rough and intense. You can feel it, that pulse deep inside you, as he’s coming undone, his grip tightening, his body jerking with each wave.

He’s not shy about it either.. he’ll tell you how good it feels, how he can’t stop because you’re just too good to let go of. And when he’s done, there’s no shame, he’s all over you, holding you close, whispering how amazing you are, not wanting to let you go even for a second. Dean’s the type to make sure you’re completely satisfied, whether that’s with kisses, gentle touches, or reminding you how much you mean to him, even after that intense release.

He’ll want to stay inside you for just a little longer, feeling that connection, letting everything settle between the two of you. But it’s not just about the act; it’s about the way he’s completely consumed by you, how every touch and every moan is for you, how your body makes him lose control in the best way.

Dean’s not just about taking; he’s all about giving too. When he’s got you underneath him, lips brushing along your neck, his hands guiding you as he kisses down your body, he knows exactly what he’s doing. His eyes are on you the whole time— he loves watching the way your body reacts to his touch, how your breath hitches as he moves lower.

When he finally gets to your thighs, he’ll take his time, teasing with his tongue, pressing soft kisses against your skin, before finally kissing that sensitive spot. He’ll take his time with you, making you feel like you’re the most important thing in the world. His tongue moves with purpose, driving you crazy, circling and flicking just the right way, making sure you’re feeling every bit of pleasure.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he’ll growl, barely able to hold back as he keeps moving, pushing you closer to the edge. He won’t stop until you’re breathless, trembling underneath him. He’ll make sure you hit that release, his lips and tongue working together, guiding you to that explosive moment. And when you’re finally lost, when your body spasms from that climax, he’s right there, feeling it with you, never stopping, never pulling away.

When Dean’s on the receiving end, you better believe he’s not quiet about it. He’s all about that slow, intense pleasure, and when you start to make your way down his body, his breath catches in his chest, a low groan escaping him. His eyes are on you, heat in his gaze, as his hands rest in your hair, but he’s not pulling you— he’s letting you take your time. He loves the anticipation, the slow build-up as you tease him, running your hands along his thighs, giving him just enough to drive him wild.

“C’mon, baby, don’t make me wait,” he’ll tell you, voice hoarse, his patience wearing thin as you hover just above him. But he loves the feeling of you taking control, how your mouth makes him lose himself in you. When you finally take him into your mouth, he’s lost. His head falls back, a moan slipping from his lips as he tries to hold it together. You know how to move, how to make him feel like he’s in heaven, your tongue working its magic as you make him see stars.

Dean’s not the kind to just lay back, though. His hips start to move with the rhythm, not in a desperate way, but in sync with your movements. His hands will grip your hair, gently guiding you, wanting to feel all of it. When you take him deep, he can’t help but let out a low curse under his breath, his body shuddering with pleasure. “Fuck, that feels so good,” he’ll mutter, completely lost in the sensation of you giving him everything.

When he’s close, he’ll tell you, voice rough and strained, “I’m gonna—shit—I’m close.” But he won’t rush it. He wants to savor it. He wants to make sure you’re giving him your full attention until he’s at his breaking point. And when he finally reaches that edge, when he’s spilling into your mouth, it’s pure bliss for him. The way you take it all, the way you look up at him with those hungry eyes; it’s too much for him to handle, and he can’t stop the way his body trembles with the release.

D = DIRTY SECRET..

Dean’s dirty secret? It’s not something he just tells you about. It’s something he keeps tucked away, buried deep beneath the tough guy act. But you start to realize it when you’re alone, when it’s just the two of you in the quiet of a motel room, the world outside forgotten.

Dean’s secret is that he loves when you take control, when you push him to his limits and make him beg for it. Most people would never guess it. Hell, Dean barely acknowledges it himself, but you see the way he looks at you sometimes, like he’s waiting for you to take the reins. It’s the way his voice goes low and rough when he whispers your name, the way his body stiffens in anticipation when you shift on top of him, taking charge. It’s the way he fights it, but you know— he’s completely fucking powerless when you take control.

He’s not used to it. Dean’s the one who’s always in charge, the one with the power in every situation. But with you? He’s different. He loves being dominated by you, in that subtle, almost teasing way. He loves it when you pin him down, when you whisper dirty things in his ear that make his heart race. He loves when you don’t let him speak, when you kiss him so hard he can barely breathe, all while you keep him trapped beneath you.

But the thing is, he doesn’t want to admit it, not to you, and especially not to anyone else. It’s his dirty little secret, the thing that’s so out of character for him. He’s too proud to openly admit that sometimes, he craves to be the one controlled, the one who’s helpless to your touch. But deep down, he knows you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and it drives him wild that he can’t stop wanting it.

E = EXPERIENCE..

Dean’s very experienced. This man’s been around the block a few times. He’s been in all kinds of situations, with all types of people, and let’s just say, he knows exactly what he’s doing. But here’s the thing— his experience isn’t just about the physical stuff; it’s about reading people, knowing how to make them feel wanted and understood. He’s learned what works, what doesn’t, and how to please a partner in ways that make them melt.

He knows how to take his time, how to build that tension, and when to slow things down. He’s got that natural rhythm that’s just right, making sure you’re comfortable, but also giving you exactly what you need when it comes to your desires. And when it comes to giving or receiving, he’s all about the details; the gentle touches, the teasing, the deep, intense moments. There’s no awkwardness with him. He knows when to press, when to pull back, and when to take things to the next level.

But don’t get it twisted, he’s not cocky about it. His experience comes from years of both hunting and dealing with personal stuff, and there’s something about his confidence that makes him so good at pleasing. He’s been around enough to know how to handle things, but with you, it’s not just about getting off. He wants to make sure you’re satisfied— emotionally and physically. He’s all in when it comes to giving you a good time, even if he keeps it cool on the outside.

Of course, there’s a soft spot when it comes to you. Because with the way Dean feels for you, he’d want to make sure everything is perfect. All that experience? It’s used in service of you, babe, making you feel like you’re the only person who matters. And trust me, when he’s focused on you, he’s a damn expert at making you feel amazing.

In a nutshell: Yes, Dean knows what he’s doing. He’s got the experience to back it up, and he uses it to keep you hooked, wanting more every single time.

F = FAVORITE POSITION..

It’s definitely the one where he’s in full control, making sure you’re completely at his mercy, but let’s be real, he likes mixing it up depending on how the night’s going. His go-to? Probably doggy style, hands down.

When he’s got you in that position, he gets to see everything.. every little movement you make, every expression that crosses your face. It drives him wild knowing he’s the one causing it. He’ll grip your hips, pulling you back into him as he takes his time, slow and deep. The way your body reacts under him? It’s like pure music to his ears, and that view? It drives him insane. He loves feeling you clench around him, knowing that every thrust makes you feel it even more.

But that’s not all; Dean’s also big on missionary when he’s feeling extra connected. He likes to look you in the eye, making sure you’re completely focused on him, feeling every inch of the connection. That intimate, slow, and powerful rhythm where he can feel your heart racing beneath his, his hands tracing your curves as he moves inside you— that’s when things get real intense.

And when he wants to switch it up, he doesn’t mind getting a little rough with you, flipping you over, having you straddle him or him taking you from behind while you’re bent over a surface— whatever drives the mood. The chemistry between you two? It makes him want to explore every possible position, and he’s down to try new things, especially when it means making sure you’re both satisfied.

At the end of the day, Dean’s favorite position is the one that makes you feel like you’re his, but it’s not about being possessive. It’s about that perfect connection. It’s about that sweet balance of passion and control. And trust me, he’s got plenty of ways to show it.

G = GOOFY..

Dean can definitely get a little goofy in the moment, especially when he feels comfortable with you. It’s like he knows he can let his guard down and just be himself. While he’s definitely the type to take charge and keep things intense, he’s got that playful side that comes out in the heat of the moment.

Sometimes, when things get heated and you’re both in the middle of it, he’ll throw in a cheeky comment just to make you laugh. He might tease you with a quick “I’ve been waiting for this all day,” or a smug little smirk while you’re on top of him, making sure he’s enjoying every second. His confidence lets him crack those playful jokes because he knows he’s got you hooked; and he loves seeing you blush when he gets a little too cheeky.

But it’s not all about jokes. Dean can also get a little goofy in the way he teases you physically. Light, playful taps on your ass, or that sexy growl he uses when he’s trying to rile you up. He’s got that natural, smooth way of mixing humor and passion that keeps you on your toes. He might even act like he’s serious at first, but then that mischievous grin pops out, showing you he’s not taking things too seriously.

It’s in the little moments— the way he’ll whisper something ridiculously sweet in your ear, only to follow it up with something teasing, like “Who’s the lucky one now?” He can switch between being intense and ridiculously charming in a second, making you laugh one moment, then melt the next.

But when it’s time to get serious, Dean knows how to flip the switch. If things get more intimate or passionate, that goofy side fades into the background, and he’s all about the connection. But even then, you’ll catch those little glimpses of humor, the way he looks at you with that playful glint in his eye, showing he’s not completely lost in the moment, he’s just enjoying it with you.

So, yeah, while he’s definitely got that serious, dominant energy, Dean’s no stranger to being goofy when the mood strikes. And honestly? It’s part of the fun. It keeps the vibe light, playful, and even more intimate. That mix of humor and intensity? It makes the connection between you two even hotter.

H = HAIR..

Okay.. Let’s start with Dean’s head. His hair? As we know; always on point. He’s got that signature messy, just-out-of-bed look that somehow always looks perfect. He keeps it clean, but a little rugged— like he doesn’t care, but deep down, you know he’s putting in just enough effort to keep it looking good. That shaggy, chocolate brown mess of hair frames his face in the best way, and he’s definitely not afraid to run his fingers through it when he’s frustrated; or when he’s trying to look extra good for you.

Now, when it comes to down there, oh yeah, Dean keeps himself trimmed. He’s not the type to go completely bald, but he definitely takes care of business. He keeps things neat, a little shorter, so everything’s clean and ready to go when it’s time for action. It’s just the right amount of scruff, leaving enough to tease, but nothing over the top. Dean’s all about being practical, but he’s also aware of how much it adds to the vibe. He knows exactly what works for him and what makes his partner want more.

Well, we already know Dean’s got that signature rugged, manly look, and it shows down there too. He keeps the hair trimmed but not overly maintained, just enough to keep it real— natural, just like him. The way he takes care of himself shows that he’s confident in his own skin, but he’s not obsessing over perfection. So.. the carpet may not match the drapes exactly, but damn, it’s a close call— because Dean doesn’t do anything halfway. It’s got that perfect balance of masculine and a bit of a secret that only you get to see, something that makes you want to dive deeper, take your time, and just worship every inch of him.

As for you, being completely honest— He wants to feel the texture when his lips press against your skin, that slight pull of hair beneath his lips as he moves lower. The perfect amount; not too much, not too little. When he feels the light trim and the soft brush of it against his fingers or mouth, it drives him wild. He might tease you about it when he’s between your legs, maybe give a little chuckle before running his fingers through the soft, trimmed hair, and whispering “God, you know this is exactly how I like it” as he looks up at you, hungry eyes burning with desire.

If you’re the type who prefers to keep things smooth, that’s good too. Because when Dean’s down there, he’s all about pleasure, and he’ll take his time, loving every inch of you. But give him just a hint of natural with a little softness, and that’s his weakness. He’ll get lost in the feeling of your skin, fingers grazing over every curve, savoring the way the hair feels when it’s just enough to give him that little extra something. It drives him crazy when you arch your back, a slight gasp escaping your lips, all because he’s finding that sweet spot— the perfect mix of rough and smooth, like he’s savoring the experience of you more than just the action itself.

Dean’s preference isn’t about rules, it’s about what turns him on— and you’re turning him on anyway. Whether you like a clean, smooth look or a little natural fuzz, he’s just as obsessed with how you feel about it. But if you’re asking him, that little hint of trim? It’s just the right level of perfection to make him lose control.

I = INTIMACY..

Dean might have that tough, gruff exterior, but when it comes to intimacy? He’s got a side to him that will absolutely melt you. It’s not just about the physical, rough and wild moments (though those definitely exist)— it’s about how he makes you feel in those quiet, tender moments between. When you two are wrapped up in each other, it’s like the world disappears.

He’s the type who can’t help but stare at you with that softness in his eyes when he’s touching you; gently running his hands up your arms, tracing your jaw, just taking you in like he can’t believe you’re actually there with him. There’s this feeling he gives off, like he’s not just having sex, but connecting with you on a level that means so much more than just the physical release. He’s completely present.

When he’s inside you, it’s like he’s not in a rush, savoring every inch of the moment. There’s no slamming or pushing for a fast release. Dean’s all about drawing out the sensations, making sure you’re feeling every single second of him. Whether it’s kissing you deeply, whispering sweet things in your ear, or taking the time to gently stroke your body while he’s inside you, it’s all about showing you just how much you mean to him in that moment.

Dean doesn’t need to say a word to make you feel loved. His hands, the way he looks at you, the way he moves; it all speaks louder than anything he could say. His kisses are deep, passionate, but with that soft, tender edge that shows he cares. He’s not just trying to get off; he’s trying to make you feel everything in that moment. Every caress is deliberate, every movement intentional.

When he pulls you close after, he’ll hold you in his arms like you’re his world, his heartbeat steady against yours, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin. He’s always checking in with you, making sure you’re okay, both physically and emotionally. It’s that soft, romantic side of him that you rarely get to see, but when it’s just you and him? That’s when he shows you all the affection and love he’s been hiding under his tough exterior.

Intimacy with Dean is a beautiful mix of gentle passion and heart-stopping moments. He’ll bring you closer, make you feel desired in ways you didn’t even know you needed, and leave you breathless with every second of it. But it’s never just about the sex— it’s about him connecting with you, body and soul, and making you feel like you’re the most important thing in his world.

J = JACK OFF..

Dean’s a man of many talents, and when he’s alone? He’s not shy about taking care of his own needs. Let’s be real: the man’s got a lot of built-up tension, and he knows how to relieve it.

Dean’s not a guy who needs to jerk off all the time, but if he’s been going through a stretch where he’s missing you or hasn’t been able to see you in a while, he’s definitely going to be indulging a little more frequently. If he’s on the road, and he’s away from you for a few days, you can bet that he’s getting in at least a few sessions, or when things have been tense between the two of you— he’s not going to forget about how much he wants you.

But it’s not just about quick relief.. it’s about thinking of you. It’s those moments when he’s missing you, or when he’s worked up after seeing you earlier, maybe after a steamy, flirtatious interaction.

When he’s in the mood, Dean doesn’t rush it. He’s got that slow, deliberate rhythm as he strokes himself, thinking about you. He’s imagining your body beneath his, your moans in his ear, your hands gripping his back as he takes you deeper. He’ll bite his lip, letting his thoughts of you fuel the fire, and if he’s really worked up, he might even mumble your name, like it’s a prayer that makes him hit that spot just right.

Dean knows exactly how to handle himself. His hand moves with just the right pressure, and his breaths get quicker, heavier, as his thoughts go straight to you; how you feel, how you look when you’re under him. He might even get a little rougher with himself when he’s thinking of you taking control or teasing him.

But when he’s about to come? It’s like his mind flashes to those intimate moments with you— the way your body shudders beneath his touch, how you look when you’re lost in pleasure. He’ll let out a groan, quick and low, as he finally releases, knowing exactly how much he wants you, how needy he’s gotten for you. And afterward? You can bet he’s not ashamed. He’s used to getting his hands dirty, but he’ll always clean up and shake it off like it’s just part of the job.

So yeah, Dean gets off on his own, but it’s always with you in mind, a little fantasy to keep the fire burning when you’re not around.

K = KINK..

Dean’s a man who’s lived through a lot, and he’s had his fair share of experiences, both good and bad. So, when it comes to his kinks, he’s definitely someone who knows what he likes, and he’s open to a bit of variety. His kinks are rooted in power dynamics, control, and a deep desire to connect, but with that edge of raw, primal energy. Here’s a taste of what gets him going:

Power Play: Dean’s a man who likes to be in control, especially when things get heated. He loves the way you melt under his touch, how your body responds to him taking charge. Whether it’s gently pushing you down on the bed or pinning you against the wall, Dean gets a thrill out of seeing you submit to him. But don’t think he’s all about dominating the moment— it’s about mutual control. He’ll let you take the reins when it suits, but only when he’s good and ready for it.

Biting: Dean is into the idea of claiming you. He’s not afraid to bite, nip, or mark you with hickeys. It’s about showing everyone that you’re his. He wants to leave his mark on your body, something that says, ‘Yeah, you belong to me’, but it’s also a sign that you’re his desire. When he bites your neck, pulls you closer, or marks your inner thighs, it’s all about showing you that you belong to him in more ways than one.

Roleplay: Honestly? I think Dean’s got a thing for slipping into different characters. Sometimes it’s a hunter, sometimes it’s someone a little more dangerous. He loves the idea of playing a different version of himself, or making you act out a scenario where he’s your protector, your savior, your everything. The idea of pretending you’re strangers or something forbidden really gets him going, and he’ll do whatever it takes to bring that fantasy to life.

Spanking & Impact Play: Oh, he loves a little spanking. It’s not about punishing you; no, it’s about showing you just how much he can make you feel with a single slap. He’ll get rough, but in a way that keeps the pleasure high. He might not do it every time, but when he does, he knows exactly where to land his hand, just enough to make you gasp in surprise, followed by a whimper of need.

Tease & Denial: Dean’s great at this. He loves making you wait, teasing you with a kiss, a touch, and just enough attention to leave you desperate. He’ll get you so close to the edge, but then he pulls back, just to make you ache for more. It’s a power play, sure, but it’s also about making you feel like you’re at his mercy.

Dirty Talk: Dean’s mouth might be full of jokes and sarcasm, but when it’s just you two, his dirty talk can be downright filthy. He’ll whisper the dirtiest things in your ear, telling you exactly what he wants to do to you, making sure you know how much he needs you. It’s not just about what he says— it’s the way he says it. That low growl of his? The way his breath shudders in your ear? Yeah, you’re done for.

Bondage: Dean’s not afraid of a little bondage. He’s into tying you up in the heat of the moment, making you submit completely to him. Whether it’s just a simple tie or something more elaborate, he loves the visual and the control it gives him. The way you can’t move, the way he gets to explore every inch of you while you’re completely at his mercy; it’s a massive turn-on for him. Dean will tie you up just enough to keep you restrained, but not so tight you’re uncomfortable, making sure you’re both safe and, well, fully into it.

Morning Sex: Dean loves the feeling of waking up next to you. There’s something about the vulnerability of early mornings that makes him want to make love to you before the world even has a chance to wake up. He’s gentle at first, but it doesn’t take long before things heat up, and he’s got you pressed against him, his hands roaming over your body. There’s something so intimate and raw about the way he makes you feel in the morning, like you’re his whole world, and he can’t wait any longer to be inside you.

Praise kink: While Dean loves being the dominant force, he also enjoys giving you praise in the heat of the moment. There’s something about watching you lose control that fuels him. He’ll whisper sweet, dirty things in your ear, making you feel desired, telling you how good you’re being for him, how you’re his. It might be a little submissive kink on your end, but Dean’s all about making you feel like you’re pleasing him; especially when you’re desperate for his approval. And, let’s not forget. That man has been through some stuff— he loves when you give him little nods of appreciation in bed.

Public/Risky Sex: There’s a bit of a thrill in doing it in places where you shouldn’t. Whether it’s a quickie in the back of the Impala when you’re on the road, or sneaking around while Sam’s off doing his own thing, Dean loves the danger of possibly getting caught. The risk makes everything hotter. The adrenaline rush of having to keep quiet, of needing to be fast, but also wanting to drag it out as long as possible? It makes his blood pump harder, and he knows it’s just as much a turn-on for you as it is for him.

Dean’s kinks are all about power dynamics, teasing, and intense connection. He enjoys the balance between pleasure and pain, control and surrender. But no matter how much he pushes your limits, he’s always going to be there, making sure you’re feeling safe and cared for in the aftermath. Dean might be rough around the edges, but when he’s in the moment, he’s all about you.

L = LOCATION..

Let’s be honest— Dean’s not picky, but he definitely has his favorites. This man is always on the road, always moving, so he’s got to get creative when it comes to where he gets down to business:

The Impala: This one’s a classic. The backseat, the hood, hell—even the front seat if things get desperate. The Impala is Dean’s home, and there’s something about having you in his space that makes it all the more intimate. The windows fogging up, the leather creaking under your bodies, the absolute risk of getting caught—he lives for it. Plus, he loves having you ride him in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel behind your back, knowing damn well he’ll never be able to sit there again without thinking of you.

Motel Rooms: Dean’s been in hundreds of cheap, crappy motels, but when you’re there? They don’t feel so bad. The shitty wallpaper, the questionable beds— none of it matters when you’re beneath him, moaning his name. The fact that you two don’t stay in one place for too long? It makes every night feel urgent, needy, like he has to take full advantage of every second before you’re off hunting again. And let’s be real; he loves when you get loud, and in a motel, there’s no one to stop you.

Against the Wall: Not necessarily a location, but Dean loves pinning you against a wall. Whether it’s a motel wall, the side of the Impala, or even in the bunker when Sam’s not around (or when he is, if you’re being reckless), there’s something about having you trapped between his body and the hard surface that drives him insane. He loves the way you cling to him, the way you have to hold on, and the power he feels when he has you right where he wants you.

Showers: Dean’s a sucker for shower sex. He loves the intimacy of it; hot water, steam filling the air, the way your bodies slide against each other. He’ll stand behind you, hands roaming everywhere, whispering filthy things in your ear as he helps you brace yourself against the tile. It’s slow, deep, unrelenting—and after? He gets to wash you off, take his time kissing every inch of you, and maybe go for another round while you’re still warm and slippery.

Hood of Baby: Dean is a romantic at heart, even if he doesn’t admit it. There’s something about pulling off on a deserted road in the middle of the night, laying you out on the hood of the Impala, and having his way with you under the stars. It’s not just about the sex; it’s more about the feeling of freedom, of being untouchable, of knowing that in that moment, it’s just you and him against the world. Plus, he loves the way the cool metal feels against your skin, the contrast between the chill of the night air and the heat of your bodies moving together.

Literally anywhere risky: Dean’s got a thing for danger. Maybe it’s after a hunt, when the adrenaline’s still pumping, and he needs to feel alive. Maybe it’s somewhere you shouldn’t be— an abandoned house, the back of an alley, somewhere public where the risk of getting caught makes it all the more thrilling. He’s careful, but he also loves the idea of you trying to keep quiet, of knowing that someone might hear, but being too lost in the moment to care.

M = MOTIVATION..

Dean might act all cool and in control, but the second you push the right buttons? He’s done for. Here’s what gets him going the most:

Confidence (or Shyness—Either Works on Him): There’s nothing sexier to Dean than watching you take charge. If you walk up to him, grab his collar, and whisper something dirty in his ear? Immediate problem in his jeans. He loves knowing you want him just as much as he wants you. If you tease him, pulling back from a kiss too soon, giving him that look that says ‘come and get me’.. he’s going to get you.

But on the flip side? If you’re a little shy, a little hesitant, biting your lip like you’re unsure if you should make the first move? Yeah. That also destroys him. He loves pulling that shyness out of you, making you let go of your inhibitions until you’re gasping his name. The idea of turning you into a whimpering mess under him? That’s all the motivation he needs.

Your Body, Specifically the Parts You Don’t Think About: Dean lives for the little things; the curve of your hips when you walk past him, the soft skin of your thighs when he rests his hand on them, the way your neck tilts when you throw your head back laughing. It’s never just the obvious things that get him going, it’s the casual, effortless sexiness you don’t even realize you have. And if you’re wearing something that hugs your figure just right? He’s barely holding himself together.

Your Voice— Especially When You’re Whimpering for Him: Dean’s a sucker for sounds. The way your breath hitches when he gets too close, that soft gasp when he drags his fingers down your spine, the way you moan when he finally gives you what you want. If you let out the smallest whimper? He’s done for. It strokes his ego and sets him on fire at the same time.

And if you talk dirty to him? Ohhh, babe, he loses it. Whisper something in his ear, tell him what you need from him, what you want him to do to you? He’s throwing you on the bed before you can finish your sentence.

Seeing You Get a Little Frustrated: Dean loves a good challenge. If you’re trying to stay in control but he keeps pushing you right to the edge, and you start getting desperate for him? That’s it— that’s the moment he snaps. He loves teasing you, making you beg, watching you squirm under his touch. The more you fight it, the harder it is for him to hold back.

The Way You Look After a Hunt or Workout: Dean is an absolute animal for the way you look after any kind of physical activity— your hair a little messy, your skin flushed, your body all warm from exertion? It just makes him think about what you’d look like beneath him, all breathless and needy. And if you’re wearing something a little tight, maybe some sweat dripping down your chest? He’s gripping the steering wheel way too tight trying to keep it together.

Final thoughts? You are his motivation. It doesn’t take much; one look, one touch, one word, and he’s already aching for you. And when he finally gets his hands on you? He’s making sure you feel every ounce of that tension he’s been holding back.

N = NO..

Dean might be down for a lot, but there are definitely things that cross the line for him. For one, he’s not into anything that makes you uncomfortable— if you so much as hesitate or seem unsure, it’s over. He’s always paying attention, making sure you’re into it just as much as he is, and if he ever got the feeling you weren’t? He’d pull back immediately, no questions asked.

Pain that goes beyond a little roughness is a hell no for him. He’s all about grip marks on your hips, the occasional love bite, maybe even pinning your wrists if you’re feeling particularly desperate; but hurting you? That’s not even on the table. He might love making you squirm, teasing you until you’re begging, but it’s never about making you feel bad. He needs to know you’re enjoying every second of it, even when he’s driving you crazy.

Another hard no? Anything that makes things impersonal. Dean might be rough, dirty, and insatiable, but at the end of the day, there’s always feeling behind it. He’s not the type to treat sex like some casual transaction, when he’s with you, he’s with you. So anything that makes it feel detached— things like calling you degrading names in a way that isn’t playful, acting like you’re just some random hookup, or taking the emotion out of it— completely kills the mood for him. He needs that connection, that fire, that undeniable feeling that you’re his, and he’s yours.

And lastly? Anything that risks losing control too much. Dean can be dominant, sure, but he’s never going to push things to a point where it feels like he’s not himself. He’s got his demons (literally and figuratively) and he never wants to cross a line that makes either of you feel unsafe. The moment things stop being good for you, they stop being good for him, too. Because at the end of the day? He’s not just in it for the thrill— he’s in it for you.

O = ORAL..

Teased you guys a bit already in C, anyways! Dean lives for oral; giving, receiving, all of it. He’s ridiculously good at it, too, because let’s be real, the man is competitive in everything he does. If he’s going down on you, it’s not just to get you off— it’s to wreck you, to leave you so overstimulated and shaking that you can barely remember your own name.

When Dean’s between your thighs, he’s dedicated. He takes his time, really enjoying it, like it’s his favorite meal. He’s got this cocky little smirk when he first gets down there, like he already knows he’s about to ruin you, and he loves hearing how fast he can pull those desperate little sounds out of you. He doesn’t just focus on one thing— he’s teasing, using his fingers, dragging his tongue in slow, deliberate movements, only to switch things up when you least expect it. And the eye contact? Devastating. He’ll look up at you with those green eyes, pupils blown wide, and if you’re gripping his hair, pulling him closer, moaning his name? That’s it. He thrives on that, moaning into you just to watch you fall apart. And he will not stop until he’s got you trembling, gasping, completely lost in it.

As for receiving? Dean loves it, obviously, but what really gets him isn’t just the feeling, it’s the way you do it. If you’re teasing him, dragging your nails down his stomach, taking your time just to watch him get frustrated? Immediate weakness. He’s a sucker for eye contact, for feeling your lips around him while you look up at him with that innocent little gaze that he knows is anything but. And if you go slow at first, making him beg, gripping his thighs or holding his hips down when he tries to thrust? He’s losing it. He loves when you make him work for it, when you edge him just a little, force him to ask for more. But the second you actually give in and let him have it? He’s loud, moaning your name, throwing his head back, gripping the sheets or your hair because it just feels too good. And when he finally can’t take it anymore? He’s dragging you up to kiss you, growling something filthy about how good you are for him, and immediately flipping you over to return the favor.

Dean loves oral in every way possible. But most of all? He loves making sure neither of you walk away unscathed.

P = PACE..

Dean’s pace is everything— fast and rough when he’s desperate for you, slow and deep when he wants to savor it, but always intense no matter what. When he’s needy, when he’s been thinking about you all damn day and finally has you underneath him? There’s no patience left. He’s pushing you up against the wall, knocking the breath out of you, gripping your hips hard as he pounds into you like he’s got something to prove. He loves hearing the way you gasp, the way your nails dig into his back, how you whimper his name like you can’t take it— but he knows you can. He wants to ruin you, wants you to feel him in every inch of your body the next morning, to know that no one—no one—could ever touch you the way he does. His thrusts are deep, relentless, his fingers gripping the back of your neck as he growls in your ear, “This what you wanted, sweetheart?”

But when he wants to take his time? That’s a whole different kind of torture. He starts slow, just to watch you squirm, rolling his hips into you deliberately, dragging out every stroke, making you feel every inch of him. His hands are everywhere; on your waist, your thighs, gripping your wrists above your head just to keep you from pulling him in faster. He knows exactly what he’s doing, watching your face, drinking in every little gasp and moan, smirking when you whine for him to move faster. But he won’t— not yet. He’ll tease you, whisper filthy promises in your ear, telling you exactly what he’s gonna do to you once you’re begging for it. And the moment you finally do? The moment you can’t take it anymore? That’s when he snaps. That slow, controlled rhythm disappears, and suddenly he’s pounding into you like he’s been holding back for hours, because he has.

It doesn’t matter if it’s fast or slow, rough or deep— when Dean’s inside you, it’s always toe-curling, mind-numbing, earth-shattering. He’s not just fucking you; he’s taking you, owning every single sound you make, making damn sure you know who you belong to. And when he finally pulls you close, hips slamming against yours, whispering your name like it’s the only thing he knows? You don’t stand a chance.

Q = QUICKIE..

Dean is all about quickies; he thrives on the thrill of them, the urgency, the way you barely have time to think before he’s got you pressed up against the nearest surface, unbuckling his belt with that cocky little smirk. He loves that rushed, desperate feeling, where there’s no time for slow teasing, no time to strip completely, just pure, raw need.

He’s the type to pull you into a supply closet at a dive bar, shove you up against the Impala, or drag you into the motel bathroom while Sam’s in the other room, covering your mouth with his hand as he growls, “Gotta keep quiet, sweetheart.” And even though it’s rushed, even though it’s all about getting off as fast as possible? He never half-asses it. His pace is still devastating, his hands still gripping you tight, making sure you feel every second of it. He gets off on the idea that you can’t wait— that you need him now, just as badly as he needs you.

Quickies happen a lot with him.. before hunts, after hunts, during hunts when the tension gets too high and he just has to do something about it. And he doesn’t care where— against the Impala with the doors barely shielding you from the outside world, in a bar bathroom, even in the backseat if you tease him too much on a long drive. Hell, if you so much as look at him the right way, he’ll pull you into the nearest empty space and take care of it right there.

But the best part? The way he acts completely normal afterward, like he wasn’t just wrecking you two minutes ago. He’ll walk out of the room, running a hand through his hair, giving you that smirk while he adjusts his belt, acting like he didn’t just ruin you in record time. And if Sam or anyone else notices you looking thoroughly wrecked? Dean just chuckles, winks at you, and mutters, “What? Can’t help it when my girl looks that good.”

R = RISK..

Dean is definitely down to take risks— he thrives on a little danger, and when it comes to you, he’s got a filthy, adventurous side that’s always looking for new ways to keep things interesting. He loves the thrill of getting caught, of doing something he shouldn’t be doing, of knowing that you’re both toeing the line of what’s acceptable and what’s downright reckless. He’s not gonna do anything that makes you uncomfortable, but if you’re game? He’s all in.

Like i mentioned— Public stuff? Big yes. He’s got a thing for taking you somewhere risky; against the Impala with nothing but the darkness to hide you, in a bar bathroom with music thumping outside, in the backseat while Sam’s off getting food. He lives for those moments where he has to slap a hand over your mouth, whispering in your ear, “Be good for me, sweetheart. Don’t wanna get caught, do we?” But you both know he’d get off on the idea of someone almost hearing.

As for trying new things? Dean is curious, and if you suggest something? He’ll at least consider it. Bondage? He’s into the idea of pinning your wrists, maybe tying them up if he’s feeling particularly possessive. He loves control, but the idea of you having the upper hand sometimes? That’s dangerous in a way that excites him. Teasing him, making him work for it, putting him in a position where he has to beg? He’d never admit how much he likes it— but the second you try it, he’s hooked.

But at the end of the day? The biggest risk for him is losing control. He likes things intense, rough, even reckless. But there’s a limit. He never wants to take things too far, never wants to cross a line where it stops being about both of you. So yeah, he’ll push boundaries, he’ll test limits, he’ll get filthy, but he’ll always pull back if you need him to. Because for all the risks he’s willing to take, the one thing he’ll never gamble with? You.

S = STAMINA..

Dean has insane stamina. Like, we’re talking borderline superhero levels of staying power. He’s not the type to just rush through it and call it a night; when he’s into you, he’s in it for the long haul. You’ll see him go for multiple rounds, no problem. He’s the kind of guy who’ll keep going until you’re absolutely spent, and even then, he might give you a second wind— because Dean? Dean knows how to make it last.

After the first round, he’s not slowing down. In fact, he might get even more fired up, his confidence only growing as he sees you fall apart for him. And the thing is, he doesn’t just go fast and hard and get off quick; he’s got control, so he can pace himself while still making sure you’re writhing under him. He’ll adjust his rhythm, slow things down when you need it, build you back up, only to throw you back into the fire with his relentless pace.

If it’s been a long day, a stressful hunt, or just a case of too much tension between you two, he can go for hours. He’ll go until you’re on the brink of exhaustion, making you beg for him to stop or giving you exactly what you want. But even after you’ve had your fill, he’ll still pull you in for more, teasing you about how perfect you are, how you look so fucked out beneath him. The way he looks at you, all sweaty and breathless, tells you he’s not done, not even close.

He loves the challenge, loves showing you just how much he can handle, and every round is another chance to make you shatter for him. He’s not the kind of guy who taps out early, he’s in it for as long as it takes to make sure you’re both satisfied. So yeah, stamina? He’s got it in spades.

T = TOYS..

Dean’s not opposed to using toys, but it’s not something he needs all the time. If he’s in the mood to experiment, he’s down, and he might surprise you by pulling something out of his bag. He doesn’t have a collection or anything flashy, but he’s got a few items stashed away for when the moment feels right. Maybe it’s a vibrating toy, something to use on you while he’s taking his time with your body, or maybe it’s a blindfold or a set of handcuffs; something to tease, to heighten the sensation, and get you begging for more.

When it comes to using them on you, Dean loves to take control. He’ll slip a toy inside you while he’s kissing you, watching your face as the pleasure builds and he takes his time with you. He might tell you to keep quiet, to stay still, while he moves the toy slowly, getting you worked up while he strokes your skin. He’s into it, watching how you react, getting off on the way you squirm, the way you beg him for more. It’s not about the toy itself, it’s about how it adds to the power he has over you.

If Dean’s ever using a toy on himself? It’s probably just a quick solo thing when he’s away for a long stretch of time, maybe after a particularly stressful hunt. But honestly? He much prefers the real thing. Toys are fun for when he’s feeling a little extra, but nothing compares to the way you feel wrapped around him. So, yeah, toys are in the picture occasionally, but they’re more of a spicy bonus rather than a regular go-to.

U = UNFAIR..

Dean is a master of teasing. It’s practically in his DNA. He loves to get you worked up, make you beg for him, and he absolutely thrives on the power he has over your body and your reactions. There’s nothing he loves more than seeing you squirm, the way your breath catches when he drags his fingers over your skin just a little too slowly, the way your eyes roll back when he whispers something filthy in your ear. He’s got a wicked sense of humor, and teasing you? It’s his favorite game.

He knows exactly what drives you wild, what makes you ache for him— and he will absolutely milk that. He’s the type to pull away right when you’re getting close, watching you whimper and squirm in frustration, before he grins and says, “Not yet, baby.” He’s totally aware of how badly you want him, how desperate you are for that release, and he loves keeping you on the edge, giving you just enough to keep you hooked but never quite enough to make you snap. He knows it drives you crazy, and that’s exactly why he does it.

Sometimes, when he’s in the mood to be a little extra sadistic, he’ll barely touch you, just enough to make you itch for more, but never enough to actually give you what you need. He’ll tease you with his hands, with his lips, maybe even with his words; telling you how good you look, how he can’t wait to ruin you, only to pull back again, leaving you desperate for him.

It’s not that Dean is being mean.. he’s just having fun, enjoying how you fall apart in his hands. And the best part? The moment you finally get that release, it’s worth every second of the teasing. When he finally lets you have it, when he finally gives in— it’s explosive, mind-blowing. And he’s got no problem doing it all over again, because teasing? That’s just part of the fun for him.

V = VOLUME..

Dean is definitely loud in the heat of the moment. He’s not the type to stay quiet, especially when things are getting heated. His moans, grunts, and low growls fill the room, getting deeper the more intense things get. He’s not shy about expressing how much he’s enjoying himself, and the sounds he makes are like fuel to the fire, only making you want him more. His voice gets rougher as he gets closer, the way he groans your name sounding almost desperate, like he can’t get enough of you.

He’ll growl when you move just the right way, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper when he’s trying to keep himself under control but failing miserably. When he’s on top of you, he’ll grunt in time with his thrusts, his hands gripping the sheets or your skin, as if he needs something to ground him. When he’s kissing you, he can’t help but moan into your mouth, the sounds deep and needy, telling you just how much he wants you.

And when you really hit the right spot? You’ll hear him— loud and clear. He’s not shy about letting you know how good it feels, and it’s a total turn-on to hear those ragged breaths, the way his voice cracks when he says, “God, babe… you’re so tight.” He might even get more vocal as things go on, grumbling something filthy in your ear like, “You’re making me lose control.”

In the heat of it all, Dean’s volume is as much a part of the experience as everything else. His sounds only add to the intensity, making everything feel real, making every movement feel like it matters. And when it’s over? He’ll probably be panting, chuckling, or murmuring how perfect you are, still trying to catch his breath from all the noise he made.

W = WILD CARD..

Dean loves watching you. When it comes to it, Dean is absolutely mesmerized by every little thing you do. It starts off slow— he’ll catch you in moments when you’re unaware, when you’re just going about your day, and he can’t help but let his gaze linger. Maybe you’re getting dressed, stretching after a nap, or adjusting yourself on the couch, and he’ll just stare, his eyes locked on you like he’s memorizing every curve, every movement. There’s something about seeing you unaware, just being your natural, beautiful self, that drives him absolutely wild. He might not say anything, just look at you with this low, dark expression that makes you feel hot under his gaze.

But it’s not just the little moments— he loves watching you when you’re aware, when you know exactly what he’s doing, and the tension between you two gets electric. He might make you stand in front of him, just so he can admire you, his eyes moving over your body, drinking you in. When he’s getting you undressed, he’ll slow things down, taking his time to look at you, making sure you feel exposed and desired. Every inch of your body is a masterpiece to him, and he’s all about seeing it, touching it, taking it in.

When you’re in bed together, he’ll love when you’re on top, especially when you’re riding him or grinding down on him— because he can watch every movement you make, the way your body reacts to him. He’ll watch the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the way your eyes flutter shut when he’s hitting the right spot. He’ll groan under his breath, watching you move, maybe even whispering things like, “That’s it, baby, just like that,” or “God, you look so fucking good like this.”

But it goes beyond just the act; he loves watching you get worked up when you’re teasing him too. If he’s in the middle of it with you, like a slow, sensual buildup, he’ll make you strip for him or slowly touch yourself in front of him, just to see how desperate you’ll get for him. Watching you get lost in your own pleasure, seeing the way you react to his touches, his words, is like a drug for him. The more you get lost in him, the more he gets turned on, and he’ll keep pushing you, keeping that slow burn going until you can’t take it anymore.

For Dean, the act of watching is an extension of the control he has— he loves to see you fall apart under his gaze, to see you lose yourself in the moment. It’s a form of foreplay in itself, a way for him to build tension, to draw things out before he finally gives you the release you crave. The more he watches, the more addicted he gets to the sight of you, and it becomes this unspoken dance, a game where he’s always a step ahead, enjoying how you react, how you need him.

X = X-RAY..

Dean’s confidence in this department is off the charts, and he knows he’s got something to be proud of. He’s not the type to brag, but when you catch a glimpse, you definitely don’t miss it. He’s got a solid, nice size that makes you ache to touch him, with just the right amount of thickness and length to hit every right spot. He can make you shiver with anticipation just by pulling down his jeans, letting you see it all before he lets you touch, before he lets you do anything.

He’s big enough to make you take a deep breath, to make you want to prepare yourself, but he knows how to use it, how to give you just the right amount of pressure, just the right angle. And the best part? He’s more than willing to build you up, letting you take your time with him, watching you as you slowly trace your fingers down his length, his breath catching every time you get too close.

And alright, babe, let’s be real. Dean’s got a size that’s definitely above average. We’re talking about around 7 to 8 inches. He’s thick too, enough to stretch you just right and make you feel every inch of him, pushing all the right buttons. He’s got that perfect length and girth that makes every thrust feel deep, filling, and intense. When he’s inside you, you can feel it, and you can’t help but gasp when he hits that spot that drives you wild.

But it’s not just about size— he knows how to work with what he’s got. He’s slow, deliberate, using every inch of himself to maximize the pleasure, to make you beg for more. He’s got that perfect balance of everything, and when you feel him, when you take him in, there’s no mistaking that he knows exactly what to do with it.

Y = YEARNING..

Dean’s sex drive is through the roof. This man is always hungry for you; whether he’s been working on a case all day or just had some time to himself, his need for you is almost constant. He’s got that deep, insatiable yearning, like he can’t get enough of you. It’s not just physical— there’s something emotional tied to it too. He’s always looking for that connection, that intimacy, and he craves the release you give him. He doesn’t shy away from taking things to the next level whenever the moment feels right.

He’s the type to get touchy and needy, even in public. A lingering hand on your waist, a kiss on the back of your neck when no one’s looking. Dean will always find a way to sneak in his desire. But when it comes to the bedroom (or wherever you happen to be), he’s like a man possessed, eager to claim you and make sure you know just how much he wants you. He’ll go for round after round if you’re both up for it, each time a little more intense than the last.

If you’ve been apart for any amount of time, the moment you’re alone? It’s like a switch flips, and he’s all over you. He’ll get you worked up in seconds, kissing you like he hasn’t seen you in forever, his hands roaming all over, eager to feel you again. You won’t have to wait long before he’s all in, fully driven by that yearning to have you, to feel you, to make you feel as good as he does when he’s with you.

Z = ZZZ..

After everything’s said and done, Dean’s not the type to just crash immediately— but it doesn’t take long. If you’ve had an intense round of sex, he’ll be exhausted, and it’s not uncommon for him to be a little out of breath, still feeling the high of it all. He might pull you close, his arm wrapped around you as you both try to catch your breath, and once the adrenaline fades, he’s pretty much out. Dean’s a heavy sleeper, so after he’s satisfied, he’ll be out like a light, snuggling you in his arms with a content, relaxed sigh.

He’s got a calming way about him after sex; almost like it’s his way of grounding himself. You can feel his body relax next to you, and it’s like he just melts into the bed, not really caring about the world outside. If you’re still awake, though, he’ll lazily pull you into him, wanting to keep you close, maybe whispering something sweet or teasing you about how perfect you were, before his eyes start to flutter. It’s that perfect balance between pleasure and peace— and soon enough, you’ll feel his breath even out as he drifts off into a deep sleep, his body completely satisfied and at rest.

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