#and because of that forget something or SOMEONE

[musingsofheaven]

ALL MAKES SENSE

summary: The obsession of other interns had with him never made sense. Not until one night… drinks turned into something more. It’s so good that it makes all those promises to never be one of the girls giggling over Clark Kent feel ridiculous. But now it makes sense. God, now it does.

pairings: intern!clark kent x afab intern!reader

warnings: 3.5k words. mature themes. unprotected p in v. intoxicated sex. (light) praise kink. size difference kink (light). internal ejaculation. clothed sex. cockwarming (implied). biting / marking. read responsibly.

note: i said i wasn’t gonna write bc i have too many wips and drafts piling up… haha god help me. but i literally couldn’t resist him. this was just a quick write. hope u guys enjoy it <3

You don’t get it, at first. The way the other interns practically light up when he walks in. They act like he’s the most handsome inside the building. Sure, maybe he is. But you hate the way they clutch their iced coffees, and giggle when he holds the door open with that shy, lopsided smile. It looks like they’re desperate for it. Or maybe you are just bitter. Or maybe you are trying to find red flags in him. Don’t also forget that when someone calls him “cute” and they think he can’t hear. But you think he does and just acts innocent and oblivious which made you shrug and roll your eyes every time that happens. Ignore, ignore, and ignore before going back to your drink and to scrolling on your phone. Because, yeah, he’s handsome, tall, shoulders a little too broad for the cheap shirts he wears, but he’s also corny as hell. Makes those terrible little jokes that hang in the air like a bad pun smell. And you notice how he glances around like he’s waiting for someone to laugh, and scratches the back of his neck when no one does. But that rarely happens because the girls always laugh at his jokes like they can let it pass since he’s handsome, cute, kind, tall, smart, and- whatever.

You don’t get it, because you’ve seen him spill coffee down the front of his shirt. The cheap button-down soaked with a stain he tries to clean it with crumpled napkins while his cheeks flushed pink like he’s waiting for the floor to swallow him up. You feel a little bad for him though especially when his glasses keep slipping down his nose as he leans over the counter before muttering under his breath, “It’s fine, happens all the time,” and just laughs it off but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You’ve watched him tug the fabric away from his chest before shaking it out a little and his hair falling across his forehead in that messy, boyish way, like he’s fighting a losing battle against the universe before it’s even eight in the morning. Okay, maybe that’s cute.

You don’t get it, until one Friday when everyone goes out for drinks. You don’t want to come but your office friend won’t take no for an answer so you just agreed to go to the cheap dive a block away with sticky floors and neon lights buzzing in the corner. You end up sitting next to him, not on purpose. It’s just the last open seat, and he offers to buy you a drink because he’s nice like that. Of course, it’s hard to deny free drinks especially after when you heard him blurt out something stupid about the weather. You find yourself laughing, actually laughing, and he looks at you like you’ve given him something he’s been waiting for all week.

You don’t get it, until you’re tipsy, and cheeks warm. Until you’re leaning into the space between you and closing the distance. Until he’s looking at you with those soft eyes, lashes so stupidly long, and asking if you want to keep talking somewhere quieter. You say yes, before you can think too hard about it because he managed to work his charms on you. Let's bring you to his place and let him hold the door open for you one more time, let him smile at you like you’re the only person in the world.

You don’t get it, until you do because because now you’re here. You’re on his couch with your knees pulled up and shoes off. You don’t even know where you left them because you’re tipsy enough that your limbs feel warm and slow but not enough to forget the way he looked at you while he keeps talking and listens when you respond to him. His apartment is enough, it looks domestic and it’s very Clark.

He’s sitting across from you, elbow hooked over the back of the couch. His shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms that showing the muscles that had been hiding underneath fabric, glasses still on, and hair messy from running a hand through it too many times tonight. He’s talking about something he couldn’t forget. It’s a story about how he once missed a bus because he stopped to help an elderly woman to find her lost pet. You just stare at him when he’s talking and how he shakes his head before laughing at himself like it’s something to be embarrassed about. Like he overthinks you might think he’s stupid for it. You don’t. It’s kind. It’s heartwarming to hear. You don’t think what he did is stupid.

Eyes remain looking at you while he talks. Not just… performative. He’s really looking, eyes bright, leaning forward when he says your name. Like he can’t help it. Like he needs to see how you’ll react. Like it, he enjoys how it rolls off his tongue. You think about all the times you rolled your eyes when the other interns giggled over him. The times you swore you’d never be that person. Now? You feel it, something small and warm in your chest, and something you don’t want to name yet.

But it blooms in your system as your head falls back against the couch. You laugh and tell him he’s such a dork and stupid. You don’t mean it in an insulting way, but more on like just teasing him and you are glad he just smiles. It’s wide and a little crooked. It’s obvious he’s hiding how your words made him smile like that. Everything feels so good right now, there’s even a music playing from his phone speaker. You wonder what his playlists look like because what’s playing right now is soothing and calm. It makes the room feel better and softer. Your legs and his are almost touching. You don’t even notice how the space feels smaller from the moment you sit there earlier.

And he goes quiet for a moment after talking continuously ever since you entered his place. His eyes try not to stare at you when he also tries to memorize this moment. The way your mouth smirks when you tease him about his jokes. The way you look at him when you feel yourself getting more into the conversation. His mouth opened like he was going to ask you something but he just shut it because nothing came out. So he just swallows and your eyes watch how his Adam’s apple bobs. He doesn’t know it but you also notice how his hands twitch on his knee like he’s thinking about something.

You know what he wants to ask. It’s not hard to guess what it is. You are also not dumb not to see it. It’s already written across his face. He thinks he’s slick when he keeps flickering to look at your lips. Going back to look up at your eyes and back down to your lips. You know he’s the kind of guy who won’t just do something unless you tell him to do it or you will just have to initiate it.

So you initiate it. You lean in and close the distance between the two of you. Your hand latches to his cheek with your thumb caressing the shape and sharpness of his jaw before you kiss him. It’s soft and you can taste the cheap beer you both drank earlier. You could feel the warmth of his mouth and it’s something you’ve been trying to hate and deny since the first moment you saw him smiling and waving his hand at you.

Now you get it. You get it because he’s been gentle from the kiss to this moment. He’s soft and touching you like glass, letting you take what you want while still holding you steady. He keeps you close with those big, and warm hands like he’s scared you’ll slip away if he lets go. His hands are warm and firm, but not hurting you. It’s just enough to feel he’s here.

Your blouse is open and hanging off your shoulders. Bra pushed down so your tits are out as your nipples brush against the fabric as you move. He was so gentle when he opened you up, even though it’s not really completely naked, but that’s all what he could manage with the impatience he had to be inside you. His shirt is open too, same as you with how his buttons are undone, sleeves rolled, and exposing the slope of his chest. You can also see the way his stomach flexes every time you roll your hips down on him. You’re still wearing your skirt. It’s just bunched up around your waist, and his pants are still on, pulled down just enough so he can free his cock, thick and flushed where it’s buried inside your cunt. His size really stretched you open with every slow, needy rock of your hips.

Hands rest on his shoulders while nails dig in the fabric while you find the right pace and angle for the both of you. Each drag of your hips earns a slicked sound from your pussy and you swear he groans every time it gets so loud and it makes him drag you down deeper to take the whole of him. There’s the friction sending electricity through your every time the tip of his cock presses and kissing against the spot inside you that makes your lips taste like metal from biting it just to keep yourself from being so loud.

“Fuck- baby-” he breathes out. His voice is low and desperate. It sounds so fucking pretty falling from his lips. You love the way he sounds. The way it stutters and the way he’s vocal about it. His hands grip your hips, not forcing you, but guiding you. Soft thumbs pressing bruises into your skin as he helps you lift up and sink back down. Helps you ride him like you’ve both been craving this since the first moment you kissed. He helps you because that’s what he always does. Be there for people and be soft to them. The difference is that what he’s doing right now is not because of some service or act of kindness, he’s doing it because he wants you to enjoy it.

Chest brushes against his with sweat sticking to skin both of your skins and you can feel the way his breath stutters when your nipples graze across his when you lean in closer. Forehead pressing to his, and noses bumping before your lips brush against just but not quite kissing. “Clark-” you whisper just to see how he reacts. It’s so hot when he moans after you say his name. It’s soft and broken that makes your pussy clench around him and makes him jerk up into you without meaning to. His cock is twitching inside your cunt as he tries to hold back.

“God, you feel- you feel so good,” he pants, eyes fluttering shut, lashes dark and damp against his cheeks. “So fucking tight around me, goddamn-” Hips just rocking and bouncing down harder when you hear his words, it’s like a compliment hearing that so you grind against him. Your movements made his mouth fall open before a ragged sound snatched out of his throat. His head tips back against the backrest of the couch and the sight below you is so hot. Him being pussy whipped, hands on your sides, and the way his cock disappears when you sink your body into him.

Your hands slide up into his hair to tug lightly, and his eyes snap open. It’s glassy and blown wide, looking up at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. His hands flex on your hips, and you feel it when he bucks up into you, the angle hitting that spot that makes you gasp, makes your thighs tremble around him. “Please- fuck, please, baby,” he mumbles, not even sure what he’s asking for, but you understand. You feel it too. The desperation. The heat builds between your bodies. The wet slap of your pussy taking him over and over as you ride him slow and deep. Letting him fill you up. Letting him feel how warm and wet you are around his cock.

And you don’t want to come yet. There’s something in you that doesn't want this to stop. Something that wants to stay here at this moment. You don’t know if that’s the sex making you feel that way but you think he wants that too. Especially with the way he twitches when your pussy clenches around you. The way he moans when you wrap your hands around his hair to tug it. How he gets closer to make sure your body pressed so close when the sweat drips down to your chest. Breath mingling as you fuck yourself down on him, slow and steady, over and over. You want to remember how it feels when his hands slide up your back. How does it feel when he’s holding you tighter. When he whimpers against your mouth before kissing you like he can’t help it. How his tongue slides against yours. How he swallows your moans as you move together.

Now you get it. Now you get why everyone looks at him like that. Because right now you’re looking at him like this. Like you are asking him why you don’t want to stop. But you already know the answer. You don’t want to. Not when it feels so good. Not when he’s hitting it so deep. Not when it’s so thick inside your pussy. It drags against your walls with every slow, desperate grind of your hips, and every bounce that has your thighs shaking. Your cunt keeps sucking him back in, wet and hot with slick dripping down onto his pelvis where your bodies meet.

He’s still wearing his glasses. God, he’s still wearing his fucking glasses, and you don’t know why it makes you moan, but it does. Something about how they’re slightly crooked on his nose, how they fog up when his breath stutters, how they press cold against your neck when he leans forward and kisses you there, mouth hot and open, tongue dragging over your skin before he bites down softly. “Clark,” you gasp. Nails raking down his chest, over the open edges of his shirt, as you try to ground yourself, try to hold on when his hips jerk up into you. It hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back, makes your cunt clench around him, and makes him let out a low, broken groan against your throat.

“Fuck, you feel- you feel so good, can’t- can’t believe how good you feel,” he babbles. His voice was wrecked. Kissing up your neck, sucking a mark just under your jaw before pulling back to look at you. His eyes are glassy behind those fogged lenses, lips pink and swollen. You whimper while your hips stutter. Your pussy tightens around him when you see how he looks at you, like he’s falling apart, like you’re the only thing keeping him together. “Take them off,” you whisper. Fingers sliding up, hooking around the arms of his glasses, pushing them off his face as he blinks up at you. His pupils are blown so wide there’s barely any blue left.

You toss them to the side, somewhere on the couch, and cradle his face in your hands. Your thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “There,” you breathe, “wanted to see you.” He moans a soft, choked sound. Hands gripping your hips tighter, and guiding you down onto his cock. Helping you grind deeper, slower, rolling his hips up to meet you. The wet sounds of your pussy swallowing him fill the room, until the head of his cock drags right against your cervix, over and over, until you can’t hold back the sounds spilling from your mouth.

You’re so close you almost can taste it. Heat feels so tight in your belly. Legs trembling and shiver shooting down your spine with every thrust, every grind, every time his cock hits that spot that makes your vision blur. That makes your body shake above him. Your thighs are burning. Your breath is coming out in broken moans. Your forehead pressed to his, sweat dripping down your temple as you keep moving, chasing the edge, chasing that high, and wanting to come so badly it hurts.

“Please- fuck, please,” he gasps, and you don’t even know what he’s begging for, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re begging too, whimpering against his lips, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop-” And he won’t. He won’t stop because he lets you control everything tonight. He won’t let you fall off his lap. He won’t let you slip away. He just won’t, not when your pussy is tighter than anyone he fucked before, not when your pussy is squeezing and sucking him so tight. He’s going crazy under you and his hips are thrusting up into you. His hands pull you more down before guiding you up.

You’re right there, right on the edge. Your teeth can feel your orgasm already high and it feels like it’s going to break you both. Body shaking, nails scratching his visible skin while your pussy gushes down in his cock. Doesn’t care even if both of you are soaking the fabric of your skirt and his pants which are pulled down to around his thighs. It makes everything so messy. Skin slapping and wetness fill the room. So fucking perfect.

Now you get it. You get it when it happens- when it finally happens- when the pressure building between your hips snaps, when the pleasure spills over, hot and blinding. Tearing a sob from your throat as your cunt clenches down around his cock, so tight and wet that his breath catches, that his eyes roll back as he moans your name like a prayer. You get it when you see the way he looks at you while you fall apart, the way his hands grip your hips so hard it borders on bruising. He’s pulling you down onto him, grinding you against him as he fucks up into you, chasing your high, helping you ride it out, helping you take everything you need.

“Fuck, Clark- shit, I’m coming-” you gasp, your head falling back, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto, finding the fabric of his open shirt, finding the soft hair on his chest, clutching it as your body shudders, as your thighs clamp around his waist, as your pussy milks his cock in desperate, pulsing waves. “God- baby, I-” he stutters, his hips jerking up, his eyes fluttering shut, his jaw going slack as he feels you coming around him, as he feels how wet you are, how warm you are, how perfect you are like this, taking him, taking all of him.

“Want you to come,” you whimper, leaning forward, pressing your forehead to his, your lips brushing against his as you breathe him in, as you move your hips in slow, rolling circles that make your overstimulated pussy spasm around him, that make him choke on a groan. “Want you to come inside me, please-” That’s what breaks him.

Mouth finds its way to yours and he starts swallowing the sounds you are making. Kissing you hard that it became messy with both of your teeth grinding together and tongues sliding while his hips stutter because his cock twitches inside your wet cunt. And then he spills and cum inside of you with a guttural and desperate moan that you feel vibrates against your lips.

You love the feeling of the warm cum that released and flooded deep inside your pussy and you absolutely love that he keeps thrusting to stuff it more inside. He’s fucking you through it. He chases every wave of pressure and drags out your orgasm until it’s almost too much. Until you’re shaking in his lap, and whimpering into his mouth with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how good it feels.

You’re so full and pussy is so wet because of his cum leaking out around his cock. It drips down to his pelvis and stomach which makes everything so slick and messy. It feels sticky and the sight is obscene. The room is filled with mixed sounds from both of your breaths, the wet and slick slide of your bodies, and the soft and broken whimpers the two of you let out when you slowly come down from the high.

And you just stay in the same place with your forehead resting against his and your lips brushing against his at the same time. Chests heaving when you try to catch your breath and you feel the aftershocks from the orgasm still pulsing through your pussy. You feel it still fluttering and clenching around his softening cock inside you.

Now you get it. You get why he’s worth the giggles, the stares, the soft smiles in hallways, the stupid little crushes. Because he’s gentle. Because he’s kind. Because he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world, even now, when you’re messy and fucked-out in his lap, your skirt bunched around your waist, his cum dripping out of your cunt, your hair sticking to your sweaty skin, your mouth swollen from kissing him too hard.

You get it.

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⠀⠀⠀twenty-twenty-five © addie / musingsofheaven.

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[luna-azzurra]

Things Anxious Characters Do...

›› laugh at things that aren’t funny, like, panic-laugh. glitchy. haunted.

›› say “it’s okay” before anyone else even reacts

›› rehearse conversations in their head and still say the wrong thing

›› bite their lip, nails, sleeve... anything to keep their mouth busy so their brain doesn’t leak out

›› text “no worries!” while their chest feels like a shaken soda can

›› pace like they’re trying to outrun their own thoughts

›› over-explain something no one asked about, then spiral about it for three days

›› apologize for everything. even the air, even existing near someone too hard.

›› freeze up when asked a simple question, like their brain just blue-screened

›› flinch when someone says their name too suddenly

›› try to “act normal” and end up sounding like an alien in a human suit

›› get obsessed with one tiny mistake like it’s a life sentence ›› change their mind five times in one sentence

›› say “I’m just tired” like it’s a blanket statement for “my soul is vibrating”

›› plan 50 different outcomes and still feel unprepared

›› use humor like a paper shield, light jokes with trembling hands behind them

›› forget how to breathe like a person whenever someone says “can I talk to you?”

›› overcompensate with kindness. over-apologize. overthink. over-everything.

›› ask “are you mad at me?” even when everything is fine, because what if...

[m3mento-m0rii]

An Act of Self-Sacrifice—

2.7k words; Saja Boys x Self-Sacrificial! Reader (separate) Masterlist | Requests Open!

How do the Saja Boys handle you sacrificing yourself for them instead? Or trying to, anyway.

A/N: Requested by hibiscus! I had a lot of fun writing this, and it was good to try and get a feel for writing the Sajas in my interpretations. I hope you like!

» Jinu—

Honestly, Jinu had come to terms with this. He started this all, and he would be the one to end it. He could appreciate the poetic justice of it.

He couldn’t just stand by and watch Rumi get absorbed by Gwi-Ma’s fire. It . . . wasn’t right. Her blade didn’t stand a chance under the severity of a millenniums old monarch. Maybe if she had Zoey and Mira at her side, but they were preoccupied, swarmed with lesser demons.

 He had been bolted in place up until that point. Stuck to the stage, stuck watching everyone fight, watching Gwi-Ma wreak havoc, watching you try to call for him, but . . . 

You know, he didn’t even feel anything as stepped in front of her. It didn’t even hurt as he smiled; slowly whittling away at his edges. He couldn’t even hear anything, it was silent.

That was good. The voices were silent. He couldn’t hear his mother’s scream, his sister’s cries. He didn’t feel the weight of an ocean of guilt. Finally. Finally, he did something unselfish. Finally, redemption.

His eyes slowly closed, and he was content.

Until you came and rammed him into Rumi.

“Are you CRAZY, (Y/N)?!” Jinu heard Rumi scream, and Jinu could only blink, disoriented. Surely, you didn’t just—?

“You deserve more than this,” you had said, refusing to stumble in the face of the heat. It was hot air, the driest of such. Like the heat you’d feel in the oven room of a steel factory. You were human, not even a hunter, how were you just-?!

Jinu grunted as he sat up, his hands clenching. Even in his weakened state, his abilities crackled and fussed, threatening to burst out at his crumbling seams. 

He refused this outcome. Rejected it. That peace from before had hardened into fury. What did you think you were doing, sacrificing yourself for someone as low as him?

Not you. Never you.

Rumi seemed to have the same sort of idea, readying her blade again. With that and the remnant of Jinu’s magic, Jinu’s strength, they force Gwi-Ma back past you again. He lent that angry essence to Rumi’s sword, watching for a moment as she kept attacking Gwi-Ma while he was distracted. The king physically recoiled, and he didn’t even have a body.

He couldn’t focus on that, though.

Instead, he was catching you, his arms wrapping around you gently before you could crumble to the ground.

“(Y/N)??” He gingerly tilted your head up, golden eyes searching your face for any signs of exhaustion, his free hand roaming your back for some sign that you could die.

You laughed.

How could you laugh? The audacity.

“It’s okay, Jinu,” you grinned, too weak to really move. But you were smiling, and that was enough.

He only huffed, cradling you closer to his chest. Tightly. Jinu held you like a lifeline, your presence and breathing serving to calm his heart rate.

Was self-sacrifice and act of selfishness or unselfishness? It felt selfish to him, because he’d rather die than lose you.

“Don’t you dare ever do that again.”

» Abby—

It was a nice day out. Lovely, even. You had asked him if he wanted to go to the store with you. Abby didn’t even need to think about it.

Of course, he carried the groceries for you despite your insistence on letting you help. What good is strength if he didn’t use it? You’re both walking down the street, the sun is shining, and Abby felt . . . normal for once.

It was a welcome change of pace.

Just being with you, it felt like more than he deserved. You had a certain energy that brought him respite in the world he lived in. No fighting, no hellscape, no ancient demon king. He could forget about life for a while.

. . .

Well.

Maybe he spoke too soon.

He cursed himself for jinxing it, watching as a rift formed in a nearby alley wall. Abby, at that point in his life, would have left it. They were on the same team, after all. Gwi-Ma had likely sent them out to do a little harvesting.

He would have left it alone, but he was with you.

And you were a human. A good one. One of the best, in his humble opinion. The moment he thought of that he could feel the gazes of that horde simultaneously rotate to settle on you.

Because of course they’d want to claim that kind of person. Abby wouldn’t let that happen. Not on anything, not even for Gwi-Ma.

You stared at him surprisedly as he stopped walking beside you, your gaze turning to him as you analyzed his stance. Rigid, firm. Any other moment, he’d be making himself as unthreatening as possible, but . . . his gaze never left that alley as he set the groceries down.

Finally, you noticed, too.

Abby looked both ways before dipping into that side street, claws ripping into the first demon that had the mettle to make a step at you. They were surprised at first, but quickly, that fight ensued.

Really? Light work for Abby. He’s fought way worse. To be fair, they were low-ranking demons, and the main problem was trying to keep track of them all. The demons turning to dust and being sent back to where they came lowered visibility, and the amount of them didn’t help either.

You were managing as best as you could, too, dodging the smokiness as demons running about and trying to keep Abby in your line of sight

In the midst of a swing, he noticed a demon getting closer to you than he’d liked; no biggie. He redirected the momentum and suddenly,

You were spinning. Your face pressed into his shoulder and a bag in your hand, it was almost slow motion as Abby pulled you away from the demon. You met the eyes of the demon he was supposed to have hit, but he couldn’t attack or defend if he was holding you.

Abby could have taken that scratch to the side without a flinch.

You refused to.

“Huh—?!” Abby found himself knocked into a few others in the group, briefly horrified as you the demon in question scraped your arm instead. You didn’t falter, clocking the demon in the face with the ice cream bag.

Everything was quiet for a moment.

Abby was stunned, the demon you hit blinked. Because it didn’t even hurt, but . . . really?? Ice cream??

Abby snapped out of it, quickly finishing off that little horde and returning to you. He took your arm gently, observing the damage. All of it just barely amounted to surface level, but that didn’t make him feel less guilty.

Have you seen him?? Abby?? That scratch would have been nothing. He was just muscle, it wouldn’t have phased him. Don’t you know he’s a demon? He’s more resilient than you (physically, anyway). And now his little thing, his precious you was marked up because of him :(.

“You’re nuts,” he muttered, his thumb brushing the blood away a little. You only smiled.

“You’re unharmed! I win,” he couldn’t be mad at that face of yours. If he wasn’t sulking, he’d have thought it was cute. He still thought it was cute, actually; maybe he was vaguely flattered.

Instead, he sighed, taking your hand softly and picking your groceries up with the free one. 

What was he going to do with you?

» Mystery—

Mystery usually doesn’t have to scrap. The energy he gives off is enough to give someone second thoughts, and if not, a bark would do the trick.

That doesn’t really mean anything when it comes to a literal battle, though.

Namsan Tower was packed, and after Your Idol was finished, the fight was on. He had watched Huntrix reunite with the others, watched as they handled the first wave of Gwi-Ma’s army. Army is too light a term; they were hardly trained.

While the king had quantity, there wasn’t much quality when your pick was hundreds of generations of the world's lousiest sinners. They knew nothing but hunger (their greed sickened him) and a desire to please Gwi-Ma in hopes of a lesser sentence, and honestly, they got in each other's way.

Even so, they had to fight.

After ensuring you were safe (relatively) in the audience, Mystery found himself in the midst of it with Zoey—he cringed from a punch she threw and ducked under an attack from her blades. Demons crept around them, making it harder to focus. If only they gave him space to work, they’d have plenty of time to impress their king with other means.

Their king, not his.

That’s a very important thing to note.

He hissed as he had to kick one of those faceless dolls away, complicating his fight with the hunter. More and more swarmed around them, making it near impossible to keep track of both the uncalculated swipes of his allies and the trajectory of Zoey’s daggers.

When one whizzed by his ear a little too closely, Mystery snapped and started attacking the environment, too. Didn’t they understand they were being counterintuitive? They weren’t helping at all—!

There was too much to keep an eye on.

A demon to his right, horde to his left, a stack of them towering above their floor, toppling unstably in all directions, he couldn’t help but feel exasperated.

Something was off, though. He just felt it. And he knew he was right when he saw a familiar figure in his peripherals, trying to block an assault way too close to his frame.

You didn’t even have time to register the warping, disoriented as the scenery changed before you. Eyes fluttering to try and figure out what happened, your gaze landing on Mystery himself as he kept you still.

He just stared at you. He’d always keep an eye for you.

“. . . Stay put. It’s okay.”

You almost answered, but hesitated at his serious demeanor. He didn’t want you in the fray, especially trying to sacrifice yourself for him. You were human, too fragile for a fight like that, especially to be a meat shield.

He eyed you a bit more before disappearing back into the sea of mannequins, his presence lingering as a buzz in the air. Honestly, he had it handled. But maybe he went into the fight again with slightly warmer cheeks and a little fizziness in his stomach.

It’s the thought that counts.

» Romance—

The Saja Boys and Huntrix had gotten into another altercation. Of course. They had tried to dip, but it didn’t go as planned. 

It was no problem, though . . . three against six, the odds seemed in their favor. Romance grinned as he avoided Mira’s spear, tossing a wink at the woman as he pivoted. “If this is the way you flirt, you must be enamored with me.”

Mira groaned, completely tired of the corny lines. “It’s the way I hurt, actually. Stay still so you can try a piece.”

“Maybe I’m into that—” He laughed, dodging Baby as he ditched his fight with Zoey. Romance switched to help Mystery, keeping watch of Mira over his back. Though, she seemed distracted enough with Abby, now.

Speaking of everyone, he had lost sight of Jinu and Rumi. Huh.

But not of you; switching between targets as needed. Something genuine spread in his chest at how focused you seemed, his lips quirking upwards as you pulled Mystery out of the way.

You were a lovely thing, weren’t you? Just a human who got mixed up with the wrong crowd. A dog in a family of cats, but they accepted you. You might’ve been their best addition.

Except, why were you hurtling towards him like that—?

Romance finally snapped out of it with a yelp when you shoulder checked him, Mira’s spear catching your arm. The gash was kind of icky, but you ignored it in favor of fighting the weapon jabbing at you. Romance couldn’t even hear you speaking to her as he zoned in on the slowly oozing knick, is heart dropping.

By the time the fight was over, you had already forgotten about it. It hardly crossed your mind, it wasn’t that bad. 

Still, as the boys fled, he forced a grin for you and a half-hearted, “my savior.”

The entire way back to their dorms was filled with groans and grimaces, most of the boys heading off to their rooms to recover. Romance, however, tentatively took you by the arm, guiding you to the couch.

He summoned a first-aid kit from thin air, and you deadpanned at the sight. “It’s hardly a knick, Romance.”

“I know.”

“This is a non-problem.”

Romance didn’t answer that one, tending to the wound with the most delicate care and steadiest hands. Because it meant something. The fact that you did that meant something.

You couldn’t remember the last time someone cared for you like that. Neither could he.

“. . . Why?”

Curious eyes looked up to him as he finished bandaging the wound, and it only made his stomach turn more. How dare you.

“. . . I know how much you care about your appearance?” You offered with a smile, trying to reassure him that it was okay. He was okay, and you were because of that.

Romance only rolled his eyes, trying to hide the way his lips curled up again. He felt guilty—his own distraction had caused you to get hurt. From that point on, he promised himself that he’d be more careful when fighting around you.

» Baby—

Baby is not weak. Despite his “looks,” he was pretty strong.

People often forget that, just because of the part he played. He was a demon first and foremost, or, at the very least, the shell of a grown adult man. He was older than half their trackable lineages. He’d filed taxes before. (Probably.) He could drive!

He mainly had this problem with fans. He couldn’t exactly check them, though; it was his role in the group, after all. The maknae. Baby had to find joy in knowing that they were completely wrong about him. Only the other Sajas would know what a menace he could be.

However, he’d never had this problem with you.

He doesn’t even open up to you. He wouldn’t even know what that’d look like—hell, he struggles to process his own emotions at times, let alone express them. Not yet, but you make him feel like he can act himself. React the way he wants to, not the way he’s expected to.

Baby viewed you as equals. There was a silent understanding between the two of you.

So why the FUCK did you take one of Zoey’s daggers for him??

Are you stupid?

Baby was dumbstruck, and highkey offended.

For the rest of the fight with Huntrix, he was more aggressive. He retaliated with harsh movements that left their opponents surprised; not used to the lack of his typically more troublesome nature. And the entire time returning to the dorms, he had given you the cold shoulder. It was best not to push it then, you knew how he was.

You eyed him from the kitchen table, the usual companionship you shared a bit strained, and you recognized that. He had helped patch you up, but he was quiet the entire time.

“Are you upset with me?” You finally asked, making him finally look at you from over his phone. He paused his ramen-eating with a frown.

“I had it sorted.”

Your snacking halted and you rolled up the bag of chips you were eating from. Your elbows on the table, and you forced yourself not to grimace at the stress on your now bandaged shoulder.

“It’s not about having it sorted or not. It’s about the fact that you didn’t have to.”

He might’ve softened for just a moment. Reluctantly understanding that it wasn’t because you thought he couldn’t take care of himself, but just because you were there to help him. He was a demon, though, and you were a human. It should be the other way around.

Baby scoffed, his expression deepening as he grumbled into his noodles. “Never do that again.”

You only brightened, knowing he’d likely have done the same for you.

People thought HE was the menace.

Good grief.

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

A/N: aaaa I hope you enjoyed these, hibiscus! I was going to wait until tomorrow to post this . . . but I couldn't wait, I'm too impatient. Just like Rumi fr . . . Byoooo <33

—Captain Morii 🌤️

Morii's Business Class: @abby-himbo-truther

[redrage71890]

Backing Voice (Yan! KPDH x Fem! MC) Part 4

Synopsis: Sorting out ways to help Rumi's voice one day leads to the discovery of an emerging demon boy band. Their song hypnotic as they hastily gain fans all around. HUNTR/X being less than happy with the results.

Genres: Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Yandere

CW: None

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Word Count: 3.6k A/N: Hi I took a break and might have forgotten a few plot points whilst forgetting to write them down before hand :D

————————————————————

"Girls! *huff* I'm sorry I'm late! I got caught up with someone..."

Bursting through the door of the empty restaurant (Y/N) apologises first without thinking. Seeing the three girls at a small table as they long forget their food.

Zoey and Mira gleams seeing the (f/c)nette, though Rumi looks more surprised. "(Y/N)! You made it." Zoey waves at her as the manager awkwardly waves back, taking a seat in between Mira and Rumi.

"Again, I'm sorry..."

"Hey. Its alright. We haven't really started eating anyway."

"No. Its not only that. What happened during rehearsals, I didn't mean to sound mean o-or dismissive of you girls. Its just stress for me. But! I p-promise I'll be better and I'll be there to back you girls up no matter what."

(Y/N) puts on a confident smile for the girls, a fluttering sensation flowing through their hearts at the rare sight. Zoey breaks the silence by giggling at the feeling in her chest. (Y/N) not particular sure why the black-nette started giggling but joined her nonetheless.

"But. Back to before." Cutting off their giggles with a more serious expression. "I'll be honest here, its going to be hard to reschedule the live show because of the sudden cancellation."

"We got that impression from Bobby earlier..." Mira states.

"I...I'm sorry guys. My voice, its in trouble."

'Trouble? That's new.'

"Wait, in trouble? Then why did you push up the 'Golden' release?"

"Because we're so close, and its so important." Rumi states. But her tone and words made (Y/N) curiously think more.

'So close?'

"Okay, how do we handle this? What do we tell the fans? Maybe we should call Celine?"

"I don't advice that. We know what she'd say."

"Oh, right."

"We are hunters. Voices strong. Your faults and fears must never be seen."

Zoey and Mira reciting what their predecessor echoed at them. (Y/N) furrowed her brows at the phrase.

Her and her mother were never one to follow that motto. Mother in particular despising it. It being forced upon her as she tried to hide all her faults to the point of breakdowns and frustration. It always made her searing patterns appear.

"Rumi, why don't we take a break? We'll skip the Idol Awards this year and-"

"No. No way. Its our most important show. Its when we strengthen the honmoon for the entire year. We can't skip it. We just can't. Not when I'm so close."

‘Close to what? You’re not telling us something Rumi. Though….isn’t that ironic…’

What’s (Y/N) to say about secrets when she herself hasn’t been completely honest. But when has anyone ever been completely transparent. It’s not like every secret needs to be spilled just because someone wants to know. We have a right to keep things to ourselves.

Though in this case, Rumi’s secret might become a massive headache for them.

”Hey, we’ll get through this. We can get through anything. Together.” Zoey’s encouragement bringing on a slightly more relaxed expression on Rumi.

”Okay. We have two weeks to fix Rumi’s voice. Any ideas?”

”I do have one idea.”

”Just one?”

“Shoot, Zoey.”

”Okay, actually, 57, but let’s start with my favourite. Don’t worry. It’s totally legit.”

Shrugging her shoulders and leaning on her elbow against the table, (Y/N) watches the girls listen to Zoey explaining some of her ideas.

She won’t outright say it in the moment, but some of these ideas boarded along the lines of obvious scams and false promises. As much as Zoey at times annoyed (Y/N), she didn’t have the heart to tell her the likely truths.

“(Y/N), why aren’t you eating? We ordered plenty for you.” Zoey questions their manager. “O-Oh, right. Sorry I’ve been a bit lost in thought recently.” Brushing off their stares she picks up her utensils and began digging into her food.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Mira asks with a more worried frown. Zoey and Rumi holding similar expressions with more concern.

Seeing as she can’t get herself out of this conversation, she just sighed and stopped eating. “(Sigh) I’m not getting away from this, am I?” Averting her gaze up to meet the three sets of eyes on her. “Okay then. I….had another….one of my episodes. Right when Rumi left rehearsals...”

Uttering those words, the hunters all clung to her body in a tight yet comforting hug. It’s not been the first time this happened. Well. More like the third time this happened.

The first time was after their debut, a quite public breakdown occurred back stage. It was embarrassing to be seen by the staff. Her mother was the one that told the girls of her anxiety attacks.

The second was right before the tour started. The sheer amount of organising, meetings and calls she did was breaking her mind out of pure exhaustion. The girls found her hyperventilating in the bathroom on the dirty tiles with her attempted eyeliner dripping down her face.

And now, marks the third time.

Well, they technically weren’t there for this one.

A private meltdown with no one to hear or comfort her.

"Never apologise for experiencing that. We should be sorry for not being there for you." Mira gently pats her (f/c) hair.

"Please don't be afraid to come for us! We will always be there for you!" Zoey cries out clinging to her back.

"Yes, (Y/N). Let us know if anything troubles you. We'll do anything to help in anyway!" Rumi adds hugging her side.

The three hunters felt guilty for there actions. Not being there for (Y/N) hurt them. They hate seeing her so stressed. The girls really wish their lovely manager would confined in them more.

Unfortunately though, their said manager just really needed a breath of fresh air that's currently being crushed out of her lungs.

"G-Guys....y-you can let go n-now..."

————————————————————

After a big hugging session putting the four of them to sleep, the girls dressed in their best disguises and went out in the streets of Seoul. (Y/N) was glad she managed to sleep for a whole night for once. But she still wished she slept in her own bed and not on the couch with the girls.

Donning her classic baggy attire but with a cap obscuring her eyes. Ignoring the face mask as she got the feeling it wasn't necessary. Though she also remembered Jinu and his buddies putting on a show today. Just before leaving she stuffed the flyer in her pockets as a reminder.

But as of now, she follows the girls to make sure this guy Zoey recommends doesn't do anything.

Though hearing what Zoey is saying makes her want to divert them away as fast as possible.

"He's got this special tonic. Apparently, it can heal anything from sore throats to relationship problems."

'Oh you don't say!'

"Ssh! Quietly, Zoey."

"Why are there so many people today?"

(Y/N) noted how populated the area is at the moment. Of course the girls are worried about being seen and finding their disguises online. Our girl especially would rather not be seen on any post.

"Down that alleyway."

Diverging their path from the busy streets, they stood at the foot of an old hanok building refurnished to a clinic with an LED sign with the name 'Han 의원'.

'Yeah... this seems totally legit...'

"Yep, about as legit as I expected."

"Glad to know I'm not the only one thinking that." Mira smiles her way unknowingly.

"Earth and herby. Smells legit to me."

"Yay! That's the spirit! 가자 가자 가자!"

"Hurry, before someone sees us."

Entering the building the girls are greeted with the appearance of a usual doctors front desk/office. Though catching the eyes of our manager and Rumi was a wall lined with numerous signed framed pictures of the doctor and what appears to be celebrities. Seemingly other idols.

Though one picture caught her eye.

A group of four boys giving each other a back hug whilst leaning on the others shoulders, with the doctor strangely at one side gesturing to them. Those faces were oddly familiar.

Dragging her out of her head was the sound of the doctor entering. Standing up to bow and greet the doctor as he urges them to sit.

"You need no introduction. So, a problem with your voice."

"Yes. So we need one of your awesome tonics. Something that will work super fast."

"Okay, let me see."

(Y/N) automatically knew they guy ain't legit. Not bothering to do a proper examination of her throat and instead just staring at her with bulged out eyes.

"I see. I see.... No. Actually, I don't see. Very strange. You have lots of walls up."

"Whoa! He's so good, right?"

"I dunno about that Zoey..." Muttering to herself while messaging her temples.

Rumi scoffs at the comment but Mira quickly affirms that she indeed, does. Denial is not exactly on her side today.

"I'm just trying to stay focused."

"Focus is good, but focusing on one part leads to ignoring other parts, making you separated, isolated."

Her brows raised at the observation. Her own experience agrees with the statement. Mira and Zoey quickly agreeing with the doctor and stating their own views of the sometimes emotionally closed off workaholic known as Rumi. Their leader.

'This does not feel like a doctors appointment. If anything, its just a guy stating out obvious traits and iss-'

"Quiet, yet vocal. A mind racing with thoughts unheard. Silenced by those around, only eager for something else."

She didn't realise the doctor was pointedly staring at her.

"W-What?"

"Yeah, what are saying to our dear manager!" Zoey exclaims clinging onto her side.

"Z-Zoey. Its fine. P-Please let go." She asks of the eager girl, the said giving her some sparkly puppy eyes before letting go.

"How does this help me get my voice back?"

"As I said, to treat the part, we must understand the whole."

"(Groan) That's great, but I thought we were here just for your tonics."

"Just give us the voice juice."

————————————————————

Whilst the girls were waiting for the tonics, (Y/N) decided to wait outside for them. She trusts them enough to get the tonics, as much as she isn't fond of them.

That picture on the wall seemed oddly familiar.

'Where have I seen those boys from...'

With her time as a manager for HUNTR/X, she's seen and met a fair share of trainees and idols. Perhaps that is why they seemed familiar. But even then, nothing noteworthy comes up when she saw their faces. Man she wishes she could remember where she saw these guys.

Shaking her head to try and ward off these strangely curious thoughts.

'This shouldn't be occupying my brain as much as it should. I should be thinking about another song to sing for tomorrow night, I have another pacifying to d-'

"Oof!"

"Sorry, are you alright?"

So caught up in her mind that she ended up wandering out of the alleyway. Clashing bodies with a strong built guy and falling to her knees by accident.

"Y-Yeah, I'm f-fin- Oh. You're the guys I saw with Jinu last night." Meeting the familiar short pink haired friend of Jinu. The said male had his eyes widen slightly before turning down back to normal. A glint of mischief in his eyes with a thought.

"We never fully introduced ourselves, I'm called Abby." Bowing his head slightly as a greeting whilst helping her up.

"I'm Romance, Jinu mentioned me last time we saw each other." The longer pink haired male comes up from behind and leans on Abby's shoulder.

"I remember that."

"The one pouting behind me is our maknae, Baby Saja. And the last with the long fringe is Mystery." The mentioned maknae side-eyed Romance from his confirmed pouting face.

(Y/N) felt a chin resting on her shoulder, feeling the fluffy silver grey hair of Mystery tickling her face and neck. His close contact sent an uncomfortable shiver down her spine. Glancing her gaze down slightly, she can see the slight run-through of purple patterns across his exposed face, a quick reminder on what they are really.

Moving her shoulders up forces Mystery off with a sad pout on his face from the action.

"Well, its nice to meet you guys. Aren't you performing today?" She questions with a shiver to her body, still uncomfortable with Mystery's strange 'greeting' to her.

"Why yes, we are. Are you sticking around to watch us?" Romance asks with a flirtatious wink.

(Y/N) already decided she was going to watch them, purely to see what kind of concept her and HUNTR/X are working against. Though the pastel clothing was enough to tell her. Now its a matter of curiosity.

Shrugging her shoulders while stuffing her hands in her pockets. "I don't see why not. I'm actually also waiting for some friends, so I may as well kill some time."

"I'm so glad to hear that!"

Turning up her attention she sees Jinu pushing past the other boys (who don't look that happy with the action), an excited expression etching onto his face upon seeing her. His presence calming her shivers ever so slightly.

"I'm gonna assume you were organising your stage Jinu?" Crossing her arms and putting on a more professional tone. She may consider Jinu a new friend, but that doesn't mean he's off the hook as a demon yet.

His reason for being on the surface is enough to raise suspicion.

"Your powers would be of great use, considering you guys don't seem to have a manager in sight. (muttering) Even I don't think a company is willing to sign you and debut you the same year, let alone week." Her muttering went under their ears, replaced with shocked expressions to hear that she knows of their faces behind the disguises.

Jinu awkwardly chuckles, sort of amused by her bluntness, but is still heavily questioning how she knows this. "(chuckle) You have no fear in what we are, do you?" Leaning closer to her ear, his voice sending another nervous shiver through her body.

Taking a short breath in before leaning closer to his ear. "Why would I fear someone who doesn't hold such malice in his eyes."

The male had a thrilling shiver go up his spine. Not only from the proximity, but the words from her quiet melodic voice.

"I only see shame and guilt."

————————————————————

"WHERE DID (Y/N) GO?!"

"I DON'T KNOW?!"

The three girls were panicking upon coming out of the clinic, their box of tonics in hand. They were cheering about helping Rumi's voice, but stopped when they couldn't find their dear manager.

"Did anyone find where she went?"

"No?! We were inside for honmoon's sake!"

"Oh no! She might have been taken by demons! No she must be so lonely and-"

"What is going on?!"

Swerving their head around, they see (Y/N) with a confused face seeing their panicked state.

"My god...I thought you guys found a dead body or something. There is no need to yell for me, you don't want to be attracting ANY attention. Right?"

Her firm strict tone being a quick reminder of what role (Y/N) has played ever since their debut. A more strict version of Bobby with her hands in the creative process. Even when she wasn't fully comfortable with the girls yet, she still managed to steer them in the right direction when avoiding scandals and demos for songs.

"Y-Yeah...sorry (N/n)." Zoey frowns apologetically.

Sighing to herself like her mother usually does when she breaks a vase.

"You guys are the ones that said you wanted to stay out of sight." Her muttering causes guilty expressions to pull on the girls. "Don't worry about that now. I should be sorry as well, considering I just walked away without an explanation." Forgiving the girls for this is easier than letting it drag on more.

Rumi and Mira were about to provide an explanation for their panic, but their ears were picking up the faint sound of an instrumental beginning to play in the background.

"Wait. What is that?"

Rumi's question urges the girls to pop their heads out of the alleyway. Only to see a strange pink smoke beginning to form near the centre of the busy area. The backing instruments sounding positive and bubbly as it went on.

Adjusting their disguises, they make their way towards the commotion.

"Hey, hey"

"Hey, hey"

"Hey"

Five silhouettes can be made out in the smoke, all striking poses before the pink suddenly disappears to reveal the performers.

"Don't want you, need you"

"Yeah, I need you to fill me up"

"Masigo masyeo bwado"

"Seonge chaji ana"

"Got a feeling that, oh, yeah (Yeah)"

"You could be everything that"

"That I need (Need), taste so sweet (Sweet)"

"Every sip makes me want more, yeah"

"Its those stupid jerks again!" Rumi exclaims. "Wait. You know those guys?" (Y/N)'s confusion evident but is ignored by the sheer number of people gathering around.

"These guys are a boy band?" Another question Rumi exclaims. Irritation growing in her more.

"Lookin like snacks 'cause you got it like that (Woo)"

"Take a big bite, want another bite, yeah"

"Neoui modeun geol nan wonhae, wonhae, wonhae"

"Neo malgon modu pyeonhae, pyeonhae, pyeonhae"

"Whеn you're in my arms, I hold you so tight (So tight)"

"Can't let go, no, no, not tonight"

"That jerk stole one of my pouches!" Recounting her tonics upon seeing Jinu drinking one.

(Y/N) deciding to question later why Jinu decided to intentionally or not, magically send back an ahjumma with a hip thrust.

"Jigeum dangjang nal bwa sigan еopjana"

"Neon naekkeoya imi algo itjana"

"'Cause I need you to need me"

"I'm empty, you feed me so refreshing"

'A drop?'

"My little soda pop"

"You're all I can think of"

"Every drop I drink up"

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop"

"Cool me down, you're so hot"

"Pour me up, I won't stop"

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop"

The chorus infectiously going around the crowd with shoulder movements galore. Bopping their bodies to the earworm worthy song. Not even Zoey or (Y/N) were immune to the rhythm.

As much as Rumi and Mira glare for them to stop, their bodies couldn't deny the contagious beat.

"It is annoyingly catchy, though."

"Its infectious."

Romance and Baby Saja sending out kisses of hearts into the ground, physically knocking out those hit.

"They can make hearts out of thin air?" Mira's questions go unanswered, but (Y/N) can think of ways to reply.

But reflecting in the sunlight, catching the hunters eyes, was the faint purple patterns running through their arms and the hint of gold in their dreamy irises.

"(Gasp) They're demons!"

"Magicians! Demons. Obviously demons."

"My little soda pop"

"Uh, make me wanna flip the top"

"Han mogeume you hit the spot"

"Every little drip and drop, fizz and pop, ah"

"Soreum doda it's gettin' hot"

"Yes, I'm sippin' when it's drippin' now"

"It's done? I need a second round"

"And pour a lot and don't you stop"

"'Til my soda pop fizzles out"

"Dang they're good."

"Incredible. But a demon boy band? Why?"

"I don't care. A demon's a demon. We kill them." Rumi and (Y/N) stops Mira before anything can happen.

"No, its too public."

"Do you want everyone to grill us into being cancelled?"

"What if they try to kill these people?" Mira's reasoning is valid from her perspective. But everything around them says otherwise.

"It doesn't look like they're gonna hurt anyone." Zoey's observation being noted by (Y/N), seeing as the five boys helping out a few people struggling with little things.

"Kkum soge geuryeowatdeon neo"

"Nan jeoldae nochil su eopseo"

"Neol wonhae kkok"

"I waited so long for a taste of soda"

"So, the wait is over, baby"

"Come and fill me up"

"Just can't get enough"

"Oh"

"In fact, it almost seems like they're nice demons?"

"Demons are never nice!"

Seeing the girls rush over to destroy the very things the demons touched. Panic washing over with her usual professionalism masking it. Purchasing another hotdog for the girl with the right amount of sauce and giving the children smaller gifts in replacement for the destroyed ones, giving them all a soft smile in comfort.

'Think before you act, girls.'

"You're all I can think of"

"Every drop I drink up"

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop (Yeah, yeah)"

"Cool me down, you're so hot"

"Pour me up, I won't stop (Oh, oh)"

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop"

The sudden appearance of a stage large soba can was a choice, in (Y/N)'s opinion. But the wave of pastels and illusionary magic is what set her off.

Pushing her way through the crowd to catch up with the girls, she found her way near the front.

'I see what's going on...'

"Ooh, ooh"

"Ooh, ooh"

"You're my soda pop"

"Gotta drink every drop"

Striking their ending poses, Jinu looks down at the crowd, meeting the (f/c) and gold gaze with his brown ones. Smiling softly at her before diverting his attention.

"That's it for now. See you tonight on everyone's favourite variety show. Saja Boys love you!"

The demon boy band disappearing in a puff of smoke.

The three hunters grew more irritated at the easy work the demons have accomplished by just performing once! Determined to end this boy band as fast as possible.

(Y/N) on the other hand had other thoughts.

'Well then, if you want to play like this Jinu, I hope you know what's coming for you.'

*Ding*

Her phone vibrated with the indication of a text message. Opening up her messages to see the new text, reading made a small sigh release from her mouth.

Jinu: Hey (Y/N), lets meet up tonight. I'll meet you at the place we met.

————————————————————

Edit: I took a break and I managed to fall down into my Record of Ragnarok phase again whilst also watching the new Superman movie (really good I recommend). Also if anyone wants to be tagged, pls ask in the recent parts bc it just makes the list a lot easier to find and compile.

Tags: @kitsune-05, @the-bookish-artist, @apelepikozume, @shoopershtar, @ravvilicous, @valeriele3, @vikc, @lasa27, @chipster-321, @greensunflowerjuna, @napbatata, @that-one-girl2020, @tagmepls, @thoughtfulbananaduckcroissant, @minepugs, @crescent-z, @colorfulgardenerduck, @poem-bee, @deityofprocastinating, @0-undead-0, @gremlinartstudio, @jessica-mcd, @strayharmony943, @fruityg0rl, @cherryblossomfox, @aominehaven, @kyxmlii, @ssaischilling, @sweaterkitty-fluff, @historygeekqueen, @satansdaughter123, @theall-seeingone, @nvmkyuu, @amenabii, @julianne1024, @doggyteam2028, @nisarelle, @theall-seeingone, @hi-itsmee28, @celesteelysia, @maritheillusion, @levifiance, @kangsae-byeokfan, @hornehlittleweeblet12, @scara-simp69, @fancyhawk45, @shqyou, @enerofairy, @futuristicdefendorfart, @scentwombatarcade, @eliengoddes, @irethepotato, @sra7riddle-malfoy, @jessica-mcd, @koda-lupinn, @yoursleeparalysisdem0n, @tsukimoon-chan, @ityourguy, @elaemae, @neverending-animelove, @type-ink, @pandafuriousa60, @mazzk1ng, @theall-seeingone, @rorotvt2025

[mooningningg]

Extra Credit - Megumi F. (4)

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 03, chapter 05

pairings. nerd!megumi x popular girl!reader

words. 17.38k

content. virgin!megumi + experienced!reader, Explicit sexual content – blow job, making out, handjob, unprotectd sex, creampie, 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. I've been soooooo excited to post this, and before anyone asks questions I spent the whole night writing this, I just got so carried away... I hope ya'll enjoy it!

Megumi didn’t know how liking something was supposed to feel, not really.

He knew how to tolerate. How to endure. He’d been taught early that silence was safer than feeling, and that logic—clean, rational, detached—was the only way to survive in a world that wanted too much.

But you— you were anything but rational. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the word—people threw it around all the time. Liking a person. Liking a subject. Liking a song, a movie, a pair of shoes.

But liking you? It didn’t feel simple. Or light. It felt… tense. Electric. Like holding a live wire between his teeth and pretending he wasn’t getting burned.

You were sitting across from him again, legs curled up on the chair like you owned every inch of this space. Like his house was just another set piece in the drama that was your life.

And yeah—you were trying now. Actually reading the material, taking notes with your pen twirling dramatically between your fingers, reciting things back with that same smug bite in your voice. But it wasn’t fake this time. You were showing up. You were trying.

Still, you couldn’t get through a paragraph without insulting someone. Or him.

“Okay, but who names their kid ‘Tokugawa’? It sounds like a bad cough drop.”

Megumi didn’t look up from his textbook. “It’s a family name.”

“Well, their whole family needs lozenges.”

He sighed. “You’re lucky I’m being paid in patience.”

You rolled your eyes. “No one’s paying you, loser.”

He muttered, “Exactly.” But he didn’t snap at you the way he used to. Not anymore.

Because somewhere between the failed midterm and your unexpected essay redemption, something shifted. You started turning pages with less sighing. Started showing up with scribbled notes and highlighted sentences. Still late. Still dramatic. Still wearing lip gloss like it was armor. But different.

You were still a brat. Still loud. Still mean, sometimes.

But you were honest. Everything that came out of your mouth, whether it was dumb, crass, or painfully sharp—it was real.

And he found himself wanting to hear more of it. All of it.

You were so fucking pretty it made his head hurt. But it wasn’t the kind of pretty people wrote poems about. It was the kind that interrupted his thoughts mid-sentence. That dragged his eyes across the curve of your smile or the annoyed flick of your wrist. That made him forget what year the Meiji Restoration happened. (1868. He remembered, eventually.)

It wasn't just the gloss on your lips or the ridiculous skirts you wore to tutoring like this was some social call. It was the way your voice pitched higher when you were actually confused, when you really wanted to understand something and didn’t know how to ask without sounding vulnerable.

Like now.

You squinted at the textbook. “Okay, this is phrased so dumb. What does ‘centralization of feudal power’ even mean? Why not just say ‘a bunch of dudes fighting to be king’? They’re so obsessed with sounding smart.”

Megumi rested his chin in his hand, watching you frown at the page like it personally offended you.

“It means uniting all the regional lords under a single authority,” he explained, calm. “It was a turning point. Less infighting, more nation-building.”

You blinked. “Could’ve just said that.”

He shrugged. “Some people enjoy full sentences.”

You stuck your tongue out, then scribbled something into your notes. “You’re lucky I’m actually writing this down.”

He didn’t respond. Just watched you.

Watched the furrow between your brows when you were focused. The gloss smudged slightly on your bottom lip. The faint ink stains on your fingers from dragging your hand over your writing. You weren’t trying to impress anyone here. Not anymore.

You weren’t posturing. You weren’t performing.

You were just… you.

And Megumi— Megumi was starting to realize he wanted to see more of that version. The one you didn’t show anyone else.

Even if you called him names. Even if you rolled your eyes every time he corrected you. Even if you would never admit how hard you were trying now. He reached for his water bottle, trying to cool the heat in his chest.

You glanced up at him suddenly. “What?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’re staring.”

He looked away. “You’re imagining things.”

You snorted. “Ugh. You’re so annoying when you lie.”

“And you’re unbearable when you’re right.” You grinned at what he said. He didn’t.

But he did allow himself to look at you one more time—quietly, briefly—before flipping the page in the book and beginning the next topic. If this was what liking someone felt like—this quiet ache, this constant hum of attention, this need to understand every version of you—then maybe he could live with it. Even if he never said it out loud.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Megumi kept telling himself that—again and again like some mantra meant to ground him. Like it would rewind time, make things easier. Simpler.

You weren’t supposed to matter this much.

You were chaos. Noise. All sharp edges and unapologetic confidence, pulling attention like gravity. You cursed too much, you interrupted his explanations just to roll your eyes, and you refused—refused—to let anyone think you cared.

But you did.

He could see it now, sitting across from you as you hunched over a half-written sentence, mumbling to yourself about power structures like it wasn’t already a miracle you’d even remembered the term.

You cared so fucking much you didn’t know what to do with it.

And Megumi… didn’t either.

Because for the longest time, he thought someone like Miwa was what he wanted. She was kind. Polite. Smart. She smiled without hiding anything behind it. She was gentle in all the ways life never let him be. And she didn’t make him feel like he was unraveling every time she laughed.

Miwa was soft. Safe.

Everything that should’ve been good for him.

But she never looked at him like you did. Never challenged him. Never cut him open with a single glance and then left him there bleeding, only to stitch him up again with some bratty little smirk and a flick of your hair. You were a storm. And for some reason, his whole body leaned toward it. He glanced up again, stealing a look at you without meaning to.

You were chewing your pen now, eyes narrowed at your notes, one leg bouncing restlessly. You looked frustrated and stubborn and real. Your nails were painted, your lashes curled, and yet there was ink smeared on the edge of your palm from where you’d been writing too fast.

You weren’t perfect, but fuck, you were trying. And somehow that made you more dangerous than Miwa ever could’ve been. Because this version of you—this girl scribbling down answers like she had something to prove—this was the version that had cracked something in him open. This was the version he wanted to see again. And again. And again. He didn’t know what to do with that.

He’d spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, never letting anyone get close enough to see more than the surface. But you… you bulldozed past all of it without asking. You made him feel seen, even when he didn’t want to be. Even when it scared the hell out of him. You weren’t good for him, but somehow, you felt right. His chest tightened.

He didn’t know how to let someone in. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with this version of you—the one who was trying, who looked up at him after answering a question like she needed him to say she’d done okay. Who still called him names but now lingered a little longer after sessions ended. He didn’t want to be this close to someone, but he already was.

And when you glanced up at him again, cocking your head and muttering, “Okay, don’t give me that face, Fushiguro. I’m not dumb, I’m just tired,”—he didn’t even bother pretending not to stare.

Because you were right. You weren’t dumb. You were just tired. Tired of being underestimated. Tired of pretending you didn’t care. Tired of being afraid of how real this could get.

And maybe… he was tired too, tired of lying to himself, because whatever this was—whatever you two were becoming—it wasn’t supposed to happen. But it did, and now Megumi didn’t know how to go back.

The halls were quieter than usual—just the low echo of shoes scuffing tile, the faint buzz of fluorescent lights, and Nobara’s voice weaving effortlessly through the silence.

“Okay, but I swear to god, if they put streamers on the ceiling again, I’m not going,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she leaned casually against the lockers beside you. “Like, we’re not in middle school. What is this, Pinterest-core depression?”

You snorted—barely. A weak smile flickered across your face, just for a second. “You’re still going?”

“Hell yeah, I am,” she grinned. “If I’m gonna suffer through a school dance, I’m at least gonna do it in heels and with free punch. And I heard they booked that DJ—the hot one.”

You blinked, distracted. “There’s a hot DJ?”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “You are so out of it.”

You shrugged. Adjusted your bracelet. Looked down the hall even though you knew who wasn’t there. “I’m not planning on going.”

She paused. “Why not?”

“I just…” You trailed off. “Doesn’t feel like my thing.”

Nobara looked at you for a second. You didn’t meet her eyes.

There was a stretch of silence, the kind only a close friend knows how to sit through without forcing you to fill. You kicked lightly at the base of your locker.

“I used to love that shit, didn’t I?” you said suddenly, voice dry. “Dances. Crowds. People staring. Picking the best dress just to make some insecure girl cry.”

“You did,” Nobara agreed with a small smile. “You were terrifying.”

You smirked, then it faded. “It doesn’t feel the same anymore.”

And she didn’t have to ask why.

Because Megumi was in your head again.

No, he was under it—rooted deep in the places you didn’t want anyone to touch. The places you’d spent years fortifying with fake smiles and sharp words and a reputation built so high no one dared climb it.

And he was climbing it anyway.

You could feel it—the weight of it all. The way he looked at you now, like he saw every version of you and didn’t flinch. The way you remembered his voice when he explained concepts to you like you were worth explaining things to. The way his hand felt when it grazed your back. The way he kissed you like he needed to remember it later.

God, you were falling. Fast. Hard. But was that good for him?

Megumi was steady. Quiet. Good in the kind of way that didn’t need to be loud to matter. He gave a shit. He noticed things. He didn’t just listen—he understood.

And you? You were sharp and petty and glittering at the edges. Built on lies and control and showstopping exits. Your whole world was curated to be untouchable, and still you let him close. Still, he got in. And now you didn’t know how to protect him from it.

From you.

You leaned back against the lockers, head tilting until it thudded against the metal.

“I don’t like Megumi,” you said suddenly.

Nobara didn’t reply. Not immediately. She just raised an eyebrow.

You added, louder, sharper, “I will never like Megumi.”

The silence afterward burned. And she didn’t argue. Didn’t call you out. Didn’t throw your words back in your face. She just tilted her head and stared at you for a long second, then said, soft and slow:

“You’re self-destructing again.”

You didn’t answer. Because what could you say? She was right. You crossed your arms tighter, like you could fold yourself in enough to stop the ache. Because you weren’t supposed to like someone like him. You weren’t supposed to want good things. You deserved Noritoshi. Men who used pretty girls as arm candy and talked circles around your feelings until you thought you were the problem. Men who didn’t care too much.

Because caring too much meant someone could leave. And Megumi? He’d never leave in pieces. He’d just leave quiet. Fully. For good. So you lied, and Nobara saw right through it, but she didn’t say a word. She just slid down to sit beside you on the floor, shoulder brushing yours, and let the silence speak for both of you.

The silence stretched for a moment longer. You stayed slumped beside Nobara against the lockers, feeling your ribcage squeeze with every inhale like your body was rejecting the truth you just spewed. But your eyes were dry now. Done sulking. Done wallowing in the hollow space between denial and regret.

You shifted, exhaled, then suddenly slapped your palm against her thigh.

“I need your help, bitch.”

Nobara blinked. “The fuck?”

You turned to her with that too-sweet, too-fake smile—the one that meant trouble. “No, I’m serious. I need your help. I’m on a mission.”

“Okay?” she said slowly, suspicious. “What mission? Did you finally realize you’re in love with Megumi and you wanna go confess on the school roof?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly gave you a headache. “Ew, no. Gross. Barf. Never.”

“Uh-huh.”

You ignored her smug little grin and sat up straighter, crossing your legs like you were about to give a fucking TED Talk.

“I want to help him.”

Nobara stared. “…Help who?”

“Megumi, dumbass.”

She blinked. “Didn’t you already help him? You know, with the whole unvirginizing him thing?”

You snorted. “Oh my god, shut up. That wasn’t—I mean, okay, yes, I helped him with the sex thing. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“Whatever, you should. I performed a civic duty.”

Nobara was biting her knuckle to hold back a laugh. “So what now? You’re launching a full-blown Megumi makeover arc?”

You clapped your hands once, sharp. “Exactly.”

“You’re serious.”

You grabbed her arm. “Look at me. Dead serious. We—I—need to fix the situation.”

“And what exactly is the situation, princess?”

You stood, pacing a little now like this was a war room briefing. “Megumi dresses like a damn divorced math professor who lost custody of his kids. I’m talking black-on-black, sad hoodie, never met a comb, wouldn’t know swagger if it slapped him.”

“He’s always been like that.”

“Exactly. And it’s criminal. Have you seen that body?!” you shouted, arms flailing. “Like, holy fuck, he’s hiding all of that under a zip-up and shame.”

Nobara wheezed.

“I’m telling you,” you said, pointing at her. “We need to fix his wardrobe. Change his hair. Show him what looking good actually feels like. Because Megumi Fushiguro being that hot in secret? That’s a sin.”

“Maybe he doesn’t care about that stuff,” Nobara offered, still smiling. “Not everyone wants to be a runway reject.”

“Well, he should,” you snapped. “Because people don’t see him right now. They don’t get it. He blends in like he wants to disappear.”

Nobara raised an eyebrow. “And you want him to stand out.”

You paused. Then slowly shrugged, crossing your arms again, eyes a little softer.

“…Yeah. I do.” Because people should look at him the way you did now. Like he mattered. Like he was there. Like he wasn’t just some sad genius background character who kept his head down until graduation. He deserved better than that.

And if he didn’t know how to show it, you’d do it for him. You grinned again. Bright. Dangerous. “So are you in or what, bitch?”

Nobara gave a mock sigh and stood up next to you, brushing dust off her skirt. “God, this is gonna be chaotic.”

You linked your arm through hers. “That’s the goal.”

And in the back of your mind, you weren’t just thinking about new jackets or hair wax. You were thinking about him, and this time, you were going to do it right.

“No.” Megumi said it flatly. Instantly. Without even turning his head.

He stood stiffly in the middle of the men’s section at a massive, modern shopping mall, surrounded by racks of jackets and hangers with carefully folded shirts. A goddamn fluorescent spotlight beamed down on his disheveled black hoodie like it was about to be burned in some sacrificial ceremony.

“No,” he said again, like it was final. You grinned like it wasn’t.

“Oh, come on, Fushiguro,” you groaned, dramatically flopping a blazer over your arm like it was a dying animal. “Live a little. It’s not like I dragged you here under false pretenses.”

“You said it was an emergency,” he said without blinking, staring dead ahead at a mannequin in cargo pants.

You beamed. “It was. Your wardrobe.” Beside you, Nobara cackled, holding up a dark olive button-down like she was choosing weapons in an armory. “Honestly, she’s right. You dress like an apocalypse survivor. And not in a hot, Mad Max way—just... sad.”

“I didn’t ask,” Megumi muttered, adjusting the strap of the messenger bag slung across his chest like it was his only armor left in this cursed environment.

“You never ask for anything,” you snapped, shoving a rack aside to step closer. “That’s the whole problem. You’re allergic to being perceived.”

“I don’t care what people think.”

“Yeah, we know,” Nobara muttered. “The problem is we do.”

You jabbed a finger at him. “You’d rather walk around looking like a tax fraud suspect than admit you’re hot. It’s actually insane.”

“I’m not—” He cut himself off and glared. “This is pointless.”

“Oh my god. Fushiguro. You literally do martial arts. You could break someone’s jaw with your pinkie and yet you’re scared of trying on a fuckin’ jacket?”

Megumi turned toward you now, his brows furrowed, that signature exasperated glare leveled straight at your face. “I’m not scared. I just don’t care about stupid shit like this.”

“Well maybe you should!” you snapped, stepping closer. “Maybe people would take you seriously for once if you looked like you had your life together instead of like you live in a supply closet!”

“I don’t care what people think,” he growled, arms crossing.

“Not even Miwa?” you said, biting your lip with a smug grin.

That made him pause. Even Nobara blinked. “Wait what the fuck—”

“Oops,” you said sweetly, tilting your head. “Was that too honest?”

Megumi’s jaw tensed, and for a second he looked like he wanted to walk directly into oncoming traffic.

“She doesn’t—” he started, then stopped himself. “That has nothing to do with this.”

“You like her,” you sing-songed. “And she’s all proper and polite and whatever. You really think she’s gonna look twice at you when you show up to events looking like a prison escapee?”

“That’s low,” he muttered.

“You know what else is low? Your pants. You don’t even wear a belt, it’s a miracle they’re not around your ankles right now.”

Nobara wheezed.

“You’re both insane,” Megumi muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

“No, we’re fashion-forward,” you corrected, shoving a clean white T-shirt into his hands. “And this is an intervention.”

“I’m not putting this on.”

“Why?” you narrowed your eyes. “Scared I’ll see your abs again and have a full mental breakdown in the dressing room?”

Nobara choked. “Not again?!”

“You’re not helping,” Megumi growled, shooting her a glare.

“I am helping,” she chirped, tossing him a tan jacket. “Helping your hopeless ass look fuckable.”

“Please die,” Megumi said under his breath.

You shoved the clothes into his arms. “Three outfits. Try on three. Then you can go back to your corner of despair.”

He looked at you. Really looked at you. And for a second, it was like he saw something soft behind the snark.

You rolled your eyes before he could say anything. “Don’t get sentimental, bitch. Try on the fuckin’ shirt.”

And Megumi—muttering obscenities under his breath—finally walked toward the fitting rooms.

You high-fived Nobara like you’d just summoned a demon.

It wasn’t just about clothes. Not really. It was about showing him the version of himself the world deserved to see. And goddamn, he was going to shine. Even if it killed you.

He stepped out of the fitting room with the same flat expression he always wore when he was forced into anything mildly humiliating—shoulders stiff, jaw clenched, hair slightly more disheveled than usual like he’d run his hands through it five too many times in frustration.

But none of that registered. Because the second Megumi walked out, wearing a black shirt that hugged his torso like a second skin and dark jeans that—oh fuck—sat criminally well on his hips, every cell in your body short-circuited.

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out. Your brain? Vacant. Your heart? Punching itself in the face.

He looked… hot. Not “cute” hot. Not the quiet-guy-who-reads-in-corners hot. No. He looked like someone who should be banned from public spaces. Like someone who’d lean against a bar with his hands in his pockets and get phone numbers without speaking.

And he had the audacity to look annoyed about it. He stood in front of you, arms stiff at his sides, clearly uncomfortable but trying not to show it. “Well?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You were still staring. His biceps shifted beneath the sleeves—those same arms that used to cross in irritation when you were being a brat during tutoring. Now they just looked… solid. Defined. Powerful. The shirt clung to the dip of his waist, the muscle of his chest, and you were going feral.

“Earth to bitch,” Nobara said, elbowing you sharply. “You’re drooling.”

You blinked. “Am not.”

Megumi raised an eyebrow. “You’re quiet.”

You swallowed. Hard.

“Yeah, so?” you snapped. But it came out breathier than you wanted. You turned away like it might give your sanity a fighting chance. “Shirt’s tight. You look like a douchebag.”

Nobara snorted. Megumi crossed his arms. “Is that supposed to be bad?”

Your eyes flicked back to him without meaning to. “No. I mean. Yes. I mean—shut the fuck up.”

His lips twitched. Just a little. Barely there. You were going to combust.

You forced a scoff, grabbing the next outfit from the chair. “This isn’t even the best one. Get back in there, Fushiguro.”

But even as he rolled his eyes and turned away, the image burned into your skull. You hadn’t seen this version of him before. You didn’t know what to do with this version of him.

And the worst part? He didn’t even know what he was doing to you.

He didn’t know he’d just shifted something in you—something real, something terrifying. Because for the first time in a long time… you were speechless.

Megumi stepped out again.

Different outfit, same unbothered expression—except this time, it was worse.

This time, he was wearing a fitted white button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, top two buttons undone, hanging slightly open like he gave zero fucks about propriety. Paired with a pair of dark, loose slacks that cinched perfectly at his waist, he looked like he belonged on the cover of some Calvin Klein campaign where the tagline was “Silence is seductive.”

And maybe that was what made it worse.

Because this wasn’t your Megumi.

Not the one who clicked his tongue at your mistakes. Not the one who made you repeat Civics dates until you cried out of rage and not frustration. Not the one who looked soft in the corners of his eyes when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

No—this Megumi was different.

Sharp. Composed. Dangerous.

He didn’t even glance at you at first. Just adjusted his sleeves slowly, hands veined and calm, like he had no idea he was doing things to your soul. But maybe he did. Because when his eyes finally flicked up, they went straight to yours. Quiet. Direct. Unrelenting.

And you forgot how to breathe. Nobara beat you to it.

“Holy fuck,” she breathed, literally grabbing the rack next to her for support. “You’re lying to me. You’re not real.”

Megumi frowned. “It’s just a shirt.”

“It’s the shirt of Gods,” she corrected. “You look like you kill people with a fountain pen and then drink black coffee over their grave.”

He raised a brow. “That’s specific.”

“I have taste.”

You didn’t say anything. Because what could you say?

You were the one who dragged him here. The one who started this whole thing. The one who picked out that shirt because it might look good and—

Now you couldn’t even speak.

It looked too good.

Your heart was racing like a traitor. Your fingers itched to fidget with something—your bag strap, your hair, his fucking shirt, maybe.

“Looks fine,” you muttered, arms crossed tight, refusing to meet his eyes again.

“Fine?” Megumi echoed, voice laced with just enough sarcasm to light your entire body on fire.

“Yeah, fine. Don’t get cocky.”

Nobara gave you a look.

“Is that why you’ve been standing there in complete silence for a full thirty seconds? Because it’s fine?”

“I was just thinking,” you snapped.

“Thinking about how hard you’d let him rail you on a school desk—?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP,” you and Megumi yelled at the same time, both whirling on her.

Nobara just raised her brows and held her hands up. “Okay, okay. Lovers’ quarrel. Got it.”

You turned away, ears burning. “We’re not—”

“Don’t even start,” Megumi muttered under his breath, clearly flustered too, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt like they were suffocating him now.

But you both went silent again.

Your pulse wouldn’t slow. You watched him out of the corner of your eye. The way the collar of that shirt dipped into the line of his collarbone. The way his jaw tensed like he was holding something in.

And all you could think was: You did this. You made him look like this. And now? You didn’t know how to handle it.

Megumi looked like he was about to say something—anything to break the electric tension crawling between you. His hand lifted slightly, hovering awkwardly at his side as if caught between reaching for a hanger or snapping it in half.

Then he sighed. “Can someone help me with this—?”

Nobara perked up from the bench. “Well, I’ll go find something else. You two—” she wiggled her fingers, “figure that out.”

Before you could even open your mouth to tell her not to leave you alone with him—again—she was gone.

And then it was just the two of you.

Megumi still standing in front of the changing room door, looking disarmingly good in that white button-up and slacks, hair slightly damp from sweat, the scent of soap and something distinctly him still clinging to his skin.

Your heartbeat spiked.

“I can help,” you muttered, stepping forward before your brain could catch up with your mouth.

He didn’t say anything—just looked at you.

And that was all it took.

Because the moment you reached for the edge of the changing room curtain, Megumi grabbed your wrist, pulled—and you stumbled right into him.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And then he kissed you.

Hard.

His mouth was on yours before you could even breathe. No warning, no question, just heat—his hands gripping your waist like he couldn’t stand the space between your bodies a second longer.

Your gasp broke the kiss, but he chased it, tongue sweeping against yours, messy and desperate, like he’d been waiting to do this since the second you walked into the store.

“Megumi—” you mumbled against his mouth, but it came out half-strangled because he was already backing you against the mirror, crowding your body, and hitching one of your thighs up around his waist.

His grip was rough. Possessive. Your skirt bunched around your hips as he lifted you with ease, hands firm beneath your thighs, grinding against your clothed core like he didn’t give a shit who might be outside that curtain.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your throat, kissing the skin there like he was punishing it. “You drive me insane.”

Your head thudded against the mirror, fingers threading into his hair, yanking hard enough to make him groan against your neck. “You’re one to talk.”

But he didn’t answer—not with words.

He rolled his hips again, and the pressure made you arch into him, your breath hitching. Everything was so close—the heat of him, the taste of him, the sheer pressure of his body against yours. You felt like you were going to combust.

Clothes still on. Dignity long gone.

And he was still kissing you like he needed it to breathe.

Your hands fumbled with the collar of his shirt, dragging him closer—tighter—as your lips crashed together again. There was nothing soft about this. No hesitation. Just heat, and sweat, and the dizzying, aching need you both pretended didn’t exist for weeks.

And now it was here. Now he was here. And you didn’t want it to stop.

Not when his hands were sliding under your top. Not when your legs were trembling around his waist. Not when his tongue was in your mouth like he wanted to swallow every bratty word you ever spat at him.

But then— Voices outside. Faint. Distant. Still enough to pull you back.

You both froze. Megumi didn’t let you go.

But his breathing was uneven now, lips brushing yours in a breathless drag, like he didn’t want to stop—like he didn’t know how.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Gumi…”

He stared at you.

And you stared back. Chest heaving. Skirt still hitched. Mouth swollen. Something unspoken burning between you. And that’s where you stayed—hovering between whatever this was… and whatever came next.

His breath hit your lips, warm and ragged. His forehead rested against yours for a moment—then pulled back just far enough to see your face.

You were quiet.

Too quiet.

And Megumi noticed.

His brows furrowed. His eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in concern. His hand, still hot from where it had been gripping your thigh, slid up slowly, brushing over your waist until it curled gently under your jaw.

“I don’t like it when you’re quiet,” he muttered, voice low and hoarse, like it scraped the edges of something unspoken.

You blinked up at him, stunned silent by the sudden shift in him—the switch from that sharp, cold, untouchable Megumi to this. This boy whose hand now held your chin with careful fingers. Whose voice trembled with the weight of something softer.

“I’m fine,” you said, trying to muster up the usual bitchy confidence, the bratty armor you always wore like second skin.

But it cracked.

Just a little.

Megumi didn’t let it slide. He tilted your chin up gently, enough to make your gaze meet his again.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly. “Don’t lie to me.”

His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, his stare unwavering. Still cold. Still composed. But that softness was there now—simmering beneath it all like a secret only you got to see.

“Tell me what’s wrong, pretty.”

Your lips parted, but the words caught. You swallowed thickly, breath catching at the name. The way he said it—pretty—wasn’t sarcastic or mocking. It wasn’t a jab or a joke or some arrogant dig.

It was… warm, and that scared you more than anything.

“It’s nothing,” you whispered, voice thinner than you wanted it to be. “It’s not a big deal.”

Megumi didn’t move. He didn’t push or pressure or pull away. He just kept his hand where it was, thumb dragging over your jaw as his eyes searched your face for the truth.

“Then why won’t you look at me the same?” he asked, quieter now. “You’ve been avoiding it. You’ve been avoiding me.”

You breathed in sharply, back pressing against the mirror again, like it might absorb you whole. You hated this. Hated how naked it made you feel.

He was supposed to be the awkward one.

You were supposed to be untouchable.

So why the fuck did it feel like he was the only one who ever looked at you like he saw you?

“I’m not avoiding you,” you muttered, half-hearted.

You said nothing.

Not right away. Not when he was still holding you like that, arms strong and steady beneath your thighs, chest pressed to yours like he hadn’t just kissed the air out of your lungs.

So he dropped you.

Not harshly—but suddenly. Like he was testing you.

Your back hit the changing room wall with a gentle thud, your heels barely catching the floor before your knees almost buckled. You looked up at him, breathless, heart a mess, mascara smudged just enough to betray what had just happened.

And still—you smiled.

Smug. Crooked. Unbothered.

The kind of smile that always got you out of trouble. The kind of smile that meant game on.

“Don’t worry,” you said, smoothing your hair with both hands, the lace of your skirt riding scandalously high on your thighs. “I’m good.”

Megumi didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, bare chest rising and falling, hair damp, lips still slightly parted.

“You sure?” he asked, voice lower now. Quieter. A little cautious.

You nodded. “A hundred percent.”

And before he could say anything else—before you had the chance to crack even further—you turned around and opened the changing room door.

Nobara was standing right outside, arms crossed, one brow arched like she’d been waiting hours instead of minutes.

She gave you one long, slow look from head to toe.

Your skirt was wrinkled. Your lipstick was smudged. Your hair was a war crime.

“Well damn,” she said, deadpan. “Did he fuck the physics into you or what?”

You rolled your eyes and shoved past her with a scoff. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Nobara chirped, following you down the hall. “Your hair looks like it got into a fight with gravity. And lost.”

You reached up instinctively to fix it, still feeling Megumi’s hands on your waist, his mouth on your neck.

You didn’t say anything. But the smile on your face didn’t fade. Not even a little.

“Okay, seriously,” you said, deadpan, staring at Megumi like he just kicked a puppy. “What the fuck is on your head.”

Megumi blinked, genuinely confused. “My hair?”

“No, your tragic decision-making, obviously it’s your hair,” you snapped, arms crossed. “Why does it look like a hedgehog lost a fight with a blender?”

Nobara burst out laughing behind you, flopping onto your bed with a snort. “Oh my god—thank you. I didn’t wanna say anything at the mall, but it’s atrocious. He looks like he cut it himself during an earthquake.”

Megumi frowned, defensive now, dragging a hand through the spiky mess. “It’s just… messy.”

“Messy?” you echoed. “No. Messy is a tousled ‘I-just-got-fucked-against-a-wall’ kind of hot. This?” You circled him like a shark, squinting at the disaster on his scalp. “This is ‘I got electrocuted in the shower and didn’t notice.’”

He turned slightly to Nobara, as if for help. She just smirked and held her hands up. “Don’t look at me, Fushiguro. I’ve been trying to say this since the first day we met. You’ve got good bone structure and awful hair.”

Megumi muttered something that sounded dangerously close to “I hate both of you.”

But you weren’t having it.

“Oh no, you’re not getting out of this now,” you said, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him toward your vanity like a man being marched to execution. “You let me bring you to the mall, you let me pick your clothes, and now? You’re letting me fix the national tragedy that is your hairstyle.”

“I never agreed to this,” he said, digging in his heels halfway across your carpet. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

You whipped around, inches from his face. “You’re hot now, Fushiguro. It’s your moral responsibility to have a hairdo that doesn’t look like it was styled by a weed whacker.”

“I liked it,” he muttered under his breath.

“I liked it,” you mocked in a high-pitched voice. “Oh my god, he’s got feelings. Someone call the news.”

Nobara snorted. “Y/N, be nice.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved him into the chair in front of your vanity. “No. He deserves violence. Emotional or physical, I haven’t decided yet.”

Megumi looked at himself in the mirror, then back at you, clearly regretting every life choice that led him to this point. “If you burn my scalp—”

“I will set you on fire on purpose if you keep complaining.”

“You’re terrifying,” he muttered, glaring as you sprayed water on his head.

You grinned. “I know.”

Nobara watched from your bed, sipping a boba drink she clearly found from your mini-fridge. “So what’s the plan, boss? We chopping it? Styling it? Shaving it off so he can start over?”

“Not shaving,” you said immediately, combing through his damp hair with a level of focus that would’ve shocked your teachers. “This bitch has potential. It just needs to be tamed.”

Megumi scoffed. “You make it sound like a wild animal.”

“That’s because it is, babe,” Nobara said helpfully.

You held up a strand and narrowed your eyes. “It’s giving ‘slept with my head in a microwave.’ Like, what is the texture? What is the shape? Where is the respect?”

Megumi rolled his eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

You and Nobara turned to him in unison.

“Yes,” Nobara said solemnly. “It is.”

“It’s a violation of basic human decency,” you added.

Megumi leaned back in the chair like a condemned man. “Do whatever you want. I’m already dead inside.”

You grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

You and Nobara circled Megumi like vultures, armed with a spray bottle, two combs, a round brush, and enough styling product to open a pop-up salon. He sat rigidly in your vanity chair like he was preparing for surgery, eyes narrowed at his reflection as you pulled his hair back and forth with clinical precision.

“I swear to god, if this makes it worse—”

“Shut up,” you snapped, misting his head aggressively. “You gave up the right to complain the second you walked in here with this disaster on your scalp.”

“It’s not a disaster,” he muttered, grimacing as Nobara tugged a chunk of hair upright with a teasing comb.

“You’re right,” Nobara chimed in sweetly. “It’s a catastrophe.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. “It looks like it’s been styled with a spoon and a prayer.”

Megumi groaned audibly. “Why are you both so dramatic?”

“Because we have eyes,” Nobara said.

“And standards,” you added.

It took longer than it should have—spraying, combing, trimming flyaways, arguing over center part versus side part, threatening to shave it all off entirely—but eventually, after a blur of movement and bickering and way too many close calls with Nobara’s flat iron, you took a step back.

You stared at him. Silently.

The spikes were still there—sharp, unruly, unapologetically him—but now they were tamed, softened in shape, styled with a cleaner edge that actually made sense with his face. Not too polished, not too wild. Balanced.

Dangerously so.

Because it brought out everything.

His cheekbones. The cut of his jaw. The deep-set steel blue of his eyes. It was like finally seeing a painting under the right lighting.

And you hated how hard your chest clenched.

“Oh,” Nobara said, her voice soft with shock. “Oh, you’re handsome-handsome.”

You flinched out of your trance. “Calm your fucking tits.”

Nobara ignored you, walking around to get a better view. “Y/N, we really did that. We should be charging for this.”

Megumi, still blinking at his reflection like he wasn’t sure what universe he was in, murmured, “It’s... better?”

“You look hot,” Nobara said bluntly.

“I said calm—”

“No, I’m serious. I didn’t know your face looked like that under all the porcupine static.” She turned to you. “Now—glasses.”

“Wait, what’s wrong with his glasses?” you and Megumi said at the same time, both frowning.

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Nothing’s wrong with them. But let’s just see. For science.”

“I need them to see,” Megumi deadpanned.

“Then close your eyes for two seconds and survive.”

Before either of you could protest again, she plucked the frames off his face.

Megumi blinked, disoriented. “I can’t see shit.”

And you— you couldn’t breathe.

Your fingers froze mid-adjustment. Something twisted low in your stomach.

Because this wasn’t your Megumi anymore.

This wasn’t the boy who wore soft, wrinkled hoodies and slouched with a pen in his mouth while mumbling about feudal Japan. This wasn’t the slightly awkward, perpetually annoyed tutor who scolded you for confusing Confucius with Confetti or whatever the hell his name was.

This was— Sharp. Composed. Disarmingly beautiful. And still undeniably him. But somehow… less yours. You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t.

You swallowed around the dryness in your throat and reached over gently to slide his glasses back on.

“Okay,” you said, voice carefully neutral. “You look fine.”

Nobara arched a brow. “Fine? That’s all you’re giving him?”

“Jesus, calm down,” you muttered, waving her off. “You sound like you’re about to mount him.”

Megumi snorted softly, but he was looking at you now. Really looking. And you didn’t know what you looked like back.

Just that something inside you was shifting, and no matter how hard you tried to bury it beneath your snark and sarcasm—

You couldn’t help but think: He doesn’t look like my Megumi anymore, and that scared you more than anything. Because you weren’t ready to admit what you already knew: You didn’t want to lose the version of him that only you ever got to see.

The buzz started before first period even began.

It was in the halls, in the cafeteria, in the fucking girl’s bathroom stalls. You could hear it behind closed lockers, whispered in corners, shouted between friend groups.

"Did you see Fushiguro?" "Is that really him?" "Who knew he had a jawline like that?"

You slammed your locker shut hard enough to rattle the one next to it.

Nobara, walking beside you and munching on pocky like she owned the damn world, raised a brow. “You okay?”

“No,” you hissed, adjusting the strap of your bag sharply. “I’m not fucking okay. These bitches are acting like he hatched from an egg this morning.”

Nobara snorted. “Well, to be fair, he was looking like a soggy anime protagonist before we fixed his hair.”

You shot her a look.

She shrugged. “Hey, we did this. You should be proud. Your man’s finally getting the recognition.”

You turned to her, voice low and vicious. “That’s not my fucking man.”

She smirked. “Sure.”

And still, as you walked into the main hallway, the whispers amplified like a hive of flies. You could hear a group of girls ahead giggling too loudly, standing near the bulletin board where someone had literally taped a blurry candid of Megumi — from that morning — shirt tucked in, hair clean, glasses no where to be seen.

You stared. Blinked. And felt your blood boil.

You did this. You fixed that hair. You picked those fucking jeans.

And now they were all foaming at the mouth over it.

Not because they noticed him in math class, or watched him quietly help the juniors when no one else did, or saw the way his knuckles were always bruised because he boxed like he had something to prove.

No. They noticed because you made him hot. You did that.

And they were two seconds from sexualizing him like a piece of meat in your lunch tray.

“He could get it now,” one girl said, fanning herself with a worksheet.

“I’d climb him like a tree,” another giggled. “Those arms? He could ruin my GPA, and I’d thank him.”

You clenched your jaw.

“Oh my god,” a third voice added — Aiko, of all fucking people, her tone dripping with fake wonder. “Who knew Fushiguro had potential? He used to be such a loser, and now I’m like… kind of obsessed. He just needed a little help, right?”

You stopped walking. Nobara sensed it before you spoke. “Oh no.”

Your heels clicked against the tile like a warning shot. You stepped forward, stopping right in front of their little group like a queen entering the battlefield.

Aiko turned, already smiling, like she wanted you to join in on the joke.

You didn’t smile back.

“You wanna say that again?” you asked, voice deceptively sweet.

Aiko blinked. “What?”

“The part where you called him a loser,” you said, tilting your head. “Go on. I’m sure he’d love to hear that from someone who couldn’t spell ‘potential’ if her life depended on it.”

The girls went quiet.

You took another step closer, smiling now—but it was venomous. “See, you bitches love to pop your pussy for something shiny and new. But where were you when he sat alone every fucking lunch? Or when you called him creepy for knowing the answers before the teacher asked?”

Aiko’s face started to pale.

“That boy has more class in his knuckles than you have in your whole bloodline,” you sneered. “So maybe think twice before you talk about him like he’s your little glow-up project. You wouldn’t know what to do with him even if he let you try.”

Nobara let out a low whistle behind you. “Jesus.”

You didn’t care. Your heart was thudding in your chest, rage coiling behind your ribs. Because he deserved better than that. Better than them. Better than you, too, maybe—but they sure as fuck weren’t allowed to talk about him like that.

Not when they didn’t know a thing about him.

Not like you did.

The girls scattered like flies after that, mumbling apologies or pretending not to care.

You stood tall, smoothed your skirt, and turned on your heel.

“Feel better?” Nobara asked, falling into step beside you, eyebrow raised.

You huffed. “No. But I fucking meant every word.”

She bumped your shoulder. “Damn right you did.”

But the truth burned in your throat even as you walked away from the mess. Because the one person you weren’t brave enough to say that to… was the one person you’d started to care about way too much.

It was raining by the time you got there. Not heavy yet, but the clouds overhead promised hell was coming.

You barely knocked.

The door opened after one knock, and there he was—Megumi. Barefoot, in sweatpants and a black t-shirt that clung to his chest. His hair was a little damp, curling at the ends from either a shower or the humidity outside. The soft flicker of the TV behind him lit his silhouette.

His eyes skimmed over you. “You’re late.”

“I was being dramatic,” you said with a sniff, stepping inside like you owned the place.

You didn’t. And you felt it, too.

The quiet of the house pressed in on you. The only sound was the low murmur of the television—“storm warning issued for Tokyo Metro Area…”

Your shoes left faint water prints on the hardwood. You toed them off and dropped your bag beside the couch, pretending the silence wasn’t suffocating.

“So…” you said, voice softer now, almost teasing. “You’re a big shot now, huh?”

Megumi frowned. “What?”

You gestured vaguely toward him. “The school. People are practically frothing at the mouth over you. I think I overheard someone say you could step on them and they’d say thank you.”

He blinked. “That’s… disturbing.”

You dropped onto the couch. “That’s teenage girls. Get used to it.”

He didn’t sit. Just stood there for a second, like he didn’t know what to do with you. Like he couldn’t decide whether he should start quizzing you on politics or kick you out.

You stared at him. “You really didn’t notice?”

“No,” he muttered. “I don’t care.”

There was a pause. A little too long.

Then—

“…Do you?” he asked, quieter now.

You tilted your head. “Do I what?”

He was still standing there, arms crossed, jaw tight. But something about the way he said it—

“Do you like it?” he asked. “The way I look now.”

It wasn’t cocky. It wasn’t a trap. It sounded like an honest fucking question.

You felt something pinch in your chest.

You wanted to laugh. Or roll your eyes. Or tell him he looked fine and move on with your night. But you couldn’t. Because the way he was looking at you—calm, quiet, guarded—was killing you.

“Do you want me to like it?” you asked back.

He didn’t blink. “I asked first.”

You stared at him. Tried to read his expression. But he was unreadable, as always—except his shoulders were a little tense, and his eyes kept flicking between you and the storm outside the window. So you told the truth.

“I liked how you looked before,” you said, crossing your arms again. “I like how you look now. You’re hot. Congrats.”

That made him frown, just a little.

You rolled your eyes. “Is that not what you wanted to hear?”

“No,” he said. “I just… didn’t think you noticed me.”

The words were soft. Like they cost something.

You blinked. “What?”

He finally sat down beside you, slow and heavy, elbows on his knees. “You were with guys like Kamo. Loud, rich. The whole school knew when you were dating someone.”

“So?”

“So I thought you just… tolerated me,” he said.

You stared at him. “I showed up to your house in the rain. For tutoring. I literally begged you to tutor me again.”

His eyes flicked toward yours. “That’s not the same.”

Silence again. You bit your lip, then sighed. “I just didn’t want to be the only one who saw you.”

Megumi’s brows pulled slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” You swallowed, folding your arms tighter. “People didn’t really look at you. Not really. They saw the grades, the silence, the hair. But they didn’t look. I did.”

You paused.

“And I didn’t want to keep it to myself.”

Megumi was quiet for a while. The kind of quiet that made your skin prickle. You looked down at your nails, chewing your lip. “That’s all. I just thought… people should know.”

“Why?”

You blinked again. “Why what?”

“Why did it matter that people saw me?”

The question was too honest. It made your stomach twist.

“I don’t know,” you said finally. “Because maybe if they did… I wouldn’t feel so fucking insane for noticing you in the first place.”

Megumi’s throat bobbed. The rain outside was louder now. You could hear the drops hitting the glass like static. You were sitting so close on the couch now, knees almost brushing. He didn’t reach for you. Didn’t touch you.

But his voice dropped a little. “I noticed you first.”

You turned your head.

Megumi wasn’t looking at you. But you could see the pink climbing up his neck.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought you’d destroy me,” he muttered, almost like he was annoyed with himself. “You still might.”

You smirked, but it was softer than usual. “You’re not so easy to destroy, Fushiguro.”

He finally turned toward you again. And for a second—just a second—you weren’t the girl who wrecked reputations for fun. You weren’t the mean girl, the manipulator, the bitch with a crown on her head. You were just a girl. Wanting a boy who never thought someone like you would.

“…We’re here to study,” you said quickly, breaking the eye contact and grabbing your bag. “Don’t get weird about it.”

But your hands were trembling just a little when you opened your notebook. And neither of you pointed it out. Megumi didn’t move. You felt it before you saw it—that shift in the air. His gaze heavy on you, weighing every breath you tried to take like it meant something.

And maybe it did. Because then came the first real blow. “You’re quiet.”

Your pen stilled. “I’m literally speaking right now,” you muttered, not looking up.

“That’s not what I mean.”

You clenched your jaw, flipping open your notes like they weren’t trembling in your hand. “Well, maybe I just didn’t feel like biting your head off today. Shouldn’t that be a win for you?”

He ignored the sarcasm. “You’ve been off ever since the mall.”

“And you’ve been dressing like you’re starring in a Calvin Klein ad,” you shot back. “Maybe I’m just adjusting.”

His brow twitched. “So you are upset.”

“No.” You looked up at him, heat crawling up your neck. “I just think it’s funny.”

Megumi’s stare didn’t budge. “What’s funny?”

“That now everyone sees you,” you said, biting the words out, “suddenly you’re worth talking to. And I have to watch girls lose their shit over a guy I—”

You caught yourself. Hard. Megumi stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately.

“And what?” he said, voice low.

Your throat was dry. “And nothing.”

He tilted his head, sea-glass eyes narrowing. “That’s not nothing.”

You shot to your feet. “Can you not? Can you just, for once, not try to read my mind like I’m some fucking essay prompt?”

“I wouldn’t have to guess,” he said, voice tighter now, “if you’d just tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m fine, Megumi,” you snapped.

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh my god, shut up—why do you even care?”

That stopped him. Just a second. But you saw the way it landed. Saw the shift in his shoulders, the pinch in his brows—like you’d yanked a thread that unraveled something you weren’t supposed to touch. You hated how your chest twisted.

“I didn’t mean that,” you said quickly, voice smaller. “I just—this was easier when you were just…”

“What?” Megumi asked quietly.

Just Megumi. Your Megumi. But you didn’t say it. You didn’t get the chance.

Because the thunder cracked so violently it made the windows rattle—followed by a sudden, sharp click as the power cut out completely. Lights. TV. Everything.

Gone. Darkness swallowed the room, save for the occasional flash of lightning. You could barely see him. But you felt him. Both of you stood there in the thick silence, the storm pressing against the glass like a weight.

And then— “I’m still me,” Megumi said quietly. “Even if I look different.” You exhaled. Slow. Unsteady.

“I know.”

“Then why are you acting like I’m not?”

You hesitated. Then, barely above a whisper— “Because you look less like someone I can keep.”

The words hung there between you. Electric. Unforgivable. You weren’t even sure he heard them—until he stepped closer. Close enough that the scent of him, the heat of his skin, wrapped around you like gravity.

“You think I’m going somewhere?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Everyone else wants you now.”

“I don’t care about everyone else.”

The silence between you was louder than the storm now. You opened your mouth—then shut it again. Because you could still taste the fear in your throat. Not of losing him. But of how much you already had. You swallowed around the ache in your throat, trying not to blink too hard. The silence stretched. Too raw. Too exposed. So, like always, you threw up a wall.

“Well,” you said, stepping back and folding your arms, “isn’t this romantic. Power’s out, storm’s raging, and I’m stuck with Tokyo’s favorite new thirst trap.”

Megumi blinked, the sharpness in his expression dimming just enough to look mildly offended. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re sweaty and shirtless and we’re in the dark.” You gestured around. “I’m just saying, if this was a movie, I’d already be dead or pregnant.”

That earned a very faint snort, like he didn’t want to laugh but couldn’t help it. He exhaled, raking a hand through his damp hair. “My dad keeps candles somewhere.”

“Wow. Sexy and prepared,” you muttered, watching him disappear into the hallway. “No wonder the girls are eating it up.”

“Shut up,” he called back. A cabinet door creaked open, followed by the sound of matches scraping. “If you’re cold, there’s a blanket on the couch.”

You ignored that. Pulled out your phone instead—only to see one bar and a signal so weak it might as well be decorative. You sighed and dialed anyway. It rang once, twice. Then a familiar voice crackled through the speaker. “Sweetheart?”

“Daddy,” you breathed, the relief hitting hard. “The power’s out. It’s storming like crazy. Are you home?”

“I’m out of town, baby. Business trip. Flight got delayed.” His voice softened. “Where are you?”

You glanced at the flickering light starting to glow down the hall. “Megumi’s.”

A pause. “You safe?”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Just… stuck.”

“Alright. Call me if anything changes. I’ll check the weather. Love you.”

“Love you more,” you said softly and hung up.

Megumi returned, two candles flickering in hand. One for the living room, one for the table. He lit them both in quick, practiced motions. He didn’t look at you.

“I’ll walk you home when the wind dies down,” he said, flatly.

You narrowed your eyes. “I didn’t say I was leaving.”

“You were about to,” he muttered. “You always are.”

The jab caught you off guard.

“…Jesus, dramatic much?” you mumbled, shifting on the couch as the room glowed orange and gold. “You act like I’m trying to abandon you.”

He gave you a look. “You were literally about to walk out during a thunderstorm.”

“Yeah, well, I like living on the edge.”

“I swear to god, you’re going to get electrocuted one day and somehow blame me for it.”

“Obviously.” His lips twitched. Almost a smile.

The tension was still there—but softened now, under the candlelight. Like it had been dulled by the rain and everything neither of you could say outright. You pulled your knees up to your chest, watching the lightning flash against the windows.

“…You didn’t have to light all those, you know,” you said quietly, eyes flicking toward the candles.

“I know.”

You hesitated. “…But thank you.” Another small silence.

Then he sat down next to you again. A little closer this time. The storm howled outside, but in here—there was only the flicker of light between you and the quiet push-and-pull that had always felt like home.

“You really think I’m Tokyo’s favorite thirst trap?” he said suddenly, deadpan.

You groaned. “You remembered that?”

“You literally just said it.”

“Well, I’m not wrong.”

“Whatever.” You glanced at him.

His arms were folded again. His face still unreadable. But something in his expression had eased. Not softer, necessarily—but less guarded. And you… you could breathe again.

You didn’t mean to say it.

It just slipped out.

“Miwa’s taking an interest in you.”

Megumi glanced up from where he was lighting a candle on the table, his face cast in flickering shadows. “What?”

You picked at the frayed hem of your skirt like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “Nobara heard her talking in the bathroom. She was saying you’re different now. That you look… good.”

A beat of silence.

Then, like an idiot, he asked, “She is?”

You wanted to throw the fucking candle at his head.

Instead, you smiled. That sweet, mean smile you wore like armor. “What, hoping she asks you out? You want someone to touch your freshly styled hair and whisper about your jawline now?”

He didn’t bite. Just walked to the kitchen with that maddening calm of his. Megumi’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. He picked it up, barely glancing at the screen before answering.

“Yeah?”

You didn’t look at him. You were too busy pretending to scroll through your phone, too busy ignoring the sting from earlier—She is?—like it hadn’t lodged itself right in your chest. But then his tone changed.

“…You’re stuck?” You peeked up, subtly.

Megumi’s voice dropped, quiet and curt. “Flooding?”

Pause. A sigh. “No, it’s fine. Yeah—I’m not alone.”

Another pause. “Yeah, it’s her.” You tensed, grip tightening around your phone.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered. “I’ll take care of it. Just… stay safe.”

He hung up. Silence. You didn’t say anything, waiting.

He turned around, arms folded, voice neutral. “That was my dad.”

“Obviously.”

“There’s flooding near the station. He’s stuck for the night.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

“And you can’t leave.”

You stared at him. “What do you mean I can’t?”

“There’s a blackout. The storm’s not letting up. Roads are a mess.” He gestured to the window where the rain slapped against the glass in heavy sheets. “Power lines are down. Toji said even the convenience store by the corner shut down. He’s not coming home.”

You blinked. “And what, you’re just holding me hostage now?”

Megumi’s expression didn’t change. “You came here.”

“I didn’t come here to spend the night!”

He crossed his arms tighter. “Well, congratulations. Looks like you’re going to.”

You huffed. Loudly. Dramatically. “You’re impossible.”

“I know.” And then he moved past you, candle in hand, heading toward the hallway like this was all perfectly reasonable. You glared at the flame, at the storm, at your phone with zero service, and then finally threw yourself back against the couch with a groan.

“…Fine,” you muttered under your breath. “But I’m not taking the fucking bed.”

From down the hall, Megumi’s voice drifted back—completely unbothered.

“You’re not.”

It was quiet for a while. Too quiet. The storm outside had dulled into a low, steady rhythm—rain kissing the windows in soft percussion, wind rattling somewhere beyond the walls like a ghost trying to get in. The power was still out, the flicker of candlelight the only thing cutting through the shadows curling around the room.

You sat curled on the couch, arms wrapped around your knees, pretending your phone wasn't dead and you weren’t mildly terrified of the dark. Then you heard footsteps. Not heavy. Not rushed. Just Megumi. He emerged from the hallway carrying a stack of pillows and a neatly folded blanket. He didn’t say anything as he knelt beside the couch, laying everything out with a quiet focus you refused to react to. But your throat tightened anyway. Because it was too much.

He’d brought the softest blanket. The only one that didn’t smell like detergent. He even slid a second pillow behind your back, like you couldn’t possibly sleep without it.

You didn’t comment. Just watched with a neutral expression, biting your cheek to stop from saying something snarky. You could've made a joke. Could’ve called him a housewife. Could’ve pushed, flirted, snapped.

But you didn’t. Because even you couldn’t deny what this was. He cared. And that scared the shit out of you.

When he finally sat down beside you—on the floor, back resting against the couch—you raised a brow.

“What, not going to bed?” you said, voice low.

He shrugged, eyes on the candlelight. “Didn’t feel like it.”

You blinked, letting your head rest against the cushion. “What are you, my emotional support boxer?”

That made him huff—barely a laugh, but still something. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

You smirked. “Please. You’re the one bringing luxury sleepware like I’m a fucking princess.”

“No,” he deadpanned. “You’re a brat. Princesses don’t throw paper at their tutors.”

You rolled your eyes. “That was one time.”

“It was two.”

You both went quiet after that, but it wasn’t awkward. Just… still. You watched the flicker of flames bounce shadows off the ceiling, your heart slower now, your body less tense.

“…So why boxing?” you asked, surprising even yourself.

He looked over his shoulder. “What?”

You tilted your head. “You don’t really seem like the type. You hate attention. And yet here you are, shirtless and sweaty, punching people in a ring.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, after a beat— “It helps,” he said quietly. “Gets the noise out of my head.”

You frowned. “You get noise?”

He didn’t look at you. “Everyone does.”

The answer made your chest ache a little.

You didn’t press. Just let the silence fill in the blanks. Then— “...You’re good at it,” you said.

His brow ticked. “You saw five minutes.”

“Still.” Another beat.

“You looked hot,” you added, nonchalant, watching the side of his face carefully.

This time, he did look at you. “You’re deflecting.”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t have to.”

You blinked. He didn’t elaborate. Just turned back to the candlelight, fingers fidgeting slightly against his knee.

The kind of fidgeting you did when you wanted to say something but didn’t know how. You swallowed.

“I never had something like that,” you said, quieter now. “Something that made the noise go away.”

Megumi didn’t speak, but you could feel him listening.

Really listening.

You rested your chin on your knees. “I tried to find it in people. Parties. Power. All that shit. But it never works.”

A pause.

Then Megumi asked, “And now?”

You looked at him. At the boy who used to flinch when you walked by. At the boy who looked at you like you were everything and nothing at the same time.

“…Now?” you repeated. He met your eyes. And for once—you didn’t look away.

“I don’t know yet,” you said. “But I think I’m closer than I used to be.”

You didn’t say it. But you were pretty sure he knew.

The silence had stretched into something calmer now—less tense, less biting. You were both still on the couch, the storm a dull whisper outside, the candlelight making the room feel smaller, warmer, like some strange little world that didn’t exist anywhere but here.

You shifted a little, resting your chin on your arms, curled up in the blanket he brought you like a sullen cat. Megumi sat beside you, back against the couch again, his legs stretched out, elbows on his knees.

Neither of you had spoken in a while.

You didn’t know why the words came out.

Maybe it was the dark.

Or the quiet.

Or the way Megumi was just... there. Not asking for anything. Not prying. Just existing beside you with that stillness that made people underestimate him.

“My dad’s out of town,” you murmured.

Megumi didn’t look at you, but his head tilted slightly—listening.

“Business trip,” you added, trying not to sound defensive. “He does that a lot. I used to hate it when I was younger.”

A pause.

Then: “But you’re close.”

You gave a small smile. “Yeah. I’m a daddy’s girl. You can’t tell?”

Megumi snorted softly. “Oh, I can tell.”

You chuckled under your breath, but the laughter faded quickly, something deeper tugging at your chest.

“I don’t talk about him much at school,” you said. “People already have their little opinions about me, I didn’t want to... whatever. Make it worse.”

Megumi stayed quiet.

You pulled the blanket tighter around your legs.

“When I was eight, my mom and dad split,” you said suddenly. “It got messy. She didn’t want custody. Not really. But her new husband did. I think he just wanted to win something.”

Megumi turned his head a little, watching you now.

You stared ahead at the dim outline of his coffee table, your voice soft. “But my dad fought for me. Hard. Like—like it was war. Lawyers, courts, all that shit. I remember him carrying me out of the hearing room when the judge gave him custody. I was crying. He didn’t. Not once.”

Megumi didn’t interrupt.

“I used to think he was made of steel or something,” you whispered. “Like, nothing could break him. And he never—he never made me feel like I wasn’t enough. Not even once.”

You blinked. Fast.

“He worked so hard. All those long hours. Just to give me this life. The clothes. The car. The schools. People see me and think I’m just spoiled. Rich bitch. But they don’t know how hard he worked for all of it. How hard he worked for me.”

Megumi’s voice was low when he finally spoke. “Sounds like he really loves you.”

You nodded slowly. “He does. And I love him, too. More than anyone.”

There was a pause. The quiet kind that settled in your bones.

You bit your lip. “My mom—she lives in Fukuoka now. Married to that same guy. I see her sometimes. She’s always smiling in her new house, with her new kids, like she didn’t leave me behind. But he never did.”

Megumi shifted then, just slightly.

You felt it before you saw it—the way his hand brushed gently against your ankle under the blanket, not a grab, not a hold, just... there.

Steady. Present.

“I’m glad you have him,” Megumi said. And he meant it. You could hear it.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Me too.”

And for a while, that was all. No teasing. No bickering. Just a storm outside, and a boy beside you, and the quiet reminder that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

The silence wrapped around the both of you again, more comfortable now. The storm outside had settled into a steady rhythm, wind pressing against the windows like a tired breath. The candle on the coffee table flickered lazily, casting long shadows up the wall.

You’d fallen quiet again, the weight of your last words still hanging in the air.

Megumi hadn’t said anything in a while. You glanced at him from under your lashes. His brows were drawn, expression unreadable—but his hands were tense in his lap, fingers rubbing at his knuckles absently. Like he was thinking too hard about something.

You nudged him gently with your knee under the blanket.

His eyes flicked to yours. “What?”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing.”

You raised an eyebrow. “The broody, ‘I’m-staring-into-the-void-like-a-tragic-protagonist’ thing.”

A breath of a laugh escaped him. Barely.

Then his gaze dropped, his voice quieter. “I’ve been thinking about Tsumiki.”

Your teasing died instantly.

“Oh.”

He nodded slowly. “She’s… not doing great.”

The weight of those four words hit you like a punch to the chest. You sat up a little straighter, eyes scanning his face. There was something different in it now—tired, but deeper than that. Like something he’d been holding for too long.

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the words. “Her condition’s… it’s getting worse. The doctors said there’s not much more they can do here.”

You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I might have to fly out next week. Fukuoka or even Sapporo—depends where they transfer her. She’s not waking up. And if something—if anything happens and I’m not there, I’ll never—” He cut himself off, jaw locking.

You didn’t say anything. You just reached out, resting your hand over his knuckles.

He didn’t pull away.

“She raised me more than anyone,” he said, voice gravelly. “After everything with my mom and dad… she was the one who kept me steady. Who made me believe I could be anything other than angry.”

You swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Megumi looked at you then. And for once, his eyes weren’t guarded. They were raw. Open. So full of guilt and helplessness that it made your chest ache.

“She’s so kind,” he murmured. “Always has been. She never hurt anybody. I don’t know why people like her—why she ends up paying for things.”

You squeezed his hand.

“I don’t want to lose her.”

His voice cracked at the end. Just slightly. Enough to make you want to pull him close and never let go.

You didn’t say you understood. Because you didn’t. Not really.

But you let your hand stay in his. And when his thumb brushed over your knuckles, soft and trembling, you didn’t call him out for it.

You just sat there.

Two kids. Bruised hearts. A flickering candle. And the quiet grief that filled the room like smoke.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, barely touching.

“I’ll be here,” you said softly.

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t move away either. And maybe, for now, that was enough.

The thunder had quieted into a low grumble, distant now, like the sky was done screaming and only murmured in exhaustion.

You weren’t sure when the silence shifted—when the conversation turned from real, heavy things to just… breath. Just the warmth of being there beside him. You had your knees pulled up, a blanket across your lap, your arm pressed against his on the couch. The faint scent of citrusy soap clung to his skin. The candlelight flickered over his profile.

And when he looked at you… really looked at you—

Everything else faded.

No more school. No more rumors. No more fights, or essays, or storms. Just the steady sound of his breath, and the way he was staring like you were a question he never thought he’d get to ask, let alone answer.

“…What?” you whispered, pulse skipping.

Megumi just shook his head a little. “Nothing.”

But his eyes didn’t leave you. Didn’t drop, didn’t flinch. They were so blue in the dark, like sea glass catching fire.

You blinked, suddenly shy. “Why are you—”

He leaned in.

You felt it before you saw it—his hand ghosting over your cheek, gentle, almost hesitant. Like he was giving you one last chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

When his mouth met yours, it was soft. Barely there. A breath shared between two people who’d never thought this would happen. His lips moved over yours like he was learning how—like he’d only ever imagined it before, and now, he was finding out what it meant to want, really want, and be allowed to.

You tilted your face up, deepened it slowly.

He followed you, a little clumsy, a little shy—but eager. Your fingers slipped into his hair, still tousled from the storm, from your work earlier, and a quiet groan hummed in his throat.

When he pulled back, his breath was shaky.

“Are you…” you whispered, forehead pressed to his. “Are you sure?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then his hand touched your jaw again, thumb dragging over your cheek like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“I want to,” he said. His voice was steady, but his pulse was racing—you could feel it where your hand had pressed against his chest. “I’ve never wanted anything like this before.”

You swallowed, heart in your throat. “You’ve never…?”

He shook his head once.

Oh. You were quiet. “We don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said again. And then softer, with something almost aching: “You’re the only one I’d ever want it with.”

Your chest ached.

And for once, you didn’t tease him. Didn’t put up your usual wall.Instead, you kissed him again.

You ended up in his lap before you even realized it.

One second you were kissing him—soft, slow, like the world might shatter if you rushed it—and the next, your knees were straddling his thighs, blanket slipping off your lap, hands curled in the collar of his shirt as you breathed into each other.

The living room was drenched in warm shadows, candlelight flickering golden over the curve of his jaw, the sharp edge of his cheekbone. You could still hear the rain faintly outside, a low murmur against the windows—but in here, everything was still. Sacred.

Megumi’s hands rested uncertainly on your hips, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you. Like he didn’t trust himself.

“You can touch me,” you murmured, lips brushing against his. “You’re allowed.”

His fingers tightened slightly, eyes darting up to yours. That bashful, quiet intensity—it made your chest ache.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” he whispered. “I don’t… I’ve never…”

“I know,” you said gently, and leaned in again, pressing your mouth to the corner of his. “That’s why I’m here.”

You kissed him deeper that time. Tongue teasing his lower lip, your body pressing closer. His hands slid up your sides hesitantly, under your shirt, skin to skin—and you felt the exact moment his breath hitched.

“You’re shaking,” you whispered.

“I know.” His voice was rougher now, quiet. “I just… I can’t believe this is real.”

You smiled against his lips. “It’s real.”

You tugged your shirt over your head, slow and deliberate, letting the fabric fall to the floor behind you. His gaze followed every movement, and when your chest was bare in front of him, he froze.

Not out of fear. Not discomfort. Just awe.

“…Fuck,” he breathed, eyes wide, voice barely audible. “You’re—”

“Don’t say perfect,” you said quickly, your voice light, teasing, trying to play it off. But your heart was fluttering in your chest like it was trying to fly away. “That’s such a cop-out.”

Megumi blinked like he hadn’t even thought of that word. “I wasn’t going to.”

You arched a brow. “No?”

He shook his head slowly, eyes still glued to your bare chest, your soft skin, the curve of you in his lap. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like you were something out of a dream.

“I was gonna say… unfair,” he said, swallowing hard. “Because I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive this. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You froze.

Not hot. Not sexy. Not fuckable, or a ten, or any of the things guys had always tossed at you like they meant something.

Beautiful.

It hit different. Like a bruise blooming in your chest—but soft. Warm. Gentle. You didn’t even realize you’d gone quiet until his hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek.

“Hey,” Megumi murmured. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, blinking quickly.

But the words were still echoing in your mind, messing with something deep inside you. Beautiful. Like art. Like something fragile and worth holding carefully.

No one had ever said that to you before. Not like this. Not with their hands trembling just from touching you. Not with eyes that looked like they were seeing straight through the act, the image, the attitude.

You looked down at him again—messy hair, bitten lip, flushed skin—and swallowed thickly.

“You mean that?” you asked, voice smaller than you wanted it to be. “That I’m… beautiful?”

His brows furrowed, confused by the question, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course I do. How could I not?”

And just like that, the ache in your chest cracked open into something warm, something terrifyingly tender.

So you kissed him—slowly, deeply, like it was the only way to say thank you without falling apart.

He kissed you lower, lips skimming the slope of your breast, and when you arched gently into him, he let out a quiet groan.

“Can I…?” he whispered.

You took his hand and guided it up, letting him cup you fully. His fingers twitched at first, then softened, kneading tenderly as his thumb brushed over your nipple. You exhaled, body melting into his, your hands cradling his jaw as you kissed him again—deeper now. Lazier. The kind of kiss that made time dissolve.

You tugged his shirt off next, fingers brushing over the hard lines of his chest and the pale bandages still wrapped around his knuckles. He tried to hide the way his breath hitched, but you felt it—felt all of him.

His chest was rising fast. He was hard beneath you already, straining against his sweats, and your hips shifted instinctively.

“Shit,” he whispered, fingers digging into your thighs as you rocked against him. “You feel…”

“I know, baby,” you breathed into his neck. “You feel good too.”

You rolled your hips again, slower this time, and his head tipped back against the couch. He looked wrecked already—eyes blown wide, lips parted, jaw slack.

“Can I…?” you asked quietly, your hand drifting down between your bodies. “Can I see you?”

He nodded, a little frantic.

You slid his sweats down carefully, watched as his cock sprang free—long, thick, flushed a dark pink at the tip, resting heavy against his stomach.

You paused. Blinked.

“…You’ve been hiding this?” you said, scandalized.

His cheeks flushed red, eyes darting away. “I didn’t think it’d—look good. Or be… enough.”

Your mouth fell open. “Enough? Baby, it’s a fucking blessing.”

He let out a broken laugh, but it turned into a groan when your fingers wrapped around him, stroking slowly. He was already leaking, the head glistening, and when you kissed his jaw again, his hips bucked helplessly under you.

You guided him to your entrance, your body already aching for him, but still—still—you paused.

“Are you sure?” you asked, voice steady. “This matters, Gumi."

His hands came up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

You sank down on him slowly.

The stretch burned a little, but he was so careful—hands trembling, voice breaking every time he whispered, “Wait, let me—are you okay? Is this too much?” And you kept kissing him through it, calming him, guiding him, grounding him.

When he was fully inside you, you paused, gasping against his mouth. He filled you so deep it was dizzying. You could feel every pulse, every twitch of his cock inside you, and he just stared—completely overwhelmed.

You rocked your hips steadily at first, letting him adjust, letting you adjust—but God, the way he filled you. Thick and hot and deep, every inch stretching you open, your breath hitching every time your hips met his. His hands had gone from trembling to clinging, fingers digging into your waist like he didn’t trust his own self-control.

“Fuck,” he whispered again, breath ragged against your collarbone. “You’re so warm. So tight. I can’t—”

“Don’t stop,” you breathed, grinding your hips down into him. “You feel so fucking good, Gumi.”

The nickname made his hips jerk up. Hard.

Your moan cracked in your throat.

He groaned—deep, guttural, wrecked—and buried his face in your chest. “Say it again.”

“Gumi,” you whispered, rolling your hips slow, teasing. “My Gumi.”

Something snapped.

Suddenly, his hands slid up your back, grabbing fistfuls of your hair as he sat up straighter beneath you. His mouth captured yours in a messier, wetter kiss—more tongue than technique—and the next thrust he gave you was sharper. Rougher. Deep enough to make your thighs tremble where they straddled him.

You gasped into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders. “F-fuck—what happened to being gentle?”

“I’m trying,” he growled, thrusting up again. “But you’re—shit—you’re making it hard.”

You felt his cock twitch inside you. You clenched around him just to hear the sound he made—half groan, half curse.

“Pretty girl,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His eyes were glassy. Unfocused. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty—”

Your whole body shivered at the name.

“Say it again,” you whispered, breathless.

He kissed you. Nipped at your bottom lip. Then, rougher: “You’re so fucking pretty, baby. You’re unreal.”

That did it—you pushed at his chest, forcing him back into the couch cushions, and began to ride him again. Faster. Deeper. His hands gripped your ass, your thighs, your waist—wherever he could hold you steady—and he let you take control for a moment, let you ruin him.

“Gumi,” you moaned, voice pitchy now. “You’re so deep—I can feel you everywhere—”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He grabbed your hips and flipped you before you could blink, laying you out flat across the couch cushions. Your legs parted instinctively and he slid back in with a broken groan, arms caging you in, head bowed over your shoulder as he thrust deep—really thrust now. Controlled at first, but strong. Heavy. The slap of skin meeting skin filling the dark room as you took all of him, over and over again.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, head tilting back, body arching. “Gumi—fuck—you’re—”

“I know,” he panted, sweat dripping down his temple as he buried himself to the hilt. “I know, baby.”

His mouth trailed across your jaw, your neck, sucking marks into the skin before pulling back to look down at you—your makeup a little smudged, lips parted, chest heaving.

“You’re unreal,” he said again, voice deeper now, like gravel laced with awe. “My pretty fucking girl.”

His thrusts picked up again—harder, faster, the kind of rhythm that had your legs shaking and your back arching into him. Your moans grew louder, ragged, and when his fingers dropped down between your legs again, circling your clit with messy, desperate pressure, you gasped so loud it echoed off the walls.

“F-fuck, Gumi—don’t stop—”

“I want you to cum first,” he murmured, his voice tight, almost pained. “Please. I need to feel you cum.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m close—”

“You can do it,” he said, his hand never slowing. “Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

You clenched around him, legs locking around his waist as the pleasure crested—hot and deep and overwhelming. You came with a sharp cry, shaking beneath him, your nails dragging down his back as your orgasm shattered through you like a wave.

“Megumi—!”

He followed right after, gasping as he slammed into you one final time, burying himself to the base. You could feel him pulsing inside you, warmth spreading deep as his whole body tensed, then collapsed over yours in a breathless heap.

“Fuck…” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. “Fuck.”

You wrapped your arms around his back, still trembling, your body soaked with sweat, your pulse a wild thrum in your chest.

For a long, long moment, you just lay there, tangled in each other, still connected, still catching your breath.

Eventually, he kissed your temple.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded slowly. “Better than okay.”

You turned your head and looked up at him, all flushed and wrecked, his lips pink, eyes heavy-lidded and soft.

“…You know you’re stuck with me now, right?” you said, voice low, a little smug.

He blinked down at you, dazed and smiling. “Good,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face. “Because I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

You smirked up at him, eyes gleaming. “Guess what, Gumi?”

He raised a brow, still breathless. “What?”

You grinned. “You’re not a virgin anymore.”

He blinked. Then rolled his eyes with the most offended expression. “Wow. So romantic.”

You laughed, nudging his chest. “I’m just saying—it’s official now.”

“Yeah, and you’re insufferable.”

“And you love it.”

He tried to scowl, but the soft curve tugging at his lips betrayed him. “…Shut up.”

You leaned up, kissed the corner of his mouth. “Never.”

He groaned dramatically, burying his face in your neck. “God help me.”

But he was smiling. So were you. Megumi walked slow, hoodie unzipped, the morning breeze cutting through the damp weight of his thoughts. He hadn’t slept much.

Not because you kept him up—though, god, the memory of your body under his hands, the way you said his name, how your lips had tasted like fire and sugar and something he knew would ruin him forever—that didn’t exactly help.

No. It was more than that. It was you. It was the softness.

The way you looked at him when you thought he didn’t notice. The way your voice lost its bite when you touched his face. The way you called him baby, like he meant something.

Like he was yours. He’d never had something like that before. Not with Miwa. Not with anyone. So now, walking across campus with the sky still gray from last night’s storm, he was thinking. Planning. Something stupid. Something soft.

A picnic. Flowers. Maybe a question about the dance—nothing cheesy, just… something real. Honest. You deserved honesty. And maybe, maybe you’d say yes.

He spotted Nobara by the vending machine, squatting like she was about to fight it.

“Yo,” he called, hands in his hoodie pocket.

She turned, eyes narrowing. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what.”

“Like you just got laid and then went to therapy.”

Megumi coughed, looking away. “Shut up.”

“Oh my god.” Nobara straightened, grinning. “You did.”

He didn’t answer.

She laughed. “Finally. Thought I was gonna have to break the tension with a crowbar.”

He ignored her, kicking at a stone. “Hey.”

“What.”

“…Do you know if she’s going to the dance?”

Nobara blinked. “Who?”

He gave her a look. She raised a brow. “Oh. Right. Her.”

Megumi waited. Quiet. Hope tucked under his sleeve like a heartbeat.

Nobara sighed. Looked away. “She’s not planning on it.”

His chest sank. “Oh.”

Silence. Then her voice came, a little softer. “You like her?”

He nodded once. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

Nobara saw it—how he looked like someone waiting for a building to fall. How he was still standing there, trying to hold up hope with both hands even though it was slipping.

“She told me she didn’t like you like that,” she said, careful. Not cruel. Not cutting.

Just honest.

Megumi blinked. “…When?”

“A while ago.” Nobara’s voice was low. “Before you started tutoring her again. Before all of this.”

He looked at the ground. His hands tightened into fists inside his pockets.

You said that. You said you didn’t like him. And now?

Now he was standing here, remembering the way you kissed him, the way you called him beautiful, the way you came around him like you wanted no one else—and it all started to feel like a dream.

Like he’d misread everything. Like he’d built something out of nothing.

“Maybe she changed her mind,” Nobara offered, but her voice wasn’t convincing. “You know how she is.”

Yeah. He did.

You were a hurricane. Reckless. Sharp. Terrified of feeling too much, and even more terrified of being seen.

And maybe… maybe he let himself believe you saw him too.

But maybe that was the problem. Maybe you didn’t want to. Megumi exhaled, his chest tight.

“Thanks,” he said, voice flat.

Nobara opened her mouth, but he was already walking away. And the wind picked up again—colder this time. Like the storm wasn’t really over.

"Going to see my sister. Things got worse. I’ll be gone for a while."

Three days.

That’s how long it had been since you’d seen Megumi.

Not that you were counting. Obviously.

It’s not like you checked your phone like an insane person the second you woke up. Or reread his last text five times before class started.

It had landed like a rock in your chest. Not the message itself—just the simple way he said it. Like it didn’t kill him to write it. Like it wasn’t tearing him apart.

And he didn’t even say when he’d be back.

So you’d done what you were best at: pretending none of it mattered.

You went to school. You wore the shortest skirt in your closet. You handed in a pop quiz without crying over it. You even laughed at something Nobara said in chemistry without faking it.

Maybe that was the worst part. You were doing fine. Too fine.

You were perched on one of the picnic tables outside the school building, your platform heels kicked up on the bench, iced coffee in hand. The sun was warm, the sky blue, and your hair was freshly styled in waves that would make a shampoo ad weep.

You looked every inch the untouchable bitch.

But your chest ached in that quiet, hollow way.

“I swear to god,” Nobara groaned beside you, flopping down on the table with a dramatic sigh. “If one more boy breathes near me with Axe body spray on, I’m pressing charges.”

You snorted, sipping your drink. “Just bring a lighter. One flick and the entire boy's hallway will go up like a Christmas tree.”

Nobara pointed at you. “That’s why I love you.”

You smirked, then turned your head slightly, scanning the crowd near the school entrance. Your heart did that dumb thing again. Hopeful. Stupid.

But he wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t.

Still. You asked, too casual. “Did you hear anything about Megumi?”

Nobara glanced at you, eyes narrowing just a little. “Nope. He texted Gojo, said he’s still out of town. Visiting his sister.”

“Oh.” You blinked down at your cup. “Right.”

Nobara let the silence hang for a beat, then elbowed you. “Anyway. Who cares about that—guess who I saw making out behind the gym?”

You leaned in, grateful for the distraction. “Tell me it was that weird art kid with the septum ring.”

“Worse. Fucking Haruna and that guy from the volleyball team.”

Your jaw dropped. “The one who eats chalk?”

“Yes, bitch!”

“Ew—what in the powder kinks is going on?!”

You both burst into laughter, the kind that made you feel weightless, for a second. The kind that made you forget there was an empty desk in third period with Megumi’s name on it.

And then Nobara leaned back on her palms, hair shining under the sun. “Are you okay, though? Like, actually?”

You raised a brow, defensive. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She gave you a look. “Because your little emo virgin isn’t here, and you’ve been acting like that’s normal.”

You scoffed. “He’s not mine, Nobara.”

“Yeah,” she said, too quickly. “Tell your heart that.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “You’re annoying.”

She smiled. “You’re lonely.”

You hated how that landed.

You hated how the air felt heavier again. Like the second you stopped pretending, the silence filled back in.

Because the truth was—yes, you’d been doing fine. You’d been acing quizzes. You hadn’t picked a fight with anyone all week. You hadn’t cried, or screamed, or done something unhinged to distract yourself.

But you missed him.

The silence wasn’t the same without his sarcasm. The walks through campus felt longer without him beside you. You’d even caught yourself reaching for your phone during study hall, ready to text something snarky before remembering—

He wasn’t here.

And you didn’t know when he’d be back.

You sighed, collapsing back on the table beside Nobara and covering your face with your hands.

“I hate this.”

“What, feelings?”

“Yes. Emotions. Vulnerability. All of it.”

She cackled. “You’re such a brat.”

You peeked between your fingers. “Do you think he’s okay?”

Nobara grew quiet, more serious this time. “I think he’s strong. And I think he’ll come back.”

You nodded.

“I just…” you trailed off. “I hope he doesn’t come back different.”

Nobara tilted her head. “You mean like you did?” You didn’t answer. Because she was right. You had changed. And the worst part? It was because of him. And he wasn’t even here to see it.

You were walking down the hall like you owned it. Because you did. Your skirt was short, your blouse perfectly pressed, and your gloss was fresh—mirror-checked and lethal. The heels clacked with just enough bite to announce your presence before anyone had the nerve to look up. Students scattered instinctively as you passed, like you were the final boss of the east wing. You liked it that way. But your phone had no new texts. No new messages. Still no him.

You’d waited all morning. Pretended not to glance at the school gates. Pretended you didn’t notice the empty space where he usually stood during break. Pretended you didn’t hesitate outside the chem lab he always passed on his way to third period.

You hated that he wasn’t there. You hated that you cared. But today, at least, you looked perfect while doing it.

You smirked to yourself as you walked, swaying your hips on purpose. If he was back and trying to avoid you, fine. Let him suffer. Let him see what he’s missing.

Your locker door slammed shut behind you with a sharp clack, and you turned down the hall like nothing was wrong, like you weren’t still aching a little behind the eyes.

You were halfway to class, halfway through adjusting your sleeve— And then it happened.

You didn’t scream when the hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you inside.

You didn’t need to.

You knew it was him.

The closet door slammed shut behind you, a jolt of darkness swallowing the soft light from the hallway. You barely had time to gasp before your back hit the wall, and then—

“Megumi—?” He didn’t answer.

His mouth was already on your neck, warm and hungry, breath rough as he kissed down the side of your throat like he couldn’t get enough. Like he’d been starved.

Your bag slipped from your shoulder and hit the ground. Your hand flew up to clutch at his shirt. “You’re—fuck—”

He pressed into you harder, body flush with yours, teeth scraping gently at your pulse point. His hands gripped your hips, fingers tight, dragging you forward like he wanted to crawl inside your skin.

You gasped as his thigh slotted between yours.

“You’re back,” you whispered, breath hitching. “You didn’t even say—”

“I know.” His voice was low, hoarse. “Didn’t want to talk.”

You opened your mouth, but then he kissed you—kissed you—like he couldn’t breathe unless your lips were on his. Tongue sliding hot and deep into your mouth, lips messy, desperate. Your knees went weak.

You’d missed him.

More than you realized.

You grabbed the collar of his uniform and yanked him closer, kissing him back with just as much fire. You could feel it in his body—the way he trembled against you, how hard he already was beneath his pants. You ground into him shamelessly.

“I missed you,” you said between kisses, your voice breathless. “Fuck—I was so mad—where were you—?”

“Thinking about you,” he muttered, dragging your shirt up, his mouth trailing lower again. “Every fucking day.”

You gasped as his hand slid down the front of your skirt, fingers quick and practiced despite the trembling. You grabbed at his hair, fisting it hard enough to make him groan.

“You couldn’t text?” you snapped, even as your legs parted for him. “You just show up and pull me into a closet like—”

“I’ve been losing my mind,” he growled, dragging your panties to the side. “You have no idea what it did to me—leaving you.”

Your head hit the wall. His fingers slipped between your folds, slow and teasing, and your breath left you in a moan.

“Gumi—”

“I kept thinking about you,” he muttered against your collarbone. “That mouth. That attitude. That fucking pussy.”

“Shut up,” you gasped, bucking into his hand.

“You want me to?” He curled two fingers inside you. “Or do you want me to bend you over right here and fuck you until you forget how to speak?”

You let out a broken whimper, hips rocking against him. “You can’t say that—”

“I will say that,” he said, voice sharp now, cocky in a way that made your stomach drop. “You think I haven’t been thinking about bending you over every surface in this school since the last time?” You moaned as his thumb rubbed circles against your clit. Your hands clawed at his back. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah?” he grinned, finally tugging your panties down your thighs. “Still soaked for me.” Your skirt was bunched around your waist. He turned you before you could blink, one hand pressing hard between your shoulder blades to bend you over the low shelving behind you.

“Gumi—wait—” you started, but your voice broke as you felt his cock slide along your slit, thick and hot and already slick from your arousal.

“I’ve wanted this,” he said, grinding against you, not pushing in yet. “Wanted to take you from behind like this—just rip your attitude out of your throat. Hear what you sound like when you’re begging.”

“God, you’re such a little shit when you’re horny,” you gasped.

“And you love it,” he bit back. “Don’t lie.”

Then he pushed in—slow at first, then hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. You choked out a cry, gripping the shelf so hard your knuckles went white.

“Fuck—Megumi—”

He groaned low in his throat. “This pussy,” he hissed. “God, I missed this.”

He didn’t give you time to adjust. His thrusts started fast, deliberate—hips snapping against yours as the slap of skin echoed in the tiny closet. His hand gripped your waist, the other in your hair, pulling your head back so he could whisper filth into your ear.

“You feel even better than I remembered,” he growled. “So wet for me. So fucking tight. You let anyone else fuck you while I was gone?”

Your brain short-circuited. “What?”

“Answer me,” he said, thrusting harder. “Anyone else touch you?”

“No,” you gasped. “Of course not.”

“Good,” he grunted. “Because this pussy’s mine.”

You whimpered. “Say it again.”

He slammed into you deeper, and you could feel him hit that perfect spot—over and over. “You’re mine,” he said, panting. “My girl. My pretty little brat. Say it.” You were already falling apart.

“Yours,” you moaned. “Fuck—Gumi—I’m yours—”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, voice shaking. “All fucking yours—!”

His hand slid down, rubbing your clit again with messy, brutal circles, and you were already so close—hips stuttering, moans turning into high, broken whines. “I want you to cum for me,” he said through gritted teeth. “Make a mess all over my cock. I’ve been dreaming about this—about fucking you stupid.”

You nodded frantically, your whole body twitching as you chased it, falling over the edge like it had been waiting for you all week. You came hard, clenching around him, crying out his name as your knees gave out. He caught you with one arm and kept fucking you through it, chasing his own release.

“Fuck—you’re so perfect—so mine—”

You felt his cock twitch, and then he buried himself deep, groaning loud as he spilled inside you, his whole body shaking behind you, his breath hot on your neck. For a few long moments, the only sound was your panting, the heavy beat of your hearts in sync. He didn’t pull out right away. Just stayed there, hands on your hips, forehead pressed to your shoulder, his chest rising against your back.

Finally, you muttered, voice still wrecked: “You’re the worst welcome committee ever.”

Megumi laughed—soft, breathless, a little smug. “You missed me.”

You rolled your eyes, still panting. “Shut up.”

But your smile said otherwise. And his hand didn’t stop holding you. Not even when you turned around, leaned into him, and kissed him slow, like nothing else mattered. Because for once—it didn’t. The world had gone still.

You leaned weakly against the shelf, your skirt wrinkled, your knees barely steady, your heart still thudding somewhere near your throat. The air in the storage closet was thick with heat and the fading scent of sex.

And Megumi… Megumi was kneeling in front of you. Quiet. Focused.

His fingers were careful as he smoothed your underwear back into place, tugging the fabric up your thighs without meeting your eyes at first. You flinched instinctively—out of habit more than discomfort—but he didn’t stop. He didn’t tease. He just… looked up and adjusted the hem of your skirt with both hands, like it was normal. Like you were delicate.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

“Are you always like this after?” you asked, trying to sound smug but your voice cracked a little—too soft, too curious.

He stood, brushing hair from your face. “Like what?”

“Nice.”

He blinked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You shrugged. “Just… not used to it.”

Megumi looked at you for a second, eyes calm, unreadable. Then he reached up again, fingers ghosting through your hair, gently combing it back into place. You stared at him, thrown off by how domestic it felt. How natural.

“I missed a strand,” he muttered absently, flicking a tangle aside.

“You’re such a dork,” you whispered, but your voice was soft. Like you didn’t want him to stop. He finally stepped back, hands falling to his sides, and for a moment the silence stretched between you—thick with something unsaid.

“When did you get back?” you asked, quieter now. Like if you spoke too loud, the moment might break.

“This morning,” he said simply. “Didn’t want to go home. So I came to school.”

You nodded. Tried to think of something clever, something flippant, but nothing came. Instead, you just leaned back against the wall again and exhaled.

And then, after a long, aching beat— “…I missed you.”

His gaze softened instantly. “I missed you too.”

You looked at each other, not smiling, not joking. Just seeing one another. But then—

“I asked Miwa to the dance.”

parts, chapter 05

notes, I need to know what ya'll think so make sure to comment, ik i don't reply but i am reading ALL of them and im filled with love for each and one of you.

taglist, @crispycatt @littlevoidfairy @bookfreakk @1-rxse-1 @starzfaerie @zephyairies @moonmaiden1996 @simonexxx1 @pinkmeatball218 @evii1e @xavisbabie @maeviees @justanotherasiangirl @tiasd1ary @shioribuns @allysainz @mwrgwt @cookies-assemble @tiasd1ary @blu3-l0v3r @camy-yh @pinkmeatball218 @chokismom @01elle-sherlock @oidloid @holymolyyikes @haithamsbb @mysteriaqueen @fxngsfxgxrty @meiyinnaise @gojoswaterbottle @hadesorion @ashhlsstuff @chocalycake @planetzetra @kenmacantakemeaway @urmotherswhor3 @kelppp @suki91 @secretlyapartofthisfandom @bleedingwhiteroses222 @luvvmae

[desuscorpion]

I'm going to add to this post with some things of note as someone who has lived their whole life with a short term memory problem which has most likely been related to the only recently diagnosed ADHD:

- I would only suggest against the lip balm (chapstick) in each in all jacket pockets because you will also forgot to check them before putting them in the wash & that will make it all sticky & yucky. I instead put one into each bag and know others to keep spares in their car or at work in case you forget/run out/lose one

- Object permanence does not exist. Have a key holder or basket that goes in a logical place. Keep your keypass lanyards hanging up with your bag/jacket so you can see it when you go to leave & remember to put it back when you get home. Put jewelry dishes/boxes in common places you put them down to avoid them getting knocked off and lost. Create little "homes" for things so you will always know where they are and save you hours looking for things and stressing over losing them.

- Writing things down helps with memory retention. Especially if you are a person who enjoys doing things with your hands and find doing them digitally is too detaching for commitments. Write down shopping items or a to do list and put it someone easy to see so you are reminded of it frequently like the fridge or a mini whiteboard on a wall you walk past constantly.

- To add to the writing stuff down, having a physical calendar is also helpful for remembering important dates and appointment but would also make the habit of putting them in your phone for when you aren't at home to check it but still find this helps me remember that I have something happening soon even if I don't remember what it is (because digital calendars are still somehow too detaching then a physical thing somehow)

- Give yourself a reward system. Do the tedious thing first, even if it's only a little bit because doing some is better than none. Then reward yourself with a fun thing you enjoy. Otherwise if you do the fun thing first and tell yourself you'll do the boring thing after, you will get sidetracked and forget.

- Don't put vegetables and fruits in those drawers in your fridge. That is what they are designed for but you won't see them and will forget to use them before they go off. Put them in the door instead so when you open it it's the first thing you see. And use the draws for stuff that lasts forever or even stuff you want to avoid having too often like unhealthy snacks or soft drink (soda)

There's probably more I could list but I can't remember (lol) and wanted to add more onto OPs existing tips. Hope this helps ~ !

this is your gentle reminder to stop fighting against your adhd and instead structure your life around it

buy a pack of chapsticks and put one in the pocket of all of your coats and jackets because you always forget to bring one and chapped lips is sensory hell

leave important things where you can see them. if they go in a box or a drawer you will forget they exist

put any appointments or deadlines in your phone calendar As Soon As you get them. set a reminder for a week before, a day before, an hour before, as many as you need as often as you need them.

when that little voice in your head says "i dont need to write that down, ill remember it" that is the devil talking!!! write it down anyway!!

plan for down time. have a few hours at the end of every day to just do fun stuff like engage in your hyperfixations. even if you didnt get all of your work done that day, have the rest anyway. you probably spent the whole day beating yourself up for not doing what you Should be doing, so you still need the break.

if you never eat vegetables because its too much effort to chop and cook them, get the frozen or canned shit. it doesnt go off for ages and you just have to microwave it. theres no point buying fresh vegetables if they just keep going off and being left to rot in the bottom of your fridge

if you struggle to decide what to have for dinner every day, take the decision out of it. choose a set of meals and eat those on rotation until you get sick of them, then choose some new ones and do it again.

its not stupid if it works! our brains literally have a chemical deficiency. you are allowed to accommodate yourself. go forth and stop making your life more difficult than it has to be because "this shouldn't be this hard". it is hard, so make it easier.

[cloverapple]

Every Law, Method, and View Is Correct, and You Can Never Shift “Wrong”

There’s no wrong way to shift. You do whatever feels easiest on your mind, whatever fits you best. Sure, it’s good not to box yourself in with limits and constraints, but that doesn’t mean you can’t use what resonates. That’s why everything works: Law of Assumption, Law of Attraction, quantum jumping, reality transurfing, two-cup, subliminals, prayer, meditation, visualization— you pick your flavor.

They’re all simply different ways to redirect your awareness to observe the outcome you want until all other options collapse. That’s it. Different roads, same movement, same destination.

And here’s the thing: If you’ve been practicing something—say, using Law of Attraction—to shift for X years, and you think you “still haven’t shifted,” don’t you find that weird? Even if you throw cause and effect out the window, and zoom out to the perspective that you are infinite and already have everything, it becomes obvious: you did the action to get your desire, you set your intention, you observed it, you moved toward it. So by the logic you live by daily, you must have the outcome. You already have it because you did the action to get it. You can’t fail, because you don’t intend to fail.

You always get what you intend, because what you intend becomes what you are. This isn’t “reality reflecting you like a delayed mirror,” it’s instant. It’s that the moment you intend through whatever method you intend by (loa, loass, etc), you are that version, and everything else is illusion, not a delay.

Wavering, contradicting yourself, spiraling; none of these “block” your desire. They don’t take it away. They’re just like hands over your eyes, fogging up your lens, making you think you don’t have it, even when you do. They’re habits of observation, not proof that you aren’t what you intended to be.

It’s like someone who worked out, changed their body completely, but when they look in the mirror, they still see their old body because that’s what they’re used to seeing.

That’s why I keep saying: the idea that you don’t have it is an illusion. “I’m still seeing my CR.” No, you’re not. Even the question of how to break the illusion is an illusion.

So: If you’re using Law of Attraction, you’re not doing anything wrong. If you’re using Law of Assumption, you’re not doing anything wrong. If you’re practicing non-duality, you’re not doing anything wrong. If you’re scripting, meditating, affirming, visualizing, or simply daydreaming, you’re not doing anything wrong. If you’re letting go and forgetting about it, you’re not doing anything wrong.

You are always correct, except for when you believe you’re powerless and that you don’t have something you’ve already taken the action (intended, observed, affirmed) to get. That’s the only moment you’re incorrect—because you’re powerful :)

*The idea that you’re wrong, broken and don’t deserve to shift is also an illusion. Give yourself the grace and love you deserve, but don’t think for a single second that the path you’re taking to get your desire is the wrong one.

[kaiser1ns]

#. A LONG-AWAITED DREAM

featuring 𝗷𝗶𝗻𝘂 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗶𝗱𝗼𝗹 𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗻!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

fluff + slight angst. you disappeared like a nightmare, but returned like a dream. he should forget you… but all he wants is to remember.

THE SHOOTING STAR you had been famous in the demon world many centuries ago. you were good at it, too good, flawless. maybe that’s why you were the favorite, a pawn polished till you stood alone, a weapon more than a somebody. but you made yourself disappear without a trace, leaving no one to remember you, not even the mighty demon king, who does little to recall someone who bears his mark.

you saw the sajas again. mostly because you were elbow-deep in demon guts at the time. yes, you, a demon, killing your own kind. the betrayal was heavy, just like the marks on your skin that you can’t erase, but you’ve long since cut ties with gwima and anything even mildly infernal. it’s been... what? two centuries? you stopped counting after ten years when you decided pretending to be human and saving souls was a better use of your immortality. it was long enough that even gwima doesn’t bother remembering you, not when he’s got new toys to parade around.

idol during the day, a soul-saving demon during the night.

you felt the energy of the five grim reaper boys, and panicked,  you ditched the scene, hiding in the shadows before any of them noticed. classic you, but the problem is, someone noticed you this time.

jinu. you have seen him before, or rather, you know him. of course, you do, since he’s older, technically your superior. he helped train you when you were just a newbie, back when your job description involved feeding souls to a gluttonous, egomaniacal demon king like it was a buffet. now he’s behind you. trailing like a lost kid at a mall who is crying for his mother, asking questions you didn’t ask for. 

“do you not hear him in your ear? do you not feel any shame, pain, regret?”

okay philosopher jinu, calm down. he wants to know how you did it. how you broke free from him, the one who wraps shame around souls like a curse masked as a vlessing. and you just want to know what the hell he’s doing here when his band is performing right after you. he’s cute, though. nostalgic, but you don’t have time for that. don’t have time for the past.

you blink, acting like you don't know what he's talking about.  "no, but i do hear the countdown to my performance in like... 30 seconds. so if you'll excuse me. see you, old man."

“excuse me? old man—hey!” he grabs your wrist like he forgot you're stronger than you look. your markings glow, purplish hues pulsing on your skin. eyes flashing gold from the sudden touch. you whip your head around, and that’s when he really sees you.

you look human, almost human. but your smile? oh, your smile screams devil in disguise. there’s something new in you, not darkness, but light. you smile like you tasted freedom and liked it. you have changed. his grip tightens, trying to keep you here, because he feels it, knows it. he remembers those eyes. they were made to take souls, but now… they burn with life.

“i’m not going anywhere, jinu” you say, calm and too perfect for someone with blood on their resume. “i’ll see you later, okay?”

he lets go, slowly, like something inside him just twists, and it wasn't from pain. it was something like the freedom he was seeking. he cleared his throat, shoved his hands into his jeans like he's a high schooler trying to look cool infront of his crush.

"break a leg then, sunbaenim," he mutters with a massive eye roll and a smirk that says i’m definitely going to bring this up again later.

“will do,” you wink, already walking off, refusing to glance back. “also say hi to the others, i’m sure abby misses me~”

MEMENTO MORI jinu watches you take the stage. the crowd erupts in screams and cheers the moment you appear. of course you have control here too. but it wasn’t built from doing dirty work, not anymore. not with blood on your hands or shame in your soul. you earned by rebuilding yourself.

he wants to forget everything; he wants his memories gone—burned, buried, erased. but you’re here now… have you always been here? have you always been more human than demon?

it’s like you died and were reborn. a wish from a shooting star, someone who escaped the endless maze, found the missing piece of the puzzle, and embraced their sins. he glances at his hands, and his own shame marks flicker in that same violet hue.

then you sing... and your voice? angelic. a complete betrayal of what you are. of what you used to be.

jinu clenches his fists and storms toward your dressing room. he doesn't know why he is doing something like this. as he enters, two familiar figures appear from the floor: a charming blue tiger and a three-eyed magpie bird, who is already wearing the tiger’s hat, again.

he pats the tiger’s head, and it purrs. then he pulls a blue envelope out of nowhere and places it gently into the tiger’s mouth. “wait for her, alright? she can resist me, but not you.” the tiger blinked, as it turned its head to the side, confused but listening and just going to fulfill the order. “be nice to her.”

and then he’s gone, off to prep for his performance.

GOTTA GO UNDER THE FULL MOON the show was over, and you kept killing it with your two new songs, “gotta go” and “full moon,” hit every note, every move, every soul, even the camera angle. don’t you love it when the cameraman knows how to do his job? give this man a rise. also the cover you chose? already trending, probably breaking the internet with edits. and the fans? oh, you adored them. pure, kind, unsuspecting humans, exactly the kind of souls you’d sworn to protect now, not harvest.

you walked into your dressing room, humming the last chorus under your breath, towel over your neck, heart still pounding, and you … freeze.

“did your master send you here?” you ask, staring at the unexpected visitors lounging on your couch like they are vips. a familiar blue tiger with big yellow eyes and a bird wearing the cat that was not his. “some habits never change, huh?” you kneel and scratch under the cat’s chin, it purrs like old times.

you missed them, only them. not him or the whole demon population. especially not the world you'd burned behind you.

then the cat padded forward and dropped something from its mouth. you blinked in surprise. a blue card? you picked it up and flipped it open.

“when the full moon rises, come see me.” – jinu

“is he out of his damn mind?!” you shouted, immediately followed by a guilty whisper after seeing how the two companions reacted. the cat blinks slowly, while the bird flaps twice in judgment. “sorry.”

you didn’t know why he wanted to see you. didn’t want to. what could he possibly want now? answers? closure? to poke at how you escaped? to ask again how you broke free from the grip of the demon king?

you don’t know, really don’t. it just happened.

all you remember is the hunter. the one who didn’t kill you. who saw your monstrous form and still spared you. who fought alongside you when you were still learning what it meant to want something other than power. maybe it was a blessing, or pure luck. maybe it was her.

you sighed, scribbled something on a small piece of paper, folded it neatly. “open,” you told the cat, and it obediently opened its mouth like a well-trained mailbox, as you tucked the paper in. “it was nice seeing you two. visit me next time without his creepy invitations, okay?”

except, you did end up going, because tonight was the full moon.

he’s sitting on a rock by the sea, waves crashing dramatically when you sneak up behind him. “nice spot. you come here often?” jinu screams, squealing like a little girl. “jeez, don’t do that ever again,” he groans, hand clutching his chest like the old man he is. “i was this close to becoming fish food.”

you laugh. can’t help it, because he’s the same even if he looks human. till handsome, still annoying. still... jinu.

"the moon’s beautiful tonight, isn't it?" he says, as you stand beside him, watching him gaze at the moon instead of looking at you. you hated how soft his features looked under the moonlight. hated that this felt right. then he turned to you, and like a coward, you looked away. it’s awkward. you both know what’s unsaid, both feel it burning beneath your skin like a song stuck on repeat. but you can’t say anything, not when gwima might still be watching.

so you talk about your career instead. your music, your fandom’s weird ship names with famous male actors. he seemed genuinely interested until he disappeared mid-sentence. you were smart enough to suspect something, just not fast enough to dodge the surprise wave of cold seawater he splashed on you from behind.

"what the hell—jinu?!" you yell, and he grins. "revenge is a dish best served wet."

“that’s not even how the saying goes!”

but you're already chasing him, splashing back, laughing like it’s 200 years ago and nothing even matters. knee-deep in the water, as you chase him while little cold waves hit your legs, and you laughed, he laughed harder. 

somehow, you ended up in his arms. you don’t know how you got in this position. giggles, flushed cheeks, eyes too close, lips too close. no need for words right now because your eyes are talking. the obvious three words feel special tonight. why is my heart beating so fast? when the full moon rises, you should give it all. it’s the perfect time for whispering love.

you're leaning in, so close. and then it struck. twelve o’clock. a silent bell tolled in your chest. you pulled away. what were you even thinking? you can’t be honest past this point.

his hands tighten just slightly. he doesn’t want to let you go. and you don’t either. but you have to. placing your hands on his chest, gently pushing him. he got the hint, and let you down, just like his hopes…like the dream he held for too long when it was just another illusion created to satisfy him for even a little while.

"i’m sorry, jinu..." he smiles. it doesn’t reach his eyes, and you see right through it. reaching for his hand, you squeeze it hard to reassure him it is going to be okay, but you are not the one to help him, you just can’t. "you’ll find your salvation. i promise."

and then you smile at him one more time before you vanish, teleporting when his hand reaches again for you, out of pure instinct, alas, you are already gone.

he stands alone under the moonlight, sea wind tousling his hair, eyes locked on the path of silver stretching across the waves. beyond that horizon, there’s another world out there where you meet again. there’s another world where you’re both free in his long-awaited dream.

BONUS cut to five saja boys sitting frozen on the couch in their dressing room. watching the tv with mouths wide open in shock, their souls leaving their bodies in slow motion. you’re on the screen, performing a cover of adult ceremony by park jiyoon. long and tight dress made of black silk, high heels ready to step on them. eyes glowing gold, lips tinted with red as the camera does a close-up and you wink. ending fairy style, the entire nation stops breathing. 

“did…did she just–” romance was too stunned to speak, and baby stole the remote from him. “shut up, and rewind it.” the saja boys are not okay. they’re in awe, terrified, fanboying. they need to collab with you immediately. but will you let them? will you let jinu be close to you once again?

taglist: @seneon @y2kuromi @maruflix @irethepotato @justanindiangirl12 @zuhaeri @levifiance @amery-benson-cvii @ririrenni3 @tsukimoon-chan (sorry if i missed someone; please let me know if you'd like to be added to the general kpdh taglist!)

©2025 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[katherinecrighton]

Favorite "humans being human" history posts, please

I've seen the collections of favorite tumblr fiction posts; now I'd like to see what your favorite "humans being human" historical posts are. (Because sometimes it is Nice to be reminded that compassion is not something easy for us to lose; we laugh at the same bad jokes; there are entire fossil records of our kindness.)

Here are my favorites-- add on yours.

The story of the RMS Carpathia, with a follow-up (aka one of if not the best pieces of short nonfiction historical writing in the modern age and one that reduces me to tears every goddamn reread)

Bronze-age grave of teenage gamer girl lovingly buried with her sheep ankle bone collection

The 1st-2nd century CE Roman tombstone with a bar joke that reads like a Dril tweet

And even earlier: A 4500-1900 BCE Sumerian bar joke

"Please know that there's an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that's beautiful to you"

Reconstructing Otzi's shoes

The Paleolithic grandmother and the child's fingerprint

Stone-age toddlers had art lessons

Ice-age children played in megafauna-footprint puddles

There once was a little boy who loved ducks

The oldest human burial found in Africa is a toddler; they made a pillow for his head

Henry Kenelm Beste's father loved him very much

"A Timeline of Humanity"

"I have a folder called Time is a Flat Circle in which I collect evidence of humanity. Here is most of them."

"I got to hold a 500,000 year old hand axe at the museum today. It's right-handed. I am right-handed"

A 3rd century dog carved on a marble tomb; a 1st century dog lovingly described and named for posterity

Patrice, a 1st-2nd century dog, was dearly loved

And: we found a Paleolithic dog, buried with its bone

Humanity, unified across time by everyday experiences

The Golden Record sent into space in the 1970s

Ancient Egypt had archaeologists

Egyptian figurine of a woman waiting for her bread to finish baking

The graffiti of Pompeii

Ancient Greek tourist graffiti at the tomb of Ramses V

Hidden messages on circuit boards

The earliest examples of someone chewing on the end of their pencils

"im having feelings about the uffington white horse again"

The vast relatability of Medieval marginalia (and cats peeing on things)

Potoooooooo

What our ancient ancestors would think, seeing us prosper

Engage with older art; it keeps you from forgetting their humanity

"They were just like you and me. They write don't forget eggs, and wondered if their neighbors secretly hated them or if they are reading into it too much. They loved and were loved and they wondered. They wondered about you."

"Why do you study history" web-weaving

And ending on a high note: Ea-nasir and his shitty copper

[skzstarl0ver]

do you know what I was thinking about? Idol reader with idol chan, where reader makes a sensual presentation even too much, and well... you can do whatever you want with this information 🫣

Only I Get to See You Like That ᯓᡣ𐭩💋

@thvsuga OUH- thx for the idea!! hope you like this fanfic xx

Idol Chan x Idol reader / secret relationship / smut / jealous!Chan

**involves!!** sexual content, possesive behavior, dirty talk, strong language, light choking, spanking, mirror play, overstimulation, unprotected sex, praise & light degradation

enjoy xx (request open)

★.•☆•.★★.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★ skzstarl0ver ★⡀.•☆•.★⡀.•☆•.★¸.•☆•.¸★

Bang Chan should’ve known better.

He should’ve known your performance wouldn’t be... tame. You were known for pushing limits — bold concepts, stage presence that could crush egos, and eyes that burned like fire.

But nothing prepared him for what you did tonight.

He watched from the crowd, surrounded by other idols, all supposedly focused on their own comebacks or nominations. But every single eye had locked onto you the second your music hit.

And Chan’s stomach twisted.

You came out in all black — leather, lace, skin. Your hair done just right, body moving like you owned the stage. The choreography was sensual. Intense. Every move deliberate. Every hip roll, every body wave, every touch to your own neck or thighs — it screamed look at me.

And everyone was looking. Including the guy two rows in front of Chan who audibly said “holy shit.”

That was the moment Chan saw red.

He clenched his fists in his lap, jaw tight, heart pounding with something that was not just jealousy — it was possessive, dangerous. Because that was his girl out there. His girlfriend. The same one who wore his hoodies after practice and curled into his side after long schedules. The same one who’d whispered I’m yours into his ear more times than he could count.

And now?

Now everyone was seeing her like this.

When the performance ended — final pose, lights dimming, the crowd roaring — Chan didn’t cheer.

He stood up.

You were still buzzing with adrenaline as you headed backstage. That performance had been everything you wanted — powerful, sexy, commanding. You knew it’d stir things up. That was the whole point.

But you didn’t expect to find Chan already waiting for you the second you turned the corner, blocking your path.

He wasn’t smiling.

“Chan—?”

“Don’t,” he said lowly. “Don’t act like you don’t know what you just did out there.”

You blinked, breath still uneven. “What are you talking about?”

“That performance,” he said through gritted teeth. “Was that for the crowd... or for me?”

Your stomach flipped.

“Oh, come on—”

“Do you even know what it was like watching that?” he cut in, stepping closer. “Watching you dance like that — touch yourself like that — while guys around me were drooling over you?”

Your pulse spiked. “It was just a concept—”

“Just a concept?” he scoffed. “You were on your knees at one point. And when you ran your hands down your body—” he cut himself off, jaw flexing.

You gave him a sly smile. “So you were watching closely.”

“I always watch you closely,” he said, voice rough. “But tonight? Tonight I almost lost it.”

Your back hit the wall behind you as he closed the distance, hand bracing beside your head.

“You wanna be sexy on stage?” he murmured. “Fine. You are. But don’t forget who you belong to when those lights go off.”

Your breath caught. “Chan—”

“I’m serious.” His voice dropped. “You don’t get to walk off stage like that and act like everything’s normal. Not when I’ve been sitting out there thinking about every move you made. Every time you touched your thighs. Every time you looked into the camera like you wanted someone to take you backstage and ruin you.”

You swallowed hard.

“I wanted to walk up there in the middle of your set and remind everyone watching—” he leaned in, nose brushing yours, “—that only I get to see you like that.”

A beat of silence.

And then you smirked. “Sounds like you’re jealous.”

“Damn right I am,” he muttered. “And you love it.”

You bit your lip.

He tilted his head. “Was it for them… or for me?”

Your fingers reached up, smoothing his shirt collar. “It was for you.”

He raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“Every step. Every look. Every time I touched myself?” You smiled sweetly. “I was thinking of you.”

Chan exhaled slowly, like he was holding back the kind of thoughts that would get both of you in trouble.

“Then you better come over tonight,” he said, backing up just enough to let you breathe. “Because if you’re gonna tease me like that on stage…”

His eyes flicked down your body and back up again, dark and hungry.

“…you’d better let me return the favor.”

_

The ride to his place was quiet — but not peaceful.

You could feel the tension radiating off him like static, like he was trying to be civil but barely holding himself together. His hand gripped the wheel tight, veins flexing, jaw clenched so hard it might crack. You tried to make light conversation. He didn’t answer.

He was way too calm. And that was worse.

Because Chan only got like this when he was planning to ruin you.

_

The second you stepped into his apartment, the door clicked shut behind you — and then everything happened at once.

His hands were on you. Your jacket was ripped off, your back against the wall, and Chan's mouth was crashing into yours like he needed you. Like he had been thinking about this for hours — because he had.

“You’ve been testing me all night,” he muttered against your lips. “Wanna act like that on stage? Wanna get on your knees and grind like you’re begging for it?”

His hand slid down, cupping your ass — hard.

“Then act like it now.”

You gasped when he lifted you, strong arms wrapping under your thighs as he carried you to the bedroom. You didn’t even touch the ground. You barely had time to breathe.

He dropped you onto the mattress and stood back, chest rising with every breath as he looked at you like he was about to devour you whole.

“Strip.” You blinked. “What—?” “I said strip. Like you did on stage. Slowly.”

Your throat went dry.

He stepped back, folding his arms — watching.

So you obeyed.

You stood and began peeling off the layers, slower than you needed to. Slower than you ever had. Letting each piece drop to the floor, teasing him like you were still performing. You let your hands trail over your body — like during the choreo — and met his eyes when you reached the hem of your shirt.

That was all it took.

“Fuck it.” He crossed the room in two strides.

You yelped when he grabbed your waist and flipped you onto the bed, crawling over you like a man possessed. “You want to play sexy?” he growled, lips dragging down your neck. “You want to tease everyone?”

“I wasn’t teasing—” you gasped as his hand slipped between your thighs, fingers stroking over your panties — already soaked.

“You were teasing me.” His fingers rubbed harder. “And now I’m gonna make sure the only sounds coming out of that mouth are for me.”

Your panties were gone in a second — literally. He didn’t even pull them off. He ripped them.

Then he dropped to his knees.

“Chan—!”

His tongue was already on you — hot, fast, no mercy. You barely had time to react before he flattened his tongue and licked up your entire slit, groaning like you were his last meal. He pulled your legs over his shoulders and buried his face between your thighs.

You moaned, fingers tangling in his curls.

He sucked on your clit, relentless, holding your hips down when you squirmed.

“Already shaking, baby?” he said, lips slick. “Didn’t even make you cum yet.”

You whimpered. “Channie—”

“That’s right. Say my name.” He sucked harder. “Only mine.”

Your thighs were trembling, breath hitching — and then he slid two fingers inside, curling them just right, and your back arched.

“I-I’m gonna—”

“Good.” He pumped faster. “You deserve it. You put on a show for the world, now give me the encore.”

You came hard — legs shaking, breath punched out of you, fingers grabbing at the sheets like a lifeline. But Chan didn’t stop.

He kept going.

You whined. “Too much—”

“You can take it,” he said darkly. “You’ve got one more for me.”

Your eyes were glassy. “Chan—”

He moved up, kissed your mouth — letting you taste yourself on his lips. “You wanted to look like a fantasy on stage?” he whispered. “Now I’m giving you one.”

He pulled off his shirt, then undid his jeans. His cock sprang free — thick, hard, leaking. Your breath caught.

Without another word, he turned you to face the mirror beside the bed.

“Look.”

You blinked.

He pressed up behind you, one hand gripping your jaw to hold your gaze forward.

“Look at yourself,” he growled. “This is what you really look like. Ruined. Dripping. My good girl.”

You whimpered as he pushed in — slowly, deeply — stretching you open inch by inch.

“Fuck—” he grunted. “Still so tight.”

You could barely hold yourself up, but he held your hips steady and started thrusting — hard, deep, controlled.

“See what you do to me?” he growled. “One performance and I’m fucking obsessed.”

His thrusts got rougher, faster. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room. You were moaning uncontrollably, nails digging into the sheets, watching yourself bounce in the mirror.

“Let them stare,” he growled. “Let them drool. Just means they’ll never know what it’s really like.”

He wrapped a hand around your throat and pulled you upright, still pounding into you from behind.

“They’ll never know how you moan my name. How you beg for it. How you cry when I don’t let you cum.”

You whimpered again, hips trembling.

“You are mine. Say it.”

“M-yours,” you gasped.

“Say it louder.”

“I’m yours!”

He groaned, hips stuttering.

You felt your second orgasm rising — your whole body tightening, burning, needing—

“Cum for me,” he growled. “Come on, baby. I wanna see you fall apart.”

That was all it took.

You came with a loud cry, body shaking, Chan holding you through it — and seconds later, he followed with a deep groan, spilling inside you as he bit down softly on your shoulder.

Silence followed. Just heavy breathing. Tangled limbs. Heartbeats racing.

Then:

“...So,” you whispered, barely able to speak. “You liked the performance?”

He laughed hoarsely, chest still rising. “Don’t ever do it again.”

You smirked.

“No promises.”

[krunchkrunch]

Morning Flight

synopsis: A lazy morning with a Krypton by your side. With a super powered twist.

a/n: Based off a comic book scene where Clark and Lois hookup in the sky. And a comic panel or something I saw of Lois waking up to Clark sleep-floating.

pairing: Clark Kent/Female!Reader

tags: Smut, Shameless Smut, Penis in Vagina Sex, Superpower Use during Sex, Fluff and Smut, Slight Banter and Humour, Flying during Sex, No Use of Y/N

word count: 1.9k

——————————————————————————

It was a beautiful morning. With an even more beautiful man beside you. You had just spent an amazing night, having a romantic candlelight dinner at your shared apartment with this said man.

But this man was not just any man at all. He was Superman.

Well, he was Clark Kent to you. Or Smallville or any other teasing nicknames you could come up with about his country bumpkin roots. But at the end of the day, he was always just Clark.

But this morning you would be reminded of the capabilities of a certain starred immigrant, as you open your closed eyes and feel a lack of a comfy mattress beneath you. Your heart wakes up before you do as your eyes shoot wide open and as you look at the covers draping over you both. You look down.

Holy crap. You’re both in the air.

Random laser shaped burn marks, things being accidentally broken all the time were things you could deal with. A little annoying but fixable. But this?Sleep…floating? Sleep…flying? Meaning that you could fall flat on your face before the day has even started or process what’s happening?

You’re just glad that you were cuddling with him, your arms around his torso to keep you afloat and laying on your side. While he sleeps so blissfully with a small and sleepy smile on his face. Classic Clark.

You tap him on the shoulder gently,because god forbid he jolts asleep and you both break the bed due to dropping a few feet. “Uh…Clark?”

His eyebrows furrow as he lets out a soft groan, before opening his eyes up slowly. It takes him a while to realise what’s going on before looking to the side below him.

“Oh, darn. Didn’t know I could do that.” He murmurs groggily while fixing his hair, while the other hand is snugly around your waist. You wondered how he could talk about this so casually.

“I…didn’t know that either.” You reply with a slight dry tone, as they both of you are still very much floating with the covers just barely clinging on. You raise a slight eyebrow in amusement. “You didn’t know that you levitate in the air while sleeping? It’s never happened before?”

He chuckles a little, his voice a tad bit rougher from being still affected by sleep. “If I have…I haven’t noticed. Or no one has ever told me.” His eyes are warm with affection as he takes in your look, comfortable and right at home in his arms.

“Guess I just feel a little…elevated in spirits today.” He quips with his usual cheesy grin, waiting for the part where you playfully groan and boo him. It’s almost as fun as making the pun.

You give him a deadpan look, though your eyes can’t lie that you do find it indisputably charming. You should hate corny puns but you don’t. You have a newfound appreciation for them because of him. “Very funny. I’m glad our dinner last night had such an effect on you that it appeared in physical form.” You muse.

“Indeed. Maybe my body is showing its appreciation.” He muses back, his eyebrows do a small jump for happiness. They’re still floating by the way, as it’s not uncomfortable. She almost forgets they’re in the air right now. “You should be happy about it.”

You laugh softly. “I am. I’ll let your body know I said thank you.” You pat his chest, which makes his heart flutter. It’s an amazement how you still make his heart sing and stutter, in a way that doesn’t happen with giant monsters or threats he deals with in Metropolis.

“Though…this is some very useful information I will be remembering for later.” You say with slight mischief, as it doesn’t feel that bad as it looks like to someone walking in. You’re completely supported by his arm holding her by his side, it almost feels like they’re in a cloud of some sorts.

Maybe it’s because you’ve already overcome the fear of being in the air with him. Or maybe because…your imaginative mind was going to other places.

It seems like he catches up on that, you can’t exactly expect the man with super hearing and x-ray vision to not notice the small changes in your face. Especially since he loves to stare at it so much.

He looks down at the bed below that at you with the same gaze. “I’ll have to make note of that too.”

“It’s very convenient.” He adds.

You smile back at him slyly like a playful cat. “Yeah. It feels nice and light.” You trace his chest with your finger, feeling how bulky yet soft he is. “The bed isn’t making any noise.” You shrugs your shoulders.

You gaze into his eyes, trying to give an air of nonchalance in this little banter of yours. “Very convenient indeed.” Your voice softens like the sun peeking through the window.

“Maybe it’s not so bad after all.” He murmurs before getting an idea and shifting you so you’re now straddling him in the air. You wobble a bit before adjusting from the speed at which he moved you at, your eyes a little surprised.

“And it’s definitely not so bad like this.” He wiggles his eyebrows a little, which you return with a short eyebrow lift. He starts to feel you up, which was on your bare skin from the…fun you both had last night.

Were you really about to do this? I mean, a little flying wouldn’t hurt right? Especially with him feeling you up like this, you dissolve like putty at his strong and big hands reaching up to your ribcage.

He always convinced you to do the craziest things.

“Are you sure, Clark? I don’t wanna fall off or break my nose.” You say with slight concern, your hands on his chest for stability as you look down at his smitten eyes. Like he’s not even listening to what you’re saying as he admires your body and soul. ��I need my nose.” You joke gently.

He chuckles warmly, sending a warm ripple down your spine. “I’ve got super strength, remember?” He’s already getting hard, and you feel it right against your core. “Just focus on enjoying yourself.”

“Look, I’ll show you how comfortable it is.” He promises as before you can even utter a single word, he lifts you up by your pliable hips and glides you down on his length slowly. Your retort gets cut off by a slight gasp and moan, matching with his sound of approval in a deeper tone. You forget what you were even going to say.

“Mmn…Yeah, but…how about moving? Won’t that be…challenging?” You try to breathe out as it feels like he’s in your lungs right now. It’s crazy just how much a Kansas boy like him could fit in those denim jeans of his. Even after a few months of dating, the feeling of him inside of you always felt so full and filling.

“I don’t think so…Not if I’m moving you like this…” He grunts softly as he begins to lift you up and down his aching length with ease, which makes you grip his chest tighter. You start to let out those soft moans he loved so much, he could watch your face melt into pleasure a thousand times. You’re so warm and wet, it’s such an easy glide as he practically bounces you in his lap.

“See? Do you…still think it’s difficult?” He pants as you squeeze him so tightly, like your walls are giving him a firm embrace. His face makes a small wince of pleasure, trying not to cum inside you already at your sudden heat.

“You forget how…ah…persevering I can be when it comes to you…” His eyebrows knit as a ruddy blush starts to colour his cheeks, the sound of your skin contacting filling the bedroom. His grip on your hips is tight but you don’t care, as long as he keeps pummelling your stomach like this.

“Hah…I guess so…” She let out a desperate whine from the throat as he starts to buck his hips up, as he does all the work while you just sit there and take it. You tilt your head back as you whimper his name a few times, your mind being filled with only how good he feels. How good you both feel together. “I..take it back…”

“Hah, yeah…You take it back..?” He can’t help but smile a little bit, though it’s not a full one due to the pleasure running through his body like an electric current. How he can manage to tease you while thrusting up into like his life depended on it astounded you. He increases the pace, which makes your eyes squeeze shut as your head falls back down as he pushes a louder moan from your lips. “I proved you wrong…?”

“Holy crap…yesyesyes…You did…” You start to ramble, he was the only person who could reduce your sharp tongue to mush. You didn’t even care about your ego right now, you would agree to anything he said at this point. He was attacking your weak spot with so much precision it was scary.

Probably because he could use his vision to pump inside of you. Which he also deeply loves. He keeps going, not even really breaking a sweat as he watches you melt on top of him intently.

“Now just focus on making me cum, Clark…I’m so close…” You begged frantically, as you opened your eyes to make eye contact with him. You can tell that he’s getting close too, but how he’s barely keeping his eyes open and staring at the slickness of your arousal around his cock. How a white ring is starting to form at the base of it. “Please…” You start to slam your hips up and down on him, now longer concerned about being in the air.

“Jeez…Don’t worry, I’m gonna get you there…I got you…Crap, you feel like heaven…” His panting and groans get more desperate and needy, his thrust getting a tad sloppy but still doing its job to get you at the finish line. The cover that was barely hanging on for dear life had now slipped off and fell onto the mattress.

But you didn’t even notice since you were already finishing all over him, just how he likes it. “Clark…! Jesus Christ…” Your hips stutter as he pushes your hips down and stops you from moving, pushing his cum further into your hole. You let out a few frantic and breathless moans, your legs trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“Ah, darn it…Just like that…So perfect…So pretty…” He praises you as his thumb rubs your waist, still feeling the pulsing and clenches of your soaked walls. He grinds your over sensitive clit against him in slow motions, dragging out your pleasure.

You let out a deep sigh, your body slumping like a tight string that had been released. You immediately felt relaxed and a little dazed, and you glanced at the dopey grin on his face.

“Darn it? Really?” You teased him as you came to your senses, huffing out a small laugh. Of course he would be the type of person to say darn it during sex.

He scoffs playfully, while his chest goes up and down. “You’re making fun of me now? While I’m so vulnerable and I just gave you so much pleasure?”

“I expected at least a thank you.”

You giggle breathlessly and lean down to give him a soft kiss on the lips, staring into those blue eyes of his for a moment. He smiles back.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smirks.

She looks down below then back up at him. “We should…probably get down.”

He looks back down, almost like he also forgot that they were still floating completely naked.

“Oh yeah…We probably should.”

[dismalflo]

remus x hyper reader pleaseee where she’s golden retriever energy and he’s more black cat

thanks for requesting!

Remus lupin x reader who gives him a flower ✩ 772 words

cw: fluff, grumpy x sunshine

Sirius likes to think of himself as a pretty sharp guy. He can tell when Remus just wants some quiet company, he’s learned the pattern behind James' chaotic mood swings, and – after a lot of trial and error – he’s even figured out what Regulus' barely noticeable shifts in expression mean. So yeah, Sirius considers himself fairly perceptive.

That is, until you show up out of nowhere, your head suddenly popping into the narrow space between him and Remus with your arm twisted behind your back, making him nearly jump out of his skin.

“Christ,” he mutters, a hand flying to his chest. “should get you a bell or something.”

“Hello, Sirius,” you grin at him, beaming like you haven’t just startled him half to death. “I’ll start stomping around more if that’ll help.”

You’re impossible to stay annoyed with – not that Sirius tries particularly hard. There’s something disarming about the way you grin, unapologetic and radiant. It’s endearing, honestly, how you make the effort to chat with him at all. He knows you’re not really here for him. Not when your eyes keep flicking sideways toward Remus like you’re trying not to look too eager.

Sirius suppresses a sigh, already feeling secondhand embarrassment bloom in his chest on your behalf. Moony’s in one of his usual silent moods today, the kind that comes with a permanent scowl and a drawn brow. You haven’t been seeing him long enough to recognise that yet, to know that sometimes he doesn’t want affection or words or even eye contact. 

Sirius is halfway through crafting an excuse to get him far away from whatever is about to happen, when you finally turn your full attention to Remus.

"Hi, honey," you say, soft as anything. Your fingers move before Remus can flinch or lean away, gently brushing a stray bit of hair off his forehead and away from his eyes.

Sirius watches with morbid fascination. He’s seen Remus Lupin do a number of things over the years. He’s watched him break up fights, endure full moon recoveries, and drink James’ horrible attempts at fancy coffees without so much as a grimace. But now? With your fingers ghosting across his hair and your smile all warm and unbothered?

Remus is blushing.

And not just a faint, dignified flush either – no, this is a full-bloom, down-to-his-neck pink, the kind that looks particularly unfair on someone who normally prides himself on his unshakable composure. Remus clears his throat, eyes darting to Sirius for one mortified second before you continue like you haven’t just completely dismantled him.

“Oh!” you say, suddenly remembering yourself. “I brought you something.”

Remus blinks. "You… what?"

You smile wider and reveal the hand you’d hidden behind your back, a small, slightly crushed wildflower. Yellow, with ragged petals and a bent stem, clearly plucked mid-walk or from somewhere inconvenient. Sirius squints. It looks like the kind of flower a child would press between book pages and then forget about for a decade.

“I saw it and it made me think of you,” you say, tone offhanded, like the connection between Remus and a half-wilted flower is the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s pretty.”

Remus stares at you like you've grown a second head.

Then, without saying a word, he takes it. He’s careful, absurdly so,  and before you can flit away again – because you’re already turning back toward the door, likely off to check on whatever it is sunshine people check on – Remus reaches out.

His arm slips around your shoulders, pulling you gently into his side.

It’s awkward at first, mostly because you weren’t expecting it, but then you melt against him like you were built for it. Your head tips to rest against his collarbone, just for a second, before you hum contentedly and pat his chest.

Sirius can’t believe his eyes.

“Be back in a bit,” you say, already halfway out the door again. “Look after it, please!”

The door closes.

There’s a moment of silence.

Remus exhales, the faintest sound of breath escaping as he starts fiddling with the flower. He doesn’t look at Sirius, he can't stand the thought of it. The pink is still climbing up his ears.

Sirius, for his part, stares at him like he's trying to solve a riddle.

“…You’re cuddling now?”

Remus grunts, still very pink. “Shut up.”

Sirius exhales dramatically and leans back against the couch. “Mate...”

Remus only half-hides the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He tucks the flower into the page of his book, precisely, carefully.

Sirius watches this development unfold and mutters, not without fondness, “You poor bastard.”

[lorbanery]

I don't understand this response.

You're all acting like they're trying to do something shady, which I guess the article title is too.

But if you actually read the article, it basically just says that OceanGate "ceased operations", as announced on their website. Deleting their social media accounts is just a normal step in that process.

Like, what would be the point of leaving them up?

They're not using them to advertise, because there's nothing to advertise.

They're not hiding evidence or dodging responsibility or whatever the headline and these reblogs are trying to imply. Everyone involved in the incident who's still alive to speak on it has been very open and mostly public about the failings that led to the implosion. The rest of them are dead.

Literally the only purpose keeping their social media accounts up would serve is having a place for complete strangers to unload every ugly thing they want to say about the company/people involved. And what good does that do anyone?

Stockton Rush isn't going to see your comments about what a horrible, negligent person you think he was. The only people who are going to see it are other complete strangers going to do the same thing and whoever they'd pay to maintain the accounts who, 10 to 1, wouldn't have had anything to do with the dives.

Besides, everyone who kept their posts circulating would just be contributing to people thinking that they were still in operation. Which again, they're not.

You want people to not forget what happened? Okay. You don't need their social media accounts to do that. You can literally do that anywhere. Make your own post, post in the relevant tags, make a Youtube video, make a tiktok, write a thirty tweet long thread on Bluesky, write an article.

But like, let's also keep in mind that the entire conversation around this, before any of us non-submersible laymen had ever even heard of OceanGate and still years after, has been how dangerous and foolish it was. The most generous coverage has pretty much entirely been, "Well some of these things people keep making fun of are actually fine. But jfc let's look at THIS screaming alarm bell!"

I know we live in a world where every individual maker and small business run out of someone's dining room is expected to have a dozen social media accounts, and every scammy drop shipper has about a hundred times that; and when those businesses close or the scam runs dry the accounts are just left there to be dragged around like little zombies by people who don't know the business doesn't exist anymore.

But shutting down social media accounts for a business that has closed its doors is, actually, a normal thing to do.

poor things, well we should definitely make this easier on them by never repeatedly mentioning their name and deeds on the "reblog things forever" website

[the-kr8tor]

Crazy stupid love with 📽 !! With Jason of course ♥️

Jason admits he has a girlfriend but the batfam believes she isn't real until one day, she shows up. (Your choice on if they were penpals, long distance, etc)

Hehehe i had so much fun with this one! I hope you like it pinky! ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem! Reader/ Red Hood x fem! Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, established relationship, you and Jason are penpals turned lovers, CW food mentions, alcohol mention, a few suggestive jokes, fluff!

Katy's Summer Flick Screening 📽️

Navigation

Jason has been acting…strange lately. He's usually all frowny and moody during patrol. And it has his brother a little concerned. The vigilante has been like this for a few weeks now or maybe even more when it's only just now that Nightwing realises that he hasn't cursed out Bruce for months now. He just thought that he got a new shiny gun or something.

The man perched on the edge of a billboard with him does not look like the broody Red Hood, who prefers to work alone and amidst the dark. He's more… mellow.

As Nightwing stares at his brother, his gaze narrows at the way Jason's mouth curves upward in such a weird way that he thinks that he could be infected by the Joker toxin.

“What's wrong with you?” He blurts out, arms crossed over the symbol on his chest as Red hood barely looks up from his phone.

“Why, what's wrong with who?” Barbara unintentionally hears his question through the comms that Dick keeps forgetting to turn off during lulls in patrols.

“Jason, he didn't even look at me.” He says, offended when Jason keeps smiling at his phone that's too bright for him to take a peek at. Curse the permanent fog around Gotham and its almost eternal darkness.

“Because it's a rude question, Grayson.” Jason finally responds gruffly, his green eyes briefly glancing at his brother with annoyance.

“Well, I apologise for being concerned about your well being.”

“Wait, what did he say?” Tim replies from across the city through the cackling comms. His voice is strained as the unmistakable click of the device sounds in his ears that signals that everyone has joined in on the conversation.

“He said— Jason, open your comms.” Dick raises a brow, clicking his tongue, impatient while Jason keeps typing with nonchalance.

“No.” The red clad vigilante says flatly.

“Stop typing for a second and unmute.” Nudging Jason's boot with his own, Dick huffs when he continues to ignore him.

“Oh shit, he's typing?”

“That's very concerning indeed, Drake.” Damian replies monotonously with sarcasm as the wind rushes from his side.

“I'm ignoring that—!” Tim groans, followed by the sound of something falling down on the ground harshly. Heaving, he exhales loudly. “What I meant was that I've noticed that too.”

“Noticed what?” Nightwing tries to take a peek at the phone again, but Jason's too quick, shutting it off and placing it inside his pocket with a smug look.

With a click of a button, he unmutes his comms. “That I'm talking to someone.” Jason rises to his full height on the slim metal bannister, feet stable against it like he's just standing on solid ground.

“You're talking to someone?” Everyone asks in various tones of surprise.

“You have friends, Todd?” Damian asks, everyone could hear the smirk from his voice.

“I thought you were in some book forum arguing about Jane Eyre or some shit.” Tim sounds more winded but decides to tease his brother anyway.

“Good on you, Jason. You need friends outside of this.” Meanwhile Barbara sounds ecstatic as she types on the bat computer.

“Please tell me it's a therapist.” As for Nightwing, he presses his hands together and points at him with a glimmer in his eyes. “You do need it, Jay.”

“We all need it, Dick.” The Oracle sighs.

Jason has an intense urge to jump off the billboard and head home. “First of all, yes, I have friends, you demon spawn. Second, I am in a book forum just because people's opinions are shit. Third, stop looking up who I'm talking to, Barbara.”

“Oh shit! You got found, Barbs.”

“I can't believe you've got friends.”

“That's still a no on the therapist then?”

“I'm not—!” The Oracle fumbles out, sighing against the receiver but the typing doesn't cease. “How did you even—?”

“I can hear you typing it all out.” Sighing, Jason hops off the railing and lands on a more solid structure beside his blue clad brother. “Let me save you some time since you're all going to find out anyway because you can't mind your own fucking business.” With a deep inhale, second guessing his decision, he swallows thickly before uttering your name with fondness that his family doesn't miss from his tone. “You all happy now?”

There's silence on both ends.

Dick purses his lips together, either trying to suppress a chuckle or from saying something that'll get his teeth knocked out. For a moment, the quiet has Jason nervous. He acts like he doesn't care as he leans against the billboard, his back turned against an advertisement about Wayne enterprises.

“Well, that's… nice, right? That's a girl's name, I think?” Tim sucks in his teeth, groaning as he sits down on a random rooftop to nurse his wounds. “I mean, it's not like it's bad if it's not— I'm proud of you either way, Jay!”

“You're digging your own grave, Drake.”

“Stop calling me by my last name, Damian, we live in the same house!” Tim rolls his aching joints and clears his throat. “Anyway, I call bullshit on this! You have no time or the charisma to pull someone—”

“Found her!” Barbara victoriously claps, then changes tune with a clear of her throat. “I mean— thank you for telling us, Jason.”

“Yeah,” Dick approaches him with the same trepidation as a zoo keeper in a lion enclosure. “That must've been hard to tell us, Jason.” With a palm on Jason's broad shoulder, he smiles lopsidedly.

“My therapist tells me I need to open up more.” With those parting words, Jason leaps off the billboard expertly, shooting off his grappling hook and landing safely below before Dick could even register his brother's statement.

“You hear that, Bruce? I think our Jaybird has a girl.” Barbara smiles widely while the others are left speechless.

“I heard.” Batman's unmistakable deep voice sounds out through the comms. “Bring her to dinner at the manor.”

“Not a chance!” Jason exclaims above the roar of his motorcycle's engine. He yanks the earpiece out before his family could even speak their piece. Their muffled voices echo into the night as he decides to patrol around the city on his own. Preferably without his family's nosey selves.

—

“I told you, not a chance.” Jason plops down on his couch, the springs bouncing briefly under his weight as he unlaces his boots. “Babe, absolutely not.”

“Well, it's the perfect chance.” You bite the inside of your cheek, phone tucked in between your shoulder and cheek while you spread butter on toast. “I'm going to visit you in a week and I could finally meet your family then! Two birds with one stone.”

Dead on his feet, he forgoes yanking off his boots to rest his head against the back of the couch, staring at his popcorn ceiling. Maybe he should scrape that off for you, just in case you don't like the look of it.

“A week's time, huh?”

“Imagine that, a year of being together and we can finally see each other in person.” He could hear the excited grin from your tone.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot, Jaybird.” Your use of the word isn't lost on him, making him smile as he hears you take a bite of your breakfast.

He has never gotten used to the time difference. When it's the dead of night on his side, you're just about to wake up. There's pros and cons about it, usually cons since there's not enough time in the world to speak with you. But all the sleep he lost during all the conversations he had with you, either nonsense or full of affection, is all worth it just to hear your voice.

It all started from a pen pal service that his therapist recommended so he could talk to someone and hopefully make a friend. He still has his issues but having someone to talk to has made him better, feel less alone and feel less shit about everything. Whenever he opens his eyes in the morning, his heart no longer beats like a drum the moment he wakes. And the world doesn't seem so bleak, that it doesn't feel like it's beating him down just because it's him. And it wasn't all thanks to you, like you've always told him, the progress is all because of him and how he chooses to make everything around him. And just like what he always tells you, you've been a guiding light on that path.

Then it went uphill from there, a one page letter turned into two, then to three, then it's as if he's writing a college essay and sending it to you. If college essays are about the books he's hate reading and what he did that day. After a year of letters, the two of you finally took a leap forward and exchanged numbers. It was slow at first, but it was the greatest decision he ever made. The first time he heard your voice could be compared to finding bottled water in a desert. Then the first video call with you would be him seeing an oasis. A year of phone calls and late night talks has finally come to fruition with you visiting Gotham.

“What are you eating?”

You almost choke on the piece of toast, chuckling while coughing through the receiver. “And here I thought you were going to ask something more paramount.”

“Asking what you're having is paramount because you eat nothing but toast in the morning.”

“Toast is good enough, Jason.”

He sighs, starting to unload his weapons from his holster to the coffee table. “Not enough for my girl since you're anemic. Seriously, babe, you need something more filling and healthier than that.”

“Oatmeal makes my stomach ache, Jay.” You say whilst mid-chew.

“I know it does, and I'm not just talking about oatmeal.” His tone is laced with so much endearment that you almost left your toast to cook an omelette instead. “You could have eggs and bacon, pancakes, or hell, even an everything bagel.”

“That sounds like toast with extra steps.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head, chucking off his boots as it thumps on the floor. “When you get here I'm making you a breakfast spread.”

“Says the man who only eats cereal in the morning.” You say in a sing-song lilt as you finish your breakfast. Or according to Jason, a half-assed breakfast.

“You don't want me to cook for you?” Brows furrowing, phone tucked in between his shoulder and cheek, he yanks off his jacket, tossing it next to him.

“Of course I want that.” You say softly, almost a whine as your mind concocts a sweet scene where he brings you breakfast in bed. “You'll even make me waffles with cinnamon?”

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” A smile appears on his tired face, hand brushing along the silver bracelet you've sent him. “Make a list of all the food you want so when you get here I'll make it all.”

“Even if it's like… shepherd's pie or pizza?” Your heart feels full, even just the notion of him talking about wanting to cook for you fills you with glee.

“Sounds like a challenge. I'll fucking make it all from scratch.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Even if you have to bring it to your dad's place?” Jason can practically hear how you bite your lip shyly from your question.

“Babe.”

“What?” You ask innocently as you enter the bathroom, voice bouncing off the tiles.

“I know what you're doing.” Standing up with a groan, he heads towards his bed, immediately flopping down on it from the fatigue clinging to his bones.

“What exactly am I doing?” You place the phone near the sink, propping it up with a facial wash bottle and putting the call on speaker. The whole thing is familiar to the both of you, something so mundane and yet so special.

“Get dressed, you'll be late.” His cheek is pressed on the pillow, one eye open as the screen illuminates his face.

“C’mon, Jay! Please? If I turn on my camera right now—”

“Don't tempt me.” That makes him sit up by his elbows though.

“Why, because you can't resist?” He knows you're wiggling your brows right now even if he can't see you.

“No, because you'll be late.” It takes for his iron clad restraint from saying yes to you.

“Please?” You open your camera and bat your lashes. “Oh nice temple, babe.” Teasing, you remind him of the time when he accidentally opened his camera for the first time and you only saw his temple during the whole call because you were too shy to tell him.

He pulls the phone back to see you, but before opening his camera he makes sure that the domino mask is off. “You really want to meet them?”

Seeing you in all of your glory under the white fluorescent lights of your bathroom has his muscles relaxing almost immediately. The thought of you wanting to see his family has his chest feeling warm. He finds that you have that effect on him.

“Only if you want me to. I won't push it anymore if you tell me otherwise.” Gazing at an obviously tired Jason makes you want to jump on a plane and cuddle him until he feels better. Or at least make him feel like the world isn't weighing him down.

“So you were just being a little shit?” Twisting around, Jason lays comfortably on his pillow, smiling whilst you put toothpaste on your toothbrush as if he's really there with you. Standing beside you and rubbing away the crusts in your eyes.

You blow raspberries, head tilting with a chuckle. “Always. I like to keep you on your toes.”

Sighing, a palm placed on his forehead, he looks into your eyes and wishes that you were beside him, hogging the blanket. “I'll…think about it.”

“Okay, that's good.” Your beaming smile lightens up his whole demeanor even further. “Should I pack a fancy dress—?”

Rolling his eyes, he can't ignore the call of sleepiness as he sinks further into the mattress. “You'll be late, I'll see you in a week.”

“Look for someone in red.” You wink.

—

At the airport, he looks for someone in red. Sure enough, you sport a red dress that hugs you in all the right places. But his crushing embrace feels much more comfortable as he greets you with the best hug you've ever felt. Greet is an understatement, Jason almost tackled you to the ground when he first saw you coming out of the gate looking like his dream come true. He even accidentally ripped his welcome banner that he refuses to admit took him hours to do. “It has glitters,” he proudly said with a puff of his chest as he held you against him.

All the awkward tension you thought you would have with him was gone the minute he wrapped his arms around you. The two of you fell perfectly together like puzzle pieces.

“Hi, Jaybird.” Leaning away, you cup his face affectionately, thumbs running along his freshly shaven jaw. “You're way hotter in person.”

His head lolls back in laughter, arms wrapped around you with a gentle squeeze. “I knew you'd say that.”

“And your ego's bigger too.” You poke his chest, and it feels like you're poking a brick wall.

“You’re not too bad yourself— my eyes are up here, babe.” With a hand on your chin, he takes your attention away from his well toned chest that you most certainly can see through his plain black shirt. Maybe he should've worn white just for this occasion.

“Hmm?” Your gaze lingers for a second too long before looking up at him.

“Hmm,” he hums teasingly. “I was saying that the screen doesn't do you any justice. You're gorgeous, fucking beautiful.”

You giggle as he peppers your face with quick kisses. “Any more adjectives?”

Leaning away, Jason cups your face in his warm hand, happiness radiating off him in waves. “Maybe more after we get home.”

Home, that makes your stomach do a cartwheel and your heart leaping in place. “Please don't tell me you scraped off the popcorn ceiling, it gives the place character.”

He sucks in his teeth, wincing as he carries your bag effortlessly for you with enough space to hold your hand. “Should've said that before, babe.”

“Aw, that's fine, your books are enough to make the place homey.” Nuzzling his bicep, you still can't believe that you finally get to hold him, even moreso, to stay with him and kiss him just like how you imagined.

“That and the pot roast I made for you.” Jason's gaze upon you is saccharine, probably sweeter than the apple pie he made that's waiting for you.

“You didn't!” Your giddy voice rings around the airport as he guides you outside and towards home.

—

When Jason first said his father is well off, you expected a mcmansion with six bedrooms with its own bathroom, and roman pillars where it shouldn't be, not a literal manor that's the size of your hometown's mall. After he told you that his adopted father is Bruce Wayne, you thought he was joking at first. Even before you stepped off that plane you still thought that he was fucking with you. Now that you're staring at the proof, you should've anticipated seeing all of these, but you know that nothing could've prepared you once you're right in front of it.

He notices the look on your face as he pulls the car around the roundabout where a gorgeous gothic fountain lies in the middle of it.

“You look worried,” parking, he clicks his seatbelt off to twist in his seat and hold your hand. “I did tell you about my family right?”

“Uh huh.” Nodding, dumbfounded by the sheer size of the façade, you feel like you've shrunk down and you're looking up at your childhood dollhouse. “It's fucking huge.” You say with a sigh, face practically smushed against the car window as you roam your eyes at every tiny detail of the manor.

“I’ve heard that before.” He chortles, chuckling even more when you pinch his side playfully. “What?”

“You better not say stuff like that once we're inside.” Despite your words, you beam at him.

“Or what, hm?” Leaning closer until his breath fans your cheeks, and his cologne wafts against your nose, a breath staggers in your throat. “What are you gonna do, sweetheart?”

When he expects for you to fluster, you take on the challenge to prove him wrong. Your hand meets his collar, pulling him to you, his lips meeting your own. For a moment, the car fills with the sounds of lips smacking together as his hands roam and grip your waist, effectively wrinkling your dress.

When you pull away, he hasn't had enough. Clicking off your seatbelt to free you and hold you closer, he chases your cherry coated lips and kisses you fervently and ignoring the way your lipstick transfers to him.

Jason feels like he can kiss you forever but alas, you needed air. Once he reluctantly pulls away for your benefit, you inhale deeply, irises blown out, lips a mess with gloss sticking to places where it shouldn't be.

Your guffaw sends his heart aflutter as much as the kiss did. “Oh that is not your color, Jaybird!”

“It's not? Well I'm hurt, babe, I thought I'd match with you.” He says in between bouts of laughter, thumb cleaning up the edges of your lips.

“Hold on, you'll stain your fingers, I have a handkerchief.” Giggles subsiding, you take it out from your purse then you gently dab it on his lips, wiping away the residue of the kiss. “There, you don't look like a clown anymore.”

“Speak for yourself.” Smiling, he takes the cloth from you and does the same around your lips. He wipes away with precision, concentration evident on his face, the tip of his tongue poking in between his slightly pinkish lips. You smile through it all. “There, now everyone won't know.”

“That we've sinned? Good thing I wore a dress with a high collar.”

He dramatically winces. “You better not say stuff like that once we're inside.” Intertwining his fingers around your own, bringing it up to his lips, eyes never leaving yours, he places a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “Did that help with your nerves?”

“A little bit, yeah.” Sighing with a smile, you kiss the inside of his wrist. “Do I look okay? Maybe I should change, or maybe the wine we brought isn't enough—”

“You look more than okay, you look fucking amazing.” He says affectionately. “And the wine we got is enough, it's Alfred's favourite so you're already good in his book. You don't have to worry, especially with them liking you.”

Tilting your head, you rest your chin atop the intertwined hands. “Yeah, well I still want them to like me. It's Bruce fucking Wayne, just sitting in his driveway is nerve wracking enough. And your siblings… you made them sound like they're the best because they are and I just don't want them to hate the girl their brother is dating.”

“Bruce is just Bruce. The playboy rich guy isn't his thing when he's home. To us he's just some nerd who occasionally leaves his bedroom to show face at a board meeting.” He'll one day tell you about the detective and vigilante side of the oldest Wayne and the rest of his family while you're still reeling from the truth of his late night ‘job’. But for now, he just worries about you having a good time and not running away screaming before dinner starts. “And my siblings, they're like any other sibling, fucking insufferable.” He says the last word fondly. “You'll be okay, and they'll like you, if they don't, well they're not allowed at our place anymore.”

“Strip them off their access to your fridge? How cruel of you.”

“That's what they get. And you're not some girl I'm dating, you make it sound like you're the girl of the week I'm bringing to dinner just to annoy Bruce when you're in fact my girl.”

Your eyes sparkle as the sunset coats the horizon in warm orange and pink. “I better not be the girl of the week, Jason Todd.”

“With that dress on?” A low whistle echoes around the car. His eyes unabashedly roaming around your form, making you hide your giddy face behind the enclosed hands. “You’re the girl of the year, babe, and I predict that it'll be like that next year then the next and then the next—”

Your cheeks turn warm, and you couldn't help but cup his face tenderly in your hands. “Okay I get it, you romantic.” With a gentle press of your lips on his, eyes closed, smiling through it all before leaning away to see the lopsided smile on his handsome face. “I'm ready, let's go in.”

“Let's hope they're ready for you.” A kiss upon your forehead does the trick to make you feel braver.

—

Hand in hand, you and Jason walk up the steps towards the intricate door. Even the door is a work of art with its detailed art deco carvings. It even has one of those golden antique door knockers with a face on it.

Your hand is about to reach for it just as the door opens to your surprise. An older gentleman greets the two of you. He offers you a small smile, eyes sparkling when he meets Jason's emerald ones.

“Master Todd, this must be her.” He says in a posh British accent as you giggle nervously. “I've heard a lot about you, Miss.”

“You’re Alfred!” Recognition flickers on your face while Jason watches the interactions through smiling eyes. You grab his gloved hand, shaking it excitedly. “I've heard a lot about you too. All good things, don't worry.” You look at Jason affectionately, letting go of the smiling butler before you loop your arm around his own as he mirrors your soft expression. “Jason always has good things to say to his family.”

A slight shock appears on the older man's face. “Really?” Jason subtly shakes his head at him.

“Yeah, it's great to finally meet you—!” Something whizzes near your face, wind fluttering your lashes just before you could register Jason's hand in front of your flabbergasted face.

“Damian!” An unfamiliar voice echoes through the hallway, running footsteps getting closer to you. “Oh thank fuck you got it, Jason.”

“Master Tim, we have told you not to launch your drones inside the house.” Alfred says calmly, hands placed behind his back as he stands up straight. A direct contrast to how Jason looks with his silent fuming.

Jason is none too pleased when a small drone almost cuts your whole face with its whirring blades. The device squeaks out as Jason's grip tightens around it.

“You alright?” His expression softens when he turns to look at you.

“Yeah,” you exhale, chuckling shakily, palm patting his bicep. “I'm good, nice catch.”

“Shit, is that her?” The dark haired teenager raises his brow at you as a boyish grin spreads across his face. “Y’know, we thought you were imaginary for a second.”

“Nope, as real as I can be. You're Tim, right?” You say before winching when Jason crushes the drone in his grip as sparks fly out briefly. You're concerned about his hand for a second then you see his nonchalant face, he's seemingly unbothered about it, as if he crushes drones in his bare hands as a hobby. “Sorry about your toy.”

“I'm not.” Jason says gruffly as tiny plastic shards sprinkle down his hands then to the floor.

“Yeah…I'm Tim.” The poor kid watches the pieces fall near your feet. “And it's fine, it's not like it's a new prototype that I've been working on for weeks now.” Frowning, eyes narrowed at his brother, he looks like he wants to scoop it out from the carpet. One look at Jason and he folds, “sorry about almost hitting you. It was Damian's fault anyway.”

“Sure, blame the kid.” Another raven haired stranger walks in, this time, his arms are open, greeting you with a hug and a big grin which makes you embrace him back. You gotta hand it to him, he gives good hugs, probably a close second to Jason. “And here I thought you'd be some fifty year old dude living in his parent's basement that's catfishing my brother.”

You chuckle at his comment as he holds you at arm's length. He has one of those smiles that could make anyone trust him wholeheartedly, Jason has warned you about him. “You must be Richard! It's great to meet you.”

“That sounds too specific, Dick, did that happen to you?” Jason pinches the back of his brother's hand, prompting him to let you go with the roll of his blue eyes.

He scoffs, hands resting on his hips. “No. Actually, people use my pictures to catfish other people. The more you know.” Chuckling, scratching his jaw, he turns his attention back to you, smiling back. “So, wine!” Taking the bottle from your hand, he whistles lowly. “An ‘88? You know your way into my heart already.”

“How charming.” A dark haired boy suddenly appears from nowhere, and you almost jump from his abrupt appearance. There's an obvious remote control peeking from his trouser pocket, tucking it in further when you notice it. With a stretched hand, he gestures for you to shake it like some well mannered business man. “Damian Wayne.”

You take his hand, making sure that your grip is just right as if you're walking into an interview. “It's nice to meet you.”

“We thought you were a mere figment of Todd's imagination.” Damian grimaces when Tim throws his arm over the boy's shoulder, nudging him teasingly to add to his annoyance.

“Yeah, thank you for proving us wrong. We owe Alfred and Barbara some money.” Grinning, Tim pulls his little brother away just as Jason knits his brows together.

“You made a bet on—?!”

Dick clasps Jason's shoulder, shaking him in place as he looks over an irked Jason to address you. “Sorry about Barbara not being here, she has a thing—” Pulling Jason back, his expression says that he was about to lunge at his brothers. It has you grinning even more at their sibling interaction. “—at the station. And about my brothers, we got them on clearance.”

“It's alright.” Even with Richard's hold, it's your touch that has Jason calming down. His hand slides upon your back, rubbing circles and pushing you closer against him. “I'll get to meet her eventually.” Chuckling at his joke, you relax even more from Jason simply holding you, and feel less awkward by the first meeting as the minutes tick by.

“Will you be staying long in Gotham, Miss?” Alfred asks.

“Yes, or else Jason will huff and puff about it.” You say with affection, head laying against his bicep for a moment as he grips onto your waist with his warm palm.

“I don't huff and puff.”

“You do have the makings of the big bad wolf, Todd.” Even Tim snorts at Damian's joke. They look over to you and Jason whilst their blue eyes subtly crinkle at the corners from the sight.

Jason cracks a smile at the pair. “Yeah, sure. What's for dinner? We almost brought some lasagna today but we were too…” his green eyes sparkles mischievously as he glances briefly at you. “...busy.” Your eyes warn him.

“Dinner?” Dick blinks at the word as if it's in a different language before his brilliant blues widen at the realisation. “That's today?! I thought you two were just dressed like that to make us all feel bad!”

“You forgot?!” Jason winces, “I told you about it a week ago!”

“I was busy, okay!”

“There's supposed to be a dinner? Oh, I need to fire up the oven.” Alfred's face blanches, palm placed atop his forehead.

“Why didn't you tell us, Dick?!” Tim adds, smiling with mischief. You guess he doesn't truly care about the miscommunication, but he adds fuel to the fire just to watch it burn. “I would've called Barbs!”

“It's fine! We can just order something—” you try to placate Jason and Alfred at the same time. “It's really okay!”

“I could've made a roast.” Alfred blinks at his feet. “I am so sorry, miss. I will whip up something really quickly. Ordering out on this occasion is inadequate.”

“It's really alright, we can just have leftovers, right, Jason?” You turn towards the two arguing brothers.

“I told you to mark it on your calendar!”

“You should've reminded me!”

“I did!”

“Maybe you should've done it again!”

Meanwhile, Damian sits down on the foyer, watching it all unfold.

Calculated footsteps echo in the hallway, but you're too busy trying to tell everyone that it's alright for you to notice the new person in the room.

“Father.” Damian smiles as a large hand clasps his shoulder. “Richard forgot to tell everyone about dinner with Jason's lover.”

“Lover?” Jason makes a face at the word, pausing mid poke at Richard's chest. “You make it sound like we're having an affair, Dami.”

With one look from the man himself, you almost ducked behind Jason. Instead, you raise your head high, hand stretched to greet Bruce Wayne. No pressure at all.

“Mr. Wayne,” you inhale as he takes your hand. It's not his mere stature that's intimidating, it's his whole presence. It's as if your fight or flight response kicks in. You just chalk it up to nerves from meeting him. As you give him the most polite smile you could make, you exhale when he releases your hand. “It's nice to meet you, sir?” You fumble at the last second.

“Sounds like a question.” His brow raises, eyes flicking towards Jason, who sidles next to you.

You gulp down, stuttering with every word. “It's not a question— I'm sure, very sure, absolutely sure—”

“Stop playing, Bruce.” A familiar hand slides behind you as Jason stares back at him. “Y/N, Bruce, Bruce, Y/N.” Formally introducing the two of you, Jason's touch atop the small of your back helps with your stuttering self.

A smile etches on the older Wayne's face. “I was just teasing, Jason. It's great to meet you, and here I thought that he'd be a hopeless romantic forever. Just call me Bruce.”

His words calm your nerves down a smidge. “Bruce,” you test the name on your tongue, albeit unsure at first, but when he smiles even more, you genuinely beam back. “You look a lot taller than on TV.”

The man chuckles, your heart swells when you made the Bruce Wayne laugh. “We’ll help Alfred with dinner, Y/N, make yourself at home.”

“Oh thank you, that's nice but I want to help. Can't let you all have the fun.” You smile at Jason sweetly, a look that the whole family doesn't miss, especially when Jason gives you the same rare saccharine look.

“You'll make your signature toast?”

“Maybe in the form of garlic bread this time.”

Whilst the family leads you towards the kitchen, your hand never left Jason's, holding onto him with excitement and anticipation for the dinner ahead. If this is how they reacted to you, you wonder how they would be when you both tell them that you're moving in with him.

[goobstars]

Hallo! I've never done one of these before, but I love your writing, and I was thinking about a Jax x reader where he sleepwalks into her room by accident and falls asleep next to her. Goofiness ensues. Idk, it's silly/fluffy romantic tone.

It's really dumb but I figured it'd be cute, you don't have to do it or anything!

Thanks! <3

𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐘𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃

summary : usually when you woke up, you'd be met with the boring sight of your room, but today, you were met with the view of jax asleep next to you.

tags : romance, a suggestive joke for giggles, and very silly stuffs.

note : i love when people elaborate on goofiness because then that means i don't have to take this seriously. i hope you enjoy the sillys.

if you had to choose a favourite thing to do in the circus, it would be sleeping.

not the adventures, not the 'friends you made along the way'—it was sleep.

sleep meant that you got to forget all about this place, and you didn't care if it was just for a little bit. when you were asleep, you weren't in this digital hell.

the only downside to sleep was that when you woke up, you were reminded about where you were. you were reminded with every glance you'd give around your oddly decorated room. usually, that was the first thing you'd see when you woke up.

but today was different.

you slightly moved around your bed while your eyes remained closed, and you turned your head to the side before partially opening your eyes.

instead of the sight you were used to, you were met with the view of jax.

his eyes were closed while his chest rose with every breath he took, and you paused for a moment as you blinked a few times. were you imagining his presence? why would he be in your room?

you slowly reached out a hand to poke his arm, and you shot up once you actually felt something.

your reaction seemed to wake up jax as he let out a groan, and he opened his eyes before staring at you in confusion. "what—"

you didn't give him a chance to speak as you screamed.

"WHY ARE YOU IN MY BED!?"

"your bed?" jax repeated as he let out a scoff, "i'm pretty sure this is my room, dollface—"

he paused for a moment before he slightly sat up, and he looked around before his eyes widened. "how did i get in here...?"

"through the door?"

his head slowly turned as he frowned at you, and he gave you a fake laugh. "very funny." you only gave him a thumbs up before flopping back down on your pillows, and you shifted so you were on your side so you could look at him. "anyways, you can cut the act, jax. why did you come in here?"

"you're very accusing, you know. what if you kidnapped me from my room and put me in here so you could cause drama?"

"you're too heavy for me to pick up."

"first you accuse me of sneaking into your room, and now you're judging me? you have a lot of nerve for someone who stole me from my room." jax smirked once you rolled your eyes, and you snatched the blanket from him while he pouted at you. "you're really going to let me freeze to death?"

"i will unless you admit that you snuck into my room."

jax let out a dramatic sigh before he flopped back down on the bed, and you frowned at him while he rested beside you. if you were being honest, you wanted him out. you wanted to go back to sleep because it felt like it was early in the morning, despite time not existing here.

"listen, doll—i didn't sneak into your room."

"then how did you get here?"

"through the door." he mocked you from earlier, and you only shot him a scowl as he shrugged. "i don't know what else you want me to say, i'm telling the truth."

you narrowed your eyes, but all you saw was a genuine look in his eyes. he wasn't lying, but then how did he get in here?

"do you sleepwalk?" you bluntly questioned, and jax paused for a moment. his eyes slightly widened while his mouth went into a straight line.

that expression was your answer.

"why didn't you just say you sleepwalk?"

"because ragatha told me she found me walking around while i was asleep, but i thought she was lying to get back at me for putting a centipede in her hair."

his answer made you let out a snicker as you leaned back against your pillows, and you got comfortable while jax just stared at you in confusion. "what are you doing?"

"going back to sleep."

at your answer, he was perplexed as to why you didn't want to talk about the issue further, but he didn't say anything. he just started to get up from your bed because he assumed you would want him to leave.

but instead, he felt a hand grab his own.

he peered over his shoulder to eye the way you held his hand, and you gently tugged it before mumbling, "why don't you just stay here? your room's so far away..."

"you askin' me to sleep with you, doll?" you tightly squeezed his hand while jax let out a chuckle, "i'm just kidding...i guess i'll stay, even though you're making me lose the possibilities of getting my steps in."

you let out a tired laugh at his words, and he got back onto your bed before shifting onto his back. the blanket was tossed onto his legs, and he moved it up to his chest while he put his hands behind his head. he stared up at the ceiling before glancing at you, and he noted how your eyes were already closed.

he slowly shifted onto his side while resting his head against his arm, and the other one moved to fidget with the blanket as he eyed you.

were you already asleep?

by your quiet breaths, he assumed so.

he didn't know how he got here, and as much as he wanted to think that he sleepwalked here, it was more than likely the truth. ragatha had made comments about how she saw him roaming the hallways, but he didn't want to believe it.

why? because every time ragatha said something about him walking, it was always the same nights when he had nightmares.

the nightmares weren't constant, and after ragatha had stopped saying anything after a bit, he believed that he had gotten over the sleepwalking. yet, last night, he had a nightmare about ribbit. the name itself was one that made his stomach churned, and the nightmare didn't help that. replays of the abstraction whirred in his mind as if it were playing a movie, and he hated it.

usually, he'd wake up in his own room after the nightmares, but this time, he woke up in yours.

and for some odd reason, a while before you woke him up, the nightmare vanished like it had never even occurred. the nightmare typically continued until he woke up or was woken up, but that wasn't the case this time. the nightmare stopped midway.

was that around the time he came into your room? why did it just randomly stop?

his eyes flickered across your face, and he let out a low breath.

why did he come into your room?

he'd figure out the answer later, for all he wanted to do right now was sleep. it was his favourite thing to do in the circus.

besides being around you, of course.

[satoruined]

you know how guys act one way around their best friend, and another around the girl they like? geto suguru is no exception.

around satoru, his laughter is completely uninhibited. he laughs like it costs nothing—eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, sometimes accompanied by an undignified snort that makes satoru wheeze harder. for all his cultivated grace, suguru becomes incandescent. not because he’s trying to be, but because he simply forgets not to be.

you don’t get that version of him. not that he thinks you’re undeserving of it, but rather, there’s something about wanting you so badly, it makes him overly conscious of how he’s perceived by you.

he doesn’t exactly retreat into silence. he isn’t shy, and he certainly doesn’t relinquish the casual arrogance of someone who knows what he’s capable of. but there’s a visible distillation to everything he offers in your presence. when satoru says something ridiculous, suguru still finds it funny. but the laughter softens behind his knuckles, or reduces to a knowing twitch at the corner of his mouth. his gaze flickers sideways to see if you’re looking, and when you are, he looks away first. sometimes to gojo as a point of false distraction.

his posture is another giveaway. among casual company, he slouches, manspreads. the second you enter the room? his spine straightens and shoulders squared. some unconscious instinct compels him to refine himself in proximity to you.

he offers you what he deems the best parts of himself. never with the recklessness of joy, only with the ache of restraint.

and maybe it would be easier for him if you never noticed.

but you do.

you always have.