#AND DON'T GET ME STARTED ON THE LANGUAGE USED

[mooningningg]

Extra Credit - Megumi F. (2)

about. you're flunking all your subjects. He’s a virgin. So you strike a deal—he tutors you academically to win a girl he has a crush on, and you tutor him in sex, simple.

parts. chapter 01, chapter 03

pairings. nerd!megumi x popular girl!reader

words. 16.04k (long ahh)

content. virgin!megumi + experienced!reader, Explicit sexual content – dry humping, making out, handjob, semi-public tension, teasing, dirty talk, reader guiding Megumi through his first sexual experience. Power dynamics. Smug, experienced reader. Slight humiliation kink if you squint. Megumi is flushed and wrecked and learning. This is a part of an ongoing tutoring-for-sexual-experience fic. Reader is not kind. She is hot and she knows it. ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP I DON'T WANT NO SMOKE OR SOMEONE BEING A HATER IN MY COMMENTS.

notes. we're heating up yalllll!!! and please give me feedback, i need to know what you think...

The hallway was nearly dead. Final bell rung, students scattered like roaches, and the only sounds left were the squeaks of custodians’ shoes on waxed tile. You checked over your shoulder before stepping around the corner—god forbid anyone saw you doing what you were about to do. Megumi was at his locker. Alone. Perfect. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, tapping the toe of your heel on the linoleum like it owed you money.

“So what time are we gonna start?” you asked. Megumi barely looked at you, sliding a textbook into the pit of his backpack like he’d been expecting this exact confrontation. “Tomorrow after lunch sounds good,�� he muttered, shutting his locker.

You opened your mouth to agree—until he added, “Except Fridays. I’m not free Fridays.”

“Why not?” you asked, tilting your head. That made him stop. His hand tensed a little at the strap of his bag, and his jaw tightened.

“I said I’m not free,” he replied, curt and bitter. No explanation. No eye contact. Like the subject was shut down, dead, buried six feet under.

You blinked. “Okay... geez.”

There was an awkward silence before you straightened up. “Where?” Megumi finally looked at you.

Expression flat. “The library?” he offered—except he didn’t offer so much as mock your own question back at you in that deadpan way that made you want to strangle him.

You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly gave you a concussion. “No. Obviously not. Everyone’s at the library. You think I’m gonna sit there and let people see me get tutored? Fuck no.”

He tilted his head at you, slowly. “You asked me three times to tutor you,” he said, unimpressed, “and now you don’t want to be seen with me?”

You scoffed. “It’s not like that.” Except... it kind of was. You scratched at your nail polish. “I just... don’t want people knowing I need tutoring. That’s all.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie. You just left out the part where the worst thing imaginable would be the entire school finding out that you—the hot, put-together, braincell-deprived queen of hallway dominance—were being saved academically by none other than Megumi Fushiguro. The social suicide would be irreversible.

Megumi studied your face, and for a split second—tiny, barely-there—his expression softened. Then it disappeared. He sighed through his nose. “Your place?”

You nearly gagged. “No way in hell.” He raised a brow. “Then my place.” You hesitated. “...Will anyone be there?”

“My dad’s never home.” A pause, you weighed it, it was private. No foot traffic. No one you’d run into.

Fine.

“Okay. After school.”

“Fine,” he echoed, slinging his bag onto one shoulder.

“DM me the address.”

“DM you?” he asked, like the phrase itself was in a different language.

You blinked. “Yeah. On Instagram?”

“I don’t use Instagram.”

Your jaw dropped. “What the fuck are you made of?”

“I don’t need social media,” he replied, monotone, already turning away.

“Okay what about Snapchat?”

“No.”

“Tiktok?” He blinked at you like you just asked him if he sacrificed animals.

“Twitter?”

“No.”

“BeReal?”

“What even is that?”

You groaned dramatically and yanked a pen and notebook from your bag. “Oh my god, just write it down like we’re in the 1800s.” He took the pen and jotted something quick and sharp. You snatched the paper back and stared.

A home address. Somewhere in a quiet residential stretch near the edge of Tokyo. You didn’t recognize the neighborhood, but it didn’t seem too far. “5PM,” he said as he adjusted his glasses.

You looked up. “Don’t be late,” he added, voice flat. “Or I’m not answering the door.” And before you could reply, Megumi was already walking off, hoodie pulled over his head like he hadn’t just completely dictated your entire life schedule without blinking.

You stood there in the hallway, staring at the little piece of paper in your hand. Megumi Fushiguro’s house.

What the fuck were you getting yourself into?

You hated when the day dragged like this.

That sticky, post-class limbo where everyone slowly trickled toward freedom, chattering, laughing, slamming lockers, making plans. You walked through it all like you were underwater, like every sound passed through cotton. Your heels clicked against the tile, echoing faintly behind you as you made your way toward the parking lot.

Your mind wasn’t quiet. Not even close. No plan. No clarity. No relief.

Just the endless cycle of circling grades, your future slipping out of your manicured hands, and the ghosts of things you didn’t want to admit still mattered. Like him.

Noritoshi fucking Kamo.

You hadn’t seen him in days. Not really. Glances in hallways didn’t count. The silence since the breakup had felt like both punishment and relief. And yet— There he was.

Across the parking lot, heading toward his car. One hand holding his keys, his expression unreadable in that impossibly calm, infuriatingly composed way. The soft amber sun carved highlights in his hair, golden against his blazer, his steps easy. You didn’t know why your feet moved. Didn’t know why your voice rose above the wind.

“Noritoshi!” He stopped. Turned.

You instantly regretted it. And yet… you were already walking toward him. Too fast. Too desperate. He looked surprised at first, taken aback that you—of all people—were approaching him now. But then his expression softened. Slightly. That dangerous softness, the one that had always undone you.

“Can we talk?” you asked, crossing your arms in a pathetic attempt to look casual. You hated how breathless you sounded. A long pause.

He nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

You stood there, face tilted up to him, the silence stretching like a blade between you. “I know we ended…roughly,” you said. You could still hear the screaming, the slamming door, the way his words punched into your ribs like fists.

Noritoshi didn’t say anything. Just watched. “But I… I miss you.”

The words came too fast. Too raw. You hated how small they made you sound. How you felt like you were trying to hold water in your hands, and it was slipping through every finger. He blinked once. His jaw twitched. “We can’t keep doing this, Y/N.”

Something in your chest cracked. “We’re not doing anything,” you replied quickly. “We’re—we’re just talking.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. Not angry. Not cruel. Just distant. Cautious. “This isn’t just talking and you know it.” You swallowed. “So what, you just pretend I don’t exist now?”

“I’m not pretending.” Your breath hitched. Your voice sharpened.

“No. No, you don’t get to just disappear from my life like I was some… phase. You knew everything about me. Every dark, fucked-up part I hide from everyone else—you knew it. You held it. You used it.” Noritoshi flinched at that, just barely.

“Don't do that,” he said quietly. “Don’t rewrite what we had.”

“I’m not!” you snapped, tears threatening behind your lash extensions. “I’m telling you that you knew me better than anyone ever has and now you’re acting like none of it matters. That I don’t matter.” You were spiraling now, grasping at anything to slow your own descent.

“This is just… this is just another fight, right?” you whispered. “It’s just a thing we’re doing again. We’ll be okay. We always come back. Right?”

“Y/N—” You stepped forward, voice barely stable. “Please, Toshi.”

You hadn’t said his name like that since before the last fight. The worst one. The one that ended it. His expression shattered—just a little. You could see the conflict, the guilt, the damn ache in his eyes. But his feet didn’t move.

“You know I’ll always care about you,” he said, quietly, slowly. “But we weren’t good for each other. Not in the end.”

“That’s bullshit,” you hissed. “You think I didn’t try? You think I didn’t bend until I broke just to keep us okay?”

“I know you did. And I know I didn’t always meet you halfway. But we’re toxic. You know that. You just don’t want to admit it.” You blinked. He wasn’t yelling, He didn’t need to. His voice was calm. Too calm. Final, and that was worse.

Because this time… he meant it. You felt yourself slipping—emotionally, physically, everything unspooling in front of him like you were standing naked and broken in public.

“I can’t do this again,” he said, a little softer now. “I won’t.”

And with that, he turned, opened his car door, and got inside. You stood there. Watching. Heart squeezed. Chest hollow. He drove off. And that was it.

You were still in the parking lot. Wind pushing your skirt. The sun dipping lower behind the trees. And you were just standing there like an idiot. No. Like a girl who loved someone who never really came back the way she needed him to. This time… this time, he really was gone, and for once, you didn’t chase. You just stood there and let yourself feel it.

Every. Last. Second. Of it.

You were five minutes late.

Exactly five.

And yet, despite all that tough talk and his passive-aggressive little warning about “not answering the door,” guess who still opened it?

That’s right. Mr. Rules-And-Rigidity himself.

Megumi Fushiguro stood at the threshold of his surprisingly clean, quiet, borderline nice house like the human equivalent of a sigh. Hoodie on. Glasses still in place. Sweatpants slung low and baggy on his hips—and okay, not to be dramatic or anything, but they definitely had one or two stains that looked like they’d been there since 2017.

Still, you were more concerned with the house. Not that you were gonna say it out loud, but…damn. It was actually kind of big. Not “my dad owns half of Shibuya” big, but “I have a stable home life and a functioning family” kind of big. Neat. Quiet. A little cold maybe, but it didn’t reek of Axe body spray or gamer chair sweat, which was already more than you could say for 90% of the male population.

He stepped aside with a small exhale that absolutely reeked of judgment.

“You’re late.”

You walked in without a word, brushing past him like you owned the place. “Door was still open.”

“So much for empty threats, huh?” you added under your breath.

His living room was muted, borderline minimalist. A coffee table sat in front of a long couch, already stacked with books, folders, and enough academic paperwork to give you a stress migraine just looking at it.

And there he was—Megumi, sitting on the couch like some moody little student council rep, flipping through pages with all the excitement of a dead fish.

“I talked to your teachers,” he said without looking at you. “Asked them what you’re missing. What you don’t turn in. What you fail at.”

You blinked. “Wait—you talked to them?”

He nodded, still focused on the paperwork.

“Like, you… went up to adults voluntarily and asked about me?”

“Yes,” he said, voice clipped, like he regretted it deeply.

You couldn’t help it—you snorted. “Kinda stalker behavior, Gumi.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You dropped your bag to the floor with a thud and finally flopped beside him on the couch, ignoring the fact that you were still in your uniform skirt and he was probably sitting way too close for comfort considering what this whole arrangement actually was.

“So,” you drawled, tugging your socks up lazily. “What’d they say?”

He turned a page. Didn’t even glance your way.

“Not good things. That’s for sure.”

You scoffed. “Wow. You got anyone in your life who actually says nice things about me?”

“Do you?” he deadpanned.

Your mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

He finally looked at you, eyes narrowed behind those damn glasses.

“You’re not very self-aware, huh?”

“Oh my god,” you snapped. “You’re, like, so annoying. You do realize I could’ve picked anyone else to tutor me, right?”

“But you didn’t,” he said simply, flipping another page. The audacity.

You rolled your eyes, arms crossing dramatically as you shifted to the side of the couch. “This is abuse. Academic abuse. I’m being mentally tormented.”

“Good,” he muttered. “Maybe then you’ll learn something.”

You gave him your best glare. He didn’t flinch. Not even a little.

And then, like he was done indulging your tantrum, he picked up the textbook with a sharp clap and flipped it open like it weighed five tons.

“Today,” he said, “we’re starting with Physics.”

You blinked. “Why the fuck would we do that?”

“Because,” he said calmly, “you’re very, very bad at it.”

You groaned. Audibly. Dramatically. Full-body exorcism style. “Ugh. I already hate this. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. I should’ve just begged the board for extra credit or bribed Gojo or something—”

“Shut up and open your notebook.”

“This is going to be hell, I swear to god.”

Megumi didn’t respond. He just handed you a pencil like he was preparing to babysit a toddler. And you?

You took it—reluctantly, bitterly, and with the elegance of a girl who would rather be literally anywhere else. Because this was the beginning, Of schoolwork. Of tutoring. Of whatever this cursed partnership was becoming.

And for the record? You were already planning your escape, or at least, your next move. Because tutoring was only half the deal. And soon enough? He was gonna learn that the other half had way more interesting lessons.

An hour of mental agony.

An hour of squinting at numbers, scribbling down equations you didn’t understand, and pretending to care about some dude named Newton.

You slammed your pencil down like it had personally offended you and flopped sideways with a dramatic groan.

“I’m done,” you mumbled, shoving the practice sheet toward Megumi like it burned.

He didn’t answer. Just took it, adjusted his glasses, and started reading in dead silence. Pencil in hand. Methodical, boring little ticks as he checked things off—or didn’t.

You watched him while you waited.

He was close. Closer than usual.

His hoodie had slipped slightly, revealing his forearms. You stared at the small flex of muscle when he wrote, the subtle dip of his throat when he swallowed, the way his glasses sat low enough on his nose to give you the perfect view of his lashes.

Had his skin always looked that soft?

His hair was still a mess, sticking up at weird angles from earlier, and yet—you could see it. The potential. If he just let someone style it. If he wore literally anything but hoodie-and-sweats-on-laundry-day.

He had… a face. An actually nice one. And then he turned to you, eyes unreadable, and held the paper out.

A three. A fucking three out of twenty. You grabbed the paper. Stared at it like it personally insulted your bloodline.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I mean, you got three right,” he said calmly.

You looked at him, scandalized. “You’re supposed to be good at this! Why the hell do I suck so bad if you’re my tutor?”

“You weren’t going to magically get it in one hour,” Megumi replied. “And it’s not my fault you didn’t pay attention the past three months.”

“I am paying attention now!”

“Are you?”

“Yes! Kind of! This is supposed to help me.”

“It is helping you. I’m honestly shocked you got any right at all.”

“Oh, haur haur. I’m laughing so hard right now, Gumi.”

He looked at you like you were deranged. You groaned and flopped back again. “I think that’s enough for today.” You stood, stretching, and turned to look down at him. He was still sitting on the couch, arms crossed, textbook on his lap.

He stared up at you, one brow arched. “What are you doing?”

“My part,” you said with a smirk. “It’s my turn… to tutor you.”

“Oh.” A beat. “Right.” You plopped back down on the couch, this time with intention. You turned your full body toward him, crossing one leg over the other as you stared, eyes sharp and studying.

“Okay. Topic of the day: Kissing.” Megumi blinked once.

You didn’t wait. “It’s more important than you think. Seriously, you could look like a goddamn Greek statue, but if you’re a bad kisser? You’re done. Over. Dead in the water.”

“…Okay.”

You continued, all hand gestures and head tilts like you were giving a TED Talk. “It’s about pressure. Pacing. Not too much tongue, not too little. Your lips gotta feel intentional. Like you know what you’re doing, but not like you’re trying too hard. And when you’re kissing someone? Your hands matter.”

Megumi looked… oddly focused. He was listening, genuinely, nodding slowly like he was absorbing everything.

“Girls remember that shit,” you said. “A good kiss stays with you. A bad one? Unforgivable.”

You leaned back slightly, tilting your head. “So. Have you ever kissed a girl before?”

Silence. He didn’t answer right away, then, quietly, “…I mean. When I was eight—”

“That doesn’t count.”

You cut him off with a laugh and a sharp look. “No way. Actual kissing, Gumi. You’re seriously telling me you’ve never kissed anyone?” He looked away, flushed faintly pink at the ears.

You blinked once. No fucking way. That actually explains so much. You smiled to yourself, eyes narrowing. He didn’t even know what was about to hit him.

Megumi blinked, and then—God help you—he started defending himself.

“I mean, it’s not like it’s a big deal,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “It’s not like I’ve never thought about it or anything. It’s just—like—why would I practice kissing? It’s not like you can just study that, and it’s not exactly something you can wing, and it’s not like I ever—”

You rolled your eyes so hard your soul almost left your body. “Jesus Christ.”

And before he could spiral into another long-winded monologue about why he’s never kissed someone, you grabbed his face with both hands—firm, smushed his cheeks between your palms, and pressed a fast, slightly messy peck to his lips.

Megumi froze. Like entire body stiff, full system-shutdown level frozen.

You pulled back casually, dropping your hands with a shrug. “You weren’t gonna shut up, emo boy.”

He stared at you like you’d just committed a federal crime. “What the fuck?”

You smirked. “Oh relax. That was just a preview. Call it a jumpstart.”

“That was my first kiss.”

You blinked. “Wait—that counts?”

He looked at you like you’d stepped on a puppy. “Well,” you said, tilting your head. “You’re lucky it was with me, then.”

Megumi exhaled, sharply. Like he wasn’t sure if he was angry, confused, or about to combust. “And anyway,” you added, already getting comfortable again, “that wasn’t even a kiss-kiss. That was baby shit. If you want to actually learn, you gotta stop being a pussy.”

Megumi scoffed. “I’m not—”

“You are.” You leaned in slightly. “But that’s okay. I’ll fix you.”

He opened his mouth to argue again, but you waved a hand to cut him off. “Don’t make this weird. I’m literally helping you.”

“You kissed me.”

“And you’re welcome.” More silence. More glowering. He looked so serious, it was borderline pathetic.

You exhaled, soft and sure, then rested a hand on his knee. “Okay. Now, for real.” His breath hitched slightly.

“You’re not going to get it on the first try, and that’s fine. Just… relax. Let me lead.” You turned to face him completely. His knee brushed yours. His arms dropped to his sides. He looked nervous. But—intrigued. Definitely intrigued. You leaned in slow, just enough to give him time to process. And when your lips met his this time, it was softer. Slower. You didn’t push, didn’t smother—you let it melt.

Megumi’s lips were surprisingly soft.

A little stiff at first—unsure. But he moved with you. Carefully. Cautiously. And then a little more confidently when your hand slid to his jaw, thumb grazing the edge of his cheekbone, he smelled good—like clean laundry and mint gum. His breath fanned over your skin when you broke for air just slightly, and it was warm, intoxicating.

You kissed him again. Deeper. Pressing in. Tilting your head just enough to change the angle and whisper against his lips, “Good… just like that…”

He swallowed, and moved with you again. No tongue. Not yet.

But his lips stayed on yours, hesitant but obedient. And for someone who hadn’t done this before—he was catching on way too fast. When you finally pulled back, he was dazed. Eyes half-lidded. Lips a little pinker than before.

You smirked. “You’re not completely hopeless.”

“…Thanks?”

“Don’t sound too grateful, Gumi.” He blinked, still processing.

The air between you and Megumi thickens, and you can almost feel the discomfort radiating off him. His body’s so rigid—like he’s trying to hold onto whatever scrap of control he’s got left.

You have no intention of letting him keep it.

You lean in close, just enough to make his breath hitch, just enough to see the way his lips part when you make the slightest move.

“You know,” you start, voice low, a playful lilt hanging off every word, “if you’re gonna impress Miwa, you have to do more than just look cute and smile awkwardly. She wants a guy who knows what he’s doing.”

Megumi's hands twitch at his sides. He doesn't speak. Doesn’t even make eye contact. Too busy pretending his heart isn’t racing. Too busy trying to look composed, but failing miserably.

“Girls like me? We love a guy who knows how to use his mouth,” you continue, grinning as his eyes flicker towards your lips for half a second. “You wanna know how to kiss with tongue, don’t you?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, voice tight when he speaks. “I—I mean, I guess?”

“Oh, you guess?” You chuckle darkly. “Let me be clear: Miwa won’t even look at you if your kissing is weak. You know how to use it, Gumi?”

He bites his lip, and for a second you can’t help but notice how charming that slight vulnerability is. You could tease him for it forever, but instead, you press on.

“No?” You ask with an exaggerated pout. “I guess I’m just gonna have to teach you then, huh?”

You shift closer, your knee brushing his, and his body goes stiff again. But you’re too close now, and there’s no way he can pull back without making things worse.

You catch his eye again. “I’m serious about this. You need to feel it. The tongue is everything.”

Megumi’s breathing hitches, and the tension is suffocating now.

You smirk and slide a hand to his jaw, tilting his face toward you. The soft heat of his skin is so close—so close—that you feel it in your core. Slowly, carefully, you press your lips to his once more, testing. It’s light this time. Just enough to see if he’ll melt under your touch, if he’ll respond to you.

And oh, does he.

His lips part with hesitation, but he follows your lead, moving just enough to match the rhythm. It’s still clumsy, but you feel the difference. The awkwardness isn’t there anymore. There’s something deeper in this kiss.

You pull back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze.

“You’re getting better,” you murmur. “Now, let me show you how to do it right.”

His eyes widen, his breath shaky, but he nods, giving you all the permission you need.

With one smooth motion, you guide his hand to your waist, settling it on your side as you shift even closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of his chest against yours. He’s still unsure, but his hand remains firm on your waist, a silent sign that he’s trying. You guide him to press in a little more, lips brushing against his once again, this time deeper.

You slide your tongue along his lips, just enough to tease him. He hesitates, unsure, but when you kiss him again, you nudge him. He opens up for you—just a little—his tongue brushing lightly against yours.

You groan inwardly. He’s actually not bad. He’s still shy, still holding back, but the potential is there. The way his body moves with yours now—fuck, he’s catching on quicker than you thought.

“Good,” you murmur against his lips, guiding his hand around your waist to pull you in closer. “That’s it, Gumi.”

You move your tongue deeper, sliding it against his with more confidence, the kiss deepening as you coax him to follow. His hands twitch again, unsure, but you guide them, running them up your sides, showing him how to touch, how to pull you closer. The tension crackles between you, and you feel the faintest brush of his body against yours, his muscles tense, then relaxing as you show him exactly how to kiss.

You pull back slightly to catch your breath, your lips still hovering above his. He’s panting lightly now, eyes heavy-lidded and flushed from more than just the kiss. His breath brushes your skin in soft, uneven pants, and you catch the faintest glimpse of how his body reacts to the closeness—how it wants more.

"See?” you whisper, voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s how it’s done. Not so hard, is it?”

Megumi’s hands are still on you, but now there’s more confidence behind his touch. He’s following your lead—hesitant, yes, but growing.

“You’re… better than I thought,” he admits, his voice low and a little rougher than usual.

You smirk, sliding your hands to his chest. “Keep going, Gumi. You’ve got this.”

His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you even closer, and you let him. You know where this is headed. And with how hot he’s looking right now, there’s no way you’ll stop this kiss from turning into something way more intense.

He leans in again, this time with more urgency, pulling you closer, as his lips crash back to yours. This time, he’s the one that guides you. You can feel it: his confidence is building with each slow, deliberate kiss.

And damn, you're loving every second of it.

The coffee shop was buzzing with its usual mid-afternoon energy, the chatter of students and the smell of burnt espresso filling the air. You sat across from Nobara, stirring your drink absentmindedly, trying to avoid meeting her eyes.

“So,” Nobara started, a smirk tugging at her lips. “How’d it go with Mister ‘I’ll Break Your Heart’?”

You let out a sharp sigh, leaning back in your seat. “I ran into him... in the parking lot.”

Nobara raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. She set her cup down and leaned in. “You ran into him?” she repeated, her tone dry. “I’m guessing it wasn’t just a ‘Hey, good to see you’ kind of thing.”

“No. It wasn’t. I... I don’t even know what I was thinking,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I saw him walking to his car, and before I knew it, I was already calling out to him. It’s like he still... has this effect on me, you know?”

Nobara gave you a deadpan stare. “Are you serious right now?”

“I... I don’t know,” you groaned, rubbing your forehead. “I miss him, Nobara. It’s like... every time I think I’m done, he comes back and I let him in. I let him hurt me again. And I don't know why I keep doing it.”

Nobara’s expression softened slightly. She looked at you like she wanted to say something comforting, but her tough side always came out. "You know you're not the only one who’s had their heart fucked up by someone, right? But damn, girl, you’ve gotta stop playing with fire. That guy—he—isn't good for you."

You stared at the table, biting your lip. “I tried talking to him. I... told him I missed him.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nobara shot back, her voice sharp. “Why are you chasing him, huh? Why are you begging for someone who doesn’t deserve you? You’re fucking amazing, Y/N. You’re that bitch. You don’t need that shit.”

You blinked, her words hitting you harder than you expected. Nobara’s eyes were fierce, but there was something softer there, something real. She wasn’t just being the usual loud-mouthed, badass Nobara. She was trying to protect you.

“I don’t know,” you muttered again, running your hand through your hair. “It’s like... I can’t stop. I let him back in, and every time, he just pulls away. He says we’re not good for each other, and maybe... maybe he’s right. But I just want him.”

“Fuck that, Y/N,” she said, slamming her hand down on the table, making a few people glance over. “No one—no one—should make you feel like that. You deserve someone who doesn’t make you chase. You deserve someone who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing.”

Her words wrapped around your heart, squeezing it tight. You tried to push back the lump in your throat, but it didn’t work.

“I’m tired of feeling this way,” you whispered. “I just want it to be okay. But... it isn’t, is it? He doesn’t want me anymore. Maybe he never did.”

Nobara gave you a look that was pure fire. “You don’t need him, Y/N. You’re strong, smart, and fucking gorgeous. And if he can’t see that? His loss.”

You chuckled softly, wiping away the tear that had threatened to fall. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

Nobara grinned, a little smugly. “Damn right I do. You don’t need some dumbass to define you. You’re Y/N, the girl who doesn’t need a man to validate her. Fuck that noise. You’re above that.”

You took a deep breath, finally lifting your eyes to meet hers. There was something in her gaze that softened, just a little bit, as if she understood. And for the first time in a while, you felt like maybe you could let go of the past.

“Thanks, Nobara,” you said quietly.

“No problem, babe. Now, let’s go fuck up some more boys with that attitude of yours, huh?”

You both cracked up, the tension in your chest easing as you took another sip of your coffee. Maybe it wasn’t all lost. Maybe, just maybe, you could start to move on. And maybe, just maybe, you were going to listen to the badass bitch sitting across from you who knew what was best for you—even if you didn’t always want to hear it.

You hated history.

No, hate was too soft. You loathed it. You’d rather eat your own acrylics than sit through another second of whatever crusty-ass war Megumi was droning about, but here you were again—on his couch, legs curled under you, pencil chewing at dangerous levels of dramatic frustration.

“Who gives a shit about the Meiji Restoration?” you huffed, throwing your head back like the weight of 1868 was personally trying to kill you.

Megumi didn’t even look up from his book. “People who want to pass.”

You shot him a glare. “You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re the one who asked me to do this. Three times, actually,” he replied flatly, flipping the page. “So I guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Don’t remind me,” you groaned.

He side-eyed you from over his glasses, calm, unreadable. “I wouldn’t have to if you actually read the material.”

“I did read it,” you said, grabbing the worksheet and waving it like a flag. “It’s just boring. Why do I care who opened up Japan’s ports or whatever? I’m not gonna write a love letter to Matthew Perry.”

“That’s not the point,” he said, tone sharper now, still annoyingly calm. “It’s about understanding cause and effect. How one shift in policy opened Japan to Western imperialism—”

You made a gagging noise and flopped back dramatically against the couch cushions. “You are literally sucking the life out of me.”

Megumi snapped the textbook closed with a sigh. “You’re not meeting me halfway. I can’t magically fix your grades if you won’t try.”

You looked at him, all stoic and unbothered and infuriatingly pretty in his usual hoodie and sweats, like he hadn’t just committed academic homicide.

“God, you’re like, so emotionally constipated.”

“I’m teaching you history. Not therapy,” he deadpanned.

You sat up, poking him in the arm with your pencil. “You don’t have to be such a robot about it.”

His gaze dropped to where your pencil touched him, then dragged back up to your eyes. “And you don’t have to act like failing is cute.”

You scoffed. “Rude.”

“Honest,” he corrected.

There was a pause. The kind that simmered just under the surface. You hated how close you were sitting again. Not that you moved. Not that either of you did.

Megumi picked the textbook back up. “We’re doing this again from the top.”

“Nooo,” you groaned, dragging the word like a dying breath.

“Yes. You don’t even know who Saigō Takamori is.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Isn’t that the guy from the Last Samurai?”

“That’s a Hollywood movie. It’s wrong.”

You blinked. “...I liked that movie.”

Megumi stared at you. “Of course you did.”

“Ugh, you’re such a buzzkill.”

“And you’re unbelievably loud for someone who knows nothing about the Tokugawa shogunate.”

You pouted, flopping again onto the cushions. “You're not even trying to make it fun.”

“It’s not supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to be retained,” he replied, firm.

You stared at him. He stared right back.

The silence hung, thick and heavy. Not quite hostile. Not quite… not.

You hated this. Hated that he was kind of right. Hated that you were the one who asked for this. Hated that his hair was a little messy and his voice did that low rumble when he got serious. You hated a lot of things right now.

Mostly history.

But maybe also the way your heart picked up just a little when he leaned forward to open the book again, pages rustling like a challenge.

“Chapter six,” he said. “Pay attention this time.”

You didn’t roll your eyes this time. Not because you were cooperating, but because—goddamn it—you kind of liked arguing with him.

Even if he was a buzzkill.

One hour later, you were emotionally six feet under.

History was officially banned. Cancelled. Abolished by executive decree—your decree. Megumi had made you read aloud, like some Victorian orphan in a Dickens novel, then quizzed you like it was his life's work to make you suffer. Your neck hurt. Your brain hurt. You were one Saigō Takamori fact away from throwing yourself into traffic.

You let your pencil drop to the floor with a heavy clack, followed by the thud of your body as you flopped backwards on the couch, arm thrown dramatically across your face like you were dying in a Shakespeare play.

“I’m literally brain dead,” you groaned.

“No, you’re just dramatic,” Megumi muttered, still flipping through the textbook like some sleep-deprived college TA. “You lasted fifty-six minutes without screaming this time. That’s a new record.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He raised a brow. “Charming.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, groaning louder when you saw he’d moved on to the next chapter. “Are you seriously trying to get to chapter seven?”

“We didn’t even finish six,” he said flatly.

“Well maybe you should try teaching in a bra and thong next time. See if that helps me retain it better.”

He blinked at you over the top of his glasses. “Do you think I’m enjoying this?”

“Obviously. You’re the only weirdo on Earth who gets off on tax reform and isolationist policies.”

“I don’t get off on—what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing a frontal lobotomy couldn’t fix,” you mumbled, still sprawled out like a corpse. “Ugh. I’m so done. I’m drained. I’m dying. Do you want me to actually pass or be found unresponsive with highlighter stains on my corpse?”

“Dramatic and ungrateful,” he sighed.

You sat up slowly, eyes narrowed. “You’re lucky you’re kinda cute or I’d have bailed day one.”

Megumi paused mid-page turn. “Wait. What?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

He adjusted his glasses slightly, then looked at you—less irritated, more… thoughtful.

“I just realized something,” he said slowly.

You stared. “Uh-oh. That’s never good.”

He turned slightly toward you on the couch, one hand resting on the cushion between you. “It’s your part of the tutoring now.”

You blinked again. Brain lagging. “My what?”

“Your half of the deal,” he said, matter-of-fact. “I tutor you. You… do that.”

You stared.

Then sat upright like you’d just been hit with a water balloon of horny confusion. “Wait, that was today?”

He blinked at your sudden jolt of energy. “You literally said it’d be after every session—”

“Oh, shit, I did, didn’t I?”

He blinked again. “Did you forget?”

“No! I just—well—maybe.” You waved a hand. “You can’t expect me to remember anything after being violated by Japanese imperialism facts for an hour.”

Megumi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So… what exactly are you teaching me today?”

You paused.

Brain stalling.

Because yeah—what was next? You’d kissed him already, well made out with him.

And now he was looking at you like he expected something.

“Uhhh,” you drawled, glancing at his sweatpants.

No, you decided. It was too soon to go down on him. You were hot, not insane. You didn’t suck dick for boys who corrected your historical analysis mid-sentence.

But you could—

You grinned.

“Have you ever heard of dry humping?” you asked sweetly.

Megumi looked like you’d just offered to kill his dog.

“…Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” you said, crossing your legs and leaning toward him like a corrupt school counselor. “It’s basically PG-13 sex with clothes on. Grinding, kissing, moaning—stroke game training, Gumi. Very important.”

He just stared at you, absolutely scandalized.

“I’m not going to—grind—on someone just because—”

You cut him off with a dramatic scoff. “You’re such a buzzkill. I’m trying to help you. This is literally for Miwa’s benefit.”

His nose wrinkled. “How does this even help?”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, listen: girls don’t just get off from dick, okay? It’s all about rhythm. Friction. Hip movement. How you build it. You think she’s gonna get wet if you just lay there like a fucking anime boy cardboard cutout?”

Megumi’s face flushed instantly. “I—I wouldn’t—!”

You smirked. “Exactly. You wouldn’t. Because I’m here teaching you. You’re welcome.”

He opened his mouth to argue, probably to say something logical or stupidly moral like this isn’t necessary or I don’t need to learn this like a test—

So you shut him up the only way you knew how. You swung one leg over and straddled his lap.

Megumi’s whole body locked up. “Wha—wait—”

“Relax.” You tugged at his hoodie strings, voice syrupy and dangerous. “It’s just dry humping, not a blood pact.”

His hands hovered mid-air like he had no idea where to put them. You could feel the panic radiating off of him. And underneath you? You could already feel how hard he was getting.

Oh, he was so fucked.

“You ready, Gumi?” you whispered.

His throat bobbed. “I—I think so.”

You tilted your head, smirking. “You think?”

He looked up at you with wide, hesitant eyes—flushed already, poor thing—and you felt that little rush again, the one that always hit right before you did something reckless.

And fuck.

You hadn’t even moved yet—hadn’t grinded, hadn’t kissed him—and already, you could feel it. The heat. The shape. The size. Your lips parted, just a little. Your body adjusted automatically. And there it was again.

Jesus Christ.

He was hard already. And not just hard—big. Like, shockingly big. Stupidly big. Bigger than you’d expected from the quiet, history-obsessed boy who couldn’t even say the word "porn" without blinking too fast. You kept your expression neutral—barely—but inside?

Oh my fucking God.

You forced yourself to breathe, forced your voice to stay cool. “Okay,” you murmured, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie. “Step one. Kissing. You’re not gonna be hot if you kiss like a sixth grader.”

“I don’t—”

“You talk too much.” You cut him off with your mouth.

Your lips pressed to his, slow and deep. No peck this time. No trial. You kissed him—like he already belonged to you. Your mouth moved with purpose, teasing his, coaxing it open. And when his hands twitched at your sides, you reached down, slid them firmly onto your hips.

You grinded forward. Barely. And Megumi whimpered. The sound punched heat straight between your legs. He kissed back, breath hitching, hands holding on like he didn’t know what else to do. You bit his bottom lip, tugged, then soothed it with your tongue, just to feel him shudder beneath you.

You pulled back, breath brushing his lips. “You’re allowed to use your tongue, you know.”

He blinked at you. “I—really?”

You smirked. “Gumi. That’s the whole point.” This time, he leaned in first. His mouth met yours, warmer now, hungrier. It wasn’t perfect—still a little too careful—but his tongue brushed yours and God he tasted like spearmint gum and nervous energy. You rolled your hips, slow and deliberate, and his hands clenched on your waist, pulling you closer with a quiet desperation he probably didn’t even notice.

You shifted against him again, dragging your heat along the ridge of his cock, and fuck—there it was again.

So big.

You weren’t going to say it. Wouldn’t dare—his ego didn’t need it, and it’d just make things messy. But holy shit, the idea of how clueless he probably was about what he was working with made your head spin.

You pressed your forehead to his, voice low, teasing. “Just like that, Gumi…”

He groaned, pulling your hips down more firmly, grinding up into you once, twice— “Like this?” he asked, voice raw, a little too innocent.

Your breath caught. His cock slid against you again, thick and perfectly placed through the layers, and it made your clit throb.

“F-fuck—yes,” you gasped before you could catch yourself.

He did it again. A little deeper this time. His mouth landed on your neck, clumsy but warm, and your body arched forward into him, chasing the friction. His hips jerked once more. A little stuttered. A little too hard.

Then he froze. Like really froze. “…Megumi?”

You pulled back. He wasn’t breathing. Then— “…Shit,” he whispered, face going red. “Shit. I—I didn’t mean to—”

You blinked. “Wait. Did you—?”

His hands flew off your waist like you were made of lava. “It just—it happened—I didn’t think—I wasn’t going to—”

You stared. Then burst out laughing.

“Oh my God,” you wheezed, clutching your chest. “Did you just cum in your pants?”

He looked like he wanted to evaporate on the spot. “I didn’t—mean to! I’ve never—I didn’t even know that could—”

You were still cackling. “Oh my God, you really did. You just—boom. Pants. Game over.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Get off me and stop laughing.”

“I can’t! This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I said stop—”

“Wait,” you cut him off, suddenly narrowing your eyes. “Megumi. Have you ever even jerked off?”

He looked personally offended. “I don’t even have time for that!”

You gawked. “You’ve never masturbated?”

“I’m busy!”

“Oh my God. You’ve never even watched porn, have you?” He looked away, face going bright red.

“I—I don’t need that kind of distraction,” he muttered. You stared at him.

Then bit your lip, grinning slow. “Well. That explains so much.”

He scowled. “I don’t see why it matters.”

“Because,” you said, crossing your arms and eyeing him up and down. “You’re packing, Gumi. And you’ve got no idea what to do with it.”

“I am not—” You cut him off again. “Don’t argue with me. You just dry humped me into an accidental orgasm. You need training.” He went silent.

You leaned forward slowly, conspiratorial. “…Nobara has tapes.”

Megumi’s soul visibly left his body. “What?”

You were already reaching for your phone. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you,” you said sweetly. “Homework’s over."

“I’m just saying—it wasn’t that deep.” You said it for the fourth time in ten minutes.

And Nobara? She was giving you that look. That are-you-hearing-yourself-right-now? look, standing across her room in pajama shorts and a crop top, holding a DVD case that literally had the words “Butlers in Heat 3” printed in metallic font.

“Not that deep?” she repeated, lifting a brow. “Babe. You just told me he came in his pants from dry humping.”

You flopped onto her bed like the drama queen you were. “It wasn’t that dramatic. He didn’t like—scream.”

Nobara narrowed her eyes. “Did you scream?”

You hesitated. “…Maybe.”

“Aha!” She spun in triumph. “See?! You’re into him.”

You scowled, chucking a pillow at her. “I am not. Don’t be stupid.”

She caught it with one hand, smirking. “Girl. You straddled his lap. You made out with him. You got off while teaching him how to thrust properly—”

“I was instructing him,” you snapped, sitting upright, scandalized. “That was for educational purposes.”

Nobara gave you the driest look in recorded history. “And his dick had nothing to do with it?” You crossed your arms, refusing to meet her eyes. “Okay. Fine. Maybe he’s a little… y’know.”

Nobara tilted her head. “No. I don’t know. Say it.”

You sighed like you were being waterboarded. “He’s… not small.”

“Not small?”

You grabbed the pillow and screamed into it. “He’s packing, okay?!”

Nobara snorted, cackling as she tossed another smut DVD into the pile on her floor. “Oh my God, I knew it. I knew he was hiding something under those ugly sweatpants.”

You groaned. “Stop. You’re making it worse.”

“What, that you’re lusting over emo boy with a sword complex?” she teased. “Not your fault he’s secretly got a third leg.”

“Nobara.”

She flopped down beside you, dramatically flipping open a dusty book labeled Advanced Body Language for Confident Girls, Vol. 2. It had a lipstick kiss on the cover. You hated that you knew it was hers.

“Okay,” she said, cracking her knuckles. “If he’s never watched porn, never jerked off, and his only sexual contact is you grinding on him like you’re doing CPR with your coochie—then we need to build a curriculum.”

You blinked. “Curriculum?”

“This is a project now.” She pulled out a pink notebook and labeled it Gumi: The Re-Education. “Day one: Visual stimulation. We start with classics. Something soft. Relatable. Build his palate.”

“Palate?”

“His taste, bitch.”

You stared at her. “Are you hearing yourself right now?”

She waved a hand. “Don’t even pretend you’re not gonna go back tomorrow and grind on him again the second he breathes near you.”

You crossed your arms. “I don’t like him like that.”

“Sure.” She gave you a pointed look. “That’s why you came over here panting like a housewife whose pool boy just moaned her name.” You threw a slipper at her. She dodged it effortlessly.

“I’m serious,” you grumbled. “I don’t like him. He’s—he’s still Megumi. You know. Broody. Quiet. Judgy. Probably would call a girl’s outfit ‘impractical’ in the middle of foreplay.”

“Yeah, and now he’s got you on his lap making out like it’s prom night,” she deadpanned. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

You looked away. “It’s just… physical. That’s it.”

“Mhm.”

“I mean, he’s cute, I guess.”

“Mhm.”

“But like—not my type.”

“Oh yeah, your type is clearly ‘emotionally unstable ex who breaks things during fights.’”

“Nobara.”

She cracked open the DVD case and handed it to you. “Here. Show him this first. It’s got a solid plot, decent pacing, and a blowjob scene that changed my life sophomore year.”

You took it reluctantly, eyeing the cover. “This is so weird.”

“No,” she said seriously, “what’s weird is that your nerd boy’s walking around with a baseball bat in his pants and thinks missionary is just a church word.” You covered your face.

She patted your leg. “Don’t worry. We’ll teach him.”

You groaned into your hands. “I cannot believe I’m tutoring him in this while he’s teaching me about feudalism.”

Nobara just grinned. “Bitch,” she said. “That’s balance.”

You didn’t even knock this time.

Just barged into Megumi’s house like you owned it, arms full of very questionable materials: a pink plastic bag stuffed with romance novels, vintage DVDs, and one extremely worn-out copy of “Seducing the Shy Guy: A Visual Guide.”

Megumi looked up from the kitchen counter, a water bottle halfway to his mouth. He blinked. Once. Twice.

“What the hell is all that?”

“Supplementary materials,” you said cheerfully, kicking the door shut with your heel. “For your tutoring.”

He stared as you flopped down on the couch, books spilling out beside you like you were setting up for a smut-themed TED Talk.

“You brought porn to my house,” he said flatly.

“I brought educational erotica,” you corrected, holding up a DVD titled Pleasure Principles II. “It’s basically Sex Ed. But with better lighting and actual orgasms.”

He blinked again. “You’re insane.”

“And you are severely underexposed,” you said, tossing him a glossy book. He caught it with one hand, squinted at the cover, and immediately dropped it like it had burned him.

“That one’s good,” you offered. “Chapter six is about dirty talk. Very hands-on.”

“Why would I want to read about that?”

“Because, Gumi,” you said, as if it were obvious, “you literally didn’t know tongue was allowed until I explained it to you. You need visual aids.”

His jaw twitched.

You grabbed one of the DVDs and held it up. “Go. Take this. Watch it. It’s a softcore intro—great for virgins, emotionally repressed guys, or anyone who thinks socks during sex are normal.”

“I am not watching porn while you sit here on the couch.”

“Then go watch it in your room.”

“I’m not going to excuse myself like I’m committing a crime!”

You blinked at him. “You literally cum in, like, four hip thrusts. This is for your benefit.”

He turned red instantly. “Don’t say it like that!”

“I could’ve said it worse.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose like he was fighting demons. “You are the most aggravating person I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re welcome,” you chirped.

Megumi glared at you for a beat.

Then—completely ignoring your pile of smut—he walked over to the coffee table and dropped a worksheet in front of you.

“Here.”

You squinted. “What’s this?”

“Your actual tutoring.” He pointed to the top. “Physics. You bombed the quiz. You don’t even know what an inclined plane is.”

You recoiled like it was radioactive. “Ugh, you’re so predictable.”

He crossed his arms. “You’re the one who agreed to this.”

You stared at the worksheet. Then at him. Then at the porn DVDs. Then back at him.

“I could be teaching you how to eat a girl out right now,” you muttered.

“And I could be teaching you how to find the coefficient of friction, but here we are,” he deadpanned.

You huffed, grabbing the pencil like it had personally offended you. “This is abuse.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“I’m gonna tell Nobara you’re bullying me.”

“Do it. I’ll show her your failing grade.” You scowled at him. He looked smug. The tension between you simmered like always.

You glanced once more at the DVD sitting beside you, then back down at the worksheet. Sighed like your life was over.

“…What the fuck is a pulley?”

You made it approximately twenty-seven minutes into that physics worksheet before your brain started leaking out of your ears.

Inclined planes. Pulleys. Some dumbass named Newton. Why the fuck did anything need to be this complicated? You didn’t care what angle a box slid down a hill. If a box wanted to fall, it could fall. You hoped it would.

You let your pencil drop onto the coffee table and slumped dramatically against the couch cushions, throwing an arm over your forehead like a dying Victorian widow. Your voice echoed in your head:

“I could be teaching you how to eat a girl out right now.”

You groaned. Loudly.

Silence answered you. Megumi had disappeared upstairs nearly an hour ago after muttering something about “needing to shower” and “getting away from your noise.” He took the DVD, too. Which meant you were stuck here, unsupervised.

Big mistake on his part. Naturally, you got up to snoop.

You weren’t gonna do anything weird. Just—wander. Browse. Maybe see what kind of nerdy little books he hid in his shelf. Possibly dig through his desk drawers if the urge got too strong. But then your attention snagged on something else entirely.

A photo frame.

Sitting on a small table near the wall. Half-tucked between stacks of books, as if he didn’t know what to do with it but couldn’t throw it away.

You stepped closer. It was a candid.

Three people, standing outside in the sun. One of them was Megumi—smaller, probably around twelve, scowling at the camera even back then. Beside him, a man—tall, dark-haired, handsome in a gruff, unshaven way, with a hand on Megumi’s shoulder and a tight, almost strained smile. But it was the girl that made you pause.

She looked older than Megumi. Maybe sixteen. Brown-haired, bright-eyed, laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her arm was around his other shoulder, pulling him close despite his awkward body language.

You didn’t know Megumi had a sister. You blinked at the frame. Tilted your head. It felt… strange. He never talked about his family. Ever. And it wasn’t like you cared—except you kind of did. You were curious. You liked details. Personal things. Even if they weren’t yours.

“Hey.”

You jolted like you got caught stealing.

Megumi was at the foot of the stairs now, hair damp and falling over his forehead, shirt clinging to his chest like it was freshly thrown on. He was in a plain black tee and grey sweats—same as earlier, but somehow... different.

Because this time? You knew what he’d been doing upstairs.

Your gaze flicked over him once—quick, instinctive. His forearms looked leaner. Veins visible. His collarbones peeking where the shirt collar tugged loose. He looked—Flawless.

And of course, you said nothing. You just smiled sweetly, like you weren’t staring at a boy who definitely just jacked off to softcore porn in his room and then took a cold shower to repent.

“Hey,” you said innocently. “You never told me you had a sister.”

His body stilled. You pointed to the photo still in your hand. “She’s cute.” Megumi’s eyes dropped to the frame. For a second, something unreadable crossed his face. Then he came over, slowly, and gently took it from you. Set it back on the shelf.

“She’s not… technically my sister,” he said, voice quieter now.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. Leaned against the wall like this was a question he’d been avoiding for years. “She’s… Tsumiki. My stepsister. We’re not blood related, but—she raised me, kind of. After everything.”

“Everything?”

“My dad… wasn’t really around. She was older. Always had to pick up the pieces.” You nodded, watching him. He wasn’t looking at you—eyes fixed on the floor, jaw tense.

“Was that him in the photo?” you asked, careful now. “Your dad?”

Megumi nodded once. “Yeah. For, like, ten minutes. He wasn’t exactly the type to stick around.”

You said nothing. Not because you didn’t know what to say—just because you weren’t used to him saying anything. Especially not something this honest. “I didn’t mean to pry,” you said finally.

He glanced at you, and something in his expression softened. “You’d dig through my trash if I left you alone long enough.”

You smiled. “Only the top layer.”

His lips twitched—barely—but it was there.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s away now. Tsumiki. Boarding school. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

You nodded again. Then leaned in slightly. “She looks like she made you smile back then.”

“I didn’t know how to smile back then,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” you said lightly, stepping closer. “And now you just know how to cum in your pants from dry humping.”

He choked. You burst out laughing. “Why—” he looked away, red in the ears, “—why would you bring that up right now?”

“Because I know what you were doing up there,” you sing-songed, flopping back on the couch like a smug little gremlin. “Came back all clean and wet-haired like I wouldn’t notice.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re hot when flustered.” That shut him up. Completely. His ears went scarlet.

You bit your lip, victorious, but said nothing more. Let him marinate. Instead, you grabbed the physics worksheet and sighed like your life was ending. “Fine. I’ll finish this dumb inclined plane problem. But after that, we’re watching that blowjob scene together.”

Megumi blinked. “What?”

You looked up at him. Deadpan. “I'm kidding."

You were halfway through the worksheet—dragging your feet, doodling in the margins, completely miserable—when Megumi sat down beside you on the couch again, freshly showered, hair still damp and curling slightly at the ends. You didn’t look up, but you felt it: his body heat, the shift in the air, the way he was just looking at you.

Too quiet. Too thoughtful. You glanced over.

He wasn’t even pretending to read anymore. Just sitting there, expression unreadable, eyes lingering a little too long on your face like he was turning something over in his head.

“…What?” you asked.

He blinked once. Then said, carefully, “I don’t mean to ask, but—” Danger. “—you and Kamo…” Danger. You froze. Completely still.

The pencil stopped moving. Your jaw tightened. You didn’t turn your head, but your heart did this little involuntary lurch—like someone had just pulled up a trapdoor under you.

“…What about us?”

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly hesitant. “I just… I don’t know. I didn’t think you two were over.”

You forced your voice out, flat. “We are.” Silence. Not disbelief. But not acceptance either.

“You seem pretty… locked in,” he said, after a beat. “The hallway. The looks. The kisses and stuff.” You didn’t say anything. Just kept staring at the worksheet in front of you like if you focused hard enough, it’d all go away.

“I saw it all the time,” Megumi continued, tone quieter now. “It was… kind of annoying.” Your eyes flicked up. He wasn’t looking at you now. He was looking at the table.

“…Why would it annoy you?” you asked. He didn’t answer right away. And maybe that should’ve been your first clue that this wasn’t just about Noritoshi. Not really.

Eventually, he said, “I guess I just assumed you weren’t the… real love type.” That hit you harder than you expected. Harder than it should’ve.

You blinked. Sat back slowly. Let the weight of that land. Because he was right, that was what people thought about you, wasn’t it?

Hot. Popular. Shallow. Fun. The girl who flirted because she could. Who dated because it was convenient. Who used her mouth for teasing, her body for leverage, and her feelings for nothing.

No one really expected you to fall in love.

Not for real. Not like that. And maybe you’d leaned into that. Maybe it was easier to be the girl who looked good in photos and said the right bitchy thing at the right time. Maybe you let people believe you didn’t care.

Because if you admitted you did? You’d have to admit how bad it had hurt. You swallowed.

“He didn’t love me either,” you said finally, voice low.

Megumi looked at you now. You didn’t flinch away.

“He liked the idea of me,” you continued. “The mouth. The legs. The attitude. The girl on his arm. But not the… actual stuff. Not the parts that cry at night or need too much or don’t let go when they should’ve.”

The silence was thick. And you hated how raw you sounded. How honest.

“I was a fucking mess with him,” you added, a bitter laugh under your breath. “He made me feel like I had to keep being her all the time. The version he liked. And every time I cracked, it was a fight. Or worse—he’d go quiet. Like I was a burden.”

Megumi didn’t say anything. Not at first. Just sat there, watching you unravel in real-time. And then—his voice, soft, like he was stepping on glass: “I never assumed you were a burden.”

You turned your head sharply. He didn’t look away.

“I assumed you were smart,” he said. “Annoying. Loud. Stubborn as hell. But not fake.” Your chest clenched.

“And definitely not someone who deserved to be treated like that.” You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until it left you all at once.

Megumi shifted closer. Only slightly. Like he wasn’t sure if he should. Like he was still trying to figure out where he stood with you in this strange, halfway-there space between academics and… everything else.

“Sorry,” he murmured, voice just above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

“You didn’t,” you lied.

His eyes flicked down to your hands—clenched in your lap. Tight, trembling.

“I don’t like talking about it,” you admitted. “People make assumptions. They always have.”

Megumi nodded once. “I know the feeling.”

You glanced at him. “Yeah?”

He shrugged. “People think I don’t feel anything. That I’m just this grumpy, emotionally stunted robot with too many books and a stick up my ass.”

You huffed. “Well, to be fair…”

He smirked faintly. And so did you. “…You’re not a robot,” you said. “You’re just emotionally constipated.”

“And you’re not shallow,” he said. “You’re just dramatic.”

You smiled, for real this time. Not because you were trying to impress him. But because for the first time in a while—you actually felt seen.

You didn’t mean to say it.

It just slipped out, low and tired, somewhere in the middle of that heavy, unbearable silence.

“Even then… he’s still the one who knows every part of me.”

Megumi didn’t speak.

And for once, you didn’t fill the silence with a joke. You just sat there, slouched on his couch with your legs curled under you, pencil forgotten, voice quieter than usual.

“He saw everything,” you said slowly. “Not just the pretty shit. He saw me cry. Scream. Shut down. The whole fucking mess. He saw it all.”

Megumi tilted his head, listening. Not interrupting.

“I’d get overwhelmed and just… spiral,” you continued, your voice slipping into something more bitter. “And he’d try to fix it. Bring food, text too much, get mad if I didn’t answer right away—he cared. I know he did.”

You exhaled sharply.

“But people only saw the fighting. The yelling in hallways. Him breaking things. Me walking out. Again. And again. Everyone just thought it was some dramatic high school bullshit. Toxic couple of the week.”

You let your head fall back against the cushion, staring at the ceiling like it might give you the right words.

“But no one saw the good days. No one saw the way he’d carry my bag when I was too tired. Or when he brought me soup when I got sick. Or when I didn’t say a word for a whole weekend and he just… stayed. Quiet. Right next to me. People don’t remember that part.”

You blinked hard, the back of your throat tight.

“I know it was fucked up. I know we were a mess. But sometimes… when someone sees every broken piece of you and still chooses you? Even if it’s ugly, even if it’s wrong… it’s hard to walk away from that.”

Still, Megumi said nothing, but his silence didn’t feel like judgment.

It felt like permission.

You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, voice quieter now. “Letting him go—it’s not because I don’t care. It’s because I do. I keep thinking if I loved him, I’d stay. But maybe if I really loved him, I wouldn’t keep letting him hurt me.”

You let the words hang.

And Megumi finally said, very softly, “You don’t seem like the type to give up on people.”

You looked at him.

He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t teasing. He was just watching you, eyes serious, voice steady.

So you asked, carefully, “Why does that surprise you?”

“I guess I thought you didn’t do… real love,” he said, brows knit. “That it was all surface. Flirting. Fun. Games.”

You let out a sharp laugh—quiet and bitter. “God. Everyone thinks that.”

Megumi didn’t argue, and you didn’t blame him.

You leaned back, arms crossed over your chest, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “I can’t count how many people have said that. Or implied it. That I’m just good for a fling, a kiss, a picture on their arm. But love? No. That’s too deep for me. That’s for serious girls. Quiet ones. The ones who don’t have reputations.”

You looked away, eyes on nothing.

“You act like you don’t care for long enough… people start to believe it.” There was a beat of silence.

Then Megumi spoke, quieter than ever. “I know what that’s like.”

You glanced back at him. He wasn’t looking at you now. His hands were clasped between his knees, tense.

“My sister—Tsumiki—she’s sick,” he said. “Not a flu or cold. Not something you can take pills for. It’s… long-term. Terminal.”

Your breath caught.

“She’s in a care facility,” he continued. “Three hours away. I try to go when I can, but it’s… it’s hard. I’ve watched her get worse over time. Her hair’s thinner. Her voice is weak when she even speaks at all. The doctors say it’s just about making her comfortable now.”

You sat up straighter, slowly.

“She was the strong one,” Megumi murmured, almost to himself. “She used to look after me. Cooked for me. Dragged me out of bed when I wouldn’t go to school. She was the one who held everything together. And now…”

He blinked, jaw tightening. “Now I just sit there and watch her fade. And I can’t do anything about it.”

Your chest ached.

“I don’t talk about her,” he said. “Because people always say the same shit. ‘I’m so sorry.’ ‘You’re so strong.’ ‘Let me know if you need anything.’ And they don’t mean it. They don’t want to deal with it. With me. So I stopped trying.”

You didn’t realize you were reaching out until your fingers brushed his hand. Just a touch. Nothing dramatic. Just… there.

“I’m not gonna say I’m sorry,” you said, voice steady. “Because I know it won’t fix anything. But I won’t pretend I don’t give a shit.”

He didn’t pull away. Didn’t say anything either. But his fingers shifted—just slightly. Brushing back.

The moment held. Not confessions. Not resolutions. Just two people sitting in the quiet, cracked open at the edges. And maybe that was enough.

The study session ends with another snide remark about how the Tokugawa period was “such a snooze-fest it probably made people die of boredom before the swords could,” and Megumi’s exasperated sigh practically shakes the room.

But then—he smiles. Barely. Just a twitch at the corner of his lips. Like he hates that you’re funny.

You’re sitting a little too close now, knees brushing his. The banter's softer lately. Less biting. Still sharp, but it feels like fencing now instead of war. Controlled. Predictable. Dangerous only if you let it be.

You stretch your arms overhead like you’re done pretending you care about anything that happened before Instagram, and tilt your head. “Can we go to your room?”

Megumi’s spine straightens like a rod jammed down his back. “Wha—my… my room?”

You blink at him. “Yes, Fushiguro. Your bedroom. The one in your house. That we’re in right now.” You roll your eyes for effect. “Don’t make it weird.”

His ears flush. Not just his cheeks—his ears. You stifle a smirk.

“…Sure.”

His bedroom is smaller than you imagined, but cleaner. Quiet. He follows you in like he’s bracing for an ambush.

You stroll in unbothered, heels clicking softly against the floor as you drag your fingertips over the edges of his desk, his bookshelf. His space feels untouched, like he’s scared to actually live in it. No posters. No photos. No Miwa.

Good.

You stop in the middle of the room and turn. He’s standing stiff near the bed, unsure, blinking at you like you’re some unpredictable lab experiment.

“Sit,” you say, folding your arms.

“Why?”

You give him a look. Just tilt your head slightly—Really?—and say, “Just sit, Gumi.”

And he does. Right at the edge of the mattress, legs spread a little, posture painfully stiff like he’s being prepped for execution.

You step between his knees. Your hand settles on his thigh, and his whole body flinches.

You smile.

“We’ve covered equations,” you say, voice soft and smooth. “Memorized dates. Recited treaties and political reforms and chemical bonds.”

He nods slowly, still frozen.

“So now we’re doing something actually useful.”

His eyes dart to yours. Wide. Confused. Like he knows what you mean, but can’t believe you’re really saying it.

You lean in, resting your weight on your hand against his leg. “Sex isn’t just penetration, Gumi. It’s not ‘stick it in and hope she makes noise.’ You have to know how to touch. How to start.”

Your fingers slide up to the button of his jeans, and you pop it open without breaking eye contact.

He chokes on a breath. “W-wait—what are you—”

“Teaching,” you murmur. “This is what a handjob is for. It’s the easiest thing in the world, but you’d be shocked how many guys fuck it up.”

You tug his zipper down slow. His chest rises, lips parting slightly like he’s already forgetting how to breathe.

“It’s about rhythm. Pressure. Confidence.” You wrap your fingers around the waistband of his boxers and pull everything down in one practiced motion. “And most of all—awareness.”

You free his cock from the confines of his pants, and fuck—yeah. You blink once. He’s thick. Heavy. Hard already. The head flushed, wet at the tip.

Soooo fucking big, your hand wraps around him slowly. He gasps. Actually gasps.

“See?” you whisper, stroking once, fingers tight but not too tight. “You’re not doing anything. But you’re feeling everything.”

His hips twitch. You stroke again, dragging your palm down his length, then curling back up—slow, fluid.

“You can’t skip this part. You skip this, she’s dry and frustrated and faking it before you even get your pants off.”

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

“Touching is everything,” you continue. “If you don’t know how to use your hands, you don’t deserve to use your dick. Understand?”

“Y-yeah,” he stammers, voice barely there.

You hum approvingly, then circle your thumb over the tip, collecting the precum and slicking it down the shaft as you stroke a little faster.

“Girls want to feel wanted,” you murmur. “Like you need them. This—” you squeeze gently near the base, “—is how you show them that.”

His jaw clenches. His thighs tremble under your grip.

“You have to build it. Make it last. Make it burn. And just when they’re about to lose it—then you go harder. Then you give in.”

His head drops back, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck—” he moans. “Shit—”

“You’re close already?” you tease, pumping him faster now. “Tch. You’ve really never had this before?”

“N-never—fuck—”

“God,” you laugh, leaning in. “No wonder you’re always so tense.”

His cock twitches in your fist, leaking down your fingers. You adjust your grip—faster, tighter, more deliberate. Your wrist flicks with every stroke, rhythm perfectly brutal.

“Right under the head,” you say, letting your thumb swirl there again. “That spot? Yeah. Memorize it. That’s where her hands’ll go when she wants to break you.”

“F-fuck—” he gasps. “I—I—shit—”

“Let it go,” you breathe. “Don’t hold it in. I want to see it.”

He groans—loud, breathless. His hand flies up to your wrist, holding you there as his cock jerks violently in your grip. Cum spills over your fist, hot and messy and so much, coating your fingers as his whole body shudders through it. You don’t stop until he’s twitching, gasping, overstimulated and ruined.

Then you finally let go, slick and smug and glowing with satisfaction. You lift your hand like you’re examining it in science class.

“Hands,” you say simply. “Step one.”

He exhales shakily, head falling forward like he just got hit by a truck. You wipe your hand on his shirt without asking.

“Hey—” he protests weakly.

You grin. “You made the mess, baby. Own it.”

Your heart was still doing backflips, your breath still a little uneven—but you cleaned yourself up like nothing happened. Even touched up your gloss in the mirror, finger-combed your hair, tried to get rid of that hazy, cock-drunk look from your face.

It didn’t help. Because you’d just finished pretending you were still a functioning human being when the front gate squealed open.

A car door. Then another. Then keys.

Your spine stiffened like a corpse in rigor mortis. “Megumi.”

He was already zipping up. Calm. Too calm. Voice flat and casual, like you hadn’t just had his dick in your hand. “That’s my dad.”

“Your what—”

“I didn’t know he’d be home. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” you hissed, grabbing your bag and spinning around. “I’m literally full-glam after jacking you off and he’s going to walk in and see me glowing.”

“You wiped it off.”

“That’s not the point! My mascara’s smudged and my knees are weak.”

“Try not to look guilty,” he murmured, slipping on his hoodie like this was just Tuesday.

You glared. “You’re not even panicking.”

“I don’t need to panic.” His voice stayed maddeningly steady. “You’re going to walk down. Smile. Say hi. Leave. Done.”

You were still fuming when he grabbed your wrist, you blinked down at his hand, warm. Big. Callused at the base of his fingers. You felt that same little jolt shoot straight through your chest. Electricity. From your palm to your spine.

He didn’t notice, or if he did, he ignored it completely.

He opened the bedroom door, pulled you along—quiet, calm, dead behind the eyes—and started leading you down the stairs just as the front door creaked open, and then you heard it:

“Yo, Megumi.” his voice was deep. Lazy. Like he didn’t give a fuck about anything.

You glanced up and immediately wished you hadn’t. There, standing in the entryway with keys in one hand and a takeout bag in the other, was Toji Fushiguro. Tall. Broad. Black button-down rolled to the elbows. Scar on his lip. He looked like he bench-pressed people for fun.

He looked at his son. Then at you, then back at Megumi again.

“This the girl you told me about?” he asked, cocking his head just slightly. “The one you’re tutoring?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Megumi, without missing a beat, said, “Yeah.” That was it. No awkwardness. No explanation. Just yeah. Like you weren’t standing there feeling like your soul had just evaporated.

Toji raised a brow. “She’s pretty.”

You almost choked. Megumi didn’t react. Didn’t even blink. Toji stepped inside, placed the bag on the counter, and gave you another once-over. “You always study in that outfit?”

You plastered on a brittle smile. “Only when I want the equations to submit to me.”

Toji let out a quiet laugh. “You got bite. I like that.”

You wanted to disappear into the drywall. “I was just about to leave, actually,” you said quickly. “Didn’t realize Megumi lived with someone—”

“You’re welcome to stay,” Toji interrupted.

You blinked. “I’m fine, really—”

“Sit down,” he said, not looking at you. He was unpacking the food. “We’ve got enough.”

“I really should—" Toji didn’t even lift his head. Just said, too casually:

“Unless you wanna explain to your parents why a grown man saw you sneaking out of my son’s room looking like that.” That shut you up.

Your mouth opened. Then closed. You turned to Megumi. “He’s bluffing, right?”

Megumi just shrugged. “He’s not.”

You turned back to Toji, who was already pulling out plates. Like the whole thing was settled. “You’re staying,” he said. And you did.

You sat. Quietly. On the barstool next to Megumi, who—of course—looked completely unbothered. His hair was still a little messy. His glasses slightly crooked. But otherwise, you’d never know he’d just come in his pants fifteen minutes ago.

“Don’t make it weird,” Megumi murmured under his breath.

“You made it weird,” you hissed back.

Toji plopped a plate in front of you and smirked. “So. How long you been tutoring her?”

Megumi stared ahead. “A few weeks.”

You smiled stiffly. “It’s really productive.”

Toji looked amused as hell. “I bet.”

Megumi sighed. “Dad.”

“What? I didn’t say anything.” You looked at Megumi’s face—red ears, clenched jaw, one long exhale like he was already regretting everything—and had to bite the inside of your cheek not to laugh.

God, you thought. Maybe this was the real lesson. Not the history. Not the chemistry, but this, damage control. Dignity salvage. Post-nut performance.

And Megumi? Megumi was aces at it.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

You sat at the small kitchen table with your legs crossed, trying to appear composed while your brain was still tap-dancing in trauma heels. The table was warm wood, the lights were dim, and the clink of silverware was the only sound for a long, awkward minute.

Megumi passed you a bowl of rice. You blinked at it.

“…Thanks,” you mumbled, still not looking him in the eye.

He spooned more onto his own plate like this was any other night.

Toji dropped into the seat across from you, arms spreading along the chair like he was lounging in a booth and not sitting next to the girl who had just given his son a handjob upstairs.

“You allergic to anything?” he asked casually.

“Nope,” you replied, way too quickly. “No allergies. Totally healthy. Blood pressure’s great. Iron levels are solid.”

Toji blinked once. Then smirked. “You’re nervous.”

You stabbed a piece of chicken. “I’m fine.”

“She’s not,” Megumi muttered beside you.

You kicked his shin under the table. Lightly. He nudged your knee back. Casually. Like he wasn’t trying to make it obvious. You didn’t know what was worse—getting caught, or the fact that Megumi wasn’t even sweating it. He looked so calm. Like he wasn’t fully aware his father was three feet away from the exact place he came in his pants not thirty minutes ago.

“So,” Toji said, gesturing toward you with his chopsticks. “What’s your deal?”

You blinked. “My… deal?”

“Yeah. What do you do when you’re not harassing my son in his own house?” You coughed. Megumi set down his glass with a sigh.

“She’s failing chemistry,” he deadpanned. “And history. And math. And she can’t focus for more than ten minutes at a time.”

“Rude,” you muttered, nudging him harder.

“She’s also loud. Dramatic. Obsessed with her phone. And thinks the Meiji Restoration is a band name.”

You glared at him. “You’re so lucky I like you.”

Toji snorted. “Hah. Like him?” Your jaw snapped shut.

Toji leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. “You know he used to get into fights in middle school?”

You blinked. “Megumi?”

“Yeah,” Toji said, like he was just talking about the weather. “Kid had a temper. Silent rage kind. Didn’t talk much, but if someone messed with his friends or got on his nerves—bam. Straight for the throat.”

Megumi stared at his rice. “We don’t need to talk about that.”

You turned to him, eyebrows high. “You? Fighting people?”

“I had a lot of energy.”

“You had rage issues, apparently.”

“I don’t anymore,” he said calmly.

Toji grinned. “Only because he started channeling it into studying. Got obsessed with winning tests instead of fights.”

You looked at Megumi again, this time a little softer. “You’re such a nerd.”

He nudged your foot again under the table. This time—gentle. You felt your shoulders slowly lower. Just a bit.

Toji turned to you again, chewing thoughtfully. “You two dating?” Megumi stiffened slightly. You choked on your water.

“No,” Megumi said after a beat.

“No,” you echoed, wiping your mouth.

“Shame,” Toji said. “You’ve got decent banter. Would’ve been a power couple.”

You both looked at your plates. It was quiet again. A little too quiet. Then, suddenly, Megumi reached for the last piece of grilled eggplant—and slid it onto your plate.

You looked at it. Then at him.

He didn’t say anything. Just kept eating like it didn’t matter. But it did. Because Megumi noticed you’d been eyeing it earlier. And he gave it to you without saying a word.

Your heart tripped. You swallowed. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Toji saw it. You knew he did. But he just huffed, shook his head like he’d seen this movie before, and went back to eating.

You were one hallway away from freedom.

One hallway.

After forty minutes of Satoru’s so-called lecture—which included three unrelated tangents, a metaphor involving ramen, and him nearly falling off his desk while impersonating a Tokugawa shogun—you’d packed your bag, slipped on your sunglasses, and made a beeline for the exit.

But he was faster.

“Yo, heartbreaker,” Gojo called from behind, voice sing-song and annoying. “Wait up!”

You didn’t. But he still caught up, striding beside you like he wasn’t the bane of your academic existence.

“Was my class too stimulating today?” he teased, hands in his pockets. “You looked real focused. Even took notes.”

You blinked. “Oh. Right. The notes.”

Your spiral-bound notebook held exactly three lines: “i hate this man”, “meiji these nuts”, a dramatic drawing of Megumi’s glasses with hearts around them you’d already scribbled out

“Uh-huh,” Gojo hummed. “So. How’s tutoring going?”

Your spine snapped straight.

He didn’t know. He couldn’t. There’s no way he knew.

“Fine,” you replied, too fast.

He tilted his head. “Just fine?”

You added a smile. Too wide. Too fake. “Amazing, actually. Megumi’s a really patient teacher.”

“Patient,” he repeated. “He yelled at me in middle school for calling the mitochondria ‘the powerhouse of the cell’ too many times.”

You shrugged. “He likes me better.”

Gojo snorted. “Doubtful. But cute try.”

You were already halfway to the stairs when he called after you— “Don’t forget the midterm’s tomorrow”

You stopped. Your heart dropped. “Midterm?”

He grinned. “Yeah. Multiple choice. Bonus essay. Covers the last six weeks of stuff you definitely weren’t paying attention to.”

You turned around slowly. “Since when is that tomorrow?”

“Since always. I announced it three times.”

You squinted. “You also said Napoleon invented Nutella.”

“Which is true,” he said, clearly lying. “Anyway, Megumi’s smart. I’m expecting results, yeah?”

You nodded, stomach curling. “Totally. Results. Coming right up.”

He gave you a wink, then disappeared down the hall, humming like this wasn’t the beginning of your academic funeral. You sighed. Megumi was going to be so smug about this. And worse? You were going to have to actually study. Or… at least pretend to.

You failed.

Twenty-two percent.

One out of twenty-five multiple choice. One barely coherent paragraph on the essay. And a stupid smiley face sticker Gojo slapped on it like it wasn’t the nail in your academic coffin.

It should’ve been funny. Hell, it used to be funny—failing things, fucking off, shrugging through it with a toss of your hair and a flip of your skirt. But now?

Now it just felt pathetic.

Now you were standing in front of Megumi’s house again, glossing your lips in your phone’s camera like everything wasn’t falling apart. Like you weren’t seconds from spiraling. Like your ego wasn’t barely stitched together with fake confidence and denial.

You didn’t knock this time.

Not when your phone was buzzing with Gojo’s “yikes” text. Not when your report card sat crumpled in your bag, screaming 22% at you like it was carved into your skin. You fixed your lip gloss in your reflection—because if you looked okay, maybe it wouldn’t feel so pathetic.

Megumi opened the door five seconds later.

And yeah, you knew.

You knew instantly that he knew.

He didn’t say hi. Didn’t scowl or raise an eyebrow or let out that bratty sigh he always did when he saw you. No, today? Today he looked done. Cold. Like every inch of warmth he’d ever barely shown you had frozen over.

“I brought boba,” you said, stepping in anyway like you weren’t dying inside. “Taro, obviously. You looked like a taro guy.”

Nothing.

You set the cup on the table. His arms were crossed. His hoodie hung off his frame like a threat.

“Gojo told me,” he said flatly.

Your stomach dropped.

You kept your tone light. “Told you what?”

“That you failed.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow, so he’s doing the morning announcements now—”

“You told me you were studying.” His voice was razor-sharp. “You told me you cared.”

“I do care—”

“Bullshit.” His voice cracked through the room. “You didn’t study. You didn��t even try.”

“I did!”

“No,” he snapped, eyes narrowed. “You flirted. You scrolled Instagram. You half-assed everything I gave you and then lied to my face.”

You scoffed. “Jesus, dramatic much?”

“I wasted my time.”

“You volunteered!”

“You begged me!”

“And you said yes!” you shot back. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t enjoy it—finally getting to feel smart and smug and better than me for once.”

His fists clenched. “I’m not better than you.”

“Oh really?” You laughed. Bitter. “Because you act like you are. Like I’m just some dumb bitch who doesn’t deserve to pass.”

“If the shoe fits—”

“You motherfucker—”

“I gave you everything,” Megumi cut you off. “I planned lessons, I asked your teachers, I gave you my notes—hell, I let you in my house!”

“Oh please. You liked it. Having me here. Made you feel special.”

“You used me.” You flinched. He wasn’t wrong. But it still stung.

“Don’t turn this around,” you snapped. “You think I don’t notice how you look at me? Like I’m just some project to fix. You’re just pissed because I didn’t end up being your little success story.”

“You’re pissed because you failed and you didn't even try,” he growled, stepping forward. “and you wonder why gojo or me doesn't kiss you on the forehead and give you a gold star on your homework at the end of the day."

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you,” Megumi shouted. “You want to play victim? Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you keep failing everything you touch.”

You clenched your jaw. “At least I’m not some emotionless virgin nerd who thinks being good at math makes you better than everyone.”

Silence. His mouth parted slightly—just enough for you to see it land.

He looked away. And for a second, you felt bad. But you were angry. And embarrassed. And spiraling.

“You know what?” he said, voice lower now—hurt. Quiet, but dangerous. “I should’ve known. Should’ve listened when everyone said you were just a shallow, spoiled brat with not enough brain cells.”

You froze. That one dug.

“That’s what all of you do, isn’t it?” you whispered, voice trembling. “Assume. Judge. You think I don’t hear what people say behind my back?”

Megumi didn’t respond. “You think I don’t know I’m the joke?”

His throat bobbed.

“I let you in,” you hissed. “I trusted you. I let you see me when I didn’t let anyone see me. And now? You’re just like the rest of them.”

Megumi flinched — but only for a second. Then he barked a humorless laugh. “Oh, fuck off.”

Your jaw dropped. “What?”

“You let me in?” he repeated, eyes wide, voice rising with every word. “You let me in? You show up here with excuses and think that’s vulnerability?”

Your chest twisted. “Don’t twist my words—”

“No,” he cut you off, stepping toward you, furious. “You don’t get to play that card, not after lying to me over and over. You didn’t let me in. You used me. Like everyone else. Like I’m disposable the second you’re bored.”

“That’s not true!”

“Isn’t it?” Megumi shouted. “You didn’t give a shit about learning. You cared about passing long enough to get people off your back. You cared about looking like you were trying. And I was the idiot who actually believed you meant it.”

Your throat burned. “So now I’m a liar? A manipulative bitch?”

He didn’t say anything.

“Say it,” you dared, voice cracking. “Go ahead. Call me a bitch, a slut, say it like everyone else does.”

“You said it first,” Megumi snapped. “Is that what you think of yourself?”

You blinked. That landed too hard.

Megumi ran a hand through his hair, pacing, seething. “I tried so fucking hard, and it still wasn’t enough. Nothing’s enough for you. Not effort, not time, not me.”

“Then why’d you say yes?” you screamed. “Why’d you let me stay? Why the fuck did you let me touch you if you were just gonna throw it in my face the second things got hard?”

For a moment—just a moment—Megumi looked stunned. And then he laughed. Not a funny laugh. A bitter one. Quiet and venomous. “You wanna know why?” he said, stepping forward, every word sharp enough to cut. “Because I was fucking stupid.”

Your stomach dropped. “I was stupid enough to think there was more to you than a pretty face and a loud mouth. Stupid enough to think if I just gave you a chance, if I helped, you’d prove everyone wrong.” His eyes burned into yours. “But they were right. You are exactly who they said you were.”

The words hit you like a slap. You blinked. Once. Twice. Heart in your throat. And then— “You’re a jerk,” you whispered, voice shaking. “You’re a fucking asshole.” He didn’t flinch. “You—” you pushed him hard in the chest, palms slamming against him, “—don’t get to say that to me.” Another shove. “You don’t fucking know me!”

“Don’t I?” he snapped, not backing away. “I know you’d rather look hot than be smart. I know you’d rather lie to everyone than admit when you’re struggling. I know the second things stop going your way, you throw a tantrum.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“You flirt your way out of everything and call it confidence. You coast by on being pretty and mean and then cry victim when someone doesn’t bend to you!” You hit his chest again, harder.

“Fuck you!”

“You said you let me in?” he shouted, grabbing your wrists. “You didn’t let me in. You let me orbit you. You let me touch the surface just enough to feel like I mattered. But I didn’t, did I?”

“Let go of me!”

He did—instantly.

And when he took a step back, his voice came out quieter, but no less cutting.

Megumi’s chest rose and fell, too fast. His fists were trembling at his sides. “I wanted to help you,” he said, softer. “And I thought maybe—fuck, maybe if I did, if I stuck around, you’d actually see that.”

You stared at him. He shook his head. “But all you saw was a hopeless case. A virgin. A joke.”

You swallowed.

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “Should’ve known better.”

There was a long pause. Then you laughed. Cold. Bitter. “Poor Megumi. Got feelings. Got rejected. Welcome to the real world.”

His jaw clenched. “Get out.”

“Gladly,” you snapped, turning around.

“Next time,” he called after you, voice shaking with rage, “ask someone else to clean up your mess.”

You spun halfway around, eyes blazing. “Next time, I won’t waste my time on someone who can’t even handle a kiss without falling apart.”

He didn’t reply. Didn’t look at you. Didn’t have to. Because the damage was done.

And when you walked out the door this time—slamming it behind you so hard it rattled the frame—you didn’t look back, but god, you wanted to. You wanted to look back so fucking bad. And that’s how you knew this wasn’t over. Not really. Not even close.

parts, chapter 03

taglist, @crispycatt @littlevoidfairy @bookfreakk @1-rxse-1 @starzfaerie @zephyairies @moonmaiden1996 @simonexxx1 @pinkmeatball218 @evii1e @xavisbabie @maeviees @justanotherasiangirl @tiasd1ary @shioribuns @allysainz @mwrgwt

[lyricwritesprose]

As one such mom, you kids don't even know the benefits of being successfully camouflaged and speaking people's language.

Not possible for everyone, of course. Not desirable for everyone, of course.

However. Sometimes you will be talking to a conservative person, someone you just know voted for the menace, and you can say something like, "Well, the way I see it, we have freedom here in America, and part of the whole thing about freedom is that nobody has to run their choices past me. Or past anyone else. Does the whole trans thing make perfect sense to me, well, no—but those people get their freedoms too, even if you or I might think that what they do with 'em is a leeeettle bit weird." And the person will nod thoughtfully, and we'll move on to another subject.

(Does being trans make sense to me, actually, yes—not on an emotional level because I don't happen to experience that, but I think intellectually I have a decent layperson's grasp. Trans people are not that much weirder than your insistence on never even letting God see your natural hair color, Jennifer, however the goal of this interaction is not to start a fight. Fights stop ideas from taking root, we're planting seeds.)

Sometimes privilege is very subtle. Sometimes privilege is found in looking like someone "respectable" whom your next door neighbor will listen to. And the thing about privilege is that it can be used.

this is almost certainly not a novel take but

i do wonder how much of the derisive language you hear toward "resistlib winemoms" or whatever is just "people who grew up in Safely Blue Coastal Enclaves rebelling against ppl who remind them of their mom b/c they are emotionally stunted adults"

like, as A Child Of A Very Conservative Area, i have a very vivid recollection of the first time i encountered this type of person, and my reaction was mostly baffled delight. wait you're telling me this PTA mom with unassailable Wholesome Americana credentials is gassing up the cause of trans rights at her book club. you're telling me she's batting her eyelashes and "think of the children"-ing, except instead of doing that to promote some obnoxious "ban this book from the school curriculum" agenda, she's shaming her state representative into actually funding the damn schools? i do not care how cringe her UV-bleached "i'm with her" bumper sticker is or whatever, she is working extremely hard & successfully on shit i care about and i will brook no slander against her

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Dating in a Dream - Ruggie Bucchi

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?

CHARACTERS: Ruggie Bucchi x Reader 🍩🦐

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda); Kiss; Flirting

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Ruggie’s dream (Eng Server)

WORD COUNT: 3.360 words

COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

I try my best to write dialogue for characters like Ruggie well, but since English isn't my first language there are some forms of speech and abbreviations I'm not familiar with. But I hope I've done him enough justice.

By the way, it was while I was writing this that my keyboard started failing, and I had to buy a new one. I hope I've fixed all the typos.

I hope you enjoy 🍩

Dating in a Dream: Idia / Epel / Rook / Vil / Kalim / Jamil / Floyd / Jade / Azul / Jack / (Ruggie) ...

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho announces. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

You, Grim, Silver, Sebek, Ortho, Azul, Jack and Idia’s tablet reach the next dream, but you don't land anywhere you recognize. It looks like a new country.

Checking on the others, Jack said he was fine and Azul said the medication he had taken had helped him, but the heat of that place was worse for him than the crossing between dreams. According to Ortho's analysis, everything indicated that you were in Sunset Savanna, more specifically in the capital, Sunrise City.

After you all changed into your school uniforms, and how long it took because Jack was embarrassed to use Idia's spell, you start chatting to try to understand whose dream it could be. Everything indicates that the dream is either Leona's or Ruggie's, since they are both from Sunset Savanna. They exchange information they know about that country to have a better idea of where you are until you hear someone approaching running.

“Oh crud, oh crud! I overslept!” You see Ruggie pass you by. “If I'm late, I can kiss my perfect attendance record goodbye! Outta my way!”

He was wearing what looked like a school uniform, but not the black one of Night Raven Collage, this one was light brown and yellow. And he was wearing glasses too. Azul comments that he had never seen Ruggie wear glasses and Jack adds that it doesn't make sense because he's supposed to have some of the best eyesight out of anyone in Savanaclaw. But that was definitely Ruggie's dream because he had the dreamer's silver bird around his head.

You follow him.

You follow Ruggie to the market.

“What's the hurry, Ruggie?” One of the vendors calls him. “I've got chilled hibiscus juice here! Have a drink.”

“Thanks, ma'am, but I'm running late!”

“My, that's rare for a model student like you.”

“I was up late studying for a test and overslept.”

“You can't study on an empty stomach, Ruggie.” Another vendor says. “Have some steamed bananas for the road!”

“Whoa, that's a lot! How much for the bunch?”

“Don't worry about it. Your grandma did a lot to keep me fed back when I was a kid. Once you graduate and get a good job, you can treat me to a dinner at the Sunset Villa.”

“Ah, yeah, I'll pay you back when I'm rich! Thanks!”

Other vendors continued to offer him food and talk about his grandmother and comment on how his father had returned home rich after working away from home. Now his grandmother was comfortable retire.

You had to try hard not to lose Ruggie in that crowd. That, and it was difficult to move around among so many people. Meanwhile, Ruggie was dodging and weaving through the crowds at top speed.

“(Y/N)!” You hear someone call you with happy surprise, when you look it's one of the vendors. “Oh, I almost didn't recognize you in those clothes. Why aren't you wearing your uniform?”

“My uniform? Well, I...” You try to make up some excuse, but it's not necessary.

“And you're also late on top of that!” The vendor continues, friendly. “Ruggie is late as well, he just passed by. You must have missed each other. You look hungry. Here, take some steamed bananas with you.”

You accept the bananas, thank them and say goodbye when the vendor says that you had better go as you are already late and wishes you a good day at school. Grim ends up convincing you to give him most of the bananas, while Azul and Ortho comment on the fact that the people there know you. But how?

You continue following Ruggie until you reach a new place, which appears to be a school. You see Ruggie meeting other students wearing the same uniform as him.

“Judging by the ears and tails, it seems to be mostly beastfolk here.” Silver notices.

“There's a lot of hyenas...” Jack adds. “Actually, I think most of the people I'm seein' are hyenas.”

“There's no school at these coordinates in the real world.” Ortho informs. “It must be something that Ruggie's imagination came up with.”

Then your attention goes to the statue in the center, which depict three hyenas. Jack says they’re the legendary hyenas, the ones that served the King of Beasts. He had heard they were considered heroes around Ruggie's home region.

Meanwhile, Grim draws your attention to the trees laden with fruit, even after he has eaten almost all of your bananas. You see Ruggie and the other students picking the fruits and eating them, showing that it is allowed to eat the fruits from those trees. This is enough for Grim to help himself too and start picking up a bunch of fruit.

“Whoa! What's the-?” One of the students who was with Ruggie sees him. “Oh, it's just Grim.”

“Heeey, take it easy.” Ruggie says, amused. “You don't want to get indigestion like last time.”

“Last time?” Grim wonders to himself.

“Well, if you're here, then that means...” He looks around with a smile until he finds you and his smile grows even bigger. “There's my dandelion! Don't tell me grammy forgot to-”

You get closer, along with the others and he notices your clothes.

“Um... What are those clothes?” He asks still with an awkward smile. “Where is your uniform?” When he realizes that you're wearing the same clothes as the other boys you were with, his smile turns into a pout, cute and scary at the same time. “Um, (Y/N), who are your... friends? And why are you wearing the same clothes as them?”

So Ruggie knows you and Grim, but not the others and doesn't seem to know about NRC either. It's intriguing and confusing, but Azul still manages to join the conversation smoothly.

“Allow me to introduce everyone. My name is Azul Ashengrotto. This is my fellow sophomore Silver, and this is Ortho, Sebek, and Jack, all freshmen. We attend an arcane academy in the Land of Dawning called Night Raven College. We're here on a student exchange.”

“And (Y/N)'s uniform?” Ruggie asked, focusing on Azul.

“A spell that hit the wrong person.” He answers as if it were the genuine truth. “(Y/N) was the one who greeted us when we arrived here. When we tried to help Jack with a spell to change his clothes to better adapt to the climate, we ended up accidentally hitting (Y/N). And since we're not familiar with your uniform, we couldn't change their clothes back. My apologies for the misunderstanding.”

Ruggie was silent for a moment which made you question whether he really believed that or not. But Azul was good.

“Okay. Strange, but sounds plausible. Sorry for the suspicion.” Ruggie smiles friendly again. “Let me do it then.” He uses his magic to transform your black NRC uniform into the same light brown and yellowish uniform as his. “Much better.” He comments before turning back to Azul and the others. “I'm Ruggie Bucchi. Please, call me Ruggie.”

At that moment, Sebek's stomach growled while he was arguing with Grim about him picking too many fruits.

“Ahahaha! If you're that hungry, take all you want.” Ruggie said, laughing. “Here at Ivorycliff Academy all the food on campus is fair game for anyone to eat.”

Silver says they aren't students there and Ruggie says that's not a problem, that the local kids go there for food too. At that academy they share food with anyone who's hungry in honor of the hyenas' spirit of solidarity, whether or not they're enrolled there. Jack is shocked (and maybe you are too) seeing Ruggie offering food for free.

You all chat a little and Ruggie offers you even more food besides fruit. There was a stall by the school entrance that had freshly made donuts. He recommends that they get a plain donut, drizzle on some chocolate sauce, then add some sliced nuts, then add custard cream and whipped cream, and top it all off with some tart berry jam like so.

But for you, he offered your favorite, or a mix that would be your favorite. He didn't even need to ask you anything, it was as if he already knew your tastes by heart.

Meanwhile, you hear the Donut Vendor talking to the other students and commenting that they should all be grateful to Prince Leona for establishing that school. Ruggie explains that he heard Prince Leona studied at an arcane academy abroad, then graduated last year and came back home. And he was been establishing schools and spelldrive teams and stuff all over the country. He even comments that the younger generation there likes Second Prince Leona way more than First Prince Falena. But he himself never met Leona.

Then, the school bell rings.

“Oh crud, class is about to start!” Ruggie says. “Gotta go, bye!” He takes your hand and takes you running with him.

The others stayed behind, probably because they knew nothing bad would happen to you since Ruggie liked you so much. And Grim would rather keep eating than go to any classes.

Ruggie and you arrive at a botanical garden hand in hand. Everything indicated that it was a theoretical potionology class, probably focused on the ingredients that were planted there.

The students sat on the ground and despite the idea of a model student that Ruggie was trying to convey, he didn't sit in the front. Instead, he told you to sit with him further back. You sat down first and then Ruggie sat so close to you that your hips were touching and he put an arm around your waist.

“Hey, sorry about that with the visiting students.” Ruggie tells you in a low tone, while the professor spoke up front. “You... aren't mad at me, right?”

You say no and that in fact his pout was actually cute.

“Well, in that case they were lucky.” He smirks.

“What do you mean?” You ask. “And what exactly are you apologizing for?”

“Well, you know...” His ears go down. “You showed up with a bunch of handsome guys and you were even wearing the same uniform as them. What did you expect me to do? They're lucky I still give them the benefit of the doubt before...”

“Before?”

“Do you really want me to finish that?” He smiles mischievously. “What do you think I would do if someone was really trying to take you away from me? Hum?” He brings his face close to yours, brushing his nose against your ear. “You've already seen me break a bone with a bite, haven't you?” He whispers in your ear, a threat not directed at you.

After a while, he covers his mouth to yawn. Next to him one of his friends snored so loudly that it made Ruggie straighten up and let go of his waist, startled. Upon hearing this, the professor called the student's attention and made him move from Ruggie's side to the front row as punishment.

“I can't blame him.” Ruggie tells you in a whisper and leans back against you. “After eating so much and with this sun so nice and warm... it really is relaxing...”

His arm goes back around your waist and he rests his head on your shoulder. He was clearly dreaming that he was in a romantic relationship with you. And it wasn't like you weren't enjoying it..

“If you're not careful you'll be called next.” You say.

“Aww. Are you worried about me, dandelion?” He says in a sleepy voice. “You’re always so cute.” He straightens up to kiss your cheek and lays his head back down again. “I'm really lucky to have you...”

After classes ended, you and Ruggie walked hand in hand with his two friends towards the gate. You see the others in the distance, now in their dorm uniforms. Had they gotten into a fight with the darkness while you were with Ruggie?

“Whatcha wanna do now that school's out?” One of Ruggie's friends asked. “We could see if any cafés in town have new drinks to try, or catch a movie.”

“Yeah... sorry guys, but (Y/N) and I already had plans.”

“Oh, don't worry, it's ok. What are you guys going to do?”

“We're going on a safari!” Ruggie says excitedly. “I heard that some hyena clans had cubs and (Y/N) really wants to see the little ones.” But then, he seems to have heard something that put him on alert and made a strange sound.

“Whoa! Why'd you whirl around like that, Ruggie?” One of his friends asked.

“I dunno, it just... felt like I was being called.”

“Someone called you? Who? I didn't hear anything.”

“Maybe I'm hearing things... HUH?! Where'd that sound come from?! Was it under the bench? I know I'm not hearing things!”

“Huh? What are you talking about? What's gotten into you, Ruggie?”

“Sorry, guys. You can go. I just can't leave until I figure out what that sound is!” Ruggie separates from the NPCs and you and gets on his hands and knees, rummaging around under benches and in the plants. “What is it? What's making that sound? It's like a bell... Except more beautiful and exciting!”

You look at the others, more specifically at Azul and see him drop a coin on the ground with a smug smile.

“AH! That sound... It's a little - no, not a little. It's 20 times more thrilling than before! What IS that beautiful sound? Reveal yourself to me! I just HAVE to find you!”

You see Ruggie searching for the coin, focused and with his tail wagging a little. You can't help but laugh.

“Are you laughin’ at me?" He says with a sly smile. “Why don't you help me instead? That Safari has a set time to start, you know?” He keeps looking, whether you help him or not. “Where are you? Where's the one that entices me so...? AHA!”

Entices him? Even dreaming that he’s dating you, it still seems like he likes money more.

“There's something in front of that trash bin...” He hurries to get there. “Huzzah! That's a free one-thaumark coin for me! Score!” He finally gets up. “Wait... Huh? Why am I getting so giddy over finding a little loose change?” The dream begins to distort. “Urgh, my head...! Why? I've got no reason to care about random coins on the ground...”

“Heh heh heh... I had every faith you would pounce on that.” Azul says, approaching you along with the others. “Do you see this, Ruggie?”

“Is that... a five-thaumark coin?!”

“What's the matter? You're looking a bit pale... And you seem to have a cold sweat.”

“What... are you gonna do with that?”

“I was thinking of tossing it into the water over there and making a wish to come back here again.”

“Five thaumarks?! You're not seriously about to throw that much mone away!” Ruggie said shocked. “Wait, no! Five thaumarks is barely anything at all. It's just spare change... Hrgh!”

“It's the only coin I have on hand. But... it's just 'a little loose change', right? Here goes!”

Azul tosses the coin and Ruggie jumps into the water to grab it with zero hesitation.

“Self-restraint isn't healthy, you know.” Azul tells Ruggie, in a way that is too villainous for someone who is supposedly helping him. “Just admit it... You want it more than anything!”

“Urgh, I... I... Argh, my head...! Ah, aaah... AAAAAAAAAARGH!”

The dream breaks and Ruggie wakes up.

“Ah... Ahaha... I remember everything now... Why was I... ?”

His NPCs friends approach him and ask what happened for him to jump into the water and Ruggie says it was because of 5 thaumarks. When they start saying that it was nothing, Ruggie lists the things that can be bought with only that. He also notices the discrepancies of that academy and remembers why he doesn't like light-colored clothes like the uniform he was wearing, because they stain too easily, exactly what just happened to him while he was looking for the coins.

The NPCs try to convince him to go back to sleep, saying that he will never go hungry again in there. They also say they are on good terms with the king, but Ruggie says he prefers to decide who is his king himself.

After fighting those darkness figures, he asks what in the world was happening because he was beyond confused. Ortho shows him the video.

“So... This is all a dream?”

“Yes.” Ortho confirms. “More technically, it's all part of an arcane realm that Malleus Draconia established.”

“But that... Aaah...” Ruggie drops his glasses from his face, drops down on all fours and burst into tears.

You instinctively crouch down beside him to comfort him and are surprised when he clings to you and continues to cry on your shoulder.

“A dream? You're telling me all the food I've been eating wasn't real?! I got ZERO calories from eating all those donuts I loaded with toppings?! And the six thaumarks I just picked up? And my dad coming home, and him buying my grammy a new car? And (Y/N) and I...”

His sobbing stops suddenly. He straightens up to look at your face and jumps away from you, his face red with blush.

“I-I-I-I'M SORRY! I DIDN'T WANT... I DIDN'T KNOW... I-”

You try to calm him down, telling him that everything is fine, that he didn't do anything wrong.

“Oh, come on! Don't be so understanding and kind!” He tells you, a little annoyed. “You can be honest. You can say that I creeped you out.”

“Why would I say that?”

“Well, you know, when I...” He starts to say, blushing, but then looks at the others around you. He stands up, determined. “Come with me.” He asks you. “You stay here.” He told them as a warning.

You get up and follow him to a relatively more secluded place.

“Listen, I'm sorry, okay?” Ruggie tells you, his ears down, embarrassed and sulking at the same time. “I know I was kinda... clingy... and jealous. Like when we were in that potionology class. You don't have to pretend everything is fine. I'm not an emotional wimp.”

You stay silent for a second, but decide to confess to him that everything really is fine, because you liked him too. You even enjoyed the time you spent with him and how he treated you.

“Y-you... LIKE ME TOO?!” He repeats, incredulously. “Wait... you're the real (Y/N), aren't you? You...” He takes a step back and places himself in a defensive and threatening position. “You're not one of those darkness things from my dream... are you?” He looks at you menacingly and growls at you.

You insist and try your best to convince him that it really is you as you slowly walk backwards. Not even when you hit a wall does he stop walking slowly towards you like a predator preparing to attack. When he’s finally just inches away from you, you flinch, turn your face away, and he attacks you... with a loving kiss on the cheek. And then he tickles you.

“Relaaax~” Ruggie tells you, holding you by the waist, and with that sly smile “I believe in you. Shyeheehee.”

He sees you sulking, but flustered. This makes him smile sweetly, like you've never seen before.

“Aww, don't be mad at me...” He says in a poor-me voice. “I've been through so much here. You saw what Malleus did to me. *sniff* I want to cry so much...” He smirks again. “Doesn't that make a kind soul like yours want to comfort me?”

He rests his forehead against yours and starts rubbing his nose and cheeks against yours. Maybe it'll even tickle you a little. But then, he starts kissing your cheek, continues kissing you until he gets closer to your lips and, perceiving that you want that too, he kisses them. He starts by kissing you softly, but then he intensifies the kiss to an almost starving one. Hungry for the love he so desperately needed but was afraid he would never have.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[formulafanfics13]

You Lost the Bet, Mate - DR3 & MV1 🔥

masterlist

Summary: After a joke bet between Max Verstappen and Daniel Ricciardo turns real, Daniel offers his girlfriend to Max for the night. What follows is a rough, filthy threesome where Daniel watches as Max uses her mercilessly, before taking his own turn and reminding her who she belongs to. Max returns to join in again, ending with both men fucking her at once — one in her mouth, the other between her legs — until she breaks completely.

Warnings: Explicit smut, degradation, threesome (f/m/m), dom!Max, soft dom!Daniel, spit, gagging, oral (f receiving and giving), rough sex, multiple penetrations (not double penetration), sharing kink, consensual non-monogamy, crying, overstimulation, hair pulling, throat fucking, praise/degradation mix, possessive language, cockwarming, mild exhibitionism, voyeurism, light choking.

She didn't expect Max to actually show up. The bet had been a joke. Kind of. She remembered the smirk on Max's face when he'd looked across the motorhome table and said, "If I beat you by more than five seconds, I want your girl for a night."

Daniel had laughed. She'd laughed. And then Daniel had said, "Deal."

And now? Now Max was standing in the doorway of the hotel room, arms crossed, grin slow and dark. "You ready to give her to me, Ricciardo?"

Daniel turned toward her, where she sat on the bed, bare thighs pressed together, lips parted.

Then? He stepped behind her. Breathed warm against her ear. "You okay with this, baby?"

She nodded. Daniel kissed her shoulder. Then looked at Max. "She's yours for the night."

Max didn't waste time. Didn't bother with pleasantries. He walked straight to her, stared down at her like she was dessert and he hadn't eaten in days. "Get on your knees."

Her breath caught. She looked to Daniel.

He just nodded. "Go on, sweetheart."

She dropped. And Max unbuckled his jeans. Pulled himself out, thick, flushed, already hard. "You know what to do."

She opened her mouth. Max didn't wait. Just slid in. Deep. And groaned.

"Fuck- Ricciardo, you're a lucky bastard."

She choked. He gripped her hair. Started fucking her face, hard, steady, ruthless.

Daniel stood behind her. Watching. Then knelt down and kissed her shoulder. "You're doing so good, baby."

Max moaned. "Fuck- she's a good little cockslut, isn't she?"

"She's the best," Daniel said. "Go ahead, Verstappen. Ruin her throat."

Max used her mouth like he paid for it. Fist in her hair. Thrusting hard. Groaning louder with every gag. "Shit- look at her. You take cock like it's all you know, huh?"

She was crying now. Tears down her cheeks, spit down her chin, eyes wide and wrecked.

Daniel stroked her back. "You still okay, baby?"

She nodded, as best she could with Max's cock deep in her throat.

Max groaned. "Fuck. She loves this." Then he pulled out. "Get on the bed."

She stumbled up, dazed. Daniel caught her, kissed her. "You're perfect." Then helped her onto the bed.

Max stripped off his shirt. Climbed over her. Spread her legs. "You're soaked," he muttered, dragging his fingers through her folds. "You like this, don't you? Being shared. Being used."

She whimpered. Max didn't wait. Just lined up. And slammed into her. She screamed.

Max groaned. Daniel stood beside the bed, watching. "You okay?"

"Yes-fuck-yes-"

"Good girl," Max grunted. "Take it."

And he fucked her hard. Ruthless. Deep. His hands on her hips, her moans bouncing off the walls.

Daniel stroked her hair. "Doing so good, baby. Let him use you."

She came fast. Loud. Trembling. Max laughed. Then pulled out. "She's fucking perfect."

Daniel smiled. "My turn."

Daniel kissed her softly. Held her close. Then slid in, slow, careful, deep. "Mine," he whispered. "Even when he fucks you. You're still mine."

She sobbed. Daniel started to move. And Max? Watched from the chair, stroking himself, voice low. "Come on, Ricciardo. Show me how you fuck your girl."

And Daniel did. Slow. Deep. Loving. Until she came again, sobbing his name, clawing at his back, completely ruined.

Max stood. "Switch."

Daniel pulled out. She barely had time to breathe before Max was inside her again, rough this time, one hand on her throat, the other in her hair. "You love this."

"Yes-fuck-yes-"

"You want us both?"

She nodded, crying. Daniel moved to the headboard. "Come here, baby."

She opened her mouth. And Daniel slid in. Now? Max in her cunt. Daniel in her mouth. And she broke.

Sobbing. Choking. Coming. Harder than she ever had. And Max just growled, "Fuck-Ricciardo-you ever share again, call me first."

[meenaxskz]

don't hurt chan's favorite kid (ot8!skz x meena 9th member oc)

one shot | ot8!skz x meena oc au genre: crack warnings: language summary: beach day turns into a full emergency crime scene. and the group is 10% worried for meena and 90% worried for hyunjin’s life.

-

beach day ! 🏖️ they’ve got snacks, towels, iced drinks and good vibes. chan and changbin are out in the water, doing god knows what. something between swimming and flexing.

the rest? volleyball match from hell.

hyunjin’s on full competitive demon mode. shirt off. grunting dramatically every time he spikes.

“calm down it’s not the olympics” meena says, as she fixes the net.

“sorry can’t hear you over my victory aura”

what even does that mean.

then it happens.

the ball goes up. he jumps and yells "I GOT IT" time slows down. his eyes lock on the target. his wrist snaps forward like he's trying to destroy a planet.

SMACK.

right into meena’s face.

dead center.

the ball bounces off her. she falls backwards into the sand, limp. eyes wide. sunglasses askew. soul leaving her body.

SILENCE.

GASPS.

-han drops his drink. -felix whispers “oh no” -jeongin crosses himself like a priest. -seungmin just says “...she’s dead.”

hyunjin freezes mid celebration. the color drains from his face

“oh my god.”

he sprints over. drops to his knees.

“MEENA?? are you okay?? you’re okay. you’re FINE.” “that ball was soft. it barely touched you. you're being dramatic” “i'M SORRY. please don’t die”

meena’s blinking in dazed confusion. “...i can taste colors”

felix crouches beside them “your eye is swelling”

“WHAT?” hyunjin yells “no. no it’s not.”

“bro look at her. she looks like she's having an allergic reaction to your bullshit ”seungmin says calmly

“I look like WHAT” meena snaps

han to hyunjin “you're dead. chan will see this”

they all look up. chan and changbin are laughing in the ocean. unaware. for now.

“HE’S GONNA SEE HER FACE AND UNLEASH THE APOCALYPSE”

“hide her!! bury her in the sand!!” jeongin panics.

“we can’t bury her” seungmin says “we need a decoy injury.”

“what does that MEAN”

“SOMEONE ELSE NEEDS TO GET HURT FAST. BLOOD IS A DISTRACTION.”

felix grabs the volleyball and throws it into his own shin. “DOES THIS COUNT”

“NO”

hyunjin’s holding meena’s face gently, trying to hide the swelling with his hands "OW" “shhh. if you love me, don’t tell chan. PLEASE.”

meena squints with her one good eye “i’m telling him you tried to serve my head like a volleyball.”

"SO YOU WANT ME DEAD"

meanwhile in the ocean...

chan and changbin are waist deep in water, living their best bro life.

until chan pauses.

his protective sixth sense goes off. something's wrong.

he squints at the shore. the others are huddled around something. nervous glancing. too many hand gestures. meena’s being half dragged behind a towel by a panicked hyunjin who’s using his entire body to shield her.

chan squints. pauses “...do you see that?”

changbin glances at the beach “huh. maybe they found a crab?”

he follows as chan starts power walking back to shore.

on the sand, hyunjin is full panic.

“HE’S COMING”

he crouches in front of meena, trying to block her entire face with his arms “okay okay i got this. just act natural”

“I look like a pufferfish” meena pouts

"SHHH"

“hey” chan says, walking up, wet and suspicious “what’s going on?”

“nothing!” hyunjin pops up, arms out, big grin.

chan raises an eyebrow. “then why is meena sitting like that and everyone’s avoiding eye contact.”

“she’s tired?”

chan steps forward.

hyunjin throws his arms out “don’t come closer”

“move”

"you don't have to do this"

"MOVE"

chan shoves him aside. sees meena. sees the black eye.

everything goes silent.

chan just… freezes. blinks once. his jaw clenches.

“…who?” quiet. calm. absolutely terrifying.

“a tree” hyunjin blurts “she walked into a tree. a really aggressive one. with bark. sharp bark. mean bark” he’s nodding way too hard. sweating. “it was nature’s fault”

meena sighs “it was hyunjin. he smashed the ball into my face”

hyunjin gasps "SNITCH"

chan exhales. long. slow. deadly.

“hyunjin”

“…yes hyung nim?~ 🥺”

“...run.”

“WAIT LET'S TALK–”

“RUN!”

hyunjin SCREAMS and takes off down the beach like his life depends on it (which it does). chan chases him. sand flying. seagulls crying. han filming.

“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!! I SAID I WAS SORRY.” “YOU BROKE HER FACE.” “SHE’S STILL PRETTY” “YOU’RE GONNA BE PRETTY DEAD.”

meanwhile, back at the towel fort:

minho is on his knees, has a cold sprite can pressed to her face “blink twice if you want me to slap him when he stops running.”

“i’ll blink four.”

han is yelling commentary. “AND THEY’RE PASSING THE HOT DOG STAND. OH! HYUNJIN NEARLY SLIPPED ON A KID! WHAT A RECOVERY!”

jeongin asks “should we help?” seungmin sips his drink unbothered “i’m not interrupting god’s wrath.”

5 minutes later, chan is now holding hyunjin underwater.

every few seconds, hyunjin pops up like “I SAID I’M SORRY” shove “I’LL BUY HER BUBBLE TEA FOR A WEEK” sploosh “I’M TOO PRETTY TO DIE” sploosh again

changbin’s standing ankle deep with his hands on his hips, doing nothing to help “you brought this on yourself man”

back on the sand, felix is fanning meena with a frisbee. lee know is still pressing the can to her eye.

“ow! minho!!” she winces “be gentle.”

“you want healing or not” he deadpans.

she pouts. dramatic “be honest. am i still hot?”

everyone turns.

“like… can i still pull? or do i look like a hot potato that got punched?”

“you're hot” han shrugs “...if you’re into bruised face aesthetic. like street fighter core”

“street fighter core??”

“you could model for a boxing drama poster” seungmin adds (not) helpfully.

“you’re giving ‘badass but sad’ energy” jeongin offers.

felix grabs her hand dramatically “you’re the most beautiful pufferfish i’ve ever seen.”

“I’M GONNA CRY” she laughs, slapping his arm.

chan, finally finished attempting murder, stomps back up the beach.

meanwhile, hyunjin is left behind, crawling through the sand like a wet puppy. his arms are shaking. his pride is in shambles. he coughs once. dramatically. no one looks back.

“meenaaaaaa” he whines, dragging himself “i’m sorryyyyyyyyyy”

she looks over from her spot under the towel umbrella “you said that already.”

“BUT THIS TIME I MEAN IT FROM MY SOUL”

“he means it because i almost ended his soul” chan mutters, finally reaching her.

he crouches beside her, still dripping.

“lemme see it”

meena pulls the can off her face. chan inhales through his teeth.

“…this bitch”

“i’m right here!” hyunjin yells from five feet away, face still planted in the sand.

chan ignores him “i swear to god, his next comeback is gonna be from the ER”

“i’m fine” meena says softly, smiling up at him “just don’t let felix fan me again. he almost took my eyelash off.” felix pouts dramatically behind her.

chan sighs. grabs a fresh water bottle, opens it, pours a little on a towel, and starts gently dabbing her cheek.

“does this hurt?”

“emotionally yeah”

“he’s dead to me”

behind them, hyunjin finally reaches the group.

“...hey” he’s shaking. covered in seaweed. sand in places sand shouldn’t be. he collapses beside her towel “i’m so sorry. for hitting you in the face. and ruining your perfect bone structure. and giving chan a reason to baptize me in saltwater”

she blinks. “did he really dunk you that long?”

“i saw ancestors.”

chan squints, finally letting some of the rage go “...you’re lucky she likes you. if it were jeongin you hit, i’d be in jail”

"damn right!" jeongin yells.

accident or not, do not hurt chan's favorite child.

fanart | illustration by me

⤷ main m.list ❟

DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.

[badkarma1998]

Okay, Im about to get a lil long winded and rambley, so I just wanna start by saying:

If this resonates with you in any way, I highly encourage you to read the full paper.

And now dont mind me while I have a moment here:

So, I have personally been debating internally the idea of gender and how I relate to it, and it's been bugging me for a good while that nothing fit. And THIS FITS!!!

And I know I have mutuals and followers who also describe something like this.

I've been joking for years that I'm "woman by convince" or Ive commented on not feeling cis but not feeling strongly enough to transiston in any way. Recently I've adopted referring to myself as nonbinary, because it's a little closer to my experience than being cis, but it's also still not quite right?

And then I read this paper and, guys I havent felt this way since I was a confused and broken feeling teenager who found the word "asexual". Its that feeling of finding language to describe your internal complexity, and finding out that yes other people also feel that way

Also I want to highlight this bit, because I think it hits on why I keep coming back to questioning my gender despite feeling overall apathetic about the whole thing:

Even in saying that I'm nonbinary (or if i adopted the term "agender") its like when someone asks you what your favorite food or favorite color is and you don't have one. So you just say something because for some reason you can't say you dont have one. (An experience I associate strongly with being ace also: aka being asked "who do you have a crush on?" When you dont have a crush on anyone)

Similarly, applying any gendered label (even one that implicates a lack of gender) feels like it reduces the whole of me down to an oversimplification.

Which, granted, is useful for every reason any label is useful. Given the current societal structure we exist in, these labels help us try to roughly understand one another through our limited scope of language. For this reason, I know that logically this revalation likely aligns someone like me through an outside lense as being "agender". But it doesn't make "agender" feel any more like a rounded oversimplification of an internal complexity.

I also want to highlight these quotes from the paper, though honsetly yall should just read it, every quote from every individual interviewed touches on some aspect of what I've been wrestling with about this

But specifically:

For me personally, I think "woman" is probably a term that's not too far off from my particular permutation of gender (such that it is). I like how she/her pronouns sound the best, I usually prefer a femme presentation, and I don't mind being perceived as a woman. At the same time, there are narratives tied into the concept of womanhood that are...repellant, maybe?...to me, … [including] woman as mother, woman as nurturer, and woman as romantic/sexual partner. I don't vibe at all with the word womanhood, either. To put it another way, I think that much of my resonance with women comes from socialization and shared experiences with other people who use that label rather than perhaps any inherent shared feeling. … Of course I support and respect people who feel gender to be a strong thing in their life but personally I feel like it's not real and basically a construction. At the same time, I don't feel like I'm doing much that's disruptive to dominant constructions of gender, so a term like nonbinary or genderqueer feels incorrect. So yes, perhaps detached is a good term. … Let me put it this way: if somebody came up to me and insisted that I was a man, I would disagree with them. If somebody came up to me and just insisted that I wasn’t a woman, I wouldn't care. … Personally, I'm not sure that I intrinsically feel much in the place where gender should be. (Amanda, 24)

Because it sums up exactly how I view my relationship with my gender, specifically as an afab person

And

Some respondents indicated lingering gender attachments—in the midst of broader gender detachment—because they did not see alternative language to convey their relationship with gender. For example, Lydia said:

I consider myself gender queer. I mostly use female pronouns (she/her) since that’s easiest for me, but I don’t feel especially connected with being a woman other than my appearance, which indicates to other people that I am a woman. The problem I have is that there doesn’t seem to be a descriptor for gender that exactly describes how I feel or see myself. Being considered a woman doesn’t cause me distress so I usually just consider myself a queer woman since queer is kind of all encompassing but woman just feels slightly off the mark for me. (Lydia, 31)

However, when I later told Lydia that I had heard similar things from other asexual individuals I had interviewed and asked if she felt detached from gender (thereby offering her alternative language), she enthusiastically said that she did.

Detached from gender at large is a great way to describe it. It's not that I experience any kind of dysphoria like someone in the trans community might feel; I just don't feel especially attached to femininity or masculinity. Mostly, I feel kind of neutral about gender as a whole. … Even calling myself non-binary or agender doesn't feel right, other than in philosophically. I don't really think about myself in terms of gender, and trying to fit a label on myself seems kind of unnecessary. The labels that were more or less assigned to me at birth work well enough and don't really cause me any discomfort so I go with it, but they don't really explain me. The closest thing I can come up with is queer since it explains that I don't fit the norm of gender or sexuality but doesn't say anything specific. Since I don't even know how I would describe my gender other than through a long explanation like this, queer is the best I can come up with. (Lydia, 31)

Because again, it just describes so well my feelings too, especially about why i default to using the gendered language we have and being fine with she/her pronouns, even though something about them still feels wrong.

And as I was reading all of this, I couldn't help but feel like it just clicked. Of course being ace and being "detached for gender" would overlap. Which, I kinda stumbled into explaining why to my friends really well, at least for myself personally:

Honestly, part of why im finding this particular paper so intriguing is because I see my gender quite similarly to how i see my sexuality.

I do not understand sexual desire or attraction the way that I have been told is inherit. Sex is a thing, it is an object to me, one that I have picked up and fiddled with, but not one that is attached to me the way it is to my peers. And gender is much the same. Conceptually these objects, these tools of sex and gender and attraction, I am told that every living person is born with them attached and as important to functionality as an organ. Yet here they are laying on a table before me and either I choose to use them the same way I choose to participate in a hobby, or they are picked up by others and stuck to my being in ways that range from neutral to painful

And like, I honestly dont even know what my goal is with sharing all this here. I just feel such a catharsis and sense of being seen, and I want to share that with anyone else who feels the same.

i feel so seen!!

(twitter thread)

[johnnycadesmuse]

⋆｡˚ ༘ i'll never blame her, kinda hate her

— dallas winston x fem!reader

in which .ᐟ you watch a girl hold the man you love, the feeling of jealousy and insecurity taking over you. little do you know, his heart is also with yours.

song 𝄞 fuck me eyes by ethel cain

warnings: jealousy, language, mentions of sex

your heart would ache every time you saw her, even when she wasn't with him. you would watch as her perfect, soft, blonde curls bounced when she walked. you would study her perfect slim body that curves in all of the right places. her bright blue eyes would shine in the sun, her seductive gaze anchoring anyone who laid eyes on her.

she was Dally's girl.. sometimes. it was always on and off, never consistent. they would argue, which would cause her to cheat and for them to break up. then, when they were missing a warm body to "sleep" with, they would run back to one another like nothing happened.

you couldn't understand it, no matter how hard you'd try. you'd ask Dallas why, and he'd only ever shrug and mumble a quick 'I dunno man' before walking away or staying silent.

how could he love a girl as cruel and selfish as her, when someone like you was waiting for him. sure, you always thought that you were a downgrade. you would never be as pretty or as perfect as her. you would never laugh like she does her bat her eyelashes in a way that made heads turn in her direction. but you would love Dallas unconditionally, and you figured that that would be enough.

you didn't blame her, not fully. sure, she could be a bitch to you whenever you hung out with Dally at parties or was with him whenever you were out with the gang. but she didn't know about your infatuation with her boyfriend Dallas, no one did.

and despite trying to subtly gain his attention in every which way that didn't make it overbearingly obvious, you gave up. you couldn't take the constant ignoring and confusion whenever you would try to flirt with him. it hurt you every time and wore you down more and more.

by the end of the summer, you were barely standing. you had made a goal for yourself to try and get his attention before school started up again, but of course, that didn't happen. she won him over again for the 4th time, despite him walking in on her getting fucked by some random guy that eventually ended in yet another screaming match and a breakup.

when the both of you were hanging out and he mentioned that they were back together, you didn't say anything. you couldn't be bothered. you were so tired and depressed by that point that you didn't give a shit.

"okay" you told him whilst shrugging, acting like you didn't care. but your tone said otherwise. he furrowed his brows for a second before shrugging it off, assuming that you were having a bad day and that the slight anger in your voice was just your bubbling frustration. this reaction honestly made you mad.

you had been pining for him for years, even before he got with Sylvia. you had dropped so many hints and messages, yet.. nothing. at one point you were so desperate that you even offered to sleep with him as a joke when he talked about how he hadn't gotten laid since him and Sylvia had broken up. you were so desperate and your self-worth was at an all time low. you didn't care if he used you for sex, because at that point you would at least have an excuse to hold him and kiss him. he would finally give you the kind of attention that you wanted.

now, as you sat quietly in his Bucks thunderbird, eating some crappy fast food, you felt yourself getting lost in negative thoughts, and your throat began to close. you could feel saliva begin to bubble in your mouth as tears pricked your waterline. fuck you thought to yourself, as you realised you were about to cry in front of the guy that you liked. no no no, don't cry, don't cry you repeated in your head, but everyone knows that when you tell yourself not to cry, it makes it worse.

you bit your quivering lip as you dug your nails into the skin of your thighs, desperately trying to distract yourself from the heavy feeling in your chest. you were about to blow, and you wouldn't be able to stop it. "thanks for the food" you said quickly, getting out of the car and slamming the door before rushing away, tears finally falling.

Dallas continuously called out your name, but at that point all you could hear was white noise. you couldn't take it. you couldn't take this overwhelming sense of dread. that everything was for nothing.

during all of those years of yearning for him, you always told yourself that it would happen eventually. you would tell yourself that all of this effort wouldn't go to waste. that at the end of it all, you and him would be sharing kisses and holding one another close. you always tried to convince yourself that the heart ache and energy would be worth it. but now, you see that you were being naive.

why would Dallas Winston fall for you? if he liked you, he would've left Sylvia. he would've told you how he felt. you would never be in the situation that you're in now-

"hey!" he shouted, grabbing your shoulders and turning you around. the ringing in your ears finally subsided, your hearing becoming clearer.

Dally watched as tears continued to fall down your cheeks, though the expression on your face was one of surprise rather than sadness. you sniffled, wiping your face with your fingers as you looked away from him embarrassed. he studied you intently, as if you were his muse for his next painting. he watched as your nose twitched and your lip quivered.

it hurt him to see you in such a state. he always hated seeing girls cry as he never knew what to do, and majority (if not all) of the time, the girls were crying because of him.

and it was the same as it always was. a girl, crying because of him. only he truly cared about this girl. when he watched her cry, he didn't feel uncomfortable or embarrassed, he felt hurt and angry. "hey kid, what's wrong with ya'?" he said in a tone that came out meaner than he intended. you sobbed a bit more, causing him to panic a bit. "c'mon, talk to me" he said softly in an attempt to salvage the situation.

"I can't" you mumbled, your voice shakey. you shook your head before looking up into his eyes. "I can't"

"what? what do ya' mean you can't? is someone threatening you or sumn'?"

"no! god no!" you exclaimed, wiping your eyes as your tears subsided. "it's.." you began before sighing heavily.

you couldn't stop thinking about the way he was looking at you. you couldn't stop thinking about Sylvia. how if she were in your position, Dally would've already been cradling her by now. but you wanted to be the one cradled by Dally. you wanted to be the one he kissed and stared at in admiration. you wanted to be her.

you couldn't blame her, nor could you hate her. she was simply a girl who was in love with a boy. a boy who so happens to be the one that you love more than anything.

"forget it" you mumbled before smiling. "thanks for uh.. the food" you turned on your heels, walking as fast as your legs could carry you.

you kept walking and walking until you didn't recognise where you were, you couldn't even recognise whether you were still in Tulsa. you felt as though you had been walking for hours, and your feet felt that way too. finally, after a few more minutes of walking on cramped legs and sore ankles, you crumbled. you sat underneath a nearby tree, the golden light from the setting sun illuminating your skin.

you heard an engine roar, the sound growing louder as the vehicle grew closer. you didn't care if it were a Soc, if anything, you wanted it to be. you just wanted to forget about the embarrassment of crying in front of your best friend, as well as the aching feeling of defeat.

you would never have him, and you finally understood that. he wasn't yours, he never was. he always belonged to Sylvia if not some other random girl. and as the world faded around you, the sounds of crickets chirping going quiet as well as the engine from the car that you had long forgotten about, a pair of boots appeared before you. you recognised them instantly, as well as the hand that reached out to you, a skull ring on the middle finger.

"c'mon" Dally mumbled gently, clearly understanding that you were in no state to be answering questions or bickering with him. "it's gonna rain soon. need to get ya' home" he told you, pulling you to your feet.

he guided you into the car, his hand on your lower back. the car ride was silent, the shitty radio playing shitty songs as the old car seats made your skin itch.

the tears that once fell from your eyes were now dried against your cheeks. when the car finally halted and the engine ceased, you looked up to see the all too familiar bar where Dally lived. "why are we here?" you whispered, looking over to him.

"it's raining, Doll" he informed you, gesturing to the heavy drops of rain that painted the sidewalk.

"but you're driving. we ain't walking-"

"come on" he said, cutting you off as he got out of the car. you quickly got out, walking with him into the bar as he held his jacket over your head in an attempt to keep you dry.

as you entered, the bar was slightly less packed than usual. it was a weeknight, meaning many of the usual customers couldn't afford to miss work on account of a hangover. so, the only customers were teenagers and retired old men with their much younger lady friends hanging on their hips.

"hey Buck" Dally said to his friend as guided you upstairs to his room. once the door closed, you walked over and sat on Dally's bed, the old bed frame squeaking. "here" Dally said gruffly, tossing you a shitty but clean towel to dry yourself off, despite the fact that he was more wet than you.

"why'd you bring me here Dal? my house is not even 10 minutes away"

"it's raining"

"c'mon Dal, be real" you groaned as you tossed the towel to the side. Dally sighed heavily, running his hands through his wet hair.

"cause we need to talk. and if I didn't force you to do it now then we wouldn't have done it at all" he explained. you sat in front of him silently, not knowing how to respond. "why'd you run off? did I say something?"

"no! no-"

"then what?" he asked sternly, his hands now in his hips as droplets of water fell off his hair and onto the old floorboards. "is this about me and Sylvia?" he asked, making your eyes widen. he sighed and nodded his head, as if he had already known the reason.

the both of you stayed silent for a few minutes before you got up and began heading toward the door, mumbling a small 'bye' before you were stopped by Dally's arm wrapping around your waist.

he looked at you and stared, your eyes fixated on the floor. "why? what gets you upset about me and Sylvia. I know she ain't the best but- why does that matter to you?"

"why wouldn't it!?" you shouted, Dally's expression turning from one of confusion to surprise. "I mean, i'm your best friend. so of course i'd be upset if you got back with some girl who treats you like shit?!" Dally didn't say anything, but instead allowed you to continue to ramble. "I mean, I tried Dally. I really tried but-"

"tried what?" he asked and you sighed heavily, your throat closing up again as if you were about to cry. you shook your head no, closing your eyes as to not allow tears to form. Dally walked over to you and lifted your face with his finger placed under your chin. you quickly slapped his hand away.

"don't." you scolded, stepping back a bit. "you can't do that." he backed away before shedding his leather jacket. you turned around, hugging yourself as you felt your lip quiver. "I can't do this anymore" you told him.

"do what?" he asked concerned, as though he thought you were referring to something else. something darker. "you ain't thinkin' about-"

"no! no Dallas." you sniffled, wiping your tears before turning to face him once again. "us. I can't do us. I can't keep watching you run back to her while i'm-"

"while your what?"

"you know what Dally. don't make me do this" you groaned, running your hands over your face in frustration.

"I ain't makin' you do anything" he told you sternly, getting closer, his broad shoulders and rough figure making you feel intimidated and overpowered. it made you feel scared. Dally saw this and immediately his muscles relaxed as his expression softened. "I just- I don't know what you're talking about."

"that's the problem! at this point it should be obvious to you!" you shouted, tears of frustration falling. you hated how you cried whenever you were angry, and no matter how hard you tried to stop it, tears kept falling and sobs continuously escaped your mouth. you couldn't form a sentence, let alone a thought. and as you felt as though the world was once again crumbling around you, you felt a big warm body pull you in. Dally's arms wrapped around you as he rested his chin on the top of your head. "I can't do this. I can't keep seeing you with her. it hurts so bad Dal, it really hurts" you sobbed, tears staining his black shirt.

"oh baby" he whispered, rubbing your back in an attempt to calm you down. him calling you baby made you even more upset, but his gentle gestures and calm words brought you back down to earth.

"she's so perfect and i'm not. she's the angel i'll never be-"

"hey!" Dally shook you gently but firmly enough to get you to listen. "that ain't true. if anything, you're the angel compared to her"

"I am?" you asked, pulling away and wiping your face.

"you are. i'm sorry I never- I didn't" Dally struggled to express himself, unable to form a sentence without feeling exposed. he had never talked to someone like this before, let alone a girl. the concept of expressing his emotions was a foreign thing to him. "I didn't think you felt that way.. still. I thought that you had moved on since you stopped kinda.. y'know, flirtin' with me. I assumed you were over me so I kinda just.. tried to move on" he took a deep breath before continuing. "whenever I was with Sylvia, I imagined she was you. your prettier and.. smarter. I only ever went back to her because she was a warm body. she knew it too."

his words shocked you. not just because of what he was confessing, but because he was opening up to you. for the first time, Dally was being honest and sincere.

"I didn't get back with Sylvia. I only said that to maybe make you jealous" he confessed, "I'm real sorry. I know I was such a dick but-" he pulled you in closer, cupping your face. "just- tell me you mean it"

"mean what?"

"that you like me." he asked. you stayed silent for a moment as you searched for any sign of dishonesty in his face, but you found none. he was telling the truth, something he didn't do often.

"I like you. a lot" and before you could continue, he pulled you in and smashed his lips against yours. you finally felt the emotion that you had been craving for so long. you felt loved, and you felt loved by the man that you had loved for so long. after a few moments, you both pulled away for air before smiling.

"don't ever compare yourself. you're so beautiful. you're my angel, yeah?"

"yeah"

@avroravia @r0seb100d @browneyebby @johnnycadesslut @callme-holly @seilahdiaries @jamesdeanbby

[ta3mint]

okok i LOVEDDD blush, now i need a part 2 of the reader and minho walking back to the dorms after leaving the party ofc y/n is still pretty out of it from the alcohol and the whole walk back y/n is being very giddy and flirty bc they both just confessed their feelings to each other so she’s giving him praises and being very h word towards him (bc lowkey i be like that too when im drunk and sometimes when you’re drunk people just seem a lot more attractive) minho is a lil taken a back but loving every second of it, once they reach the dorms y/n has now sobered up a bit, she remembers the confession, but doesn’t remember anything else she said/did (doesn’t really recall making out with him either) after that and minho is teasing her about it they end up finishing what they started at the party, but decide to go a little further 👀. i also just wanna see domesticated lee know taking care of y/n to feed my acts of service love language

Blush (Part 2)

Contains: sequel to Part 1, university au Minho x female reader smut

Warnings: minors do not interact!!, Mentions of alcohol/being drunk, cursing, vague mentions of nausea, Minho being a possessive little shit, teasing, kind of dom Minho but not too crazy (still a consent king), use of the word slut, fingering, unprotected piv sex (don't do this!!)

Word Count: 6,000

Author's note: okay okay, I tweaked the order of events just a bit because I like the way it ended up flowing <3 I hope it's what you're looking for and that you like it!! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) you know where to find me.

Despite Minho offering several times to get someone to drive you back to your dorm, you declined each time. Something told you that being in a car right now would only make your stomach churn even more than it already was, now that the alcohol was trying to work its way out of your system.

Minho reluctantly continued walking you back to your dorm, supporting your weight as much as he could when you were walking more slowly with each step you took.

You groaned suddenly and Minho froze in concern.

"Maybe we should sit down on the sidewalk for a second, (Y/N)."

He didn't let you agree or disagree with him, and instead settled you down on the nearest part of the sidewalk before sitting down beside you.

You had to admit, not moving felt great for the time being. Some of your mental clarity had started to come back, and some of it...had not. You couldn't remember exactly what had happened at the party a little while ago besides the confession, but you knew that you were grateful for Minho to be here taking care of you.

The more you thought about it and thought about him...the more wild your imagination began to be. And the more you imagined, the more came out of your big mouth.

"Minho, thank you for taking care of me," you giggled, leaning over onto his shoulder for support. You reached out your hand and placed it on his thigh closest to you, squeezing it hard in your drunken, maybe slightly turned on state. "I've always wanted to feel these," you finished in a whisper.

Minho watched where your hand landed on his thigh and he swallowed hard.

You couldn't help but notice the sheen of sweat on his skin, likely brought on by him basically supporting your entire body weight on this long walk back to your dorm room. The way his chest rose and fell, the way his breath fanned across the top of your head...it was driving you crazy.

"Are you just saying that?" Minho asked you quietly, the slightest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You shook your head almost violently.

"No, no. I mean it," you whispered, sitting up slightly so that you could see his face better. "You are beautiful, every part of you. I've always thought so."

Minho gave in to his urge to smile before he stood up. He reached out a hand to you to help you up, and you returned his smile as a ''thank you''.

"Come on, then. You can tell me more about it once we get to your room."

~

Thankfully, you were almost there. You could see your building now, at least. But sitting down for a few minutes had really helped. You felt more steady while walking this time around, and your thoughts weren't as clouded.

Minho got to the bottom of the steps that led up to the second floor where your room was at. You were trailing behind just a bit, but not too much. Once you closed the gap, Minho glanced between where you stood and the top of the stairs a few times.

"I don't know if you walking up the steps right now is a good idea," Minho said, rubbing his chin in thought.

"Oh, please. I'll be fine!"

You brushed past him and put one foot on the first step. Looking at all the steps after that one though...

"Okay," you sighed in defeat, "Maybe not."

Minho chuckled. "Like I said..."

"What are we supposed to do then? The elevator has been broken for days, Minho."

He looked up the stairs once more and then back at you, a mischievous glint forming in his eyes. He then pondered his next words carefully.

"You said you like it when I take care of you?"

You nodded slowly, not sure exactly where this was going.

Minho put a hand on your shoulder, sending what felt like electric currents through your body. You sharply drew in a breath as he leaned in close to your ear, like he wanted only you to hear what he was about to say.

"Then be a good girl and let me carry you to your room."

The hallway around you started spinning. Whether it was the last bit of the alcohol or his words...you weren't sure.

"Okay," you whispered in return.

Minho bent over slightly and placed one arm under the back of your legs and the other behind your shoulders. With surprising ease, he swept you up into his arms and glanced down at you.

"This okay?"

"Mmhmm," was all you could manage.

"Good," he breathed out with a smile.

You couldn't look anywhere else other than at his face while he carried you up the steps. His smile alone was enough to make you melt, and it always had been. But he looked so gorgeous from the side like this, you felt as if you were studying him like a textbook. Had he always looked this good?

Who were you kidding, of course he had.

Minho could feel you staring and despite knowing better, he couldn't help but eat it up.

"See something you like, (Y/N)?"

Heat crept up from your neck into your cheeks, and that was what it took for you to finally blink after staring for so long.

"Sorry, I can't help it. I've looked at you from what felt like far away for so long...it's nice to finally be able to see you up close."

"The feeling is mutual."

Minho glanced down at your lips and back up at your eyes, so quickly you weren't sure if you had imagined it or not. But now you were at your door, and he was setting you down.

You rummaged in your bag and got your key out to unlock your door. It creaked open, and you stepped inside, Minho standing behind you almost timidly compared to how he had acted a few moments ago.

"You can come in, you know."

Minho blinked a few times and stepped in after you, looking around your living room.

It still looked just like you had left it. Clothes everywhere from trying to decide what to wear and accessories strewn about on random surfaces. But this was where you normally got ready since you had a better mirror in here compared to the one in your bedroom.

"Sorry for the mess...getting dressed for the party was stressful."

You tugged at the bottom of your skirt, suddenly hyper aware of how short it actually was. Minho followed your movements, before clearing his throat and turning around.

"Let's get you something to eat and drink that isn't alcohol."

As soon as he finished speaking, your stomach grumbled.

"Yeah, I'm starving. And I feel a lot better now," you said as you flopped onto your small couch by the door.

"Good," Minho said earnestly.

You watched as he dug around your small kitchen cabinets. He was wearing a loose hoodie with a white tank top underneath. This was the first time that you noticed how built he actually was. Lean, taut muscles pulling against the fitted white fabric of his tank top, covered up every few seconds by his hoodie when it shifted as he moved. The silver necklace he wore swayed and bounced against his perfectly defined chest. Not too big and not too obvious. It was like a secret he kept, and you were just now hearing it for the first time.

"Are these okay?" Minho asked, holding up two packs of instant noodles.

His words cut your thoughts short, and you gave him a thumbs up, not trusting your mouth right now.

Minho turned to get some water for the noodles and you decided you needed to look at something else. Like literally anything else, for right now.

You pulled out your phone and instantly saw how many messages were in the group chat with you and the guys.

Felix had sent that video only minutes after you left the party, and the guys were letting you have it.

"Finally, it was getting painful."

"Geez, Minho, didn't know you had it in you."

"It should've been me!!"

Okay, so maybe your phone was something you didn't need to look at right now either. But you couldn't remember exactly what happened in the video Felix took. So, against your better judgement, you clicked on it.

Your cheeks were on fire as you watched yourself grab at Minho and him eventually kissing you.

Felix was struggling to not make any noise, and you could tell he was trying not to laugh.

"What are you looking at?" Minho asked, coming over to sit next to you with two bowls of noodles and two bottles of water.

"Did I...uhh...on the bench...did we?"

Minho snickered, setting the bowls down to cool off.

"You practically begged me to."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as it all came crashing back to you. The plan you made, getting Felix to help you...all of it.

"That isn't how I really wanted our first kiss to go..." you trailed off, reaching for your noodles that were still slightly too hot. "I was just so nervous. I thought alcohol was the answer."

Minho listened to you speak, a genuine expression on his face. But he didn't interrupt.

"I hope you don't think differently of me."

He shook his head, reaching out to brush some hair out of your face.

"Never. I was nervous too. Now, eat your noodles, and let's relax, okay?"

The two of you ate silently, the only sounds in the room being your forks hitting the sides of your bowls. Finally eating something was definitely what you needed, and you were becoming your usual self.

But...

Your thoughts started wandering again. This definitely wasn't the alcohol anymore, this was just you. Finally giving into the fact that you and your best friend had confessed to each other, and you were sitting right next to him in a different context than before.

Something caught you off guard as you ate the last bite of noodles, however.

During the course of your thoughts wandering, Minho had removed his hoodie and threw it on the back of the couch behind him. Now he was sitting beside you in just the white tank top and his tight black pants.

You nearly choked on the last bite when you realized, and Minho almost jumped out of his skin.

"First day eating, too? Shit, you scared me," he grumbled as he clapped you gently on the back.

The choking had subsided, but tears had formed in your eyes in the meantime from how hard you had been coughing.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," you stuttered, wiping your eyes forcefully. "Just warn me next time you start stripping in my room. You're lucky I don't have roommates."

Minho scoffed. "You call this stripping? I only took off my hoodie because the noodles made me hot. Look at you, talking about stripping. Your ass has been hanging out of that skirt all night."

You froze, an icy wave of surprise taking over your body. These words were in stark contrast to the ones from before, when the both of you had been talking about how nervous you were. But it only took a second to recuperate, and you decided to have some fun with him. The way he looked, the way he sounded, the way he talked...it had been driving you wild since you started walking back to the dorms, drunk or not. You wanted to finish what you started.

"How would you know? Had you been looking?"

Now it was Minho's turns to be caught off guard, his ears turning a deep crimson.

"Don't play dumb. How could I not have looked? A few hours ago, I had what I thought was an unrequited crush on you. I had to stare in secret. Now, I can stare as obviously as I want." Minho threw his arm lazily over your shoulders before continuing. "Unless you don't want me to."

He gave you a quick side eye and instantly laughed when he saw you open and close your mouth several times, not being able to make words come out. Looks like he was better at playing with you than you were at playing with him.

"You are my girlfriend now, right? Isn't that what this is?"

You shot to your feet without thinking, Minho's arm falling to his side on the couch.

"I...I'm going to the bathroom!"

Minho called out to you in concern, but you ignored him. Your heart was threatening to beat out of your chest and you needed a minute.

You all but ran to your bathroom, shutting the door behind you in a hurry. Then you made the mistake of glancing at yourself in the mirror.

Your hair and makeup were a mess, but your clothes looked okay. Your skin was flushed and slightly shiny from what you could safely assume was a layer of nervous sweat. It looked like you but also...didn't.

You decided to fix your hair and take off all your makeup, since it was ruined anyway. This alone helped you feel cleaner and more put together. You couldn't believe that this version of you was what Minho had been looking at for the last little while. It made you cringe. Just for the sake of feeling even more like yourself, you also decided to quickly brush your teeth.

You made your way back to the couch, but Minho was no longer there. You sat down and watched as he rinsed out both of your bowls and placed them in the sink. His arms were another dirty little secret he had been keeping, perfectly sized muscles flexing as he worked in the dim light of your kitchen.

You could't help but imagine what they would look like wrapped around you, holding you close as-

"Hey, there you are." Minho was walking back over to where you had sat back down on the couch. "Feel okay?"

The way he was flipping back and forth between teasing you and being concerned for you was enough to make your head start spinning again.

"Oh, yeah, I just wanted to freshen up. I felt gross."

Minho hummed and knelt in front of you, giving your ankle a quick poke.

"You still have these heels on. Do you want them off?"

You gulped, looking down at him as he made eye contact with you from below. He looked almost ethereal now, the way his eyes glistened and his brows knit together, waiting on you to answer him so he knew what he had permission to do.

"Please," you all but squeaked.

Minho laughed quietly.

"So you like being taken care of and teased huh? I'll remember that."

You watched as he undid the first heel, seemingly getting the hang of all the straps pretty quickly. Using one hand to pull the shoe off, he used the other to grip your heel in order to keep you balanced. Then he repeated the same thing for the other shoe.

"Feels better, right?"

You managed an "mhmm" as you stared at where his hand still gripped your left heel, even though the shoes were long gone.

"I can't decide," Minho said suddenly.

You tilted your head to the side in confusion, not sure what he was referring to.

"I can't decide if I should be polite, or..." he whispered, dragging his hand from your heel to your knee, and then finally to your exposed upper thigh, "If I should let you know just how crazy you've been making me this entire time. All your little comments and the way I obviously make you feel...I've already slipped up a few times tonight. But here we are. And I never thought we would be here. It's enough to make me wanna lose any control I have left."

Your breath caught in your throat and your heart sped up again, so much so that you could hear it beating in your ears.

"I've been in love with you for years, (Y/N). I have dreamed of being this close to you, of being able to touch you like this," he continued, fiddling with the edge of your skirt on your thigh, "But I also try my best to be a gentleman. The kind of man you would want for a long, long time."

The room suddenly felt heavy and oh, so hot.

"So, now that you are feeling more like yourself and can give me honest answers, I just can't help but be tempted..." He stood slowly, placing his other hand on your right thigh.

Now that both of his hands were on you, gripping you tightly as he leaned over you on the couch, you felt as though you were short circuiting.

But it ended as soon as it started.

Minho let go of you suddenly with a groan and reached for his hoodie.

"I should go now," he said, as if the past five minutes didn't happen. "It's getting really late. And you need to sleep."

He turned back around and placed a quick kiss on the top of your head. You barely registered anything that was going on. You were completely stunned after having been thrown into a complete 360. The almost shy, sarcastic boy you had been crushing on for years had a completely different side to him that you had never seen.

You wanted to see more.

"Text me in the morning, okay?"

Minho started walking towards the door, but your hand was on his wrist the second he turned away. He stumbled a bit and looked back at you in confusion.

"Stay," you whispered, almost inaudibly. "Please."

"Why?"

Your head was spinning, your thoughts bouncing off of each other and then disappearing before you could say anything that made sense. All you knew was that you didn't want him to leave. You wanted him to stay and above all...you wanted to feel him touch you again.

"Why, (Y/N)?" Minho repeated.

You swallowed hard.

"Because, I..."

Minho watched as you struggled to decide what to say. He couldn't help but be amused with the way he made you feel.

"I want you to kiss me again. But for real this time. I want to remember it."

Minho paused for a few seconds. You stood up from the couch to be closer to him, your chest rising and falling rapidly. He couldn't help but stare at the way your breasts pushed against the fabric of your low cut top.

"I'm your girlfriend, right? Isn't that what you said? I want you to kiss me."

That was all it took for Minho to fall apart completely.

He dropped his hoodie on the floor, not caring where it landed. Then he grabbed your face forcefully and his lips crashed into yours.

This kiss was beyond different from the one you shared on the bench at the party. That one had been fueled by giddy nerves and cheap alcohol. This one was laced with something deeper, something more primal. Minho kissed you hard...telling you things that he didn't need to say with words. At least, not yet.

At first, you had frozen. But once you registered what was going on, your entire body melted into him. His hands fell from your face to your hips, which he then used to turn you around so that you were backed up against the nearest wall. He was gentle, yet firm, so as not to hit your head.

Your fingers tangled in his perfect, dark hair to steady yourself, and he shivered at the feeling.

Minho gripped your hips tighter, his fingertips threatening to leave tiny bruises on your delicate skin. Your mouth parted slightly at the sensation, and Minho took the opportunity to slot his tongue against yours. It quickly got even more heated, both of your chins covered in remnants of each others' saliva.

Tongue and teeth and slippery skin...it was enough to make heat start to pool between your legs.

Minho pulled away to take a breath, and you were glad he did since you needed to breathe as well. But Minho seemed to catch his breath more quickly than you, turning his attention to your neck.

He left a trail of sloppy kisses down from your chin to your shoulder, and you gladly tilted your head back to give him more access. You felt almost drunk again, but this time you weren't drunk on alcohol.

Minho was the first to speak.

"(Y/N)," he sighed, nipping at the soft skin of your collarbone. "Tell me to stop and I will."

You laughed breathlessly.

"You are a gentleman after all, right?"

Minho smiled, his mouth an inch away from your skin.

"I can be. But I'm sure you've noticed that I can be...something else." He pulled away from your neck and looked you in the eye, placing a hand against your cheek. "Am I still what you want?"

"Yes," you breathed out, the certainty obvious in your voice. "I've been in love with you too, Minho. I just didn't know how to say it. I love all of you, and I want all of you."

He groaned, sounding like he was almost in pain. But then his grip on your cheek tightened slightly and he leaned in even more, impossibly close.

"Then show me."

The sensation between your legs was undeniable by this point. Minho, being his usual observant self, immediately noticed that you were rubbing your thighs together, trying to generate even the smallest bit of friction to relieve the feeling.

He scoffed, but there was a familiar, gentle shimmer in his eye.

"Or how about I take care of you a different way?"

All you could do was bite your lip and nod. Of course he had noticed. But you were so, so glad he did.

"Put your arms around my neck and jump," Minho commanded softly.

You immediately obliged, and his hands fell to your ass, which he used to hold onto you as you jumped. He supported your weight with ease, and you nearly started drooling at the way his muscles were now completely flexed.

Minho then carried you back to the couch, where he laid you down on your back. Carefully, so as not to crush you underneath him, he propped himself up on the arm of the couch with his left hand behind you. He settled himself on top of you, but not touching you, with either leg on the sides of your hips.

His right hand traced a line down from your cheek, to in between your breasts, all the way down to the top of your skirt, where it finally came to a halt.

You practically went cross-eyed watching his silver necklace dangle in front of you. But the feeling of Minho hooking his index finger underneath the top of your skirt snapped you out of it.

"Tell me," he said quietly, "Did you wear this for me?"

In the span of a few seconds, you had a heated internal battle over whether to tell him the truth or not. Ultimately, you decided he already knew and he just wanted to hear you say it.

"Yes...I did."

The corner of his mouth curled upwards as he looked down at where his finger sat, pulling against the thin fabric of the skirt.

"Silly girl. You don't have to get drunk and dress like a slut just to get my attention."

You held your breath as he slowly slipped the rest of his hand under the fabric.

"I have dreamed of doing this with you...just the way you normally are," Minho continued.

As he spoke, Minho's fingers dipped lower and lower, until the tip of his pointer finger came in contact with the next to nothing panties covering your sopping core. You immediately drew in a breath, so hard you thought you were going to choke on the air.

Minho chuckled, circling over your clit lazily through your panties.

"Is this where you want me?"

Overcome with the heat and desire filling your every limb, you nodded vigorously, reaching one hand behind Minho's neck to hold onto him softly.

"Okay," he whispered, barely audible. "But try to be quiet, hmm?"

Before you could argue, Minho slid his pointer finger under the edge of your panties, instantly parting your lips and making contact with your bare clit.

This light touch alone was enough to send a jolt through you, and Minho couldn't help but laugh slightly at your obvious pleasure.

He then tentatively pushed his pointer finger inside of you, waiting to see how you would react.

You were so wet, it slid in with ease. You shivered at the sensation, and dug your nails into the back of Minho's neck. He hissed at the sensual pain, beginning to move his finger inside of you slowly.

"Mmmm," you whined, bucking your hips up to try and push his finger further inside. "I need more, Minho. Please."

He swiftly leaned down and hushed you with a chaste kiss.

"This needy for me already? How about this, is this enough?"

Minho shoved his middle finger inside of you as well, more forcefully this time, and immediately scissored you open with an ever-increasing speed.

"Yes! Please, don't stop."

If it weren't for how good you felt right now, you would be embarrassed at the way you were speaking. But he was unraveling you by the second, the two fingers inside of you pulling the strings holding you together.

The sounds of your wetness nearly echoed throughout your small living room. You knew you were humiliatingly close to your release, and Minho picked up on that as well.

Without saying anything else, he curled both fingers inside sharply, almost instantaneously finding the spot you needed him most. Stars swirled around in your vision, the feeling of his fingers and the cold metal of his necklace against your sizzling skin the only things keeping you grounded.

Then everything came crashing down in a searing, slick mess.

You threw your other arm around him as you clenched so hard on his fingers, you were worried you'd cut off his circulation. Your arousal dripped down the back of your ass, soaking your panties and Minho's wrist. Both of your thighs were locked up and quivering against Minho's forearm, essentially keeping him trapped there.

But eventually, the stars faded and you could see and feel properly again.

With a smirk, Minho pulled his hand away and wiped it on the back of his pants. As you watched him do so, you happened to notice just how badly he needed you, too. His arousal was painfully apparent through the tight pants he was wearing, and it made you swoon all over again.

"Let's go somewhere we have a little more room, shall we? And I'll take those ruined clothes off of you."

You weakly agreed, your throbbing sex already becoming hot again.

For the third time tonight, Minho leaned over to pick you up. This time though, he simply draped you over his shoulder, knowing that you wouldn't need to be carried for long.

He made his way into your bedroom, lightly pushing the door open with his foot. He then laid you on your bed and looked down at your beautifully disheveled state from where he was standing by your legs.

"So pretty like this," Minho whispered, bending down and kissing your forehead. "But then again, you're always pretty."

Even in your blissful condition, you couldn't help but blush at his words.

"But before we do this...I need you to tell me something. And be honest," Minho began, the atmosphere now turning more serious than playful. "Will you really be mine, (Y/N)? Mine only? Because once I have had you in this way, I won't want to share."

You watched him attentively. His eyebrows were knitted together in genuine concern, and his eyes searched your face for any hint of an answer you might give him. This was where you saw the shy side of him that you initially fell in love with, and you knew that despite how he may show another side of him with you intimately, that he was always being his true self, no matter what. That part of him that craved your validation and your love was what truly guided his actions.

"If this is your way of officially asking me out, Minho, then I accept." You giggled and reached for one of his hands. "I don't want anyone else. I just want you by my side, always, okay?"

Minho shyly giggled in return, squeezing your fingers slightly before letting them go.

"Okay. Then let's get these off you."

He gripped the edge of your skirt and pulled it down, the cool air hitting the dampness of your panties and making you cringe. That didn't last long, however, because Minho then did the same to your panties, practically peeling them off you due to how sticky they were.

You tried not to shy away from his gaze as he placed his hands on your knees and spread you apart to finally look at you fully.

His nostrils flared and his eyes fluttered shut at the perfectly overwhelming sight of you. He chanted a broken mantra in his mind to keep from diving into you right then and there. God, did he want to taste you. But that was for another time. His painful erection needed to be taken care of soon, and he wanted to be inside of you more than anything else right now.

"Is something wrong?" you asked quietly.

Minho snapped out of his thoughts and his hand instantly found yours again.

"No, no. Everything is perfect, you're perfect. I just... needed to compose myself," he said, his eyes darkening in the dim light of your bedroom.

"Oh," you giggled nervously.

Your anticipation only grew when he stepped away from you and yanked his pants and boxers down in one go, erection springing free and pulsing in the cool air.

"Oh," you repeated, this time more nervous than before.

Even from where you were laying on the bed, you could see how angry and red his tip was, a pearlescent bead of precum threatening to drip onto the floor. Minho gripped himself with one hand, pumping slowly to relieve some of the pent up tension he was holding onto.

"Change your mind?"

You shook your head, your "no" clear as day.

"Good. But tell me if you do. Can you lay like you normally would against your pillows?"

You followed his instructions, bringing the rest of your body onto the bed and laying your head against your pillows. Minho followed, crawling over top of you once more, and kneeling between your legs. You wrapped your legs around his hips to provide him better access, and he quickly positioned himself with one hand at his base and the other gripping the headboard of your bed.

"I'm not going to last long," he grunted. "But I need to feel you now."

"It's okay, Minho. I need you, too."

Without another word, Minho brought his tip to rest against your entrance. He tapped it lightly a few times, before sliding between your folds to spread your increasing wetness.

"Oh, fuck, (Y/N). I could lose it right now," he moaned, his head falling backwards.

He was absolutely beautiful. His thighs that you had been so fixated on earlier were now on full display, muscles taught underneath his perfect tan skin. His white tank top now clung to his chest even more thanks to the layer of sweat that sat against it. And God, the way his hair was sticking to his forehead...the way his mouth fell open slightly in a silent moan...his eyes screwed shut in concentration...it was all too much. You needed him just as badly.

With no further hesitation, he pushed into you, bottoming out instantly. His forehead came to rest against yours and you couldn't help but squeal at the immediate pleasure.

"Mmm, that's right," Minho sighed, regaining control of his hips. "I could listen to that sweet sound forever."

He dragged himself out of you slowly, before crashing back into you, his balls slapping distinctly against your ass. Over and over he want, the sounds of his slick skin against yours ricocheting off your bedroom walls. The only thing louder was the lewd series of sounds coming out of your mouth as your pussy clenched around him in a vice grip.

"Ahh," he moaned loudly, hips stuttering slightly. "Careful, pretty girl. If you keep doing that, I might accidentally make you a college drop out."

Your cheeks flushed as he started pounding into you again. He was obviously getting close to his release already and you were getting close to your second one of the night.

"Look at me," Minho said in a low voice. But he didn't give you a chance and instead gripped your chin roughly with one hand. "Come for me again, I won't last much longer."

His words, coupled with his gaze and his rough hand against you were enough to send you into orbit again. The second your walls squeezed around him, Minho withdrew with a curse under his breath. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as you throbbed around the sudden emptiness inside of you. But you were quickly brought back to reality as ropes of Minho's release landed against the inside of your thighs and on top of your pelvis.

Now the only thing you could hear was your heartbeat and your breaths mixed with Minho's. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, and it remained unbroken as Minho gently slid out of you and pulled his boxers and pants on. He walked over to your nightstand and grabbed some of the tissues you kept there. He then came back around to you and wiped you off as best as he could, which earned him a sincere smile from you.

"Thank you, Minho."

"Hmm, for what? I've done so many things tonight."

You punched him weakly as he sat down beside you, and he chuckled.

"Well, I did the best I could. But I think a bath is in order. And also probably new sheets. Aaaand panties, for that matter."

"You're not wrong about the bath, that sounds nice. Run one for me?"

Minho stood up excitedly, happy that he could help you feel good in so many ways tonight.

"Of course. Then, let's get some sleep."

You agreed, fighting a yawn as he walked into the bathroom.

Against your better judgement, you reached into the pocket of your skirt and pulled out your phone. Despite it being the middle of the night, there were numerous unopened messages from your friends.

Based on what you read with a quick glance, several of them were making bets on where Minho was right now. A few of them were concerned though, since they hadn't heard from him or you since the party.

You decided to cheekily help them out.

You took a quick selfie, making sure to accentuate how messy your hair was and how pink your cheeks were. Then you sent it to the group chat with the caption: "Turns out Minho liked my blush a little too much, guys. Don't wait up xoxo."

Your message was instantly read by the whole group, and replies started flooding in faster than you could read them.

"Thank God you guys didn't do that here, smh."

"I guess you guys are a thing now?"

"Jeongin, you owe me $5!!!"

You could hear Minho chuckle from the bathroom as he shut the water off. He then sent a short message of his own, but tagged Felix in it directly.

"You'll still need new clothes, Felix. I hold grudges."

~

[caemidraws]

Hi!! just stumbled upon your blog recently and i am so inspired by your art, especially the dnd works with heavy symbolism :)) I’m curious as to where you draw inspiration for this symbolism. is it a conscious effort or does it just happen naturally as you create compositions? also do you have any recommendations for someone who is interested in studying and implementing more symbolism into their art? i hope you have a lovely day 🌸☀️

Hii, thank you for the ask!!

So...I used to follow the symbolism used in tarots, back when I was drawing only those - then I started going with the flow and eventually...I spend more time trying to fit all the symbols in one picture fdkgdj

(Disclaimer: I'm sure there's much more I could learn on the subject so take what I say with a grain of salt)

Here's a list of things that usually help me:

language of flowers: i bought a book about this but since it's sort of old i find it easier to look for the meaning of flowers online (also i don't know where i put the book but i think it was literally named language of flowers)

tarots: yes i know, it's a classic but you can get some infos on common and uncommon symbols there

art history: we've been loving symbolism since ever so a book on art history can really help for inspiration; most of the symbols i know are from art classes. I specialized in late antiquity art in the mediterranean and it's quite useful for symbols since it shows the passage from pagan practices to christian ones and how the latter took a LOT from the former (help this sentence is probably in messy english sorry)

mythology/religions: i'm more familiar with the mediterrean based ones so i mostly use meanings from there

overcomplicated oc backstory: yeah probably this is the strongest point of it all. My dnd art has been focusing on Mars and I've been cooking him since...2020 i think? The campaign has been going on for uhhh two years? So it's much easier to pick symbols for him...know your blorbo and the symbols will come naturally...

There's probably something else i'm forgetting but i wrote a wall of text already,,, i hope it's helpful, even if it's a little superficial!

[oneallysa]

God, thanks for this meta. But I seem to have not been able to articulate my words properly, for English is not my main language either. Let me explain why these hurt:

I do agree Greg doesn't doubt Sherlock. But for a brief moment, we see Sherlock believe for a moment that he doubted him.

"And the King began to wonder."

Isn't it also an ooft that the only time we see Sherlock really gets pissed off for the first time is when Moriarty is talking about the King doubting Sir-Boasts-a-Lot? Like Moriarty's pissed Sherlock before, but he's only really angry at that scene. Cos he knows Moriarty is gonna use their connection to push for an arrest.

Thinking back, even if Moriarty told Sherlock Lestrade doubted and Moriarty was wrong, wouldn't that hit Sherlock's heart in the butt? Don't you think that might have been the reason Sherlock's red-eyed and almost strangled his cab driver without even knowing his driver is Moriarty himself.

Yes, he's frustrated and angry, but as we know now, he and Mycroft have been planning this for a long time. They know this game can happen. They even prepared for Lazarus.

So what else would make Sherlock pissed off like that?

The other moment in the episode is when Moriarty starts acting like Richard with John, too. When John was busy looking at the newspapers, that's when "Moriarty" comes back, and that's when we see Sherlock get really pissed off.

Because he understands Moriarty is trying to plant doubt in John, too.

But when he sees Greg again, I think he immediately notices from how Greg runs up 221B that Greg doesn't doubt him one bit. That's why he said something like "Give my love to Donovan." as someone Moriarty corrupted. I think that gave him a bit of relief, with the addition of John just accepting a gun to his head without fear.

And with Sherlock's call with John. It's not an act. He was crying because he's reassured that John believes him even when he himself is saying he's a fraud. Yes, John never doubted him for a moment, but Sherlock is oh-so human and doesn't believe himself worthy of anyone's friendship.

Also, to add, when I said Lestrade blamed himself when Sherlock jumped. I didn't mean it that he blames himself for causing him to jump. I mean that he still blamed himself as all friends do when their friend is driven to suicd. Don't you think Lestrade would think: I should have been faster? I should have done something better for the Moriarty case?

I think that's why he's busy clearing his name. I think by the time the two years came, the reason he's kinda moved on... I think you're right. That he was the key to Sherlock's name being cleared. And I think that gave him a bit of solace to move on.

Then the bastard showed up after he moved on. Of course, you'll be like: you bastard, i grieved and moved on for nothing, come here i missed you so much im happy i did that not just in your memory, but for you coming back too, thank god ive been listening to anderson's crazy conspiracy theories so ive been a little hopeful that this might happen thank god thank god thank god

It's painful, not because it's sad. It's painful because it's so beautiful, it hurts.

Heart-Breaking Scenes

You—you mean I’m your… best… friend?

Sherlock & Others’ Words

[willow-wolfman-blog]

Human!Perry AU

When Perry was first assigned to Doof, the scientist was thrilled to finally have his own nemesis (and such a competent one !) and very excited to hear what he had to say about his schemes and plans (very evil of course, what else could they be).

He got quite the surprise though when his freshly appointed OWCA agent did not utter a word after the first thwarting. Or the second. Or the third ...

Nothing, not even a curse ! After their fourth encounter he started to get annoyed, how rude of him to ignore him like that ! As if he were just a job (which, he was, but still) !

On the fifth thwarting, the -inator of the day decided to act up and almost blew up in their faces. Perry, reacting on instinct, tackled Doof on the ground just before the explosion. It was a small explosion and nothing got hurt except his pride, but when he looked up the genius ended up face to face with the agent. He was staring intensely at him and just before Heinz started to ask what he wanted, annoyed by the attention, the shorter man got off him and started to make some hand movements.

... what ? It took him a couple minutes (and a heavy sigh from Perry) to realise that the agent was actually signing ! Blurting the first thing that came to mind, Heinz squeaked :

-" So that's why you never speak to me ! Why didn't you tell me on our first meeting ? You could have wrote it down or something ! So I could know ! Communication is important in every kind of relationship Perry the Platypus ! Am I the only invested in ours ? How are we supposed to have a healthy nemesis relationship if I don't understand you ? You are so frustating ! "

And he just leaves the scene, still grumbling, leaving a very confused agent behind.

The very next day he enrolls in an ASL class thrice a week. The man giving the morning classes is smaller than him with broad shoulders and teal hair, he often have a serious expression with a soft smile and kind eyes. His nametag reads P. FLETCHER.

When he first sees him, Mr Fletcher looks very suspicious, a bit worried even, and asks him (with his phone) what he's doing here.

Doof knows he's one of the older student but still ! That's rude !

- " Not that it's any of your business sir but a work relationship of mine happens to communicate only via sign language, so I obviously had to learn if I want to be able to understand him. I mean I could probably make a translatinator or a mindreading-inator to help us communicate but the fool would most likely destroy it before I could explain it's purpose so ... it just seemed like the better option."

The man looks surprised, and weirdly touched. He stares at him for a minute then apologises for his question. Heinz just shrugs and takes a seat.

After that, every thwarting becomes a little bit better. He undestands the agent better every time and Perry seems more invested. Finally ! The magnificent nemesis relationship he was craving !

He keeps going to the classes and Mr Fletcher ( he looks like he could rock a hat ) keeps giving him this curious and soft look every time he shows up.

( Although he should probably create a De-butterfly-inator, the sensation is starting to get annoying ... or maybe he should just ask him out ? ...)

--------------------------

This is my first fic ever and english is not my first language so please be kind ✌

You can do whatever you want with this, the idea just wouldn't go away so I had to do something about it lmao

My human!Perry is and will always be @chio-chan2artbox 's version and I blame her for my current obsession with that ship (I'm not complaining, just ... it's her fault <3).

[popcornpoppypop]

Snippet Saturday!

Haven't fed you guys in a while, I'm sorry! I've been fighting my muses and attention span. It's a bloody battle. Here's a snippet of my POTS fic that I'm finishing up. I don't have a title yet, I usually come up with those once it's finished. I've stopped doing a lot of X Reader fics, I just find it limits my language style a bit. Does that bother anybody? I still leave the descriptions vague, avoiding physical descriptors if I can to make up for it. Let me know!

“I just need a second.” Olivia started trying to get out of bed. Robby pushed her back down onto the bed.

“Nope. You need to relax for a minute.” He told her.

“Laying down isn’t great for me right now.”

“Okay, sit, but stay off your feet.” He scolded as he got the glucometer prepped.

“Come on. No. I don’t need that.” She crossed her arms.

“Don’t be stubborn. POTS patients can experience hypoglycemia. You know that. Humor me.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Fine.” She growled, flopping her hand out to him.

“Thank you.” He swabbed her finger with alcohol and pricked it, letting the stick fill with blood.

“I haven’t passed out in so long.” Olivia shook her head.

“Stress can make things worse.” Robby pulled his glasses out to read the glucometer.

“I haven’t had any more stress than usual.”  

“You’re a senior resident. Your life is stress.” He snorted. He turned the glucometer to show her. “70. You just earned yourself monitoring and a sandwich.”

“Fuck.” Olivia cursed.

“Hey, just let us take care of you. Any preferences?”

“Same as Earl.”

“No egg salad, got it.” He smiled as he left the room.

[transhuman-priestess]

#breaking bad#i like it but as a mexican it's weird to watch sometimes#plus every time they're in mexico they use the fucking yellow filter ajsjsj#i could elaborate but watching narcos in american shows often feels... cringe#then again i don't like those plots so i don't watch anything related#(brba and bcs being the exception)#ok maybe i will elaborate but not much bc i don't even remember half of brba at this point#i am however rewatching bcs and it didn't necessarily get better when it comes to this#i don't think these shows ever aimed to do a good or a realistic portrait of narcos/cartels/whatever#for starters the cartel is isolated. you don't actually see the repercussions of their violence#beyond the effects they have on each other#because they aren't the point. they feel like villains in an (american...) superhero movie.#they don't have powers but they aren't down to earth people either.#if you compare them to the white characters they barely feel like people#now. you must know that brba was also a very popular show here in méxico. still is i guess.#and i don't feel like there are many serious conversations about these topics here either#partly because... if you don't take us mexicans seriously as people why should we take your media seriously lol#(mexicans and latinos in general) (the reason why i despise watching any narcos stuff made by americans btw)#(i mean. you don't take narcos seriously. people that kill kidnap and genuinely destroy lives. daily).#(what chance do we have to be well represented as regular people. one wonders)#and partly because in this country we are often forced to live under this impression that american media is So Cool#we must admire it! regardless of everything!#(but this is a whole other conversation)#anyway. it is sad to listen to the insider podcasts and see how much effort was put into these shows#and how they insist in wanting to write three dimensional characters. in not wishing to stick to “this character is simply this or that”#but most of the cartel characters are simply evil. they only serve the purpose of being villains.

#(i ran out of tags so another rb sorry) (said the person that wasn’t going to elaborate)#but here's my biggest pet peeve about these shows. and i think this assures you that this was made strictly for an american audience#no matter how well they did in other countries#you can somehow find an extra that actually has a snake tattoo on his face.#you can do all these amazing props. create whole documents that’ll be on screen for 3 seconds bc fans pay too much attention to everything.#but you can't 1) hire people that actually speak spanish or 2) hire a dialect coach at least?#(maybe they did and i don't know)#don't get me wrong. there are Great actors in these shows#but some of those scenes are not understandable at all!!!#english is my second language. i don't always need to have subtitles to understand.#then there are scenes in spanish and i NEED subtitles. to understand my native language. because... well. i wonder if they even bothered#to check#again i don't blame the actors. but i feel it does a disservice to their performance.#if an actor mispronounced something in english would you keep that take in the show?#if the scenes in spanish (or any other language) weren’t that important for you to consider casting actors with that skill from the start#maybe you can avoid making them struggle and therefore reducing the quality of their work and the show.#(not that americans care I guess)

Hey this is all fascinating and great insight. Especially the subtitles bit.

I feel like nobody appreciates how incredibly racist Breaking Bad was, and I think it’s overwhelming popularity is, at least in some small part, responsible for the wave of anti-Latino sentiment that has defined right wing politics for the last decade, in much the same way that The Birth of a Nation helped make the Klan mainstream again in the 20s.

[rendiamberspirit]

Bear with me as I write down an idea I just had. I just read a fic about Tobirama going into the past and trying to kill his younger self instead of Izuna dying.

Be warned

This will be terribly done and just a mush of thoughts as they come to me.

What if it was after Izuna dies? What if it was when Madara offered Hashirama a choice? Kill your brother or yourself.

Hashirama takes off his armor but before he can even raise his blade an older Tobirama appears and takes the blade from his hand before turning on young Tobirama saying it should be you and slitting his throat?

The second his attack hits he's gone. Dust in the wind.

Young Tobirama is desperately holding his throat trying not to die but bleeding out fast.

Hashirama is there instantly healing the deep cut to his throat. The only reason he doesn't bleed out is Hashirama forcing his body to produce blood super fast.

Not fast enough to keep Tobirama from passing out though. Everyone, including the Uchiha are in shock. Like WTF just happened?

Madara's like okay 100% I know both of those chakras belonged to Tobirama. How were there two and why did one kill the other.... And then die.

Hashirama gives absolutely no fucks about the Uchiha any more and neither do the rest of the Senju. They are all taking off back to the compound in a complete guard position around their clan head and heir with little care for their own safety.

The Uchiha go back home. Not really knowing what will happen next. Tobirama is probably dead. Does that mean they have a chance at winning now? Do they want to risk it? Madara had been defeated. Most likely it would happen again.

Madara on the other hand is having a mental crisis. Tobirama, or a version of him at least, cared enough about peace to die for it. But the fact that he was here to make that happen means Hashirama was actually going to kill himself for peace. With both brothers willing to die for each other to end this war what kind of man does that make him?

How can he even look himself in the mirror knowing he didn't do the same. He knew Izuna and Tobirama were fighting to the death unlike him and Hashirama. Yet he had done nothing to stop it. When push came to shove he had allowed Izuna to die.

He should have risked his life to save Izuna's. He should have accepted peace.

He may have risked Izuna's scorn but at least he would have been there to scorn him.

They hear nothing from the Senju for weeks.

They are all convinced it's because Tobirama is dead.

Then they get a hawk with a request to meet for a peace treaty.

There is not a single Uchiha left that is willing to oppose this. They know they lost. They know now that the Senju are crazy and willing to give everything up to have peace. How do you fight that?

They meet the Senju and to their shock Tobirama is there.

But he doesn't talk the entire meeting.

Madara wants to ask why so bad.

They agree to peace terms and slowly start building the village he and Hashirama dreamed of.

Still Tobirama is silent.

No one asks why.

Madara is slowly becoming obsessed with him. Now that he no longer sees Tobirama as the heartless demon who killed his brother he starts to see him as a person. A person he likes.

One hot hot summer day Madara decides to go to the river to cool off and there is Tobirama shirtless.

There is a thick scar across his throat and Madara is once again reminded of why peace happened. How it happened.

Finally Madara can't hold it in. "Why don't you speak?"

Tobirama raises and eyebrow and points to his throat.

"Wait you CAN'T speak? At all?!?!"

Tobirama just looks at him like he's an idiot. Which apparently he is.

Madara spends the next year developing a language for Tobirama. A sign language using only body movements, primarily hands to talk.

The whole clan learns it. And they teach it to the Senju.

The first thing Tobirama signs is:

|--|/ (best I can do to show the sign for I love you with characters)

I didn't even look this over for spelling or grammar errors. Hopefully you can figure it out lol

I may come back and write this. But also this may be all I do.

[shaotie]

Rise of the TMNT ao3 Authors I Like

There are many more Rise authors I think are great but I don't have enough time to include them all - and I read some fanfics so long ago I'd need to read them again as a refresher before adding them here. Please forgive me if I read your fic(s) and missed you, it doesn't in any way mean I didn't enjoy your writing and I hope to update this list at some point in the future 🙂

🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹

Here's an alphabetical list of rottmnt fanfic authors, with a link to their dashboard on ao3, why I like them, and my fav fic of theirs 😃💚🐢

🔹🔹🔹🔹🔹

@abbielauren2024 (Abbie_Lauren2024)

Her writing is dynamic with a refreshing blend of emotions, dialogue, and action. The way she can pack so many emotions into each action-filled chapter is incredible and does a great job of helping you see things from the characters point of view.

I recommend her fanfics if you're looking for stories that will keep you on the edge of your seat and leave you wanting more.

My favorite fic: The Crescent’s Ascent

🔹🔹🔹

@chil-aglia (Chilaglia)

The way she writes her oc characters blends seamlessly in with the Rise world and her stories gets the reader into the heads and hearts of her characters, making it easy to see things from their point of view. Her writing style blends well from scene to scene and there is a nice balance of fluff, angst, and adventure. As an fyi I don't read sexual concent for my own personal reasons (beyond perhaps things that are implied) and some of her stories contain sexual scenes, but she is great at tagging her work so you know what to expect.

I recommend reading her fanfics if you're looking for a unique story that centers on the dynamics of adding a well-written oc character with depth into the turtle family.

My favorite fic: Do I Look Like Him?

🔹🔹🔹

@cursedcatchild (CursedCatChild)

Her straight-forward writing takes us into the heart of her stories in a smooth way. Her easy-to-read writing style balances well with her descriptive language and imagination and includes a lot of family feels in amongst the angst.

I recommend her fanfics if you're looking for something that sticks closely to the main story without breaking off into numerous different tangents, gets into the main part rather quickly, and tickles the imagination, leaving you feeling fully satisfied with those warm and happy fuzzies that puts a smile on your face by the end, regardless of whatever angst the characters go through on their adventure to get there.

My favorite fic: Pretending the Problem Away

*I haven't had a chance to read more yet, because I'm so far behind on other fanfics I already started, but if I find another one I like more I'll update it here

🔹🔹🔹

@eternalglitch (eternalglitch)

I feel that her soul bleeds through the pen with her expert writing style. She seems to have a professional grasp of descriptive language, sentence structure, and grammar, which when combined with her ingenious story-telling abilities and imagination creates the perfect recipe for an angst-filled adventure that draws the reader in.

I recommend her fanfics if you're looking for soul-crushing stories that captivate the mind and leaves you feeling what the characters are feeling as though you were looking at life through their eyes.

My favorite fic: Like Father Like Son

🔹🔹🔹

@magisav (Magisav)

Her writing style is nothing short of poetic. Whether it's describing a peaceful mountain village or the activities of a cruel and heartless villain, the descriptive way she draws the reader in with her word pictures tug on the heartstrings and leaves a lasting impression.

I recommend her fanfics if you're looking to be immersed in a rich story full of life that whisks you away to another world.

My favorite fic: Shadows of the Hamato

🔹🔹🔹

@nerdyboiyeet (NerdyBoiYeet)

Her imaginative stories often take the reader in directions they won't expect, and her descriptive writing style is so immersive it has left me wondering if I should root for the hero or the villain at times. Her stories sometimes delve into darker topics such as suicidal inclinations (she tags her work and includes warnings so you know what to expect) and her writing style has a way of drawing you in to the minds of the characters - making you feel not only their joys, but also their pains.

I recommend her fanfics if you're looking for descriptive stories that draw you in to the characters minds, encourage you to put the pieces together, and take you in unexpected (sometimes thrilling) directions.

My favorite fic: The lights in your eyes fade and life flashes by

🔹🔹🔹

@sugarpasteltmnt (sugarpastels)

Her fluid writing style flows freely from scene to scene and character to character. Emotions bleed into her descriptive writing so well it's hard not to be drawn in to her stories and feel what the characters are feeling - whether it's joy, elation, sadness, fear, fondness, or many other sometimes intense whirlwind of emotions she manages to pack into her books.

I recommend her fanfics if you're looking for an emotional rollercoaster full of family feels with a well-written format that draws the reader in and sometimes puts you in tears while other times leaves you on the edge of your seat begging for more.

My favorite fic: The Neon Void

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🔹My Masterpost

[fallloverfic]

Thoughts on To Be Hero X Episode 15: Affective Disorder

Another interesting episode.

So Ghostblade was Nuonuo's father and the stalker after all! It's not that surprising at this point, but okay!

So at least on Crunchyroll for the Chinese and Japanese dubs, Mr. Shand/Shang's business card says "Shand". Not in subs. Not in superimposed text. It just says "Shand". Is that present on the Bilibili version or is that something added for the Crunchyroll release?

Knowing Wang Yi is a LARPer is kind of tragically funny (how he picked his name, why he chose to become an assassin, why he justifies what he does). Yeah, so much about him makes sense. Even the terrible cheesy music on the promo vid for him. It's just kind of funny remembering all the incredibly tragic backstories people made up for him based on his other promo, and while the videos now make perfect sense in context, what we got is not even remotely what I recall anyone coming up with lol I mean maybe he was experimented on after he started working for Mr. Shand/Shang, I don't know. Or it was just a metaphor for how Wang Yi doesn't understand feelings and can't talk.

It's tragic how Wang Yi's overstimulation was so bad and no one saw it as an issue to maybe get mental help for to the point he was like "yeah I want to kill people for a job".

I feel like the love story should be called "love at first apathy" lol But hey, I'm glad they worked out... to a point, anyway. I have to wonder if the phone thing worked to a degree because Wang Yi couldn't talk? Wang Yi could respond to Zhang Lan at his leisure and they would communicate largely equally, and it's an interesting way to represent a mute person, though I have to wonder why Wang Yi can't use sign language (he had a sort of hand sign with Rock near the end so maybe he knows some, at least, but it's kind of sad Zhang Lan didn't seemingly know any).

Alternatively, clearly they did not know each other at all, if silence was okay only to a point of Zhang Lan's choosing. She clearly did not at all understand Wang Yi's sensory issues. And it's fine if she wants herself and Nuonuo to be closer to their families, but it is truly tragic to see how wide the canyon of miscommunication is between Wang Yi and Zhang Lan, and how Zhang Lan simply cannot support her husband through his disabilities. How they just deeply do not connect as people to the point he couldn't get her want for that connection and she can't understand his need to not have it, and that they can't find a way to meet in the middle. Yes, potentially abandoning his hero persona might help with his muteness, but it wouldn't necessarily help with his sensory issues.

I will say, though, I don't care what age you are, a giant cute bunny plush from a father is something I'd consider cute. And he was trying! She was hanging out with a bunny lady! Sure, Zhang Lan's not going to know that, but still! It's really sad it got rejected :/ I am curious how Wang Yi was supposed to know more about Nuonuo's life if Wang Yi was apparently cut out of it by Zhang Lan.

This frame as Wang Yi's walking away from Nuonuo is really sad, though.

He's hurting so much. He wants to be with Nuonuo so badly.

That being said, I don't blame Nuonuo for being terrified or Luo Li for being protective (or assuming the "unknown" person on the phone was like a guy masturbating or something, which is pretty typical of that sort of thing). It's really sad.

It makes me wonder how much is going to be revealed next episode, and how well(?) Wang Yi's going to bond with his daughter at last. And if he really did murder Little Johnny's father, who's maybe Sheng, and how that might turn out.

More thoughts:

Episode 1, Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4, Episode 5, Episode 6, Episode 7, Episode 8, Episode 9, Episode 10, Episode 11, Episode 12, Episode 13, Episode 14, Episode 15 (You are here)