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horrorhot-line · 2 months ago

Text

serendipity

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

➵ pairing: saiki kusuo / immune! reader

➵ word count: 16k

➵ genre: of first meetings and crack

➵ warnings: none

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

➵ masterlist (requests are open)

before you read:

‘saiki telepathically communicating with reader.’

‘reader thinking or interacting with saiki through thoughts.’

“saiki talking without moving his mouth.”

“saiki talking using his mouth.”

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

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

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

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You held onto the fuzzy feeling in your stomach,

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

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

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

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

All was good— until it wasn't.

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

It was all going so well, too...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

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

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

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

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

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

It was reasonably quiet until the first break.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, remaining unaffiliated proved to be a challenge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

bonus:

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

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

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

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

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

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

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

next part - metanoia (coming soon!)

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

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neo-nomatrix · 1 year ago

Text

In a world of boys, he’s a gentleman

Luke Castellan x Apollo kid!reader

word count: a little over 1k

summary: you’ve had your heart broken many times, maybe the Hermes boy will be different

You have only ever wanted to be loved. For whatever reason you haven’t had much luck. Sure, there were many guys.

Callum from Ares. The only thing hotter than him was his temper.

Ryan from Hephaestus. He would forge copper to make you jewelry, little did you know three other girls had the same gift.

Ezra from Athena. Always thought he was so much smarter and better than you. Made you want to shoot your arrow straight at him.

Aiden from Hermes. A liar who couldn’t take anything seriously.

Elliott from Ares. Was dared by Callum to lock you in a dark room. And he actually listened.

Being the child of Apollo had its perks, but it more often had downsides. Your least favorite being your ability to fall in love so easily. After Elliot you swore off falling in love. A pain even you couldn’t heal. You couldn’t understand why nothing seemed to work out for you, you were a dreamboat!

A beautiful daughter of Apollo who glowed like the sun. Not only were you his daughter, you were his favorite, the hundreds of freckles on your face proved it. You were kind and generous, always willing to take in an injured camper from dusk to dawn. Your smile quite literally lit up a room. Perhaps you were too nice? Maybe they thought they could take advantage of your kindness?

Whatever the reason was doesn’t matter. You decided to take a page from your aunt Artemis’ book. No more boys, no more falling in love. Things will be easier this way. You know it.

You should’ve been at the bonfire with everyone else. You chose to skip it tonight because you wished to be alone, at the archery range. Maybe you’d earn another freckle if Apollo saw you practicing your already perfect shot. Luke should’ve been at the bonfire too, singing with your half-siblings and roasting marshmallows.

“Hey! I need some help!” A deep, painful cry said.

Immediately worried, you turned around and saw Luke Castellan holding his abdomen. You immediately run over to him, taking his arm over yours and getting to your cabin as soon as possible. You decided the infirmary was too far and you could use the cot in your cabin.

You slam through the cabin door and lay him on the cot in the middle of the bunk beds. “Lay down.”

You pull up his blood stained orange shirt to reveal a large gash on the side of his toned stomach. You held your hand on his abdomen for a moment to assess what happened. A second degree burn and large slices, as if by a horn, caused this.

“How did this happen?” You ask as you start to transfer some of the pain to a potted plant, causing it to wilt.

“Accident with a hephaestus kid, wrong place, wrong time I guess,” He says slightly wincing.

“I can take most of the pain but it’ll still take a while to heal,” You explain.

“Weren’t you supposed to be at the bonfire, leading a song with the rest of your cabin?” He asks.

“I could ask you the same thing, wandering around the blacksmiths. You know those things they make are pretty hot right?” You scoff at him.

“Yeah I guess I do now,” he rolls his eyes.

You begin to bandage the wound and give him a slice of bread. “Bread? What the hell is this gonna do?” he questions.

“My sister Melody made it, it can heal the burns for the most part,” you say.

“Aren’t you the girl who dated Aiden?” He asks bluntly, taking a bite of the bread.

“That’s none of your business,” You roll your eyes.

“If you ask me-” he begins to say before you cut him off.

“I’m not.”

“He was an idiot. All those guys were. I mean seriously, didn’t anyone teach them how to treat a pretty girl?” He continues, not fazed by you interrupting him.

“All those guys? You know about them?” You question.

“I guess. I mean after word got out about that shithead Elliot I did some asking,” he shrugs. You frown at the mention of Elliot.

“Whatever, they’re all in the past. No more guys for me,” you tell him.

“You shouldn’t give up entirely, these guys are stupid. There’s someone out there who deserves you, trust,” He assures you.

“Oh yeah? Tell me when you meet him,” You laugh.

“I think i know a guy, actually,” He responds, sitting up slightly.

“Oh yeah? Do tell.”

“Well, he’s tall, tan, and goddamn gorgeous. Has these soft brown curls, and I heard he’s the best swordsman at camp. Perfect for the best archer,” He explains to you, smiling.

“You seem to be fond of him, maybe you should go date him,” You joke.

“Nah, I think he likes this girl from Apollo. Kind, generous, beautiful, best healer and archer around,” He locks eyes with yours, darting between your eyes and your lips.

He holds your face in his hand, circling his thumb. His shirt rides up exposing his stomach and bandages.

“You like what you see?” He teases.

“You’re an idiot,” You smile.

“That seems to be your type,” he shrugs and knits his brows.

Before you can say another word he presses a kiss against your lips, moving them softly against yours. One of his hands stays on your neck while the other ventures down to your waist and then the chair you sat in. He pulls the chair closer to him and puts his hand back on your waist. You move one of your hands to his knee and the other to right beside him, leaning in closer.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” He’s whispers into the kiss.

You smile at him before pausing. “The bonfire’s almost over, maybe you should head back,” you say.

“Yeah probably,” he gives you one last hard kiss followed by another few pecks.

He stands up and steadys himself, the injury clearly still pains him. He starts to walk away but before he can leave he turns back to you and presses a few more kisses against you.

“Okay, I’m done. y’know for now,” he smirks.

“You’re welcome anytime,” You laugh and he leaves. He gives you two looks before exiting.

Maybe you’ll give this boy one more chance.

#pjo x you #luke castellan #luke pjo x reader #luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #luke pjo #percy pjo #pjo series #pjo fandom #pjo #pjo tv show #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan x you

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dawneternal · 4 months ago

Text

now my head's splitting at the seams

✴︎ in the labyrinth of my pain, would you find me?

✴︎ Azriel x Valkyrie reader, platonic Cassian x reader

✴︎ Summary: you miss a few days of training, down with a bad migraine. It turns out Cassian has a few misconceptions about your condition and, possibly, about pain itself.

✴︎ Warnings: mentions of nausea and vomiting (no descriptions), pain, toxic positivity and ableism, internalized ableism, Cassian's a jerk in the first half. Also I'm so sorry for the tense changing back and forth 💀 I would definitely not call this one a masterpiece

✴︎ Word Count: 3.4k

AO3 Link / Writing Masterlist

✴︎ Notes: somehow writing out my feelings about having a migraine turned into something pretentious about pain and ableism. I think a lot about John Green's "pain is the opposite of language" and how much that's changed my perception of pain

Also listen I love Cassian and I have no problems with him but I had to pick someone to take my feelings out on I'm sorry 💛 also just want to acknowledge that everyone experiences migraines differently and it's not a topic I'm an expert on so I'm sorry if you don't feel well represented by this.

Tbh I could write several essays about the way pain and disability are handled in the acotar books but that's for another time.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you squeeze your eyes shut tighter and twist your knuckle into the pressure point at the base of your palm, chasing the momentary relief it'll give you from your nausea. It works for a minute, and you're considering making your way to the bathroom before another wave hits you when your bedroom door flies open.

"You're late," Cassian's voice bellows through the room and he doesn't see you wince. He strides into the room, footsteps booming across the floorboards, and he's left the door open behind him, letting a traitorous amount of light into your dark room. What good were black out curtains if your darkness was going to be invaded like this anyways?

"Oh my gods you've got to talk quieter," You curl tighter around yourself, head clutched in your hands.

"So you're hungover?" He stops near your bed, arms crossed as he towers over you.

"No, I have a migraine."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

You squint up at him, scowling, swallowing every bad word threatening to spill off your tongue. Though maybe he deserves it for coming into your room without asking.

"Please leave," You say quietly, all the venom you could usually imbue into your voice completely swallowed by your current condition.

"You've missed three days of training." He says by way of answering, definitely not following your request to lower his volume. "You can't coddle yourself like this."

His words punch the air from your lungs. Coddle? Something terrible is rising in your gut, along with the desperate thought that you can't deal with this right now.

"I'm not - this isn't - I don't think you understand how much it hurts." You scramble for words, cheeks heated from pain and anger.

"You've gotta push through it," He says, no hint of sympathy.

"Cassian please."

"I'm not leaving until you agree to come with me."

You don't have time to respond before you're running to the bathroom and throwing up whatever you'd managed to keep down last night, head throbbing with every movement.

Breathing hard, you lean back from the toilet and clutch your head in your hands. The silence rings in your ears and you aren't sure if Cassian is still there or if he finally took mercy on you and left, until his voice makes it's way to you, with just a hint of remorse in it -

"I'd better see you up there."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Cassian did not see you at training that morning, and you're assuming you've bruised his ego because the next day he doubles down.

The thing is, Rhysand knew of your condition. The other priestesses knew. It's only Cassian being out of the loop and if he understood what a migraine felt like, you're certain he wouldn't be dragging you up there. You were used to dealing with people who didn't understand, had worked hard to learn how to give yourself kindness no matter what other people said. But it's like he knew exactly what things to say, what buttons to press to undo all of that progress.

It was like he'd pulled off your armor, piece by piece, leaving you cold and exposed. Going back to that world where weakness was your given name and it hurt worse than stepping into the ring and fighting the pain. If you could prove him wrong, just make it through a couple of hours, you could return to your sanctuary of darkness. And at least then, you wouldn't hate yourself on top of everything else.

So you followed him up to the training ring, struggling to open your eyes all the way in the morning light, hunched over to make the pain down your shoulders and neck just a bit more bearable. You sway on your feet, but Cassian either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

When he moves aside, revealing your small, huddled frame trailing beside him, Gwyn gasps.

"Cassian!" She cries, her tone scathing, and the hint of smug triumph slips from his face. It disappears completely as Gwyn rushes to your side, folding you into her arms to block your eyes from the light. You groan into her shoulder and go limp in her arms, grateful for the support.

Azriel stands to the side, watching with narrowed eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest like Cassian's, but there is no determination or judgment in his posture or expression. There's angry, crackling flames as he watches the redheaded Valkyrie thread her fingers through your hair and murmur soft comfort.

"She missed training all this week," Cassian says, but he's not barking any more. He's feeling a little bit small underneath the glares that pin him where he stands.

"Yeah, we know," Gwyn says, and it's the closest she's gotten to snapping at him in the whole time they've known each other. She turns to you and her eyes soften. "Let's get you back to bed, love."

"No," You murmur, guilt and shame bringing your resolve to the surface once more. You gently push her away to stand on your own, raising your squinted eyes to meet Cassian's. "I can do it. I'll be fine."

She watches you take shaky steps to the nearest mat and begin stretching, body obviously stiff from a few days in bed. You're conscious of all the eyes on you, far too sympathetic for your liking. This is exactly what you hated.

"Are we starting or not?" You let out a stiff laugh, too aware that your words are lightly slurred. That is absolutely not helping the hangover accusations.

The other priestesses shuffle to get into place, bumping into each other as they move to find their positions. There was still a horrible silence, crackling with fierce anger, all rippling in Cassian's direction. He halfheartedly called a few orders, visibly uncomfortable with the energy in the ring.

And you tried. You tried hard. To move your body through the stretches like normal. But your muscles protested every move, threatening to lock back up, sending stabs of pain through your skull. It didn't take long for the nausea to take over, forcing you to the edge of the ring, doubled over and dry heaving.

"This is ridiculous," Gwyn scoffs before she's at your side again. "You're going to back to bed."

"I will not be weak," You growl at her, panting as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, "I am not lazy."

Gwyn's head snaps around to find Cassian, mouth dropped open in fury as she silently dares him to confirm that he may have suggested weakness to you.

"You're not and you know it," She says softly, hauling you up and leading you away from the training ring. “Don't do that to yourself.”

Cassian is feeling like he's surrounded by wolves, all the glares that are being sent his way. He understands by now that he's messed up, and in front of a group that may not be easily inclined to forgive him. He's sure every single one of them has experienced the disbelief that he foolishly shoved your way. For their pain, or for anything else.

He thought you would snap back to your normal self after a bit of warming up, shake off your symptoms with a bit of movement and sunshine. You were strong enough to, if you wanted to. He'd seen it before. He thought you just didn't want to.

A small, firm hand lands on his arm and he finds himself looking down at Nesta. There's sympathy in her expression, but her eyes twinkle with the threat of a nasty bite if he dares to say anything stupid.

"She gets them after particularly bad flashbacks," Nesta says, "Or sometimes they're just random. Madja says there's no fix for the pain but darkness and sleep."

Cassian's stomach twists so terribly he thinks he might puke, too. In the midst of attempting to instill resilience, he's understanding that he knows nothing of this kind of pain. This is something different, something that cannot be conquered in the same way as emotional pain, as every day aches and injuries. You are a soldier in a battle he has no strategy for.

He may understand the concept of emotional resilience, of getting back up and into the training ring when you don't want to. But this is different.

The final blow, the thing that makes him want to cower and hide, is meeting his brother's eyes. Seeing the fire there transports him back in time, sending flashes of a smaller Azriel pushing himself too hard, determined to show the world that he'd never be less because of the damage to his hands. Fighting against words far too similar to the ones his own brother had spouted to you this morning, desperate to become strong enough that no one would ever doubt his pain and live.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

It was not a surprise that Cassian found himself in Rhysand's office later, confessing how thoroughly he'd fucked up, desperate for a little direction in how to fix this mess.

"It has to be their choice," Rhysand is saying, eyes meeting Cassian's over his glass.

Cassian's mouth opens and closes as he tries to conjure a response. He knows that. Of course he knows that. But apparently, his brain had not wrapped around how far that concept might go.

Cassian let out a grunt as he sat back in his chair, arms crossed. Rhysand knew he didn't have to push any further, he recognized the conflict in his brother's eyes. So he sat with him, quiet, while he processed.

"Do you want to know what it feels like?" He broke the since after a while, as the idea came to him.

"What?" Cassian blinked, startled from his thoughts.

"A migraine," Rhys explained, "Do you want to know what it feels like?"

Cassian frowned, studying his brother's expression for anything resembling amusement, but there was none. So he nods.

Not even a full second later, his skull is attacked with throbbing pain, deep in the base of his neck. He hadn't even noticed the fae lights before, but now they overwhelm him, causing a dull pain to surface behind his eyes. Nausea curled up his throat, threatening ruthlessly.

"Oh gods," He leaned forward and clutched his head in his hands, finding that his limbs trembled under his own weight.

"Do you push yourself when you feel like this?" Rhysand asked softly, not taunting. Prompting.

"I don't really ever feel like this," Cassian grumbled out.

"Hm," Rhysand mused, his brows drawing together. He'd experienced episodes like these often, under the mountain. He knew that Azriel struggled with them through his teenage years, like his brain still struggled to process his senses outside of a dark cell.

Deep in thought, he only remembered to ease up on Cassian's mind when his brother whimpered.

"Some say pain cannot truly be described with language," Rhys says, gaze somewhere else as Cassian gulps down air. "And that your pain is one of the few things that is truly yours, that you can never share. Even if you manage to describe it, it will never be felt by anyone else."

"I thought she was just hungover," Cassian says, but he's not defending himself. Rhysand knows.

"What if she was, though?" He tilts his head to the side, watching his brother carefully.

And that is the thing that had begun to unfurl within Cassian as he stood surrounded by the priestesses he'd wronged. He understood that having true control of your body meant that dictating how pain is handled had to be yours, too. He understood that pushing someone to deal with pain in his own way was a violation in and of itself. He had stepped into the world that you had carefully balanced and re-built around your condition and dared to tell you that you may have done it wrong.

"Will she get better?" He asks, thinking of the agony he'd just experienced for a few short minutes. The same one that you'd been experiencing for three days, now.

"It's hard to say," Rhysand shrugs, "Madja says she will likely experience these off and on for the rest of her life, but she may have some periods of remission."

He tilts his head at his brother again, "You know that a majority of the priestesses have an invisible disability of similar kinds, right? They won't get better. They will be in pain every day until they die."

Rhysand sighs, thinking of the hundreds - possibly thousands - of tins of salve that Azriel has gone through, numbing the pain of his nerve damage. Trembling hands hidden in black gloves, tucked into his body and away from the world. And that is the reason he's bothering telling Cassian of any of this. Otherwise, he might let him figure it out on his own.

"But the healers-" Cassian begins.

"Are there to help them cope with their emotional pain and trauma," Rhysand nods, "But some of them, a lot of them, were disabled as a result of what they went through and will never get better. Like Clotho.”

Oh.

It clicks in Cassian's mind, then. Who else Rhys meant. Who else Cassian had insulted. He had never barged into Azriel's room, insisting that he still train even when he could not flex his fingers without wincing, without trembling too hard to hold a glass of water. But he'd done it to you, in front of him. And that pinned his disbelief on Azriel all the same.

Azriel's pain, your pain, were enemies that neither of you could defeat. And here he was, shoving a sword into your hands, and insisting that you try.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

A soft knock sounds against your door, so quiet you almost don't hear it. You stare at it, wondering if you should pretend that you didn't. But then the knob turns slowly and it opens just a crack, and a soft voice is saying into the darkness,

"Hey, it's Azriel. Can I come in?"

Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch his shadows dancing back and forth through the thin wedge of light he's letting in.

"Sure," You say, moving quickly to smooth your rumpled clothes and tangled hair before he steps in. You're not exactly sure what he thinks of you after this morning.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. His eyes seem to glow in the darkness, an amber-honey color, and somehow you can still see his shadows, like they're even darker than your room with no light.

"I just wanted to check on you," He says, crouching down beside your bed so you don't have to sit up.

"I'm okay," You say, still getting over the surprise of the Shadowsinger in your space. It's true, though, you suppose. You're used to all of your other symptoms by now, and your heart hurts worse than your head.

"He's an idiot sometimes," Azriel says, basically spits. A smile begins to spread on your face so he continues, “Like, sometimes he's just an asshole, straight up. But this time, believe it or not, I think he actually meant well and was just an idiot.”

“I know,” You give him a sad smile and all of the anger melts from his face.

“I think he went to buy flowers if that makes you feel any better,” He sighs. You know he's just as mad at Cassian as you are, maybe even more mad. But he still can't help vouching for him. It's definitely going to take more than flowers to forgive him, but it's a good start. You also appreciate that Azriel has bothered to warn you ahead of time, in case you wanted to avoid Cassian's apology.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, so quietly. And you wonder who else has earned this tenderness from him.

“It's not too bad right now,” you say truthfully, though you know that sitting up or going outside might be pushing your luck.

“Still hurts?”

“Yeah. Still hurts.”

He nods. “I can try something that helps me, sometimes.”

You search his eyes for a moment, then nod.

“Can I touch your face?” He asks, almost a whisper.

Your heart leaps into your throat and you fight to keep your face neutral as you nod again, no idea what he's planning to do with you.

Slowly, leaving enough time for you to stop him, he reaches out. He's not wearing gloves, like usual, and in the dark you can just barely make out the uneven silhouette of his dimpled, scarred hands.

His fingers land gently on your forehead, and he presses his thumb between your brows. Gently at first, and then harder, circling a tender point under your skin. It makes the pain in your head sharper, and you let out a hiss.

“I know,” He says, “Bear with me a minute.”

You close your eyes, biting back a whimper, but after a moment the pain begins to ease. He keeps going for a few minutes and you feel your whole body relax, pain free for the first time in days.

You don't realize how much you've leaned into his touch until he gently pulls away and you find your head falling forward with him.

“What is that?” You open your eyes and blink at him.

“A pressure point,” He grins, and it almost looks like he's blushing.

“That's magical,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, and then, “you can sit on the bed if you want.”

Azriel smiles and straightens, and you move your pillow to the side to make space for him. He slides off his boots and sits on the bed next to you, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. You place your pillow next to his lap and settle back into it.

“Thank you,” You say, your body feeling lighter than it has in days.

“Of course,” he says.

A silence settles, but it's not uncomfortable. There's something in it that you understand. He's just keeping you company. Here to sit with you in your pain.

It's easy to relax in his presence, between his calm aura and the pain relief he's offered you. And you find yourself spilling the question that's been circling though your mind since this morning.

“What if I can't fight, someday? What if I can't be a Valkyrie anymore?”

Azriel stills beside you. It's a long moment before he says anything. You're tense beside him, and it makes you flinch when he brings his hand so gently to rest on your head. Not moving, just resting.

“First,” He says, in the same soft voice, “You'll always be a Valkyrie. Because you cut the ribbon. Because you sisters will never let you go. And because I know for a fact that the Valkyries did not strip their warriors of their title if they became disabled by an illness or an injury.”

“Really?” You breathe.

“Mhm,” He hums in affirmation. You forget sometimes that he knows the Valkyries from more than history books.

“And second,” His voice drops lower, like he's sharing a secret with you. His hand moves, fingers slipping gingerly through your hair. And it makes you realize that he came here with his hands uncovered as an offer of solidarity. Combing his scarred fingers through your hair, he is offering you vulnerability, like recompense for what you bared this morning. A trade. A truce.

“If you cannot fight,” He continues, “Then you will show the world that a formidable woman can be made from more than fighting skills. You will still be - will always be - something incredible.”

Tears prickle at your eyes, form a lump in your throat. You reach up to grasp his hand, the only thank you that you can manage in the moment, and he lets you.

There's another silence, as he holds your hand in the dark.

“Who helps you?” You ask, turning to look up at him. He watches your eyebrows knit together, so serious, and he swallows a smile.

“What do you mean?” He says.

You bring one finger up to tap the space between his own eyebrows.

“With your pain? Who helps you like you helped me?”

“Um,” He shrugs, “Sometimes Rhys if he has time. Otherwise, no one.”

That's what you thought, but it still makes your heart twist in your chest. It takes a deep breath before you have the courage to say the next words out loud.

“You should tell me next time you're in pain. And I'll help.”

Azriel stares back at you, something bewildered in his eyes. Because he sees your suggestion for what it is. The same thing he offered you. A trade. A truce.

A beginning.

“Yes,” He whispers into the dark, and his hand closes around yours. “I will.”

#relieving someone else's pain is strangely intimate???#idk what this is honestly #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #platonic cassian x reader #Rhysand #Azriel #cassian #madja acotar #Gwyneth berdara #nesta archeron #disabled reader #chronic pain #hurt/comfort

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reidmarieprentiss · 5 months ago

Text

Textual Tension

Summary: You accidentally send a very suggestive text to your awkward coworker, and he replies...

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), fluff

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, awkward tension

Word count: 6.1k

a/n: has anyone ever sent a sext to the wrong person?? i've only ever sent them to my friends on accident and for that i am so thankful

main masterlist

Additional warnings: oral (fem receiving), mild breast play, soft dom spencer

You sit on your bed, the soft glow of your phone illuminating your face as you type out a rather suggestive message to the person you've been casually hooking up with. A smirk tugs at your lips as you hit send, confident that the message will hit its mark.

I've been thinking about you… Can't stop imagining what I'd do if you were here right now. I want to feel your hands all over me, the way you’d make me moan… Let’s make fantasy a reality?

But within seconds, your heart stops as you realize the terrible mistake you've just made.

You’ve sent the message to Spencer.

Spencer.

Your coworker. The brilliant, kind, and awkwardly charming genius who you’ve always had a friendly, professional relationship with. And, of course, the one who has been harboring a massive, secret crush on you. A fact that, unbeknownst to you, has led to countless daydreams and wishes that you might feel the same.

The blood drains from your face as you stare at your phone, horrified, praying that somehow the message didn’t actually go through, or maybe, just maybe, Spencer won’t read it and will simply delete it. But you know better—Spencer is meticulous about everything. Of course, he’ll read it. You’re absolutely mortified, every worst-case scenario flashing through your mind.

Meanwhile, in his apartment, Spencer is settling down with a cup of tea, ready to dive into the book he’s been reading. When his phone buzzes, he picks it up absentmindedly, assuming it’s just a work-related message or something mundane. But as he reads the words on the screen, his eyes widen in shock, his breath catching in his throat.

His thoughts run wild, heart pounding as he rereads the text, each time wondering if it could possibly be real. Could you, the person he’s admired from afar for so long, actually want him in the way he’s secretly yearned for? The idea is intoxicating, and before he can second-guess himself, he responds with a message that matches your energy, his pulse quickening at the boldness of it.

Wow… I didn’t know you were into me like that. I’ve been thinking about you too. If you want, we can definitely make that happen.

The moment you see his reply, your stomach drops. You can't believe this is happening. You’re completely mortified, your mind spinning with the implications. How could you ever face him again? You don’t respond, the fear and embarrassment paralyzing you, leaving you in a state of panic.

The next day at work, you’re a bundle of nerves. Every step you take towards the bullpen feels like you’re walking to your own doom. When you finally arrive, you try to act normal, but the tension is palpable. You can’t even bring yourself to make eye contact with Spencer, every interaction feeling like it’s laced with the humiliation of last night’s mistake.

Spencer, on the other hand, is caught in a whirlwind of emotions. At first, he’s elated, thinking that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance you were into him. But as the day drags on and you remain distant, the excitement turns to confusion, then a sharp sting of rejection. Did he misread the situation? Was it all just a mistake? He’s left feeling awkward and exposed, unsure of where he stands with you now.

—

The tension between you and Spencer had become a nearly tangible thing, a thread pulled taut between the two of you, ready to snap at any moment. At first, your glances in his direction were purely out of necessity—quick, fleeting looks to gauge his mood, to see if he was as affected by this as you were. But as the days passed, those glances became more frequent, more lingering.

It started innocently enough. You’d look over and notice how effortlessly his hair seemed to fall into place, the soft waves framing his face in a way that made him look almost ethereal. You’d never paid much attention before, but now you couldn’t help but admire how it suited him, how it added to his charm.

Then, it was his forearms. You’d catch him pushing up the sleeves of his button-down shirt, revealing the sinewy strength beneath the fabric. There was something about the casual way he did it, the way the muscles in his arms flexed ever so slightly as he worked, that made your heart skip a beat. It was such a simple thing, but it had a profound effect on you, stirring something deep within.

And then there was the way he licked his lips when he was focused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he concentrated on whatever task was in front of him. You couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have his attention focused solely on you, to feel the intensity of that gaze as he looked at you, not with confusion or uncertainty, but with desire.

The more you noticed these little things, the more conflicted you became. This was Spencer—sweet, brilliant, and awkward Spencer. The idea of seeing him in a different light had never really crossed your mind before, but now… now it was all you could think about. The memory of his bold response to your accidental text played on a loop in your mind, taunting you with the possibilities.

What if you responded? What if you stopped overthinking everything and just… saw where it could go? The idea terrified you, but it also excited you in a way you hadn’t expected. There was something thrilling about the thought of exploring this new dynamic, of seeing if there was something more between you and Spencer than just a shared workspace.

You found yourself daydreaming about it, wondering how he would react if you sent him a message, if you matched the energy of his reply. Would he be as nervous as you were, or would he surprise you with a confidence you hadn’t seen before? The thought of it made your pulse quicken, a flush of warmth spreading through you.

But with the excitement came doubt. What if this was a mistake? What if you were reading too much into things, and responding to his text would only make the situation worse? The fear of making things awkward again, of possibly ruining your work life further, held you back. Yet, the thought of doing nothing felt like a missed opportunity, like you were letting something potentially amazing slip through your fingers.

As the day dragged on, you found it harder and harder to focus on your work. Every time you saw Spencer, every time you noticed another little detail about him that you hadn’t before, the urge to reach out grew stronger. It was like there was a tug-of-war going on inside you, with one side urging you to take the risk and see what could happen, and the other holding you back out of fear.

Finally, as the workday was winding down, you made a decision. Maybe you were overthinking this—maybe it was time to just go for it and see what came of it. After all, Spencer had responded positively, hadn’t he? There was a chance, a real chance, that he felt something for you too, something more than just a workplace friendship.

Sitting on your couch with your heart pounding in your chest, you pulled out your phone, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you debated what to say. You didn’t want to be too forward, but you also didn’t want to be vague. After a few moments of contemplation, you typed out a message, your hands trembling slightly as you reread it.

Hey, about that text… Maybe we should talk. Or… you know, not just talk. If you’re still interested.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, your heart racing as you watched the message deliver. There was no going back now.

The rest of the evening was a blur of anxiety and anticipation. You couldn’t stop thinking about what his response might be, what it could mean for the two of you. When your phone finally buzzed with a new message, you hesitated for just a moment before opening it.

I’m definitely interested. Let’s talk… or not just talk, whenever you’re ready.

The words were simple, but they held so much promise. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you read them, a mixture of relief and excitement flooding your senses. This was happening. You and Spencer were about to cross a line, to explore something new and thrilling.

Just as you were contemplating what to say, how to navigate this sudden and unexpected turn in your relationship, another notification lit up your screen.

Come over? Now?

The message was short, simple, and completely electrifying. It sent a jolt through your system, leaving you momentarily speechless. The implications of it were clear—Spencer wasn’t just thinking about this; he was ready to act on it, to turn this accidental confession into something real and immediate.

Your mind raced as you considered what to do next. Just minutes ago, you were agonizing over whether or not to even respond, and now he was inviting you over, as if the decision had already been made. The sheer boldness of his message left you breathless, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement.

You couldn't help but imagine what it would be like—showing up at his place, the air thick with the unspoken tension that had been building between you all day. The thought of being alone with him, of crossing that line from coworkers to something more, sent a thrill through you.

You took a deep breath, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. This was a pivotal moment, and whatever you decided now would set the course for what happened next.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of internal debate, you typed out a response, your heart racing as you hit send.

I'll be there in 20 minutes.

—

You parked outside Spencer’s apartment building, your heart racing as you took a deep breath to steady yourself. The 20-minute drive had been filled with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions—excitement, anticipation, and a lingering thread of uncertainty. You weren’t entirely sure what to expect when you arrived, especially considering how different Spencer had seemed over text compared to how he usually was in person. The Spencer you knew was shy, adorably awkward, and hesitant when it came to personal matters. But his texts had shown a side of him that was bold, confident, and unafraid to take charge.

As you approached his door, your nerves started to get the better of you, but there was no turning back now. You lifted your hand to knock, hesitating for just a moment before finally letting your knuckles rap against the wood. The seconds that followed felt like an eternity, your mind racing with possibilities of how this night could unfold.

When the door finally opened, you were taken aback by the sight that greeted you. Spencer stood there, shirtless, the soft glow of his apartment’s light highlighting the lean lines of his torso. He wore nothing but a pair of low-hanging gray sweatpants, the waistband slung low on his hips, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the defined muscles and trail of hair beneath. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run his hands through it moments before opening the door, and his eyes, usually filled with a mix of curiosity and gentle kindness, now held a smoldering intensity that you had never seen before.

For a moment, you couldn’t find the words, your breath catching in your throat as you took in the sight of him. This wasn’t the Spencer you were used to—this was the man who had responded to your accidental text with a confidence that had both surprised and intrigued you. The awkward, hesitant Spencer you knew seemed to have taken a backseat, making way for someone who knew exactly what he wanted.

And what he wanted, it seemed, was you.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips as he watched your reaction. There was a heat in his gaze, a silent challenge that dared you to step inside, to see just how far this newfound confidence could take him.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m glad you came.”

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts, but the sight of him standing there like that—so effortlessly confident, so unapologetically enticing—made it difficult to think of anything but the rush of desire that was quickly building within you.

“Hey,” you managed to reply, your voice a little breathless. “You… uh, look different.”

Spencer’s smile widened slightly, his eyes never leaving yours as he stepped aside to let you in. “Well I should hope so,” he said, his tone teasing, but with an underlying seriousness that sent your heart racing even faster.

You stepped inside, feeling the warmth of his apartment wrap around you as the door clicked shut behind you. The atmosphere between you was charged, electric, every moment filled with unspoken possibilities. Spencer moved closer, his presence almost overwhelming in its intensity. The scent of him—a mix of something clean and masculine—filled your senses, making you even more acutely aware of the heat radiating from his skin.

“I’ve been thinking,” Spencer began, his voice soft yet steady, as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “About what was said...”

Your breath hitched at the light touch, your skin tingling where his fingers had just been. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid that your voice might betray just how much his presence was affecting you.

“I don’t want this to be awkward,” he continued, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. “But I also don’t want to pretend that nothing’s changed… because it has.”

He was right—everything had changed. The air between you was thick with tension, with the unspoken acknowledgment of what you both wanted but were too nervous to voice. And yet, here he was, standing so close, shirtless and confident, laying it all out in front of you.

Taking a deep breath, you finally found your voice. “So… what happens next?”

Spencer’s lips quirked up into a small, almost mischievous smile. “I think that depends on what you want.”

His words hung in the air between you, a challenge and an invitation all at once. You could feel the pull, the magnetic attraction drawing you closer to him, and in that moment, you knew there was no turning back.

With a boldness you hadn’t known you possessed, you stepped even closer, your body nearly brushing against his as you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “I want to find out what happens when we stop pretending.”

The last remnants of hesitation melted away as Spencer’s smile turned into something more—something hungry and determined. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips descended on yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. It was fierce, consuming, a release of all the tension that had been building between you.

As his hands roamed your back, pulling you closer still, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you had only begun to scratch the surface of the side of Spencer Reid you were about to discover tonight.

The world around you blurred as Spencer’s lips moved against yours, his kiss deepening with every passing second. Time seemed to lose all meaning as you lost yourself in the warmth of his touch, the taste of his lips, and the way his hands gripped your waist with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine. It felt like you had been kissing for an eternity, and yet when he finally pulled back, you found yourself gasping for breath, your mind spinning, and your body aching for more.

Spencer’s eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, filled with a heat that made your pulse quicken. Without saying a word, he took your hand, his grip firm yet gentle, leading you down the hall towards his bedroom. The anticipation thrummed in your veins, every step heightening the tension between you. But just as you reached the doorway, Spencer suddenly stopped, turning to press you against the doorframe. His lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing kisses that made your knees weaken and your breath hitch.

You barely had time to process the sensation before he pulled back again, a playful gleam in his eyes as he gently but firmly guided you into the bedroom. With a swift motion, he pushed you onto the bed, and you bounced slightly, a surprised giggle escaping your lips. The unexpected shift in his demeanor—this newfound confidence, this playful dominance—left you both intrigued and a little off-balance. You’d known Spencer as the quiet, reserved, and somewhat shy genius, but this side of him was something entirely different, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by it.

As you lay there, still trying to wrap your head around this change, you found yourself blurting out a question that had been lingering in the back of your mind. “Do you do this a lot, Reid?”

Spencer chuckled, the sound low and deep, sending a ripple of warmth through your body. He shook his head with a smile that was equal parts reassuring and teasing. “No, not ever really,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady, as he reached for your ankles and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed, positioning himself between your legs. His hands rested on your thighs, the warmth of his touch seeping through your clothes, grounding you in the moment.

“Call me Spencer,” he added, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, his gaze locking onto yours with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. There was something intimate about the way he said it, as if this wasn’t just about physical attraction, but about letting you see a side of him that no one else had.

Your heart skipped a beat at the request, the simple act of calling him by his first name in this context making the moment feel even more personal, more real.

“Spencer,” you repeated, the name slipping from your lips like a secret, a promise. His smile widened, a spark of something almost wicked flashing in his eyes, and you realized that you were about to discover a side of him that you’d never imagined existed.

Spencer leaned in, his hands sliding up your thighs, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “I’ve been wanting this for a long time, you know. I just never thought…” He trailed off, as if realizing that words weren’t enough to express what he was feeling. Instead, he captured your lips with his again, his kiss searing and insistent, as though he were making up for lost time.

Spencer's hands, warm and steady, slowly trailed up your sides, his fingers grazing the soft fabric of your t-shirt as they moved. When he reached the hem, he hesitated, his touch gentle but deliberate as he curled his fingers around the edge. He looked up at you, his expression a mix of desire and tenderness, but there was something else too—a careful consideration, a need to ensure that you were just as willing as he was.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. The intensity of his gaze held you captive, his eyes searching yours for the reassurance he needed.

For a moment, you were too caught up in the heat of the moment to respond, your heart pounding in your chest. The way he looked at you, with such raw want and yet so much care, made it hard to think clearly. You nodded quickly, your eyes wide with anticipation, but Spencer didn’t move.

His grip on your shirt tightened slightly as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “I’m going to need you to use your words, sweetheart.”

The way he said it—his voice rough, almost gritted out with barely restrained desire—made your head spin, the sheer force of his need for you sending your pulse into overdrive. There was a command in his tone, but also a gentle reminder that this was your choice, that he needed to hear you say it.

You swallowed hard, your voice catching in your throat as you tried to find the words. The air around you felt thick with tension, every second stretching out as you stared up at him, the look in his eyes making it impossible to deny him—or yourself.

“Ye—yes, please,” you finally managed to say, your voice a little breathless, but full of the same want that you saw reflected in his eyes.

Spencer’s eyes darkened with satisfaction at your response, a small, almost predatory smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he began to lift your shirt. The fabric slid up your torso slowly, the cool air of the room hitting your skin as he revealed more of you. He took his time, savoring the moment, his eyes never leaving yours as he pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside.

For a brief moment, you felt exposed, vulnerable under the weight of his gaze. But the way Spencer looked at you, with a mixture of awe and hunger, made all your insecurities melt away. His hands roamed over the newly exposed skin, his touch both soothing and electrifying, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with sincerity and desire, as he leaned in to press a kiss to your collarbone, his lips lingering against your skin.

You had forgone a bra that night, thinking nothing of it when you slipped into your comfy clothes after a long day at work. After all, you hadn’t planned on anything like this happening. But now, with Spencer’s hands on you, his eyes filled with something that looked a lot like awe, you found that you didn’t care in the slightest. If anything, it added to the intimacy of the moment, the rawness of it, making you feel closer to him than you ever thought possible.

His touch was slow, deliberate, almost as if he was savoring every moment, every reaction he elicited from you. His fingers brushed over your skin, exploring you with curiosity and desire, as if he was trying to learn every detail, every response, to what he was doing. When his hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, you couldn’t suppress the soft gasp that escaped your lips, your body arching towards him instinctively, craving more of his touch.

“Spencer…” you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper, but filled with so much emotion that it felt like a confession. There was something in his name, in the way it rolled off your tongue, that made the moment feel even more intimate, more real. It wasn’t just a name anymore—it was a declaration, an acknowledgment of what was happening between you, of the connection that was quickly forming.

Spencer’s eyes flicked back up to yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race even faster. There was something almost primal in the way he looked at you now, a hunger that was barely restrained, but also a tenderness that made your chest tighten with emotion. He leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this… how long I’ve wanted you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to the sheer weight of them. It wasn’t just lust in his voice—it was something deeper, something that made you feel cherished, desired in a way that you hadn’t felt in a long time. The realization that Spencer had been holding back, that he had wanted you for so long, made your heart swell with emotion, your need for him growing even stronger.

He kissed you again, his lips capturing yours in a way that was both gentle and demanding, his hands continuing their exploration of your body. Each touch, each caress, was filled with passion and care, as if he was trying to show you just how much you meant to him without needing to say the words. And with every kiss, every brush of his fingertips, you found yourself falling deeper into the moment, your own desire for him becoming overwhelming.

You reached up, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing to feel the heat of his body against yours. The way he responded, the way his hands gripped you tighter, as if afraid to let go, made it clear that he was just as lost in the moment as you were. There was no more hesitation, no more awkwardness—just the two of you, finally giving in to the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

Spencer’s hands were warm against your skin as he gently laid you back on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he hovered above you. The intensity in his gaze was almost overwhelming, his pupils blown wide with desire, but there was something else there too—curiosity, maybe even a hint of vulnerability. His fingers trailed down your sides, the touch sending shivers through your body as he slowly leaned in, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your chest.

“Tell me, Y/N…” His voice was a low murmur, filled with an edge of something deeper, as he kissed his way down your chest, taking his time, savoring the feel of your skin beneath his lips. “Did you think about me too?”

The question hung in the air, making your breath hitch as you squirmed beneath him, the sensation of his kisses igniting a fire deep within you. Your mind was spinning, every nerve in your body on high alert as you felt his breath ghost over your skin, his lips moving lower, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

“I did,” you admitted, your voice a little breathless as the confession slipped out. It was the truth, after all—you had thought about him, more than you ever wanted to admit. The idea of Spencer, sweet, awkward Spencer, being the one to push you to this point had always been a secret fantasy, buried deep within you. But now, with him here, in this moment, it was no longer just a fantasy—it was real.

Spencer’s lips curved into a smirk against your skin as he reached your hip, his teeth nipping playfully at the delicate flesh, making you gasp. The sensation was a mix of pleasure and surprise, and you couldn’t help but arch your back slightly in response. His hands moved to your shorts, his fingers hooking into the waistband as he tugged them down slowly, teasingly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours as he did.

“That text wasn’t for me though, was it?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement as he watched your reaction. The smirk on his face was something you’d never seen before—confident, almost cocky, as if he knew exactly the effect he was having on you.

You froze for a moment, your heart skipping a beat as the realization hit you. You hadn’t expected him to catch on to that detail, but of course he had—Spencer was nothing if not observant. The thought that he knew the text wasn’t meant for him, but was still here, still wanting you, made your pulse quicken even more.

“Uh, no, it wasn’t,” you admitted with a whine, the words slipping out before you could stop them. There was no point in lying—not when he was looking at you like that, his gaze full of heat and understanding. “But I’m glad I sent it to you,” you added quickly, your voice filled with sincerity and a hint of desperation.

Spencer’s smirk softened into a small, almost tender smile as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your navel. “Maybe your subconscious wanted you to,” he suggested, his voice low and smooth, each word making your head spin. The idea made you dizzy, the thought that some part of you had always wanted this, had always wanted him, even if you hadn’t fully realized it until now.

“Uh huh,” you breathed out, your voice floaty and airy, your mind clouded with desire. The sensation of his lips on your skin, his hands on your body, was intoxicating, making it hard to think clearly. All you could focus on was the way he made you feel—alive, wanted, and completely lost in the moment.

Spencer’s fingers continued to work on removing your shorts, sliding them down your legs with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something almost worshipful in the way he touched you, as if he was savoring every second, every inch of skin he revealed.

As he finally discarded your shorts, leaving you completely exposed to him, he took a moment to just look at you, his gaze filled with a mix of desire and admiration. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he leaned in to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

The words made your heart swell, a wave of warmth washing over you as you reached out, your fingers tangling in his hair. There was nothing left to hide now, nothing left to hold back. This was exactly where you wanted to be—where you were meant to be.

“Do you always skip out on bras and panties, Y/N?” Spencer’s teasing comment sent a ripple of laughter through you, the sound mingling with the rapid beat of your heart. The playful banter between you only intensified the electric connection that was already sparking between you both. His bite on your inner thigh was both a tease and a promise, igniting a fire that made every nerve in your body come alive.

“N–no, only at home,” you managed to scream out, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. The combination of his touch and the vulnerability of the moment made it impossible to hold back any longer.

He chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, echoing softly in the room as his fingers continued to explore your skin. “But you didn’t put any on before coming over?” His tone was light, yet there was an undeniable edge of desire that underpinned his words.

You took a moment to catch your breath, the playful challenge in his eyes urging you to respond. “Are you–are you complaining?” you asked, your voice wavering between breathless laughter and the growing urgency of your emotions.

Spencer shook his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Not at all, although–” His sentence was cut short as your hands found their way into his hair, pulling him fully into you. The sudden, decisive movement left no room for hesitation, and the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you, entwined in each other’s embrace.

“Oh my god, Spencer, just shut up,” you laughed, the sound filled with a mixture of amusement and desire. “Put your mouth to use.”

His response was immediate, his lips finding your core with a fervor that matched the intensity of your own longing. The way he ate you out was everything you had been waiting for—passionate, deep, and downright filthy. His hands left their place on your thighs, tracing the contours of your body with a reverence that made you feel both cherished and desired.

As he sunk his mouth deeper, sucking your clit into his mouth, Spencer guided you gently but firmly onto the bed, the softness of the sheets a stark contrast to the heat that radiated between you.

“Spencer,” you moaned, the name slipping out like a sacred vow, sealing the moment between you. His response was a dirty smile, his mouth shining with your juices, making your pulse throb.

He paused for a moment, just enough to look into your eyes, “You’re fucking delicious,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. “I’ve wanted to taste you for so long.”

As Spencer’s mouth continued to work its magic on your core, a whirlwind of sensations overwhelmed you. Each touch, each stroke of his tongue, sent waves of pleasure radiating through your body, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything but the intense feeling of being completely consumed by him. The way he moved, so skilled yet so attentive to your every reaction, left you breathless, your hands clutching at the sheets as your head swam in a sea of ecstasy.

But amidst the pleasure, a fleeting thought crossed your mind—how close you had come to letting this moment, this incredible opportunity, slip through your fingers. You couldn’t believe that you had almost dismissed the idea of responding to his bold text, that you had almost let fear and hesitation keep you from experiencing this side of Spencer. A side that was confident, passionate, and utterly devoted to your pleasure.

How could you have been so close to missing out on this? On him? Spencer, who had always been there, quiet and thoughtful, had somehow managed to unlock a part of you that you hadn’t even known existed—a part that craved the connection and intimacy he was now offering with every caress of his lips.

You let out a soft moan, your hips arching towards him as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable level. The sounds you made only seemed to spur him on, his grip on your thighs tightening as he pulled you closer, his tongue working with a precision that left you teetering on the edge. Every nerve in your body was alive, the world narrowing down to the feel of his mouth on you, the heat of his breath against your skin.

“Spencer,” you gasped out, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. It wasn’t just the pleasure he was giving you—it was the realization that this was Spencer, the man you had known for so long, who was now showing you a depth of care and passion that you had never imagined.

The way he responded to your every movement, the way he seemed to know exactly what you needed, made you feel cherished in a way that went far beyond the physical. It was as if he was attuned to your very soul, using his touch to communicate something deeper, something that had been building between you for far longer than either of you had realized.

As you felt the tension within you coil tighter and tighter, ready to snap, you couldn’t help but marvel at how easily you had fallen into this moment with him. All the hesitation, the uncertainty, had melted away, leaving only the pure, unfiltered connection between you and Spencer. A connection that had been there all along, waiting for the right moment to be brought to life.

And now that it had, you knew you could never go back to the way things were. Spencer had opened a door to something new, something beautiful, and you were ready to step through it with him, no matter what the future held.

With a final, skillful flick of his tongue over your clit, Spencer sent you tumbling over the edge, your body trembling with the force of your release. The world around you seemed to dissolve into a haze of pleasure and warmth, your mind barely able to process the overwhelming sensations that flooded through you.

As you came down from the high, Spencer’s hands and mouth softened, his touch becoming gentle, almost reverent, as he coaxed you through the aftershocks. When he finally pulled back, he looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with a sincerity that left no doubt about how much this moment meant to him. He crawled up the bed to join you, his body pressing against yours as he captured your lips in a slow, languid kiss, allowing you to taste the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips.

You smiled against his lips, a sense of contentment and excitement washing over you as you whispered, “I’m glad I’m here too, Spencer. So glad.”

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saintkevorkian · 2 years ago

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this is a rather more cogent expression of something ive tried putting into words before

People spend a lot of time arguing about whether this or that use of "fascist" or "socialist" is excessively broad or excessively narrow, but regardless, these words get thrown around a lot. On the other hand, a word that I think gets less discourse than it should is "totalitarian."

A big distinction between authoritarianism and totalitarianism is that an authoritarian system doesn't care about the political commitments of its subjects, or rather, it doesn't want them to have any. "Leave politics to the people in charge, keep your head down, do what you're told, and you'll be fine." By contrast, a totalitarian system considers having no political commitments to be somewhere on the spectrum between disreputable and criminal. It demands ideological commitment even in private life.

When you have this framing in mind, it is hard to miss the totalitarian tendencies around you. On the one hand, the religious right (now sometimes fronted by people who aren't even religious, a la Chris Rufo) has always had totalitarian tendencies. And what else would you call making it a firing offense for a teacher to refer to her wife in casual conversation, or the attempt to ban people from choosing which books to read at the library, or allowing coaches to coerce student athletes into prayer sessions?

But the puritanical left is also like this. Not (currently) in the sense of using the law to compel ideology, but in the sense that they take "the personal is political" to an extreme. The idea that one might be allowed to just enjoy books or games without considering whether their content serves the needs of social justice is anathema to them. What is one to call the accusation that its some sort of obscene privilege to want to occasionally take a break from thinking about politics, because of the false premise that members of marginalized populations never have the opportunity to do so, if not "totalitarian"? (The absurd take that atheists lean right-wing is downstream of this; "atheism plus" is the totalitarian impulse to say that nothing can ever be about anything else except "social justice" as defined by its totalitarian adherents.)

This tends to get branded as people "making their politics their personality," which isn't necessarily incorrect, but also wildly understates how frightening it should be to have people like that in positions of power.

#(not specifically re: content unless it's the content of thoughts but people's reactions to good-faith questions can be quite telling #1.impossible to rid oneself of any insidious evil lurking one's own heart whilst worrying about one's social stench/possible offences given #(how perfectionism/rigidity leads to hypocrisy)#2. every person absolutely has the right to defend their own interests. full stop.#yet sometimes it appears there is some force which introduces false competition and makes white noise of genuine argument #it's difficult to even ponder why that might be--why there doesn't seem to be a way of approaching politics that could functionally speakin #work a bit better for everyone; put more onus on the individual without placing undue pressure on certain groups -- without resorting to co #conspiracy theories lol. human aims are a lot more synchronised than politics makes them seem with only the extremely wealthy attempting to #chuck a spanner in the works for obvious reasons. at first some american framers' position on commoners having no place in politics seems #unegalitarian and possibly a route to tyranny. and yet if one lacks the attention span to read a serious book (not something indul #indulgent but having a bit of substance in) then that person already sounds childish or shortsighted to anyone else although now they're in #in good company lolol. and these are uni educated types. rendered common by practice not design #3. first world leftist groups are indeed working towards using the law to compel ideology wrt identities. while all people should e #enjoy equal protection under law from bodily harm & harassment there is no good precedent for legislating for beliefs #adherents turn out their pockets and one glimpses some inquisition rubbish #people can be forced to say certain things under duress but they won't believe them & it makes the whole ideology look weak

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lovelivision · 2 months ago

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LET'S SUMMON A DEMON.ᐟ

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: kamo choso/reader

𝐖𝐂: 17k

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: when summoning a demon is successful, you suddenly find your life turned upside down. both you and the demon getting more than you bargained for in the other.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ only, smut, swearing, mentions/depictions of reader being stalked, mentions/depictions of the supernatural, light blood warning, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v sex, creampie, f!reader, she/her pronouns used, virgin!reader, choso probably ooc (demon)

This wasn’t a good idea hours ago and it’s certainly not a good idea now. Your friend rocked up earlier today, rambling about how she’s had a fantastic idea to summon a demon and bind it to do your bidding. Muttering something about needing revenge against one of her coworkers for always eating her lunch.

At the time, you had looked her square in the eyes and said, “You cannot be serious.”

“I am,” her eyes had sparkled and her mouth was curled up in an overly excited smile, “Don’t tell me you’re scared?” She was goading you and you knew it.

It’s fair to be scared though, you think anyways. You haven’t told her – or anyone for that matter – but you have a predilection towards the supernatural that you tend to keep to yourself. So, you very much believe and you very much were scared.

By the way she was talking about it, you could see she wasn’t completely serious, not believing that you’d actually successfully summon a demon. You however, well, you weren’t convinced it would work but only because you have no idea where she had gotten the summoning spell from, otherwise you one-hundred percent believe it’s possible to summon something otherworldly.

In the back of your mind, you thought it possible and if it was, you seriously doubt she’ll be able to contain the thing. So no, you did not summon a demon with her, at least… not at first. You had denied to, vehemently in fact, but the girl is good at one thing and it’s convincing you to follow through on horrible ideas.

She is the one common denominator in all your questionable actions and it doesn’t help that she’s obsessed with the occult and witchcraft and ghosts and just about every other ‘spooky’ thing you can think of. How many times did you see or feel something and have to pretend you didn’t? You lost count a long time ago.

Things are attracted to you, so you stay away, or at least you pretend you don’t see them, it makes your life easier. Telling her would just result in her curiosity piquing and possibly putting you at risk and you’re certainly not going to tell her of your ‘ability’ or unfortunate circumstance, not today… or ever.

Despite your better judgement and despite her history of having bad ideas, you’re sat across from each other on your living room floor. Floorboards marked with some kind of summoning circle drawn in a red paint pen she had brought with her. A little bowl is sitting in the centre of it, what looks like miscellaneous herbs and paper sitting in it.

“This is stupid,” you grumble at her, looking at all the candles she’s set up and lit, far too many in your opinion.

“Shush,” her tone is sharp, “I’m trying to focus,” she’s squinting down at the old looking book she has sat in her lap.

It’s actually really old looking, “Where did you get that?”

Groaning, she looks through her lashes at you, “Seriously, be quiet, do you want this to work or not?”

Tone dead when you immediately reply, “Not.”

“Sceptic,” she rolls her eyes.

Scoffing, you accuse, “You don’t even think it will work.”

“Ah, But I hope it will,” a smile is present on her lips again.

It’s quiet after that, unsettling so, but her sudden words are even more unsettling. Murmuring some kind of incantation, the words send a shiver down your spine, a bad feeling settling in the pit of your stomach.

The lights in your apartment are off but they flicker on for a second before going back off, you don’t like this at all. You don’t think she feels it but you do, the air is charged and all your hairs are standing on end.

Her words don’t stop though, eyes focused on the words in front of her, the feeling inside you keeps increasing. Like it’s pitching higher and higher, it’s making you feel high-strung. When she reaches the end of the page, it all drops at once. The feeling completely gone from you, like she messed it up at the last second or like there’s more that needs to be done.

Your friends voice shocks you, “Man… the lights flicking on totally had me thinking it would work.” She sounds disappointed.

Trying to sound neutral, you hum at her, “You know it never does…”

She seems completely unaffected, probably not realising just how close she seemed to be to summoning something you probably shouldn’t mess around with. The fact it didn’t work is for the best.

“Whatever, you wanna watch a movie or something now?” She gets up easily, hands patting her thighs as she does.

Warily, you ask, “What kind?”

Shooting you an evil smile, she gleams, “The Exorcist.”

Grabbing a cushion off the couch beside you and chucking it at her, “Oh, fuck off.”

Catching it easily she laughs and tosses it back on the couch before helping you up off the floor. You do watch a movie together but it is not ‘The Exorcist’.

It’s late when she’s shuffling out your apartment door, you’d told her she was welcome to stay but she had said her parents were visiting early tomorrow and didn’t have faith in herself getting there before them if she stayed.

Of course, she didn’t clean up her mess, left everything behind. Almost everything, she remembered to take the book with her. Sighing to yourself, you wander over to the summoning circle. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and crouching down, you reach into the little bowl, wondering just what she had put in there.

Something sharp pricks at your finger and you hiss through your teeth, not expecting it. When you pull back, you’ve accidentally left drops of blood in the bowl and inside the circle itself, what the fuck did she put in there?

Looking at your finger, you can see the little amount you’re still bleeding. Cursing your friend internally, you’re about to get up when the lights in your apartment suddenly go out. All the candles that had long since been extinguished flick back on, that heavy feeling weighs in the air again and you want to run but you’re frozen to your spot.

A cold feeling runs down your spine and the room feels like it’s full of static electricity, your blood growing hot quickly. Your eyes shut for a moment and you hope whatever is happening stops soon, pretend you don’t see it, pretend you don’t see it, you chant to yourself. It’s always worked before; you pretend you can’t see anything and you get left alone.

Though that may not ring true when you’ve literally summoned whatever it is into your apartment of your – almost – own free will. When you open your eyes, it’s hard to see. All the candles having gone out, but a pair of black boots are stood in front of you. You’re still crouching down on your haunches, head tilted down, the boots are throwing you off… do demons wear boots?

Whatever it is, is stoic, unmoving, just standing in front of you and waiting. Attempting to be brave, you pry your eyes up, scaling its body and… it’s… a man? Well, appears to be anyway, it’s– he’s standing there, looking down at you, somewhat impatiently.

His expression doesn’t change, “Do all humans crouch on the floor for this long or are you unique in that aspect?”

You frown at that; you know when you think demon you expect them to be murderous and angry but not… verbally hostile. “I’m scared.”

He squints at you, “Stop it, it’s inconvenient to me.”

“Having a demon in my apartment is inconvenient to me,” you mumble.

His arms cross and he seems genuinely ticked off by your statement, “Oh? Maybe you shouldn’t have summoned me then.”

Finally, you gather yourself enough to shoot up off the floor, standing to your full height, which feels like a poor choice when you realise he still towers over you. It’s not just his height that’s intimidating though, mostly you think it’s just him, his essence, his aura? Energy? You don’t know but he’s what you were feeling, the overwhelming pressure that makes your blood hot.

“Hmm,” he leans forward slightly, getting a closer look at you, “You’re a bit interesting, aren’t you?”

You don’t know what exactly he’s seeing but you don’t like the implication, “No.”

“No?” He doesn’t understand why you’d deny it, to him, it’s fairly obvious that you are different than most humans of today’s age. He leans back out of your space but keeps his eyes trained on you, “So…”

You’re still frightened but he’s not done anything, he’s not moved his two feet from that same spot he first appeared in, “So what?”

Sighing, he groans, “What do you want?” When you don’t speak straight away, he adds, “My interest is fleeting, tell me what you want so I can leave.”

“What I want…?”

“Yes, that’s what the summon was for,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “Why mess with things you don’t understand?”

Your voice is smaller than you want it to be throughout this whole interaction, “I didn’t mean to summon you…”

He looks down at the summoning circle and all the candles, all signs pointing towards yes, you did mean to summon him.

You rush to explain, albeit poorly, “Okay, I know how it may look like I meant to but I didn’t mean to.”

He raises a brow at you, “This is incredibly annoying; you know that right?”

As you look up at his unamused face, you feel your eyes burn with your question, “Are you going to kill me?”

He grimaces at you, “Kill you? Do you know about how any of this works?”

“Not really, no…” your eyes flick behind him for a second, “…I meant it when I said I didn’t mean to summon you.” As your eyes adjust to the dark, you can take in his appearance more. Dark hair and eyes, pale skin, you regretfully notice that he’s attractive. Though, that’s hardly surprising, wouldn’t you want to be appealing to the people you wish to trick?

His head tilts at you but he stays quiet, he’s hoping you will offer the information yourself, asking you things has been woefully unhelpful so far. Only serving to make you more anxious and confused about what’s happened.

The silence is becoming unbearable to you. It’s the way he’s just staring at you, like he’s interrogating you with his gaze, “My friend wanted to summon you… not me.” You don’t know how much you should tell him.

He clicks his tongue, “So, why am I bound to you and not your friend?”

Bound? He’s bound to you, oh this cannot bode well, “I don’t know?”

Scratching at the back of his neck, his tone is tense, “Just tell me how the summoning happened. What did you do?”

Your hands lift in defence, “Not much at all, honest.”

For the first time since he appeared here, he moves and grabs your wrist, his hand pulling yours close. He inspects your finger, the one with the nick on it, “You bled.”

It’s scary, you’re scared, he’s fast and strong and now you know he can move and was just choosing not to, “Only a little bit… not on purpose.”

Dropping your hand again, he moves back, giving you space, “But you did.”

“Yeah.”

Frowning, he explains, “You’re the one who bled so now I’m bound to you, not your little friend.”

You nod as if this is all common sense, as if summoning a demon is so natural to you, “Oh… I see, okay, well… can you stop… being bound… to me?”

“In short? No.”

You guffaw at him, “What?”

He scrunches his brows, “Did your friend not bother explaining any of it to you?”

“Obviously not,” your answer was unintentionally sharp and you feel bad, since he’s been, well not kind but he’s not hurt you, “Sorry, no… she didn’t… How exactly does it work?”

“The way this particular binding works is – you summon and bind me with blood, which you have done,” he looks down at your pricked finger, “Then, I can’t leave until you ask a favour of me. After I have completed it, I can leave but I will still be bound to you and when you call my name, I’ll be summoned back and I can’t leave until you ask a new favour of me.” His frown settles deep on his features, “Essentially, girl, you have bound me to you forever.”

You’re wide eyed and surprised, who knew binding spells were so… permanent? “Oh… that’s… not nice, sorry…” You purse your lips, “Is there not… a spell to counteract it?”

“No,” he looks down his nose at you, features resetting back to neutral, “You shouldn’t have been able to summon me in the first place, I thought I got rid of all your human books that contained the information.”

Your brain gets a little stuck on ‘human books’, the implication of ‘demon books’ interesting to you and also amusing. He seems very forthcoming but you’re still cautious, “Why tell me all this? Would it not be easier to use underhanded trickery and get me to ask for a menial favour and leave without telling me your name?”

His gaze sharpens at you, “A ‘favour’ has to be specified, I don’t follow your every whim. You have to specify that the favour you’re asking for is the one I am required to follow through on.”

It’s awfully particular, it feels like whoever figured out how to bind him was very careful about how to do so in a way that would benefit them most, “Okay… you know it’s not lost on me that you’ve not mentioned your name.”

“Names have power to demons,” his brow twitches, like he’s annoyed that you’d noticed that, “You’ve not mentioned your name either.”

“You’ve not asked for it,” you shrug, “Human names don’t hold that much significance though.” Not as much as demons, considering you can literally summon him with his.

“You’re not going to give me your name?” He’s taken aback by your unwillingness.

Shaking your head, you say, “Not until you give me yours.”

His brow raises at you, interested, “My name will mean you can summon me freely.”

“I suppose so but I don’t really have any intention of using it like that,” you’re not lying, you don’t even intend on asking a favour, you mean, what the hell are you meant to do with a blood bound demon?

Your only intent is uncovering more information, he’s giving you answers and telling you things freely but he’s also keeping things from you, specific information. You’re not dumb, you’re not going to trust some demon just because he – presently – doesn’t seem to want to bring you any harm.

He challenges, “Ask a favour so I can leave then.”

You’re blunt and straight to the point, “I don’t want any favours from you.” He looks completely annoyed by your answer and you can understand why, “…You’re not going to kill me are you?”

He grits his teeth, “I can’t.”

“You can’t?” You find that unlikely to be the truth.

He speaks slowly, “I am capable of doing so but I can’t.”

“So, which is it? Can or can’t?”

“I can but I won’t,” he rolls his shoulders.

“Why not?”

“You have a lot of questions,” he’s growing tired of answering them, “The bind means I can’t harm you.”

Thinking on it for a second, you consider how to ask your next question, “What about the bind makes it so you could theoretically harm or kill me but also means you can’t?”

He sighs like he doesn’t really want to answer you, “We are bound. If you die I die–”

“–So why use the word harm?”

He stops, “What?”

“You said harm not kill,” it’s an interesting distinction, “Do you also take on whatever injury I may get?”

His eyes are intense, paying close attention to you, “Anything other than something of your own doing or natural occurrences I will be aware of… though, I imagine I probably won’t feel it as much as you would.” He cracks his neck, “I could torture you into asking a favour but it would hurt me too, though again, not as much as it would you.”

You’re trying to sort through everything he’s said when he interrupts your thoughts, “You’re getting very caught up on if I’m going to do something to you, if it matters, I wouldn’t want to even if I could.”

That gives you pause, “Why tell me that?”

He waves you off, “You’re very stiff, it’s uncomfortable to look at.”

He answers properly when you ask him things directly… you don’t know if he’s choosing to or if he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. Everything you know about demons are the things that everyone knows, or the things your friend has told you but you don’t exactly trust her sources. In either case you’re unsure if you can even trust any of his answers so far.

Even though you won’t believe his answer fully, you ask anyway, “Have you lied at all?”

Shrugging, he says, “Not so far,” and then he gives you the same question, “Have you?”

“Not intentionally.”

He hums at you, intrigued by your answer.

Against your better judgement, or will really, you’re beginning to relax slightly. His presence is overwhelming but after sitting in it for a bit, it’s not… off putting. It’s not a feeling you’re completely unfamiliar with, the little shadows that follow you have the same static feeling to them, just lesser. You hadn’t ever really considered what they were but you’re wondering now.

“The bind… is very inconvenient to you,” you’re simply making an observation, if he’s been telling the truth – which you’re still not sure on – this situation is incredibly beneficial for whoever binds him and incredibly annoying to him.

“It wasn’t made to be convenient for me, it was made for the express purpose of aiding the person who binds me.”

“…Right…” tilting your head, you look him over a bit more carefully, “…Is that why it’s so extensive?”

Either he wasn’t listening or he’s confused on why you pointed it out, “What?”

“Well, I’ve just noticed there are a lot of rules that make it harder for you to have your freedom after the summoning… so either you’re lying to lure me into a false sense of security or whoever made the rules really didn’t want you to have an easy way out,” you’re getting tired of standing here like this.

He notes, “You really don’t trust me.”

It feels a little silly for him to point that out when he’s a complete stranger and also a demon, so yeah, excuse you for being a little sceptical on whether he’s trustworthy or not.

Instead of being rude, you ask, “Do you trust me?”

He eyes you over, like he’s sizing you up, “Humans are supposed to be incredibly stupid.”

You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly, “Ah, we are.”

He makes a sound like he was about to laugh before coughing to cover it, “You’re perceptive, is what I was trying to say.”

“I suppose I have more reason than most to be cautious but I’m no smarter than the average person,” you shrug.

Clicking his tongue, he changes the topic, “Since you’re coming to understand, ask your favour, I’d like to leave.”

“I told you I don’t want one,” you don’t mean to be rude but it sounds a little harsh when you repeat your earlier sentiments.

He scowls slightly, “I can’t leave if you don’t ask one.”

You counter him, “I don’t even know what I would ask for.”

“Then ask for something mundane,” he’s getting impatient now, tone curt.

“I’m really sorry, demon man, but I still don’t trust you and I’m not even sure there won’t be any pitfalls to asking you for a favour.” There is always a catch.

His scowl deepens at how you refer to him, apparently not liking it, “Usually you would be right but these are different circumstances.”

The lights finally flicker back on and you squint against the sudden change, it wasn’t even all that light in your apartment in the first place but after sitting in the dark for so long, your few lamps feel like you’ve been flash banged.

Huffing, you turn and walk towards your kitchen, turning your back on him might be dumb but it’s also a way to test his word. If he tries anything, then at the very least, you can die knowing you were right.

His steps trail behind you, ignoring him, you continue your walk to the kitchen. Passing your breakfast bar, there is a little creature sitting on top of it and you falter almost imperceptibly. Recovering, you do as you always do and pretend you don’t notice it. They don’t frequently enter your apartment; you’ve never really been sure on why but it’s presence inside took you off guard because of it.

It's mostly shapeless, dark shadows, sometimes they’re rounder, thinner, spikier, they come in all shapes and sizes and sometimes they’re almost cute but they’re a nuisance. When you acknowledge them, they attach to you and cause trouble. Hence, your avoidance of them, it’s almost like acknowledging them gives them power. A fact you learnt the hard way.

Behind you, the demon make a noise of interest, one that irks you, “What?” You question.

“You saw it,” he states.

Turning, you face him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He only raises a brow at you.

The creatures shape is twitching, reacting to the demon in front of it, not seeming all that fond of him. He reaches his hand out and flicks at it, the shape disintegrating, gone after he’d put his hand through it.

After touching it, he shakes his hand slightly before tucking his arms crossed over his chest, “Why lie?”

Your brows pinch together, he’s caught you in your lie and you’re wondering if it really will do any good in continuing with it. For the first time in your life, you admit to being able to see them, “It’s easier to pretend I can’t see them…”

He sighs, exasperated, like his situation has somehow gotten so much more annoying, “Ignoring them won’t work forever.”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” you’ve been fine this long.

Moving to the sink, you wash your hands, wanting to clean the blood off your pricked finger. While wiping your hands dry, you jump when turning and seeing him right in front of you, “Don’t sneak up on me like that, geez,” your heart is hammering in your chest, he’s really quiet.

Ignoring you, he says, “Being bound to you just became even more bothersome so I’m going to tell you some things I left out.”

“I still don’t trust you.” Again, literal demon in front of you.

His face is incredibly serious, tone grim, “You don’t have much of a choice.”

For the first time tonight, you feel more inclined to listen to and believe what he’s saying. It’s not like he’s been light-hearted all night but he’s not been nearly as stern as he was just now. So, you nod at him, asking him wordlessly to continue.

“I can’t lie to you when asked a direct question, I wasn’t going to tell you because it benefit me more if you didn’t know but continuing without your trust is going to be annoying. I don’t need you thinking in the back of your mind that I’m going to kill you.”

He’s standing a little too close to you now, it’s setting you on edge, “Why do you need my trust?”

“You, are a target, those things follow you because of your energy. In short, you have a lot of it and they want it.” He squints at you accusatorily, like it’s your fault or something.

Taking a step back, you lean against the kitchen counter, giving yourself a bit of space from him, “They’re mostly harmless though, if I ignore them.”

“There are scarier things out there than them,” he alone is proof of that.

You’re trying to remain calm and collected, “That’s...”

“Remember, if you die, I die,” it’s almost like he’s trying to keep you calm, keep you on track.

You need to test if you can trust his words, “I’m really sorry,” he looks confused by your sudden apology, “But if you can’t lie to me… then what is your name?”

Oh, he didn’t like that at all, his face contorting in anger, “Choso.”

There’s a slim chance that he’s still lying to you, to get you to trust him but the utterly frustrated expression he’s wearing tells you otherwise.

He’s stepping close to you again, arms either side your form, hands resting on the countertop, keeping you trapped between him and the bench, “If you still don’t trust me after that, this is going to become incredibly difficult for the both of us.”

“I trust you…” As much as you can anyway.

“Had to get bound to someone like you,” he mutters angrily.

You’re a little offended, “Hey, I didn’t exactly want to get stuck with you either.”

Grunting, he pulls back, not paying your words any mind, “You need to be more careful from here on out.”

“I’m always careful,” does he not realise you’ve lived for this long, you’re careful.

He corrects, “More careful.”

“What else could I possibly do to be more careful,” ignoring them is all you really can do, it’s not like flicking them away would work for you.

“For one, stop attempting to summon demons,” his tone makes it feel like you’re being scolded… because you are.

Feeling the need to defend yourself, you murmur, “It was my friends idea…”

With no hesitation, he returns, “Your friend is an idiot.”

“Hey–”

“–And so are you, for also doing it.”

You don’t like that he has a point, it’s worse that you did it actually, since you know these things are real.

His question feels like it comes out of nowhere, “What else does your friend like doing?”

You doubt he’s suddenly grown an interest in her as a person, “Why?”

Your eyes track him as he moves to the other side of the kitchen and leans again the countertop opposite you, “Because if they’re the kind of idiot to summon demons, they’re probably also doing other stupid things.”

Pursing your lips, you look away from him because he hit the nail on the head, “She likes to go to abandoned buildings, cemeteries… she likes all things… uhm, scary? I guess.”

Tilting his head, he looks you over again, he seems to do that a lot, “Does she not know about you?”

Covering yourself with your arms, you answer, “Easier not to tell her.”

“Idiot.”

“Okay! stop calling me an idiot now, please,” You get it, you’re an idiot, you don’t need this demon telling you that repeatedly.

“Stop going to risky places with her,” he doesn’t apologise, “Puts you at risk.”

“Okay,” it’s easier to just agree, you’re getting tired, it was already late when your friend left.

Abruptly, he announces, “Don’t bother asking a favour, I won’t be leaving for a bit.”

You almost sputter, “What?” You had just about resigned yourself to asking for one so he would leave and you could sleep in peace.

Rephrasing, he says, “There are some things I want to see, so I will be staying for a bit.”

“How am I meant to sleep in my apartment when there is also a demon in it?” You’re so, so tired, why is he so weird. Are all the demons this weird? Or is it just this one?

He is completely unsympathetic to your plight, “Not my problem.”

“You’re not very nice,” you’re not even really sure why you say it, like it would mean anything to him.

He doesn’t even dignify it with a response, just looking at you with an expression that looks almost as tired as you feel.

“Listen, demon man–”

“–You know my name now, use it.”

That catches you off guard, you hadn’t used it in fear of offending him but it seems like you managed to do that anyhow, “Choso…” using his name feels weirdly intimate, “I need to sleep, so you have to go away.”

Gaze even, he says it how he sees it, “I can’t and like I said, I’m not going to. There are some things I’d like to see.”

The most annoying part of what he’s just said is surprisingly the first bit, “What do you mean can’t?”

“I have to be within the general vicinity of where I was summoned or near the person I’m bound to,” he answers cooly, like that isn’t the most inconvenient thing you’ve heard all night.

“What? How am I meant to sleep peacefully? Have people over?” You have a date coming up, what if you wanted to bring them back here?

He repeats an earlier statement, “Not. My. Problem.” No sympathy from him.

You raise your hands in exasperation, clenching into fists by your head before dropping them and letting the tension go. Trying to calm yourself, “I need to sleep, I’m going to sleep and hope this is some weirdly vivid dream.”

He goes to open his mouth to speak but you cut him off with a single hand raising, “No. We can talk more at an appropriate time, if you’re still here.” You inhale and exhale a deep breath, “Do not come into my room. Stay out here.”

Rolling his eyes at you, he dismisses, “Go to bed.”

Keeping your eyes on him, you squint, sceptical of him as you wander out the kitchen and towards your bedroom. He doesn’t watch you but you know he can tell you’re watching him. When your back hits your bedroom door, you slip inside and shut the door.

How are you meant to get even a little bit of sleep with him out there?

⟢

It’s dark in your room when you open your eyes, only a small amount of light creeping in from behind your closed blinds. You guess you somehow managed to fall asleep, it’s still early in the morning though, so you probably only got a few hours. You have never been more thankful for the weekend than you are right now.

Rolling over, you look at your bedroom door, wondering if that all really happened last night or if you’ve just woken up from a really weird and detailed dream. Flopping onto your back, you stare at the ceiling instead, not sure if you’re ready to face if it was real. You’d stay like this all day but footsteps from outside your room prompt you to get up.

Tentatively, you poke your head out your door, eyeing your living area carefully. A figure is sat on your couch, reading one of your books. It’s Choso, you sigh with the realisation that it was all real, feeling like you’re apart of some sick cosmic joke right about now.

He speaks without looking to you, knowing you’re there, “You read a lot of poorly written books…”

“Excuse me?” How does he manage to insult you in ways you weren’t expecting.

He glances at you quickly before looking back at the book, “I’ve been reading some of your books but your selection is disappointing.”

Your eyes shift over to your bookcase next to your television to see a pile of books sitting in front of it, like he can’t be bothered putting them back properly after he’s deemed them unworthy.

“You’ve made a mess,” your tone weak, exhausted.

His attention is finally off the book as he shifts to face you, arm resting on the back of the couch, “Those ones aren’t worth keeping.”

“I liked them…” Sure, they weren’t all works of art but some of them were cute fantasies filled with action and adventure and romance and… You feel like you might spontaneously combust out of embarrassment because… did this demon read the books containing porn?What a horrific albeit amusing thought.

He raises a brow at you, confused by your sudden change in behaviour. He ignores it though, not really one to care about your comfortability, “Are you ready to talk again?”

“I don’t think anyone would ever be ready for the kind of talk you wish to have,” you’re staring blankly into the distance. There are literally a billion different things on your mind right now and nearly all of them have to do with him.

His eyes track you as you wander over to the book pile he’d made. Crouching down, you begin putting them back into their spots on the shelf.

He hums from behind you, “It’s simple, I need to determine some things about your situation and until I’m satisfied I won’t be going anywhere.”

Groaning, you continue cleaning the books, “You understand how inconvenient that is to me, right?”

“You understand how inconvenient it is to me that my immortal life is tied to a pitiful human, right?” Before you can protest or really add anything to the conversation, he continues, “One, at that, who enjoys meddling with things that wish her harm?”

Ignoring basically all of what he’s just said, you glare at him, “If you’re so intent on staying here then the least you could do is be considerate and leave things as you find them.” Getting up, you approach him and pluck the book from his hands, “Or better yet, not snoop around in things that do not belong to you.”

He waves you off, “Things would go smoother if you would just cooperate.”

You don’t really have a reply so you don’t give him one, choosing instead to walk back to the bookshelf and place the book you took from him on it. This being your reality hasn’t really set in yet, how are you meant to live like this? Glancing back at the demon lounging on your couch, he stares back at you, apparently having been watching you the whole time.

“Ignoring me won’t make me go away,” he says it so matter-of-factly that it pisses you off.

Turning away again, you ignore him… like he’s wrong and it’ll start working. It’s not going to, you know that. It’s been made clear he’s not leaving but you keep hoping he will. Maybe you could blame this all on your lack of sleep. You’re so tired, the rest you got definitely not enough, though you don’t think even a perfect rest would be enough to deal with all this.

His voice cuts through your thoughts, “You said we could talk more at an appropriate hour.”

You groan at him, “You’re a demon, there’s a blood pact, you technically can leave but are now choosing not to and apparently plan on making it damn near impossible for me to live a normal life.”

“I’m not the one who decided it would be a fun evening activity to summon a demon.”

Oh, he’s struck a nerve, “Well it wasn’t mine either!”

“Speaking of, get that book off your friend,” he stretches his limbs, “I don’t know what’ll happen if that binding spell is used again while I’m already stuck to you.”

You snark back at him, “Maybe you’ll go bother them instead.”

Paying no mind to your tone, he answers, “That would be the best-case scenario.”

With the books all back on the shelf, you sigh, “It’s too early for this.”

Disregarding your bad mood, he changes the topic again, “When you go out, keep a mental note of the things you see.”

“That’s so much work,” you’ve put so much time into training your brain to ignore them, doing the opposite would be effort you don’t know if you can be bothered to exert.

It’s his turn to be in a bad mood now, “I don’t care, do it.”

“So bossy…” You mutter under your breath.

“Just do what I ask, you’re being so resistant when this is for your safety,” he’s growing weary of your attitude.

“Yeah but like… I’d probably be fine; I have been for this long.” You shrug at him, “This is about you being worried about dying but you will be fine because I am always fine.”

He stares back at you, apparently lost for words but the look in his eyes says enough. He hates this situation and he hates how blasé you’re being about it.

⟢

It’s been about a month since he first showed up and he still won’t leave even though you gave up and started doing what he asked. Paying attention to the little creatures while also not looking like you’re paying attention to them is difficult and tedious but you’ve done it. Somehow, there seems to be less of them ever since Choso, you don’t know if correlation is equal to causation in this situation but it has to be more than a coincidence.

When you had told Choso about this connection you made he only hummed at you in thought and then walked away to the spare room you graciously allowed him to stay in. He’s so dismissive of you but getting time to yourself without his overwhelming presence is a small relief you allow yourself to feel.

Having him in your home is weird to say the least, he’s not as annoying as a house guest as you initially thought he would be but it’s also strange that he’s just… always here. If he sleeps you’re never around to witness it and he still goes through all your things even though you protest every time you find him doing so. To his credit, you imagine he is incredibly bored so you’re not as mean as you could be.

Tonight is the date you were meant to go on a while ago, you kept postponing it. There’s been too much on your mind to think about dating, even if you wanted to you wouldn’t be able to bring him back to your apartment, not with the demon residing in your guest room.

It’s too late to back out though and you’ve cancelled so many times now, you’d feel bad if you did it again. So, you get ready even though you’re not as excited as you would’ve been a month ago. It really is a shame; he’s a nice person and you feel awful for rescheduling on him so much.

While looking in the mirror by your front door, Choso shows up behind you, watching you fuss over your appearance. His brows pinch at you in confusion, “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready,” you glance at him through the mirror.

He waits a moment like he’s expecting you to say more, “…For?”

Your brow raises at him, “I feel like I’ve told you already.”

Still, you didn’t answer his question. Something that has been growing to annoy him. He sighs at you, “Then remind me.”

Spinning to face him before answering, “I have a date tonight.”

“Hmm… and you’ll be going out… all night?”

The way he phrased it is bizarre to you, cocking your head as you ask, “Is that a problem?”

“It should be fine,” he looks to be in thought, an expression you’re getting used to seeing.

“Is there something you want or can I go now,” you meant it as more of a rhetorical question but he doesn’t seem to take it as one.

“I want to test something before you leave,” he steps closer to you.

You’d take a step back but the wall is right behind you, “And what do you want to test?”

He ignores your question, much to your dismay. He’s stepping closer to you and you feel worried at what he’s about to do, not able to do anything but stand here. As he wraps his arms around you, you brace yourself for something more to happen but nothing does. His hands pull you closer to him, your body flush to his. When you realise he’s not going to do anything to you, you wiggle in his hold.

He leans down to speak into your ear, “Don’t move.”

The words breathed against your skin send a shiver down your spine. “Were you just… in the mood for a cuddle or is there a grand reason behind this?” You’re hoping to offer levity, feeling uncomfortable at the moment.

It’s warm, he’s warm and sturdy, his breath hot against you. Your body temperature is rapidly spiking, your thoughts getting fuzzy the longer he holds you against him.

He pulls back from you, as stoic as ever, “Pay attention to your surroundings tonight.”

It’s not until later into that evening that you realise what he may have done by holding you like that, the shadows that you so often see nowhere near you. His little test lingering in your head the whole time you’re trying to have a nice date, not able to focus on the person in front of you.

Instead, your brain is caught on how it felt when a particular demon held you close and how his breath against your skin made your head spin. This whole ordeal is only going to become more taxing on you, you just know it.

⟢

Days have passed and your mind is still stuck on how Choso had held you, brow twitching every time you find yourself daydreaming about him. He’s the demon in your guest room, not some cute guy at work, you need to get a hold of yourself. You can’t be thinking about him like that… maybe you should just ask for a favour so that he leaves for a bit. That way you’d at least get some space from him, he’s always here and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore how attractive he is.

The sound of your mindless chopping fills your ears, trying to prepare dinner for this evening and getting woefully distracted. A slip of the knife and a pain in your finger reminds you just how distracted you seem to have gotten. Intaking a sharp breath at the cut you’re about to move for the sink only for Choso to be behind you, his unexpected presence startling you.

“How many times have I asked you to not do that,” you scold him, he’s scared you like this too many times to count.

He disregards your admonishment, “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m aware,” you blink at him, “I was going to–”

The words you were about to speak dying in your throat when he grabs your hand, his tongue licking up the trail of blood before lathing over your cut. Careful to watch what he’s doing the whole time, not wanting to hurt you further as he licks up the mess. You can only look back at him dazed, brain feeling like it’s short circuiting. He’s flustered you and you have no idea how to respond to such an action.

“W–why did you do that?”

His gaze flicks to you, mouth pulling back, “To help.”

Before you slap him silly you look at your small wound and see it’s been completely healed. Apparently his tongue possesses some healing properties, and you’d find that really interesting if you weren’t trying really hard to not think about how he looked while licking you.

“You taste good,” he says it easily, like it doesn’t have you melting into a puddle on the floor.

Your mouth gapes at him, lost for words before settling on, “You can’t just go around licking people, Choso.”

“I don’t,” his expression incredulous, finding your accusation baseless despite his actions just now.

Not knowing what else to say, you stand there looking back at him stupidly. The expression he’s making unreadable, clearly nowhere near as affected by his actions as you are. His hand reaches for your chin and tilts your head back to look at you, eyes examining you closely.

“What’s wrong with you,” he asks suddenly.

You don’t understand what he means by that, “What? Nothing?”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been distracted lately, what’s wrong? Has something happened?”

It’d be easy to mistake his questions for concern if you didn’t know any better, but you do, he’s a demon. Something you find yourself having to remember often, he doesn’t care for you, not in a matter that you’d want to be cared for. You don’t even know if he’s capable of it. It feels cruel to be asked questions and given reminders to look out for yourself when the person giving them doesn’t actually care about you but rather himself.

“Choso, please hand me that tea towel,” you pause and his head tilts at you in confusion. Clarifying, you add, “You have to, this is the favour I am asking of you.”

The only tell that you’ve asked properly being his grim expression, wholly unimpressed by this situation. His jaw clenches as his body turns stiffly to grab what you’ve asked for, as if he were trying to hold off on completing the request.

“Why now?” He hisses lowly.

There’s a tug in your heart, already regretting your actions but he can’t stay here with you. Letting your feelings for him grow would be stupid and despite what they say, absence does not make the heart grow fonder. This is logical, this is the smart choice, this is what’s best… so why is it hurting you so much.

Eyes intense and annoyance palpable, a singular request uttered, “Call me back.”

You shake your head at him, having him return so soon would defeat the purpose of what you’re attempting to do.

“You are the most frustrating human by far,” he begrudgingly hands you the tea towel, scowling as he disappears from your apartment.

The breath you let out is large, body folding with it, stuck between feeling relief and regret. Everything is still and your apartment feels emptier than ever. Blankly, you stare at the tea towel in your hand. Its bright and happy pattern feels mocking. This is fine.

Looking back at your bench, the half-chopped vegetables sit on your cutting board. This is fine. This feeling will pass. In a week, or two, this will feel like nothing more than a long and vivid dream. This. Is. Fine.

⟢

It’s beginning to feel like… the damage had already been done. The days go by but you still remember how he looked when you’d come home. His brow relaxing when you’d step through the door, like he was worried about you while you were gone. His patience while he listened to you complain about things he wasn’t even a little bit concerned with. It’s been lonely at home.

Your coworker calling your name reminds you that you’re at work. Shaking your head as if to rid yourself of the memories before turning to them properly, “Sorry. What’s up?”

“Wasn’t that guy in here during your last shift?” Their voice filled with concern.

Glancing over in the direction they’re looking; you see your date from a while back. “Ignore him, he’ll get bored eventually.”

“Okay…” They squint at you, “But actually I think you should tell management about him, just so they know.”

You wave them off, not really concerned. It is a little troubling though, the guy had taken it so well when you initially told him you weren’t interested. Only to do what seems like a complete one-eighty and blow up your phone with messages. Obviously you blocked him and now he’s lightly stalking you. Maybe you’d care more if he ever approached you or if you weren’t busy thinking about Choso but alas he is low on your list of concerns.

At your coworkers intense eye contact you concede, “Fine, I’ll tell them but I doubt they’ll care.”

They put their hand on your shoulder, offering support, “If he tries to come over, tell me and I’ll deal with it instead.”

Placing your hand over theirs, you look deep into their eyes, “I love you.”

Their face twists in disgust as they push you away, “Go do your job.”

You laugh as you shuffle away, despite your joking you’re appreciative of their support.

⟢

Those little creatures hang around you again, ever since you sent Choso away they’ve been lingering more. It’s somewhat of a bother but you did fine before he showed up and you’re doing fine now. You go through the motions, ignoring them, working, going back to your empty apartment. Your date that you can’t remember the name of keeps hanging out at your job but he gets ignored like the shadowy critters.

Not that you’ve been keeping track but it’s been a little over a month since you last saw Choso. The last thing you remember seeing was his angry face, still, you want to see him again and maybe if you didn’t feel so guilty you’d have called him back by now. Too many times you’ve almost called his name aloud but your feelings haven’t faded and calling him now seems pointless.

Plus, you’re a little concerned about how mad at you he might be. The way you asked your favour was cheap and unexpected so you’re sure he’d have some choice words and a stern look to give you. Though, there is the chance he’d be mad at you for calling him back after all this time, he might be comfortable wherever he is and you calling him might only serve to feed his anger.

Ultimately you’re indecisive on the matter, you could call him back for just a little bit, if he’s angry you’ll send him away again and it’ll all be okay… probably. Mind moving a million miles a minute as you slump back into the couch, you called out of work today, feeling stressed after not sleeping well.

You’re not quite sure what exactly has you feeling this way but you’ve been feeling a lot of unease lately. It’s more than likely everything combined but you’re not ruling out something more sinister. Choso’s words about scarier things being out there nags at you whenever you get a quiet moment to acknowledge his warning.

Your arm drapes over your face, covering your eyes. Inner turmoil getting to you as you grumble, “Stupid demon and his stupid warning, can’t even sleep properly anymore.”

A knock on your door startles you, body shooting straight up. You’re not expecting anyone, all your friends are either at work or would tell you before dropping by. Cautiously, you approach the door, choosing to look into the peephole before even thinking of opening it.

An unpleasant shiver rocks through your body, blood running cold as you see that your unwanted guest is your date from all those weeks ago. You knew he was stalking you but he only ever appeared at work, you’ve never even seen him in your neighbourhood. The fact he shouldn’t know your address meaning he’s followed you home without your knowledge making you feel sick.

Taking a step back, you consider your options. Opening the door is out of the question, pretending to not be home and waiting him out seems to be a good idea but if he’s already been to your job and seen you’re not there then he might not be as willing to believe that. You’re nervous, there’s no way to know how much he knows about you or how long he’s been watching you for. If he’s been waiting for you to leave for work then he’d know you’re still in here.

In your anxiety you bite at your lower lip, worrying it between your teeth when more patient knocks sound at your door. You didn’t really want to have to turn to him but he’s probably the only person that would get to you quickly and put you more at ease.

Fleeing to your bedroom, you keep your hurried footsteps light, not wanting to draw his attention to the sound. You cringe internally at the small squeak your door lets out as you close it as slowly as possible. Giving yourself a moment, you take a deep breath and brace yourself for the probably very angry demon you’re about to summon right to you.

Just as you’re about to say his name, you falter, wondering if there’s more to it or if it really is as simple as just saying his name. “…Choso.”

You’re on edge immediately, it’s familiar though, distinctively Choso in how your blood warms and your hairs stand on end. It really was as simple as saying his name.

He stands in front of you, frown deeper than you’ve ever seen it, his arms folded over his chest, “You took your sweet time.”

Instantly he has you on the defensive, “I had my reasons.”

His tongue clicks at you, wholly unimpressed, “Care to enlighten me on what they may be?”

Remembering your reason for sending him away, you awkwardly reply, “Not really.”

He sighs at you, clearly annoyed by your answer, “I assume you’ve reconciled with yourself then, since you’ve summoned me back.”

“Well… no–”

There’s a thudding on your door again, more aggressive than the first few times he’d knocked. Clearly growing impatient and probably able to hear your voices. You flinch at the sound, almost forgetting that there was a reason for you calling Choso back.

Choso catches onto your unease quickly, “Who is that?”

“Ah, well… you remember that date I went on? He’s sort of been… lightly stalking me.” You clear your throat, “I felt a little… scared… so I summoned you back.”

“How long has he been stalking you for?”

“Lightly, stalking…” You overcorrect to a decidedly very unamused Choso. “…I noticed not long after you left.” You can’t say you’re really appreciating the ‘told you so’ look he’s got plastered across his features right now. “Him stalking me has nothing to do with you so stop looking at me like that.”

“For a smart girl you’re awfully clueless sometimes,” his hand reaches past you for the door handle, “After I deal with this, you’re telling me why you made me leave.”

A conversation you’d really rather not have, it’s embarrassing to think about admitting to liking the demon you accidentally forced into a blood bind. Even more embarrassing that you had to force him to leave your house because he was driving you insane.

You avoid eye contact with him as he passes by, opting to stay put while he handles the unwanted guest. Having him back brings a kind of security you weren’t even fully aware of having lost, the fact you trust this literal demon with your wellbeing should be more concerning but it only adds to your feelings for him.

While waiting you can hear their muffled voices followed by nothing, an off-putting silence filling the apartment before the door is slammed closed. Cautiously, you stick your head out of your room, looking over to where Choso is standing. His broad back facing you, when he turns to meet your eyes you can’t help but feel guilty.

You leave your room properly and walk over to him, checking over his appearance to make sure he’s fine.

His next words are simple and chilling, “He was possessed.”

You feel faint, “What?”

“Not in any real sense, those things that follow you simply latched onto him, influencing his behaviour.” There’s a distaste in his tone when referring to the shadows before he continues, “Probably hoping to use his proximity to you to their advantage, though they’re not all that intelligent which calls into question how they managed it.” He’s looking down at you, expression grim, “Did you forget my warnings? Why did it take you so long to call me back?”

“Well, I obviously couldn’t tell he was being possessed,” you’re feeling an awful lot like he’s victim blaming you right now and you’re not in love with that, “Sometimes men are just scary like that.”

“So, you’d rather be lightly stalked than call me?” He mocks you from earlier.

“Did I say that?” You sigh, tired, “Is he going to be okay?” You’re feeling a sense of responsibility for him, it’s your fault he got possessed and if you had noticed sooner he’d have been normal long before he followed you home.

“He’ll be fine, though he probably won’t remember much of his last month.” His brow raises at you, clearly waiting for some kind of real explanation for the mess you’ve caused.

“Don’t be so crabby,” you walk away from him and flop onto the couch, head resting on the back of it, “It all turned out fine in the end.” Not acknowledging how guilty you feel is far easier than being vulnerable with him right now.

He follows you to the couch, standing resolutely in front of you, “I know you don’t have this much of a disregard for your wellbeing–”

Smirking at him, you try to play everything off, “You’re starting to sound like you were worried about me.”

“Of course I was worried about you,” his words and the ease at which he speaks them catches you off guard, “You’re being inexplicably stupid and your faux ignorance at the gravity of your situation is becoming annoying.”

Okay… ouch. Any warm fuzzy feelings you had are kind of dampened by the harsh slap of reality he just gave you.

“I know things felt a little off but I had no way of knowing if I was just imagining it or not, don’t blame me for acting human.”

“Whether you like it or not, you are not the same as every other human, act like it. Those instincts are there for a reason.” He can see the way you’re getting antsy, uncomfortable with the way he’s scolding you. “Tell me why you had me leave.”

You scrabble at that, “Is that necessary?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Is this really his priority right now?

“Because I don’t want to be caught off guard like that again and I’d rather fix what’s bothering you now.” He watches you closely, not missing how you only seem to grow more restless.

Turning your head to the side you offer, “If I promise not to do it again, will you let this go?”

“No.”

You stand up at that, trying to make the conversation feel more even, “And why not?”

He speaks very calmly, “I had to wait until you were ready to call on me, wondering the whole time if you were safe and only knowing you hadn’t met an untimely end because I was still alive.” He leans down into your space, brows furrowing at how you turn away from him. His hand grabs your chin and pulls your gaze back to his, “Don’t do that to me again.”

It’s hard to keep eye contact with him, his emotions raging behind his stoic demeanour. Your answer to his question is ambiguous, “I couldn’t have you here.”

He, of course, pushes back on that ambiguity, “Why?”

He’s infuriating you; his insistent pestering is annoying. Fine. If he wants to know so badly, you’ll tell him.

“I couldn’t think clearly with you here…” you’re confessing but it comes across as challenging, a result of your foul mood, “Because I like you and I didn’t want to let myself feel it.” As if he’d be put off by your admission, you cement, “That’s why I couldn’t have you here.”

The only response you get from him is an unreadable grin. An annoying and stupid smile as he continues to hold you still so you can’t even turn away from the maddening expression. It’s almost torture, it feels like some kind of sick and twisted form of punishment. Being in the palm of his hand, emotionally and literally.

“Human emotions aren’t all that complex but all the different reactions and rationales behind them are,” he hums at you, finding this humorous somehow.

“I’m glad you’re thoroughly entertained by my inner turmoil, now either let me make you leave or stop being unnecessarily cruel.”

He lets go of you finally, a small mercy, “I thought you liked me; you’re not really acting like it.”

Thankfully you have the chance to look away from him now, “Don’t push it, Choso. Did you think I’d fall into a puddle because you touched me?”

“No but eye contact seems to embarrass you, maybe if you gazed into my eyes long enough you might.” Pleased grin still settled on his features, it’s the most you’ve seen him emote aside from annoyance.

Your response is to glare at him, directly into his eyes. If looks could kill he’d be dead and buried six feet under. “Make a choice.”

His smile falters, “What?”

“Either stay here or leave.” Those are his only options, having him here will feel unfair to you but it might be more inconvenient to him, you want to at least offer him an out.

He’s genuinely confused, he just got back to you, “Why would I leave?”

You don’t really understand the confusion but spell it out all the same, “…I don’t imagine you love the idea of a human falling for you.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Falling for me?” Oh great, he’s amused again.

You can feel a headache coming on, fingers rubbing at your temples, “Don’t change the topic.”

He shrugs, “I don’t mind.”

You stop, “What?”

He repeats, “I don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind what?” Your hands drop to your sides.

His arms fold over his chest, “Your feelings for me.”

“Why not?”

“They don’t have much to do with me.”

His logic is flawed and he’s pissing you off, he always pisses you off, his feigned indifference is stupid. You keep glaring at him, eyes glinting dangerously. You step closer to him and he doesn’t move away, as sturdy as ever. Leaning up, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself to him.

You’re hugging him, he wavers for a moment before he’s hesitantly moving his hands to loop around you, hugging you back. Otherwise, he’s completely still, clearly taken off-guard by your sudden affections. You’re careful to make sure your lips just barely graze against his ear, softly admitting to him, “I missed you.”

His fingers dig into your shirt at your voice, you’re getting to him more than you expected to. Pulling back, you’re surprised by the look in his eyes. A lidded and endearing expression that almost has you forgetting the aim of your actions. Resolve weak because you’d really like to kiss him and with how he glances at your lips quickly you think he might let you but he’s a bastard and you’ve not forgotten that.

Patting his chest with your hands you smile, “Welcome home, Choso.”

Removing yourself from his hold you’re met with some resistance but ultimately you’re walking away from him and back into your room. Shutting your door, you’re leaving him alone in your living room. His head fuzzy and thoughts confused on what exactly just happened.

⟢

Having Choso back has been comforting, you’re living a lot more peacefully. Both your stalker and the shadows have left you alone. Going to work hasn’t been as nerve-wracking lately and in that sense it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders. But while it’s been calm outside your apartment, inside it is a different story.

Ever since Choso’s return he’s been watching you a lot more closely than before, spending more time around you when you’re home compared to when he was first here. There’s even been a few times you’ve had to stop him from following you to work. More recently he’s taken to staring at you, your peripherals picking up on his unwavering gaze. Sometimes when you realise, it devolves into an argument.

He continues to be steadfast that he’s not staring, nothing’s wrong, and he’s the same as always but his behaviour is clearly stating otherwise. You’re the one who likes him, shouldn’t you be the one acting strangely around him? Overall, it’s not a huge deal it’s just annoying to feel so observed in your own home. If you were meaner, you’d ask him in a way so he’d have to answer honestly but it feels oddly invasive to have someone be honest with you against their will.

You’re just trying to enjoy your evening, watching T.V. and lazing but you can feel his eyes on you. It’s making it hard to get comfortable,so without looking at him you simply say, “Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything,” he sounds sure, like he’s certain he’s not doing anything to warrant your words.

“Choso…” you pause and turn to look at him, getting a little distracted by how he looks with his hair down. “I can’t get comfortable when you keep staring at me, just watch the show.”

His head drops forward to look at the T.V., clearly unimpressed, “This is boring.”

Ignoring the urge to argue in favour of your favourite show, you retort, “Because staring at me is so interesting.”

Silence. He has nothing to reply with.

Groaning at him, “You’ve been staring at me so much lately, it’s becoming frustrating.”

Reply quick and wrong, “I’m not staring.”

You squint at him accusatorily, “You are a liar.” Growing exasperated, you grumble, “If you have something to ask just ask it.”

“Can I touch you?” He’d almost seem sheepish when asking if he wasn’t so blunt.

There’s an upsetting kind of excitement settling in you when he asks, mostly you’re taken aback though, “What? Why?”

“Because–” He begins to explain but you’re cutting him off before he can.

“–Choso, you understand that I like you right? I like the idea of–” you stop, the sudden quiet awkward before you start again. “The point is – I like you and it’s unfair of you to ask me things like that.”

“Is that a no?”

Thinking on it for a moment, you decide, “It’s not…”

His hand moves for you slowly, as if he’s cautious of the fact you might change your mind. Hand on your cheek gentle, a kind of softness you didn’t think him explicitly capable of. It lingers for a moment, thumb brushing high on your cheek before he drops his hand. Moving lower instead, wrapping around your torso. You’re not completely sure on what you were expecting when he asked if he could touch you but as he pulls you to him and embraces you, you’re certain you weren’t expecting this.

The angle is a little awkward, you’re trying to hug him back as best as you can but it’s uncomfortable and it seems to bother him because he’s quickly tugging you onto his lap. Arms big and firm around you, holding you close. This is a kind of intimacy you’ve not experienced before; it’s making you nervous, you still don’t know what he wants from you, and this did nothing to make it any clearer.

“Calm down,” his words vibrate through his chest.

“I am calm.”

He knows better, “You’re not, I can tell.”

“Ignore it,” you’re embarrassed.

He huffs at you, partway amused, “Fine.”

Then he’s pulling you in closer, his face burying into you, nosing at your neck. The way he inhales your scent has goosebumps breaking out across your skin, almost shameless in his actions. It feels like he’s trying to make you even more nervous, taking your words to ignore you at face value. There’s a sick kind of joy he has to be getting from this, from how your heartbeat speeds up and how your breaths come faster. You almost feel like you’re shaking with nervous energy.

Voice trembling when you ask, “What are you doing?”

His response is to state the obvious, “Embracing you.”

You murmur back at him, “Are you done yet?”

“No.”

How annoying, at least he’s consistent in how easily he frustrates you. His few simple words always managing to get under your skin, its effect on you running deeper than you feel comfortable with.

Instead of trying to understand his motivations any further, you choose to relax into him, allowing yourself to be held. You have a feeling that he’s not sure enough of his own actions to explain them to you, so you’ll settle for being confused but held.

His breath tickles your ear, “You missed me?”

“Hmm?” You take a second to process, “Yeah…”

“Say it.”

His request takes you off guard, you’re pulling back slightly to make eye contact with him. He wants to hear you say it, his eyes imploring yours.

Your hand cradles his face, giving him what he wants, “I missed you.”

“I think…” his gaze flits between your eyes and your lips, “I missed you too.”

A small smile breaks out across your face, “Be careful, you might damage your demon rep if anyone hears you.”

He leans up to you, his lips just shy of yours, almost brushing them when he speaks, “I wouldn’t mind.”

You’re about to say something that would no doubt embarrass you when he’s taking the chance to connect your lips. Heart leaping in your chest at how fully he kisses you, insistent in how he leans up to you more, arms around you and tugging you down into him. There’s a neediness in his movements you didn’t expect him to have for you.

It’s making you dizzy, his kiss, his hands on your back, the desperation from him you weren’t ready for. Like he’s been pent up and the flood gates have opened, barely willing to part for a second to breathe.

It’s a lot, you’ve never been kissed like this, so completely, so desired. It’s hard to think, all thoughts you have muddling together. You need to breathe but every time you try to open your mouth to speak he’s planting another full kiss to your lips.

With your fingers in his hair, you tug on him, he groans as he’s pulled back. Finally, you’re able to draw in the air you needed, chest rising and falling quickly with relief. Choso stays looking at you, his eyes lidded as he watches you breathe. It’s hot in your apartment now, or that might just be you, your skin warm, feeling warmer with how he’s looking at you.

There’s nothing coming to mind, it feels like you should say something, but you’re completely lost for words. He’s rendered you speechless, still feeling a little dizzy as your eyes drop to his lips, glossy and slick from your shared kiss. A small smile spreads across his face, and it prompts you to look up, realising you were staring.

You feel fuzzy when you remember how he’d said he missed you, a dopey grin on your face, “You said you missed me.”

He doesn’t deny it, “I did.”

“You meant it?” You’re already asking your question before he’s even really finished giving his reply.

He pretends to think on it, for no other reason than to tease, “Hmm… Yes. I think so.”

You mutter at him, “Cruel…”

His hand cradles the side of your face, so gentle in how his thumb brushes over your cheek, “Did you?”

“Did I what?” A little lost at his question, too busy registering how it feels when he touches you.

“Mean it when you said you missed me,” The hand on your face trails further down, thumb tugging your lower lip.

Your lips quirk up in a smile, tone playful, “I mean everything I say.”

The look he gives you conveys severe doubt, it comes from experience of dealing with you.

His expression earns an eye roll from you, conceding without him even saying anything, “Okay so maybe not everything but I mean it when I say I missed you.”

Hand trailing even further down, now resting against the side of your neck. He’s probably able to feel your thumping pulse under his fingers, “And the other thing?”

If you tried to guess what he was asking you’d probably know but just to be sure, “What other thing?”

“You said something about liking me,” he’s trying to play it off, a nonchalance he usually possesses nowhere to be found in his words despite his efforts.

“I’m starting to think you just like hearing how much I like you,” crossing your arms, you add, “It’d be cute if it didn’t feel mean.”

“I’m not trying to be mean.”

“You haven’t even told me how you feel about me.”

Choso’s head quirks slightly, “Was the kiss not enough?”

“I don’t know, maybe you kiss everyone else like that too,” your finger jabs at his chest accusatorily.

“Did you just call me a whore?”

“No.” You look away and pout, “I implied it.”

“I’m not a whore.” He seems distracted when he says it.

You squint at him; some doubt there but not serious. You’re not sure you ever considered him a virgin, but you didn’t really consider the opposite either. His hands are still on you, one slipping under your shirt, warm against your bare skin, the distraction in his words a little clearer now when you notice the way he’s been looking at you.

“Can I kiss you again or are you too busy implying I’m a whore?”

“You can’t kiss me again because you didn’t answer my question.”

His brows pull up, “Funny, I don’t remember it being phrased as one.”

Leaning into him, your lips hover over his, so close you’re almost touching. Just as he’s about to close the gap you pull back, “How do you feel about me?”

He sighs when you move away, “Right now?”

If that’s how he wants to play it, fine. “I’m not gonna sit on just anybody’s lap and make out with them.” You make a move to get off of him, not willing to sit so suggestively in the lap of someone who doesn’t even like you.

He stops you from going anywhere, his large hands firm on your hips. “Am I just anybody? I thought you liked me.”

“Right now?” You quirk a brow at him.

“Don’t be petulant.”

“I’m not being petulant, I’m just not willing to debase myself for a demon who doesn’t even like me.”

“I never said I didn’t like you,” he offers like it’s enough, gaze already set on your lips again.

The very lips that are pouting moodily back at him, not entertained by such a small concession. Instead of dignifying him with a further back and forth, you seriously move to get off him. Hands planted on his chest as you throw a cautious glance back at where you’re stepping. When he realises he’s not satisfied you his hands grapple for you, somewhat frantic that you’re leaving the comfortable place he’d had you sat.

Words rushing from him, almost surprising himself with how needy he sounds, “Don’t– don’t leave–”

“–Why not?” It’s sharp, how you cut him off, quickly growing embarrassed at how forward you’ve been.

“Because I like having you close,” he replies obviously, brows pinching slightly. He takes your pause as opportunity to manoeuvre you back into place, arms around you, holding you tight to his chest.

Soft sigh leaving you, annoyed by how endearing you find him. “Choso…”

“I missed you…” His face has found its way to your neck. Breathing in your scent, shiver running down his spine with it, “…Because I like you.” Almost like he can’t stop himself, he licks at your neck, tasting you. A low sound coming from him, “I like you a lot.”

This took a sudden turn from playful to frustrating to dizzying, the air around you is heavy as he licks and nips at your skin. Pulling shaky breaths in when his hand slides under your shirt again, the feeling of his skin on yours hot.

“I–”

Whatever you were about to say is getting cut off, “–Are you gonna let me kiss you now?” His words are spoken between kisses as he trails his lips up to the side of your face.

Without saying anything, you turn your head slightly to the side. Lips meeting his easily, melding together in a soft kiss. He’s careful this time but no less insistent, quickly growing less restrained. Your hands grip his shoulders, fingers pulling at the material of his shirt.

A small noise leaves you when he’s licking into your mouth, the sound seemingly setting Choso off. One of his hands jumps for your face, the other holding your throat. His kisses growing needy. It’s all you can do to try and keep up with him, his lips fervent and messy.

Your fingers thread through his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp and it’s like he melts into you. Soft moan leaving him you weren’t expecting, your chest stuttering as you stifle down the whine bubbling in you. He sounded so pretty when he moaned, you want to hear it again. Repeating the motion, you nip at his lower lip at the same time, trying to coax it out of him.

Unfortunately, he stuffs down the noise the second time, just barely – his body shudders with it. He uses his hand on your throat to hold you in place, his forehead resting on yours. Huffed breaths shared in the space between you, your eyes are unfocused and glassy, his much the same. You’re trying to calm yourself, worked up and very nearly squirming on top of him.

There’s something you should tell him, especially with how heated this exchange is getting but you can’t seem to get your head on straight long enough to voice yourself. Choso seems to be able to tell that you’re struggling though, his expression amused but no less kiss drunk than you.

Showing mercy, he gives you an opening, “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” This is embarrassing, “I don’t wanna be presumptuous or anything but you should– uhm… I just think you should know…” your skin feels unbelievably hot right now, feeling flushed as you murmur, “…I’m a virgin.”

He hums at you, completely unsurprised at your confession, “I know.” He ignores your sputtering at his simple statement, nose running along your cheek in a soft show of affection.

“What do you mean–” You fight to hide the shiver running down your spine at his gentle touch.

“–Are you telling me this because you want to have sex?” His words are low against your skin, something about him feeling predatory, “Do you want me to take your virginity?”

Choso can’t help but feel greedy, the idea of you letting him – a demon – be your first fills him with a possessiveness he couldn’t explain in a way that wouldn’t have him looking like a huge pervert.

Your voice is shaky as you avoid answering him, “You never answer my questions…”

He huffs a small laugh, having purposefully cut you off so he didn’t have to answer, “Do you really want to know how I know?”

Something about how he looks at you, eyes glinting in the soft light of the room has you questioning if you really want to. “Is the answer going to embarrass me?”

“You?” He makes a soft sound, his thumb smooths over your throat, “Probably, you fluster easily.”

“I don’t fluster easily…” his gaze is setting your skin on fire, “…I just like you is all.”

“So you’ve said,” he mumbles out, leaning in and licking up the length of your throat where his hand just was.

The reaction he gets from you is damn near visceral, a gasp pulling from you at the sudden action. Your brain is rebooting, struggling to form words when he begins nipping at your neck. Anything you were about to say comes in the form of jumbled words and weak moans. A sound he seems to delight in if the curling of his lips against your skin is anything to go by.

“You get distracted easily,” his breath is ticklish against you, “You never answered my question.”

Did he ask a question? You suddenly can’t remember, “What was the question again?”

He laughs at your lapse in memory, “Did you want me to fuck you?”

The choice in phrasing makes you bristle, hating how he’s right that you fluster easily. He’s taking joy in how you pause at his question, obviously having asked so bluntly just to watch you squirm. Choso is patient though, happy to continue leaving marks on your delicate skin while you try to get it together enough to reply. His canines grazing over the patches of skin he’s sucked marks into, the shivers that run through you at it making him smile.

“Y– hah– yeah…” your reply is clumsy and breathy. His lips are off your neck as soon as you answer, his arms hold onto your thighs as he stands. Not expecting to be picked up you let out a refrained squeal and wrap your limbs around him tight. “A warning would’ve been nice,” you chastise him, to which he pays no mind.

All of Choso’s focus is on getting you to your bedroom, knowing better than trying to fuck you on your couch, not for your first time anyways. And now his head is full of all the times after, will you let him take you on all the surfaces in your home? Will you pick fucking him on your couch over the completely inane show you were watching earlier?

When he reaches your bed, he leans down, aiming to gently lay you on your mattress but you’re still clinging to him. He speaks into your skin, “Trying to put you down.”

“Right…” You smile bashfully and let go, dropping the last inch onto your bed.

He’s crawling over you and moving in to kiss you softly, lips gentle as he holds you. It’s sweet and fleeting, already he’s pulling away from you to pull his shirt off. Leaving himself bare to you, his skin enticing. Only realising the meaning behind this action when his hand is trailing down to your pants, fingers dancing along your waistline. He’d taken his shirt off to ease your nerves about him undressing you.

Little glimpses of how he regards you in his actions, treating you with a kindness you’ve never felt. A concern for how you feel and how he makes you feel, all completely wordless, not feeling the need to explain himself. The fingers at your pants tickle against your skin, his eyes meeting yours and finding that you’re looking at him with borderline hearts in your eyes.

His hand slips past your waist band, tugging your pants down over your hips. You lift your legs to aid in his removal of them, feeling absurdly shy lying in front of him in nothing but a shirt and your underwear.

Palms smooth up your inner thighs, lightly pushing your legs open for him to sit between. His eyes burn into you, making you feel nervous. You try to close your legs but his hands are heavy on you, keeping them open. When you look at him, you can see his skin flushing a very pretty light pink.

“You’re so wet,” he comments, hoping to fluster you more than him.

It works because you’re squirming again, legs struggling fruitlessly against his grip, “Shuddup.”

Mindless hum coming from him as acknowledgement and you doubt it’s because he’s actually heeding your words. More so he’s had another thought and moved on, motives clear when one of his hands moves from your plush thigh and to your panties. Thumb pressing into the wet spot on them, dipping into your cunt only to tease you.

Drawing his thumb up, he presses into your clit, giving pressure against it and not much else. Small whines and stuttered breaths leaving you at his teasing, feeling completely on edge and realising he’s probably not going to stop teasing any time soon. Clearly he gets pleasure from watching you fidget and struggle to keep your noises contained.

He tortuously plays with you over your panties for too long, fingers sweeping from your clit to your hole and back too many times. Your wetness leaking into your underwear the longer he plays with you, the thin material moulding to your pussy. Hips jumping every time his finger trails over your clit, pleasure so muted that you’re growing frustrated with him.

“Choso,” you grumble at him, reaching your limit.

He barely glances at you, still playing with your pussy, “Finally found your voice?”

Bastard… he’d been waiting for you to say something. His patience almost frightening, no hurry in his movements.

“Can you… do more?” This is embarrassing, it’s your first time and he’s teasing you so cruelly, “Please?”

He smiles politely at you, “Of course.”

Bastard…

Finally, after what feels like hours, he’s tugging your panties down your legs. Foreboding smile on his face as he holds them up, thumbing over the crotch of your drenched underwear. At your disgruntled whine he discards them to some corner of your room haphazardly. Feeling so vulnerable, you go to close your legs again, the contrast between his and your state of dress something you’re too conscious of all of a sudden.

“Keep your legs open,” he chastises, hand on your knees and pushing them apart obscenely.

When he shuffles to lean down you startle, “You– you don’t have to do that…”

“You don’t want me too?” His eyebrow quirks at you.

“You won’t get anything out of it…”

He’s a little annoyed that you stopped him for such a stupid reason, “Not what I asked, do you want me to eat your pussy?”

You can’t look at him, face absurdly hot, “…Yes.”

“Worried about stupid things,” he murmurs, moving onto his stomach again. Pulling you closer to his face once he’s in place, “I’m going to enjoy this immensely.”

Stuttered gasp leaving you, he’s not waited anymore, apparently having deprived himself long enough. Maybe it’s his fault for playing with you for so long but he’s grown desperate for this, if you hadn’t let him, his heart might’ve broken. He licks through your cunt, tongue opening up your slit. Small grumbles leaving him as he drinks you down, his arms wrap around your legs and tug you open more, face pushing into you.

You’re a little worried he’s going to suffocate himself, his eagerness staggering. Just as you’re about to say something to him, his tongue is insistently pushing inside your hole. Shocked whines leaving you as he fucks you with it, his nose rubbing into your clit. You’re a twitching mess, already so pathetically close. All his teasing has made everything so much more sensitive, head fuzzy as he laps at your cunt.

One of your hands reaches down and threads through his hair, tugging on him. He doesn’t even flinch, throaty moan leaving him the only evidence that you had actually pulled on him. He’s ravenous and obsessed with how you’re fluttering around his tongue, your small whines and huffed breaths making him dizzy.

Looking down at him you hope to mumble out anything but when you’re met with his glazed over and lidded stare, your heart stumbles in your chest, pussy jumping. He looks drunk on you, his throat bobbing as he slurps down your slick. He’s messy and the sounds filling the room are wet and depraved. With how he’s fucking into you and the look on his face, you can’t tell if this is more for your benefit or his.

Cries of his name leave you, stumbling over the syllables every time his nose presses into your clit just right. Then he’s withdrawing his tongue, sad pitiful noise leaving you at the loss of getting so close. A hand leaves your thigh, single digit probing at your entrance, pushing in so carefully. His eyes locked on how you’re stretching around his finger to accommodate him, he feels like he’s going to start drooling.

Your cunt so warm and tight around his finger, his chest pulling at the thought of opening you up with his cock. The clumsy manner in which you’re calling out to him making him feel sickly fond of you, pressing a light kiss onto your inner thigh.

Unexpectedly, he praises you, “You’re pretty,” murmured low, his eyes racking over your whole form.

The compliment has you shy, it’d be so sweet if your slick wasn’t dripping down his chin. “I– thank you…” you look away from him.

He chuckles at your response, refocusing on your cunt, slowly pumping his finger in and out. Relishing in how you squirm at it, beginning to seriously doubt your ability to take him. Taking his time in opening you up, digit rubbing against your inner walls just to watch your chest stutter and hips twitch.

Not adding a second finger until your whines are pitchy and you’re relaxing around him, stuffing your little cunt full with his two big fingers. The feel of your walls clamping down on them making his dick twitch in his pants. Scissoring his two digits to stretch you open, impatient and mouth watering, he’s leaning down to lick at your pussy again. Tongue slipping in with his fingers just to get a taste of you before slurping at your clit.

You feel full and dizzy, head lolling back as he fucks into you, struggling to close your legs around his body. Free hand still holding you, pushing up to open you even more. Choso’s name leaving you through mumbles, hard to talk around your moans. The way he’s stroking your walls has you seeing stars, his tongue on your clit making your back arch.

It’s so much, not able to decide if you’re trying to roll your hips down into him or if you want to pull away. Not that you’re getting much of a choice anyways, anytime you twitch away he’s growling at you and pulling you right back down to him. The sounds of his fingers fucking into your pussy filling the room, wet slapping that would be embarrassing if you weren’t getting so close.

The hand in his hair tugging on him again, dark moan leaving him, not stopping for a moment. He can feel how you’re squeezing down on his fingers; he can hear the way you’re skipping breaths, thighs shaking from the build-up. He doesn’t stop, even as you whine and push at him, so sensitive that your impending orgasm feels like too much. He’s not depriving you of this, he’s not depriving himself of this.

With a loud gasp and shocked whine, you’re cumming around his fingers. Almost feels like Choso purrs at how you’re contracting around him, not stopping his movements to help you ride out your high. Eventually pulling his fingers out of you only to grab onto your other thigh and pull you completely open. Mouth on your cunt before you’ve even really registered that he’s made you cum.

He lewdly slurps at your pussy, apparently having been patient about making you cum when this is what he really wanted. You’re sensitive and flinching away from him, soft whimpers leaving you, not even able to try and move away from him with how he’s holding you. The hand you have in his hair pushing at his head weakly.

“Choso– it’s– hah– too much,” your eyes feel wet and your thoughts are foggy.

He groans in disappointment but pulls back all the same, though not before blowing lightly on your clit, smile evil at your twitchy reaction. Showing mercy, he moves his head to rest against your thigh. Teeth nibbling at your skin, tongue lathing over the small marks he’s made. Finally sitting up and resting on his knees, he delights in how ruined you look. Marks he’s left on you from all his kisses on your neck, your thighs, cunt glistening with your cum and his saliva, eyes glazed, lips swollen from his kisses and how you’d been biting at them.

Readjusting, he trails his hands up your sides, pushing your shirt upwards as he goes. His eyes meet yours, checking to make sure you’re okay with his actions. You’re lifting your arms to help him take it off properly, shirt sharing the same fate as you’re other clothes and being banished to the floor.

He can’t help himself, hands groping at your tits, squeezing and pulling at you. Lightly pinching at your nipples just to make you gasp. Leaning down he lays his tongue flat over your nipple, licking at it sloppily. Messy in how he drools onto your sensitive skin, hands still pawing at the fat of your tits.

Distracted by how he’s playing with your naked body, neglecting his throbbing cock. Switching his mouth to your other nipple, teeth dragging over it lightly. His dick leaking into his pants at the shiver he pulls from you.

“Cho–” his name gets caught in your throat at how he pinches at you, back arching up into him.

The small way you called out to him seemingly enough to pull him back to, finally removing his mouth from you in an obscene display. Thin string of spit connecting his mouth to your skin, breaking when his tongue passes over his lower lip. Moving upwards, his face nuzzles into the side of your cheek, leaving soft and wet kisses against you. Fighting the urge to leave even more marks on you, instead resting his mouth next to your ear.

“You doing okay?” His breath is warm but still it sends a pleasant chill down your spine.

You nod your head at him in response to his question, not feeling sure enough of your voice to try and speak.

A hand holds the side of your face, his lips meeting yours in a wet kiss. Tongue licking into your mouth fervently, small groan sounding from him when your hands hold onto his shoulders, appreciating your touch. He’s warm, a comforting warmth that you’re coming to crave from him. Looping your arms around his shoulders, you pull him down onto you, his skin against yours.

His mouth parts from yours at the sudden shift but lets it happen, his arms scooping under and around you. Skin against yours tickling a part of your brain nicely, your legs wrap around him. Wanting him pressed up against you completely, only to whine when you’re met with the material of his pants.

Choso huffs a small laugh at your disgruntled noise, amused by your desire to have him pressed to you. He shifts to sit up but you’re clinging to him, refusing to let go. “If you want me to take off my pants I need to sit up.”

Annoyed, you let go and flop back onto the mattress. His eyes watch the way your tits move with the force of your landing and you cross your arms over them, “Take off your pants then.”

He doesn’t waste any more time, tugging his pants off hastily, like he’s suddenly been reminded of just how hard his aching cock is. It’s quick how he undresses himself, one second wearing pants and the next completely bare with his large cock in his hand. Lightly stroking himself, hissing between his teeth at the slight pressure.

Flushed a deep pink, so hard and leaking precum down the length of himself, it looks almost painful. Before you can reach out for him, a hand is pushing back on your thigh, “Need to be in you.”

You don’t even get a chance to be shy, not with the way he’s rubbing the tip of his dick between your folds. From your hole to your clit and back down again, pressing into you just slightly each time.

He speaks through his teeth, “You need to relax.”

“I am relaxed,” you return.

“You’re not,” he can barely push in, too worried about hurting you.

He presses his thumb to your lips, about to ask you to lick, surprised when your lips wrap around it and suck lightly. His skin flushing a deeper pink, feeling like he’s about to melt into a puddle in front of you. A breath shudders through him as he pulls his thumb from you, reaching down and rubbing circles into your clit. You need to relax for him.

His cock probes at your entrance, carefully pushing into your gooey hole. Still so cautious of your comfortability despite the ravenous need clawing at his insides. After a bit of coaxing, he’s able to push the tip of his cock inside. Your chest seizes and your cunt clamps down against the feeling, the stretch painful enough to have you shocked but not enough to have you in legitimate pain.

Choso just about passes out, your pussy so tight around him that it takes him off guard, even more so when your hole flutters around him. He reaches out for your hand and laces your fingers together, his breaths heavy and sputtered as he tries to collect himself enough to talk you through it.

“Gotta relax,” he huffs at you, dick jerking at the pretty look on your face, “I’m gonna take my time, gonna be so careful with you, so just calm down.”

“Oh– Okay,” you can do that, you can calm down.

Choosing to focus on something else, on how his hand holds yours, on his voice soothing you. Trying hard to even your breathing, partway succeeding, enough so that you’re relaxing again. Something Choso is infinitely grateful for because he felt like he could cum from the tight grip of your cunt and the cute look of your pinched brows alone. He’s so patient with you, waiting until you tell him it’s okay before even thinking of moving again.

Voice still shaky when you tell him, “Y–You can move, Choso.”

He grunts at you, an acknowledgement that he’s heard you. Hips slow as he sinks in more, breath catching at how you react to him. Thumb back on your clit to help you take him more, only getting about halfway before your free hand is pushing back on his chest. Immediately he stops, not wanting to push you past your limits. Your hand is gripping his tight, it makes his heart tug, his hand squeezing back at yours.

“You’re doing s–so– hah– good,” he coos at you.

Aiming to help but his voice is breaking and needy and the only thing it does is make your pussy flutter around his achingly hard dick. His eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head at the feel of your slick walls.

Glancing down, you worry, “I don’t th– think I’m gonna be able to take it all.”

You sound so concerned about not fully taking him and he can’t help but chuckle breathlessly at it, “That’s okay, this much is enough.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he pulls your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles, “You okay if I move?”

Nodding at him, “Yeah, you can move.”

Drawing his hips back, he hisses through his teeth, brows scrunched as he focuses on his movements. Careful as he starts a pace he thinks you’ll be able to handle, fucking you on half of his cock. Even this much has his head spinning, addicted to the feel of your plush cunt sucking him in. Relishing in the sound of your rapid heartbeat and stifled whimpers, your hand unravels from his to grip the sheets. He takes the chance to hold you open, more control over his pace this way.

Incoherent whines tumble from your lips, words not even close to comprehensible. Desperate need resting inside your chest suddenly, you want all of him, you want to feel stuffed to the brim. Trying to convey it is hard, especially when just half his dick has your brain scrambled and fuzzy.

“C–Cho– more,” stumbled and huffed but clear enough, “Please.”

He hesitates, “I don’t think–”

“–Please~” you whine out to him, plead stretching long with your gasped moans.

He can’t help but cave when he looks at you and sees your cute expression, unshed tears sitting pretty on your lashes. Giving you what you want and fucking into you, stuffing more of his cock inside your tight hole each time he thrusts in. He feels like this might be as close to heaven as he’s ever going to get, opening you up on his fat dick while you tremble under him.

Choso’s beginning to feel like a mess with how you’re squeezing him, so tight his balls ache. Your staggered breath and absent gaze driving him crazy. Skin glowing with a sheen of perspiration while your eyes roll. His cock hitting so deep inside you your breath hitches when he’s finally balls deep, you could almost could swear he’s in your ribcage.

Your toes curl and your head lolls back, drooling at how it feels to be this fucking full, your mind truly slipping through your fingers and he hasn’t even begun fucking you proper yet. Before he moves he grips your hips, fingers digging into the fat there, enjoying how soft you are. Drawing back cautiously to make sure he doesn’t do anything to hurt you and upon realising you’re basically already fucked dumb finds himself thrusting back inside you. The force of it rocking you, fingers gripping the sheets tight as you moan pathetically.

Setting a rabid pace, he finally lets himself fuck into you how he craves. Hands gripping your skin while he stuffs your sensitive pussy, your lips bulging around his thick length, struggling to take him. Beyond turned on with how good it feels, obscene and wet slapping resounding from the room, along with the pitiful sounds you manage to let slip.

Beginning to feel like he’s fucking you to borderline insanity, his or yours he can’t ascertain, all he knows is that he’s obsessed with the slick heat of your cunt. Effectively pussy drunk and if he thought he wasn’t leaving your side before he sure as hell isn’t now, not willing to give up something as sweet as you. It’s funny how you’ve basically pussy whipped him without even trying or knowing.

“Feel s–so– fuck– feel so good,” he gasps at you, needing you to know just how perfect you are.

His hands move from your hips to anywhere else he can grab, handsy as he gropes at you, wanting to touch you everywhere he possibly can. Eventually landing on wrapping around you and pulling you up, the position having you sinking down on his cock more. Sputtered moans leaving you at the sudden change, arms looping around his neck and scrabbling at his back, nails no doubt leaving marks.

Chest to chest, skin contact that has a shiver running down your spine pleasantly. You wish you could tell him how good he’s making you feel, how close you’re getting, how fuzzy your brain feels but the words won’t come. Instead settling for whimpering into his shoulder, drooling on him slightly.

His hands travel lower and grab at your thighs wrapped around him, pulling you further open and using his grip to use you like a sex toy. Fucking you so deliciously and easily that you feel like the room is spinning. Your mouth latches onto his neck, leaving behind dark marks, something for your mouth to do beside crying out his name uselessly. Not that he particularly minded, enjoying immensely how wrecked you sounded as you cried out for him.

He notices the way your breath catches and nails dig into him more, getting close to cumming. Something he wants desperately, his thrusts more forceful, excited at the thought of you gripping him sinfully tight.

“You been doing so good,” he breathes, “Just let go for me.”

The words spoken against your ear sends a tingle through your body, muscles pulling tight like you’re getting ready for impact. Your whimpers pitchy as you twitch in his grasp, your nails nearly making him bleed. You’re cumming around him so perfectly, falling apart in his hands, squirming and hips jumping. Cunt so fucking tight he swears he’s gone to heaven, his eyes rolling back in his head as he moans shamelessly. His teeth bite into your neck, lathing over the wound quickly healing any blood he might’ve drawn with the action.

Hips jerking up into you as he fucks you through it, your orgasm ultimately triggering his. Shuddering as he cums inside you, filling you to the brim with it. His blood boiling as he continues to fuck you through his high, all too happy to let it leak out of you.

His unstopping thrusts pushing more of your combined mess out around his dick with lewd squelching noises. Sheets all sticky, evidence of how messily he’d fucked you. When you mumble at him he stops thrusting into you, somewhat begrudgingly, all too willing to force you and him into overstimulation.

Instead of pulling out and placing you down, he stays seated inside you and lays on his back. Leaving you laying on top of him, his arms around you again, embracing you. You’d snuggle into him more but you’re still not sure you’re in your body, limbs all so heavy.

“I’m sorry if I was too rough,” he sounds sheepish when he speaks into the top of your head.

You hum at him in disagreement, “Was good.”

Pressing a kiss to your temple, he asks, “Want to get cleaned up?”

“You’re gonna have to give me a bit, I don’t think I can move yet…” your eyes feel tired, “…Or today.” It feels like he grows warmer at your comment and you smile lazily.

Maybe he should feel more concerned over how fond of you he’s grown but as you drift off on top of him, snoozing so peacefully, he really can’t find it in himself to care.

𝐀/𝐍: i put my whole visussy into this fic ngl and i had so much more i wanted to add/do to it but it quite literally sucked motivation away from my soul. if you guys have questions about the story though you're more than welcome to ask ! i literally had SO many notes for this fic and while i don't think it's the best thing i've written i am obscenely happy to have finished it and i hope you guys like it !!! thanks for reading <333

[⚠︎] — 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision ★ ⁝ my works are not to be used for AI under any circumstances

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