#something dumb i needed to get out of my head

[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

[flutterbabee]

Thinking about riding Clark with your back resting on his chest and him holding out his hand for you to put your arm on because he's got big thick dick syndrome and he wants you to ease yourself onto it at your own pace because he's considerate like that. And it takes a bit to get used to because at first the stretching feeling is overwhelming, even with the amount of lube you used, but once the feeling passes and you're feeling comfortable enough, you're finally able to start to slide down on him, and he really does let you 'take' charge. Even if you can't take all of him, getting to feel you dripping and squeezing around his cock was more than enough for him. And when you start to lose steam and get a bit tired, he's more than willing to help you by wrapping his arm around your stomach to hold you in place while he bucks into you. He's so in love with having you cream on his cock, so much so that he'll lose focus and get a bit sloppy with his thrusting. With how wet you were for him, he'd keep slipping out, but only for a moment, where he would take the time to slide his cock up and down your slit and bump the creamy head on your clit if he wasn't kneading it already. And that's not to mention how he sounds, just drawn-out, breathy moans mixed in with praising you on how good you felt or how well you were taking it. And when that familiar tingle starts to build up and your legs start shaking, even more than they were already, he's still there to hold you close and roll his hips into yours so that when you're whimpering about how close you are and start to quiver in his tight embrace, you're reminded that you're being fucked dumb by the love of your life.

This is all over the place but I needed to write something cause I'm losing my mind over here (⸝⸝⸝O﹏ O⸝⸝⸝)

[baguettenjoyer]

Matchmaker Caine (a funnybunny mini fic)

by Reso!

“Psst. Jax!” Pomni hissed, tugging at his arm and pulling him down to her level.

“Whaddayawant?” he slurred, rubbing his eyes.

“Trust me on what I’m about to do. Just follow my lead,” she whispered, dragging him toward the others.

Before Jax could react, Pomni spoke up.

“Hey guys! Uh… I just wanted to make something public!”

The cast turned to look.

Pomni grabbed Jax’s hand.

“We’re… dating!” she announced awkwardly, mouth twitching into a crooked grin.

What followed was a circus.

Gangle’s comedy mask dropped and shattered. A wave of gasps and slack jaws followed. Kinger poked his head out of his fort and screamed in solidarity. One jaw hit the ground right next to Gangle’s mask.

Zooble didn’t look up from their magazine. Ragatha, on the other hand, looked like she’d seen a ghost.

Caine slowly retrieved his mandible from the floor, holding it up beneath his eyes.

“WELL, WELL, WELL! THIS REVEAL CERTAINLY MERITS A GRAND CELEBRATION!”

“Are they gonna get freaky, Caine?” Bubble chimed in.

Ragatha burst into tears.

Pomni had not expected that kind of reaction—from anyone. She didn’t dare glance at Jax, though she could feel his hand stiffen in hers. Maybe she should have talked to him first.

She dropped his hand and slipped away toward the hallway before Caine could declare a wedding or worse. She didn’t look back—but as expected, Jax followed.

“Hey, what gives?” Jax burst in behind her, cheeks a shade darker. “Dating?” He held out his hands.

“Relax, Jax. I told you—I have a plan,” she said, hopping onto her bed.

“Right, well, lay it on me,” he grumbled, placing his hands on his hips.

“Caine’s been pairing us lately, forcing us on dates. I think he’s trying to get us to…fall in love.”

Jax stared.

“You think he’s going Cupid on us?”

“Exactly.”

“So what, you're giving in to it?” He raised a brow.

“Wha- no, of course not! That’s why we’re going to fake date. If Caine thinks he succeeded, maybe he’ll stop trying.”

“So we just pretend we’re in love and he backs off?”

“That’s the idea.”

Jax considered it. He imagined Gangle giggling, Zooble teasing him to death... yeah, no thanks. But if it got Caine off his back, it was worth a shot. It’s not like fake dating Pomni could actually go wrong, right?

“…Right?” 

He snapped back to reality. “Jax, did you hear anything I just said?” Pomni groaned into her hands. “We have to function as a team if we want this to work, okay?” 

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s do it,” he said flatly. “But only if I get to break up with you at the end.”

Pomni smirked. “Alright, deal…boyfriend. But try not to have too much fun.” She cringed a little.

Jax chuckled. “You better not call me that, though. If you’re going to be my lover, you have to call me by a pet name,” he grinned. He’s gonna have so much fun with this.

“A pet name…hmm, okay. Uhh…Jaxy?”

“Boooooring.” He slumped against a tower of alphabet blocks.

“Oh, I got one for you,” his grin growing. “Pompeii.”

“That’s a city, you idiot,” she smiled. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”

She lay on her stomach and rested her hands on her face. “The Jaxler.”

“The Jaxler?” he repeated. “How is that a pet name, Pom? Do you hate me that much?”

“Hey, your name is only three letters—it’s hard!”

“Pomodoro Technique.”

“Pomo-?” Pomni burst out laughing. Jax chuckled with her.

It was dumb. And fun. It was always fun with Pomni.

Then—POP!

“MY SUPERSTARS!” Caine materialized inches from them. “LOUNGING AROUND WHEN YOU SHOULD BE CELEBRATING YOUR LOOOOVE!”

“Did you guys get freaky~?” Bubble asked again.

Before they could respond, Caine snapped his fingers. In a flash, they were back in the common room, now decorated in a nauseating explosion of red, pink, yellow, purple, and blue. The cast sat at the table, looking miserable.

“Caine, wait!” Pomni stammered. “There’s no need for this! Really! We, uh… we’d rather have some alone time. To… be in love?” She laughed nervously.

Jax cringed at her awful delivery. He stepped in.

“What she means is, we don’t want a stinkin’ party. Relationships come and go without it being anyone’s business. Leave us be.”

He took her hand and led her back to the hallway.

Surprisingly, Caine didn’t stop them.

Back at the table...

Gangle was the first to speak.

“What’s going on?”

“Pomni and Jax are dating, isn’t it obvious,” Ragatha spat, arms crossed.

“Good to know they make calendars together,” sighed Kinger.

“You guys seriously believe they’re dating?” Zooble finally put down their magazine.

“Well… Pomni said—” Gangle began.

“Pomni’s lying. I don’t care why. But it’s obvious. Jax doesn’t care about anyone. It’s unnatural.”

Gangle didn’t know what was worse: Jax dating Pomni, or pretending to. Either way, it was suspicious. And with Jax, suspicious always meant bad.

“ZOOBLE!” Caine popped in way too close to their face.

“CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS? WE DID IT!” He held up a hand for a high-five.

Zooble didn’t reciprocate.

“Caine! Stop bothering me with your obsession with those two! And WE didn’t do anything—don’t involve me in any of this.” 

As though he didn’t hear a word they said, he screamed in their ear, “BUT I’M DISAPPOINTED THEY INSISTED ON THEIR ROOM—I CAN’T EVEN WATCH FROM INSIDE!”

“You are seriously crazy,” Zooble muttered, inching away from the floating dentures. “Caine, you have to give them space. Don’t you know anything about couples?”

I’d love some space myself, they thought.

“YOU’RE RIGHT!” Caine declared. “I MUST LET THEM INTO THEIR COCOONS… UNTIL THEY EMERGE AS BUTTERFLIES!”

Zooble rolled their eyes. What does that even mean? They wondered what it would take to get Caine to leave them alone. Relationships were overrated anyway. Especially in a place like this.

————————

Thanks for reading whatever this is! I might make a comic version of this, but it wouldn’t be in this much detail. I don’t wanna commit myself to the au too much and write a full fanfic, it’s just for fun :3

Matchmaker Caine AU masterpost for comics and more

[diarinn]

You Kiss me with Tongue & Now you wanna Meet my Parents?

content : rin itoshi x gn!reader, fluff, kinda suggestive? kissing with tongue for the first time lol, established relationship, 0.7k words

a/n : inspired by a scene in it takes more than a pretty face to fall in love, definitely recommend

YOU ROLL YOUR eyes as suck on your straw, the drink in your hand just tasting much better knowing that it was free, minus the fact that it was Rin who bought it, "I appreciate you so much, but I mean this in the most disrespectful way possible."

Rin blankly blinks at you, "I bought you a drink, now leave me alone."

"Yeah, as atonement for being so sucky at math," you scoff. "I get not knowing vocabulary but your test scores being so low," you swallow thickly before looking down at the new test paper in front of you on the desk with a big 32% at the top, "How are you still allowed to be on the team?"

"I'm just better."

"Boy don't lie."

"But I am though."

You let out a long sigh as you sip from your drink again in thought, "Just because I'm your partner doesn't mean I'm gonna give you leeway, Rin. I don't want a dumb boyfriend."

His chubby cheeks get more prominent as he slightly pouts at your words. You raise a hand to card your fingers through his soft strands in reassurance, "I know you're capable Rin, now put that pretty head of yours to work," you gently flick his forehead as he closed his eyes.

"This is dumb," Rin says five minutes later, gripping his pencil as his eye twitches.

"Tell that to your grades," you reply, head resting on the table as you stare up at Rin's eyes glance over the questions, pencil scribbling on the paper beneath it.

You close your eyes, only for a few moments later to feel a soft kiss pressed against your temple. You slowly open your eyes to see Rin looking back at you as if he hadn't just woken you up with a kiss if it weren't for the pink tint coating his ears hiding behind the hair that framed his face.

"Did you finish the assignment?" He nodded.

Pressing your cheek against his shoulder as you looked at his work, mind doing calculations and checking it's accuracy. "Most of these are good, you just need to remember to flip the signs," you remark as he places another kiss on your forehead.

"Alright," he nods as you put down the piece of paper, "Is your boyfriend still dumb to you?"

"Soon he won't if he keeps this up," you give him a gentle smile.

You notice his adam's apple move as he swallows and lets out a whisper, "Can I get something now? Like a reward?"

"A reward?" you raise a brow, "What is this? A stereotypical shoujo manga?" You smile good-naturedly, laughing slightly at the thought as Rin's gaze never moves from you.

A familiar sensation overtakes you before you know it, shutting your eyes as you allow Rin to kiss your lips and cradle your head in his hand as the other holds yours. You couldn't help but feel the tingle down your spine as his tongue traces your bottom lip, eventually meeting your own.

Rin held you close, if you had opened your eyes you would've noticed his biceps through the simple t-shirt he changed into after school. Your arms wrapped around his neck which seemed to be counterproductive given how you felt like you had to pull away if you wanted to keep your sanity intact on your way home.

You pull away from the kiss, lips parted and slightly swollen only to be met with Rin's glazed over eyes, "Is this the reward you were looking for you cliche bastard?"

"No," Rin replied, letting his face be buried into the crook of your neck, "The reward I want is the ability to meet your parents."

Your eyes widen at his words, trying to keep your voice steady as to not rupture his eardrum by being too loud, "Thats what you wanted!? You kiss me with tongue and now have the audacity to ask to meet my parents!?"

"Why not? We've known each other for a while now," is all Rin says to defend his case.

You pause for a moment, Rin's lips being dangerously close to your collarbone, you swallow thickly before replying, "Fine."

© diarinn 2025 : please do not plagiarize, repost, or use my works for ai, thank you.

[mrsfudd]

Stalker

You first saw Paige on one of your morning walks, you gave a friendly smile and thought nothing of it, little did you know that small interaction would change your life forever.

“No because I know im not crazy, i keep fucking seeing her” You rant on the phone.

“Okay but it seems like you’re enjoying the attention” Your friend answered.

“Yea I dont- oh oh wait i gotta go!” You blurt out, quickly hanging up the phone.

You run to your bedroom window, it was 6:42 pm. It was time for Paiges daily run and there she was, in some simple running shoes, a black nike sports bra and black shorts.

It wasn’t unusual to see your neighbors walking around the neighborhood, but this was different, she was different. Your friends swore you were delusional but you knew you weren’t. You saw her at the grocery store, the park, the gas station and everyday without fail mysteriously in front of your house, seeming innocent. You knew it was something more, just didn’t know how to prove it, until one day.

You were taking out your trash cans, strategically at the time Paige would be running past your house. As your walking down the driveway, one of the wheels gets caught.

“fuck” You mutter to yourself, trying to fix the problem.

“Need help?” Paige calls out, walking towards you.

Your heart dropped as you saw her eyes locked on you.

“uh-uh yea this shit is so annoying” You say trying to avoid eye contact.

“Dont worry, I got you” Paige reassured picking up the trash can and bringing it to the front on the driveway.

You follow her down, wanting to thank her.

“Im Paige by the way, but I bet you already know that. She said looking you up and down.

“Whys that?” You ask.

“Well my first assumption would be basketball of course but also maybe the fact that you watch me out your window everyday.” She smirks.

“oh- I um” You stutter.

“But its cool though, I like it and if im being completely honest, I plan my days around running into you.” She admits.

Your mind goes blank. “uhm, could I get you some water?” You ask, not wanting this interaction to end.

You and Paige end up sitting in your living room for about an half an hour. Nervously making small talk. The tension was so intense, you were scared to say something wrong.

“So could I get a little house tour maybe?” Paige asks with that same dumb smirk on her face.

“Yeah, come on” You say, leading her through the rooms.

Everything was going smooth until you got to your bedroom. Paige sat on your bed and asked “ So this is the window huh?” You just smile and shake your head, ignoring her.

“Im not trying to embarrass you, I love that shit.”

“Oh yea?” You say walking up to her, slightly biting your lip.

“Yeah baby, I bet you get real excited everytime you see me walk past.” She says slightly tilting her head back.

“Excited how?” You tease, inching closer to her.

“I know that pussy gets excited.” Paige flirts.

You let a nervous chuckle, unsure of what to say.

“Your not as slick as you think, I see that vibrator stuffed under your pillow” She says.

Your heart dropped, now she knows you been acting like a perv in a pantie shop whenever she gets brought up.

“Nah dont be shy now, c’mere” Paige demands.

You listen, inching closer and closer to her until your lips meet. The kiss was deep and hungry, filled with passion and desire.

Paiges hands rest on your waist, pulling you in more. She pulls out of the kiss and straightens her arms, slightly pushing you.

“Strip for me” Paige demands.

Desperate to please her, you listen. Slowly stripping each piece of clothing.

“Fuck” She mutters under her breath, tightly pressing her legs together, trying to conceal her arousal.

“You like what you see?” You tease.

“I love it mama, I knew you had a sexy little body under all them clothes” Paige says.

“Right, so what are you gonna do with it?” You ask.

Before you could say anything else, Paige stands up, towering over you. Her large hand finds your throat, slightly choking you and guiding you to the bed. She lays you down and starts to kiss you, her hand never leaving your throat. Paiges knee finds its way between your leg, subconsciously you start bucking your hips into her, needy and desperate for her.

Paige starts to kiss and caress down your body, she gave you gentle kisses as she inched closer to your aching pussy. She rests her head between your legs and lets out a small chuckle. “All this for me?” She asks.

“hmm please paige” You whimper.

“Please what baby, tell me what you want” Paige asks.

“Please taste me” You barely let out.

“Good girl” Paige chuckles as she licks you from your needy hole to your aching clit.

Your back arches off the bed as she slowly puts two of her long fingers in you. She immediately finds your gspot and starts sucking on your clit as the same time.

The pleasure is overwhelming, you were moaning Paiges name so loud the whole neighborhood was going know who was at your house.

As you inch closer to your orgasm you grab a chunk of Paiges hair and wrap your legs around her head, wanting her closer to you.

“Let it out mama” Paige demands as she feels you tightening around her fingers.

You do as your told and cum all over her fingers and tongue.

“Hmm, good job baby” She praises.

She helps you clean up and put new clothes on, now you are both sitting in the bed together.

“So, when am I gonna see you next?” You ask.

“You already know the answer to that” She replies.

“What do you mean?”

“We see each other everyday, i cant wait to see your pretty ass watching from that window tomorrow night” She chuckles.

It was getting late and Paige had a early practice tomorrow night.

“See you soon, stalker”.

ik this is lowk ass i havent written anything in forever. 😇😇

[miusoju]

JUST FOR THE BIT ─── kim woonhak

woonhak breaks his arm doing something dumb. you sign his cast—and suddenly, he doesn’t mind being injured so much.

cw: woonhak x fem!reader, fluff, woonhak being a dumbass, classmates to ???, highschool au, slight crack, not proofread ( sorry not sorry ) 731 wordcount

◜ ᴗ ◝ 　  this fic short as hell... i didnt know how to finish it sorryu guys TT

woonhak swore that he was fine. totally fine. it was just a little fall. it was totally worth the flip he tried to land off the bleachers ( it wasn’t worth it ). here he was now, sitting in class with a dumb bright cast on his arm and an obnoxious pout on his face. you walked in a bit late, as usual, sliding behind him before pointing at his casted arm. “so you actually broke your arm,” you chuckled, “you’re such a dumbass, oh my god!” you grinned. “it’s not broken, just fractured… ‘kay?” woonhak muttered, trying his hardest to sound cool, but his ears were already turning red. you sat next to him and grazed your hand over his cast, bland and boring you thought. “crazy how nobody has signed your cast yet,” you spoke, rummaging through your bag to find a sharpie. “it’s fine, not like i want—” he paused, eyes widened as he realized what was going on. “wait are you going too—” “yup,” you smiled, trying to think of something to write. woonhak tried his best to hide the smile that was creeping up his face. as woonhak looked away in embarrassment, you quickly wrote “woonhak, get better soon, or else.” with a cute heart on it. woonhak turned back and you gave him a cheeky smile, closing the marker and pushing it into your bag once again. he stared at the message as if it was carved into his soul. “damn, i’m never washing this cast..” “you’re not supposed to wash the cast in the first place…” you slapped your head in second hand embarrassment. “oh yeah..” he stifled a laugh. but for the rest of the day, woonhak kept staring down at the spot where you wrote your message—like it hurt a little less now lunch rolled around and woonhak was still babying his arm like it had been amputated. he had a tray on the non-broken arm, trying his best to balance it without looking like a complete idiot. you spotted him from across the cafeteria, walked over to him, and grabbed his tray before it could fall. “seriously.” you chuckled, “you’re walking so slow, gosh.” “i’m injured, okay?!” woonhak replied dramatically, already sliding into the seat next to you. you rolled your eyes, clearly done with his bull. “you fractured your arm and you're acting like you are a war veteran.” you said while setting the tray down. “still traumatic..” he mumbled, pouting while he looked away. you laughed, half because of how serious he looked and the other because his fork missed the chicken he was trying to stab. “do you also need help feeding yourself now?” “wouldn’t complain if you did…” he mumbled under his breath, his lips curling into a smile. you tried your hardest to ignore the flip your heart just did at that remark. “just say you want sympathy,” you whispered.  he shrugged, trying to act chill, but he was anything but that. woonhak stared at his cast—your handwriting filling his thoughts as he ghosted his fingertips across the writing. you moved your chair closer to him, watching as he stared at the cast. “you must really like what i wrote,” you sang, catching him in the act. woonhak blinked, caught in the act, “no—yes, maybe..” his voice suddenly got quieter—softer than you’ve ever heard come out of his mouth before. “it’s cute, the heart at least, not the part where you basically threaten me.” ‘well i meant what i said, do that again, and i’ll break your other arm.” you said coldly, making woonhak shiver. the both of you cracked up at the thought of that— woonhak with  casts on both of his arms. as the laughter died down, you noticed woonhak went back to looking at his cast, a cute smile plastered on his face. it was like it wasn’t as heavy whenever woonhak read your words in his head. “it was kinda worth it,” he mumbled, you looked up at him, setting your gaze on him as you watched him. “falling. getting this stupid cast. ‘cause now it has your name on it, and i like that.” you blinked. hard—trying to process what he said as if your heartbeat didn’t just quicken. woonhak didn’t say much after that, just looked up at you, with that dumb lopsided smile of his before eating his chicken once again.

© all rights to miusoju '25.

[royaljude]

Welcome to Miami ~ KM9

Genre ~ fluff

Summary ~ date night with Kylian in Miami.

Warnings ~ none:)

A/N ~ ME POSTING?!?? Since whennnnn? (I got smut coming soon, just wasn’t in the mood at the time when I wrote this.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Miami sun had long dipped below the skyline, casting the city in a golden glow that bled into dusk. The hotel room smelled faintly of his cologne and your coconut body lotion. Warm, lived-in. Comfortable.

Kylian lay on the bed, half dressed — dark slacks hugging his hips, shirt unbuttoned halfway as he leaned back on one arm, the other tucked behind his head. The TV played some muted sports channel, but he wasn’t watching it. His eyes were on you.

You stood by the mirror, lip gloss in one hand, brows pinched as you leaned in to check your eyeliner.

“You’ve been getting ready for an hour,” he said, teasing, voice low and smooth like honey. “You sure we’re not going to a photoshoot instead of dinner?”

You shot him a glare through the mirror. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Fashion Week. I’ve seen the way you treat a mirror.”

He chuckled, head tilting slightly. “Difference is, I don’t need an hour.”

You turned, holding your gloss like a weapon. “Want to say that again?”

He raised his hands in surrender, still grinning. “Nah, I like living. And I like you in a good mood.”

You smiled despite yourself, moving back toward the closet. “What shoes should I wear?” you asked, slipping on a pair of strappy heels, then switching to something a little more comfortable. “Be honest. Not footballer-honest, real honest.”

Kylian sat up, eyes raking over your legs as you walked. “The first ones,” he said without missing a beat. “But I’ll carry you if they start hurting.”

You looked at him, really looked — the way his shirt clung to his chest, the softness in his eyes, the calm in his smile.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” you said gently, letting your arms drape over his shoulders as you stood in front of him.

“You haven’t.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin against your stomach. “Between training, press, and whatever else the club throws at me…” He sighed. “This is the first time I’ve had a night off in weeks.”

You traced your fingers along the back of his neck. “And you chose me.”

“Obviously.” He looked up at you, expression suddenly sincere. “I always choose you, mon cœur.”

Your heart did that dumb little flip it always did when he said things like that. It didn’t matter how many stadiums he played in, how many trophies he lifted. With you, he was just… Kylian. Yours.

“You’re gonna ruin my makeup,” you murmured as he pressed a kiss to your stomach.

“You’ll still be the prettiest girl in the room.”

You pulled away, laughing, “Stop talking like that unless you want me to stay here all night.”

He stood, towering slightly as he kissed your forehead. “Come on. I made a reservation. We’re not missing it.”

—

The restaurant was tucked away near the beach — all warm lighting, flickering candles, and quiet music. Nobody bothered him here. The staff was discreet. He ordered for both of you, like he always did, somehow knowing exactly what you wanted.

You sat across from each other in a cozy booth, fingers brushing under the table.

“It’s weird,” you said, playing with the rim of your water glass. “Being in Miami while you’re working. It’s like… it’s a vacation but it’s not.”

Kylian nodded, chewing slowly before responding. “I get that. The sun’s out, the city’s buzzing, but I’m still waking up at 6 a.m. for training.”

You smiled. “But you got tonight.”

“I got you tonight.”

You pretended to groan. “You’re getting sappy.”

“Maybe.” He leaned forward slightly, voice soft. “You know I think about you all the time, right? Like, even on the pitch. Sometimes I score and I’m like, damn… wish she saw that live.”

“I did see it,” you reminded him. “In the hotel lounge, surrounded by like fifteen old men yelling at the screen.”

He laughed, and it lit up the whole booth. “Not the same. I want you in the stands. Or better — pitchside. Wearing my jersey.”

You raised a brow. “I’m not wearing that tight little kit. I’ve seen your shorts.”

He bit back a smile, eyes gleaming. “Fair. Just wear my name. That’s enough.”

The night melted around you — laughter spilling into dessert, wine refills, and the kind of quiet only shared between people who know each other too well. At one point, he reached across the table, took your hand, and just held it.

No cameras. No fans. No club. Just you and him. Kylian and his girl, in a city that didn’t know your names. And for once, that was exactly how he liked it.

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A/N ~ when I say this took me a week to write…I’m not kidding…

[colonelkaboom]

Under the wings of a dragon

Twenty years after a deadly fire plagued your village, leaving you orphaned and permanently scared, you find yourself playing with fire once more. Back then you were an innocent victim, now you are a willing participant.

AN: This started out as a little poem (since when do I write poems?), inspired by Sylus, that I wrote when I realized how much I missed writing fantasy. Then my imagination decided a poem wasn't enough...

✦ Read on ao3 ✦ Sylus x Reader ✦ Word count: 6.5 k ✦ Fantasy AU setting ✦ Dragon Sylus, death of parent, suicidal ideation, survivors guilt, fire, angst, grief, mention of blood, comfort, strangers to friends to lovers

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find…” Your little voice eagerly begins before taking a moment to think. “Anchovies!” 

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find anchovies and… ” Tara joins in. “ … Beetroot.”

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find anchovies, beetroot and carrots!” Simone quips happily before poking your side, urging you to continue the game.

“Are you playing a game or planning dinner?” Your mother jokingly asks, poking her head out the kitchen window.

“No, no! Please don’t make me eat anchovies again, they’re gross!” You exclaim pushing onto your tippy toes in front of her with a quivering bottom lip. You’re too short to reach her, so you clutch the windowsill to maintain balance. Making sure your mother never loses sight of your pleading eyes. 

“I’m only joking, little one. Why don’t you walk your friends home, dinner should be ready when you get back.” Your mother smiles before stirring something in a large pot. It smells delicious.

The three of you skip along the narrow cobbled streets, jumping over potted plants and stray cats. 

Stars and moonlight flood the little village as night slowly descends upon it. But you are not afraid. After bidding Tara and Simone farewell you begin the short journey back home.

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find dumb little girls losing their mind.” A cruel voice whispers behind you.

“Leave me alone.” You know who it is. A boy only a few years older than yourself whose favorite pastime is scaring the younger children. 

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find emaciated peasants who won’t have any food after the dragon burns their storage.” He hisses, clearly proud of his own words.

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find feeble boys who think they’re being clever.” You bravely spit at him. “I hope he turns you into charcoal.”

Then you run. You can easily beat him with your words, but should he choose to initiate physical violence you’d be dragon fodder in no time. 

“Are you alright, little one?” Your mother questions when her little girl returns home flushed and breathless.

“I ran really, really fast.” The boy is not mentioned in any conversation the little family engages in throughout the rest of the evening. He doesn’t deserve the attention.

“Good night, little one.” A gentle touch dances over your cheek. The kind of touch only the love of a mother can provide. 

Tightly bundled up in the finest blankets and pillows, you feel the need for sleep quickly overcome you.

“Will you tell me a story, mother?” You ask through a yawn. 

“Which one do you want to hear?” There is no need to ask, she knows that her daughter always requests the same story.

“The one about the dragon of course!” 

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find forces of evil that torture and bind. Treasures of gold and jewels to feed the insatiable sin of a dragon's greed.” Her voice slowly becomes more and more haunting as you listen intently. “Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find black magic that curse and bewitch the mind. Crystals and gems to quench his desire hidden away by the forces of fire.”

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find the stench of a beast so foul and unkind…” Her calming voice slowly fades away as you drift into the darkness of a peaceful slumber.

A loud shriek jolts you awake before your mother bursts in through the door. Then you smell it, smoke. Next you feel the warmth surrounding you. 

Smoke and warmth you can handle, but the sensation that follows, that’s a different story. Pain. Immense pain surrounds your little legs slowly melting away under the flames licking your tiny body. 

You scream and cry for your mothers help as she’s ripping the blankets away from you. There is barely any time to think, your thoughts are clouded by pain and smoke covers your eyes.

“I love you. I love you, little one.” Your mother cries before you suddenly find yourself falling from your window. 

The canal flowing behind your house catches you and soothes the sting the flames left behind. The water is cool and welcoming, but also threatening and consuming. So you swim, up up up, until the ashy air reaches your lungs once more. The flames are everywhere, everything on the left side of the canal seems to have been engulfed by the unforgiving fire. 

You can barely tell which house is yours due to all the destruction, and your mother is nowhere to be found. Suddenly everything is quiet apart from the ringing in your ears slowly robbing you of your senses. Where is she? 

Your body goes limp in the water, unwilling to face the possibility that your mother did not make it out in time. The water was claiming you, and you wanted it to. Claim me, take me away from here, faster. Let me be with my mother once more. A male voice calls your name, but you’re too far gone. There was no point fighting, not if you’d have to do so without your mother by your side.

Two decades ago Tara’s father had plucked your drained body from the water. Two decades ago, your mother died. Swallowed by the flames, along with so many others in your village. 

Some claimed the fire was a sign from the Gods, punishing you for not adhering to their strict way of life. They claimed the Gods had conjured a dragon to punish you for giving in to greed, lust and desire. Commanding him to burn everyone who had given in to sin. 

Those claims angered you, even as a child. Your mother was no sinner, and the fire had claimed lives of children younger than yourself. How would they have had time to commit sins that made them unworthy of life? 

As a child you might have believed their claim that a dragon was to blame, if they hadn’t tried to convince you that the dragon was being controlled by some higher power. No one could control a dragon, you were sure of it. They were wild beasts who only lived for themselves. Masters of their own life. 

As an adult, you had come to the conclusion that dragons are a myth and the fire was purely accidental. A truly tragic accident that robbed you of all you had. There were no lasting signs of the flames lingering in the village, but you were constantly reminded of the horrors every time you took your clothes off to sleep or bathe. Angry purple and red marks decorated your left leg starting at your ankle moving all the way up your shin before feathering out above the knee. The damaged skin remains a mix of painfully tender and uncomfortably numb.

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find grapes!” 

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find a heart!” 

“Dragons don’t have hearts, silly! Pick something else!” 

The three little girls reminded you of yourself, Tara and Simone. Although twenty years had passed, children still favored the same games the three of you had played all those years ago. 

You wandered further and further away from the village in order to complete your mission. The sweetest berries in the entire forest, and they were all yours. No one else dared go this deep into the forest in fear of the wildlife. You were not scared, nothing scared you anymore. Nothing but fire. 

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find… Imagination” You mutter to yourself as you take in the beauty of the forest around you. The lake shimmers softly in the setting sun. Burning orange and red tones soon consume the whole forest, including you.

You’re not afraid. The colors of a sunset are still enjoyable, even if they share certain similarities with the flames that took your mother. 

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find, jealousy… Joy?” You ponder for a moment before settling on a more appropriate answer. “Judgement."

After picking a few berries you find a comfortable spot to sit. You lean back, relaxing against a large tree and enjoy the scene in front of you. 

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find, keepsakes” You smile to yourself, proud to have come up with such a fitting term for a hoarding dragon. 

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find…” Something beginning with ‘L’. Unable to think of anything, you look around for inspiration.

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find ladies disturbing his peace of mind.” A deep gravely voice echoes, bouncing off the surrounding trees and mountains. 

Where was the voice coming from? Who was watching you? The sound of a rumbling laughter brings you to your feet, scattering the precious berries you were cradling in your skirts.

For the first time in two decades you felt afraid, even if only for a moment. Something other than fire had thoroughly spooked you. 

“Where are you?” Fuck, your voice made you sound as scared as you felt. It made you sound weak.

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find terrified maidens for the dragon to bind.”

Reluctantly you look up into the tree you had been resting against, surprised to see a man standing on a thick branch. His arms are crossed over his chest, yet he’s leaning forward without falling down. Predator and prey.

“Is that why you’re here?” He asks as he gracefully leaps from the branch, landing in front of you. “Are you a gift for me to take? A shiny new addition to my beloved hoard of treasures?”

He’s terrifyingly tall with ruby eyes and silver hair. He looks like he’s strong enough to break your neck with one arm if he wishes. His body is partially covered in some strange type of armour in a material you don’t recognize. Red markings emerge from a large red gem in the center of his chest. You can’t help yourself, you have to stare. If your mother had gotten to live longer, she might have had time to teach you that staring was rude. 

You attempt to control your curiosity but as your eyes wander back up his body, with the intention of meeting his, they instead land on horns peeking out from the silver locks. Don’t touch them, don’t touch them, don’t touch them.

“If you try to touch my horns I will smite you.” The sudden sternness of his voice quickly brought your eyes properly back down to his. You could have sworn his right eye took on an even brighter shade of red. 

“You’ll smite me?” You can’t help but question his odd choice of threat. 

“Yes. Do you need me to define the term?” You shake your head and take a careful step backwards. 

“Where are you going? I thought you were my new treasure?” For each step you take away from him, he follows. His long strides quickly closing the distance between you.

A few more shaky steps backwards and suddenly the ground disappears under your feet. A slippery root? A round pebble? Who knows. You’re falling. Until you’re not. Something caught you.

“Watch your step, kitten.”

Your heart is pounding and your shaky breath is not helping calm you down. Something cold and solid is curled underneath your back and cradles your neck. What is it? What is he? It moves and you instinctively grab it until your feet are firmly back on the ground. Once again you find yourself staring at him, at his tail, as it retracts to hide behind his back.

“Did your mother not teach you that it’s rude to stare?” The fact that he’s calling you out should have been enough to pull your gaze away, but you were stuck in a trancelike state taking in the man in front of you and all his additional limbs. 

“No, she didn’t. She died before I got the message.” You’re shocked by the lack of emotion in your voice, but you’re slowly becoming convinced that nothing can make you stop looking at this man. “Are those wings?”

A frustrated grumble and annoyed eyeroll tell you that he’s tired of your antics. 

“Are you satisfied with your inspection?” He asks, obviously teasing you for your wandering gaze.

“No, I’d like to be a bit more thorough if you don’t mind.” Where was this sudden confidence coming from? 

“Where is your survival instinct, kitten? You shouldn’t be so trusting of strangers.”

“I’ve never seen anyone like you. Not in books, not in art, nowhere. What are you?”

“I’m a predator. You should show me some respect and be frightened.” The look on his face carried a hint of amusement, like he was just as curious about you as you were about him. 

A subtle smile played on your lips, and it seemed like it was there to stay. Out of the corner of your eye you saw it; he was smiling too. Discrete, hidden, but a smile nonetheless. In fact, you couldn’t stop smiling as you circled each other. Taking the time to study his movements, as he studied yours.  

“Are you going to tell me what you are?” You ask, daring to take a step closer. What you initially thought was armour looks like rough scales fused to his skin. Like they’ve always been a part of him. 

“Are you going to tell me why you’re not afraid of me anymore?”

“You caught me when I fell.”

“I caught you with my tail, does it not scare you?” 

“You were scarier when I thought you were just a man, now I see that you’re so much more.”

“You’re certainly one of the more interesting humans I’ve encountered.” He chuckled again, although this time it sounded far less intimidating than earlier. This one felt more real.

“The known is boring. If you were just a man, I’d know exactly how you’d kill me. I have no idea what you’re capable of.”

Something in him shifted. A look of pure disgust crept up in place of the charming smile. 

“Do you have some sort of death wish?” Slightly shocked by his words, you take a moment to consider them. 

“No! What kind of question is that?”

He closes the space between you and wraps his tail around your body, locking your arms to your sides. Then a sharp claw drags up the column of your throat. You don’t even know why you did it, but you angle your chin higher to give him easier access.

“I’ve rendered you completely defenseless, yet your pulse has barely risen. You seem more excited than worried. Why is that?” He grabs your chin forcing your eyes to meet his as he demands an answer.

“I don’t know.”

“If you’re so eager for me to end your life, why are you lying? What’s the point of secrets if you’ll be dead within the hour?”

“Shut up!” He lets you go, but the disapproving look on his face remains locked on yours. 

“I have no say in how you live or die, kitten. But one thing I know for certain is that when you die it will not be by my hand. If death is what you desire you’ve come to the wrong dragon.”

“Dragon?”

“Part dragon, but a dragon nonetheless.” He says as he takes a deep bow. “Nice to meet you.”

“Do you have a name?” You question. 

“Perhaps.”

“Can I hear it?”

“Do you really want to know?” You firmly nod in response. “Guess you’ll have to stick around long enough to find out.”

“Find me again, then I’ll tell you more.” Large black wings unfold and lift him into the air. “Stay safe, kitten.”

Your eyes stay fixed on him until he’s nothing but a black dot disappearing into the quickly darkening sunset. A dragon. Part dragon, but a dragon nonetheless. 

The sky is completely dark by the time you get back home. For a long time you contemplated trying to follow him. Follow the dragon. Run as fast as you can in the same direction you saw him fly off to. There was no chance you’d ever be able to catch up to him.

Instead you spent the whole walk home mulling over his words. You didn’t have a death wish, you were just tired. Drained and empty after enduring twenty years of a life that was so different from what you imagined it would be. 

From what you had read about dragons, you knew they feasted on greed. And this part dragon you encountered seemed to indulge in the same sins. He’d turned himself into a carrot, dangling himself in front of your face to keep you moving. Your human desire to feed your curiosity had given him an in. How could you resist the temptation?

The burning sky accompanied you into the forest once more and you returned to the same tree where he found you. There was no way of knowing if he’d be here today, but you were greedy enough to wait. 

The berries you had dropped during your first encounter lay scattered on the ground in front of you. Dried up and far less appealing than their usually plump form. And then you waited.

You waited and waited until the sky shifted from orange to purple before rising to your feet. Darkness was looming, and if you were ever to learn the dragon's name, you could not stay in the forest and tempt the wildlife further. 

Did he lie? He had asked you to find him again, but not specified how to do so. What else could he have wanted you to do, other than return to where you’d met him first? 

The next day, you repeat the process once more. At the same time, when the sky burns orange. The same place, under the tree where the scattered berries now lay blackened like little lumps of charcoal. Anger was stirring deep inside you at his deceit. You had trusted his word, assumed they held some value. Obviously that was a mistake.

Yet on the third day, you find yourself impatiently returning to the forest once more. A part of you began wondering if you had imagined the whole encounter. That he was no more than a figment of your imagination. A demon from your childhood. In spite of that, you still lingered way longer than you should have. Resting against the same tree trunk, your heavy eyelids slowly shut.  

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find nightmares.” A dark voice whispers in your ear. You only smile at the welcome intrusion. “Your turn, kitten.”

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find oblivescence. You seem to have forgotten about me these last few days.” You turn to face him unable to hide your satisfied smirk. He finally showed up.

“It’s late, why are you still here? I’m not the only beast lingering in these forests at night.”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Oh, kitten, I’m flattered.”

“You asked me to come.” 

“No, I asked you to find me, not to wait for me. There’s a difference.” He teases.

“Well, if you wanted me to do all the work, then why are you here now? I clearly haven’t been able to follow your instructions.”

“I got impatient.”

“I see, I guess humans aren’t the only ones who lead lives driven by desire.”

“Are you saying I’m desiring you, kitten? What qualities do you possess that will somehow tempt a dragon?”

“You tell me.”

There is a moment of complete stillness. The only disturbance being your breaths mingling and the faint, consistent grumble from deep within the dragon. 

“I find you intriguing. You seem to care so little for your own life, yet at the sight of my tail and wings…” The dragon settles on the ground facing you and his tail slowly slithers over your thighs before resting at your waist. There is no possession or demand in its grip, it feels more like it’s there to offer comfort. “... It was like something changed. It wasn’t fear, disgust or anger. No… You were curious, excited. Mezmerized. It brought you back here again and again, even when you couldn’t find me.” 

“You knew I was here?” You ask, a slight annoyance to your tone. If he knew you were here, why did he not show himself?

“I watched. I’ll admit I was also curious. I wanted to see how many evenings you’d spend under this tree before you’d give up.”

“You gave in before I did. A human bested the mighty dragon.” It’s your turn to tease, you’ve got the upper hand. “I would have been back tomorrow, if I hadn’t seen you tonight. Yet, you approached me, interrupting my peaceful slumber.”

“You wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity to return tomorrow if you had been mauled by a bear whilst you slept. But don’t worry, kitten, you’re safe with me. I might not be the only beast in the forest, but I am the most frightening.”

“Then I don’t see why me falling asleep out here was ever an issue.” He seems to be at a loss for words, utterly surprised by your assessment.  

“What a bold statement, would you like me to be scarier? Do you wish I lived up to whatever horrifying descriptions of dragons you’ve grown accustomed to hearing?”

“No, I’m glad you don’t honestly.” You admit, thinking back to all the gruesome depictions of dragons you had come across through stories and artwork. 

“I’d love to hear your reasons.” He tilts his head ready to listen.

“It’s like I said the other day; If you were just a man, I could have read you like a book. Likewise if you were just a beast, there would be no unanswered questions.” 

Such honest words, from a human no less. Spoken with clarity and confidence. He could listen to you talk for hours. Knowing that how you view and describe the world would be far superior to any story or poem carelessly jotted down by someone with far less sincerity. 

“I get to discover you without someone else’s impressions to cloud my own judgement. You can still surprise me. You’re something new.”

“What do you desire, kitten?” The feeling of his gaze on yours was indescribable. It feels like he’s searching for something hidden deep underneath the surface. Asking you to share your deepest, darkest secrets that no one would dare utter in anyone else's presence. Just his. 

“I desire something more. I desire knowledge of a world that is hidden from humans. I desire a world where fairytales and myths are more than stories. I desire your world.”

Once again, you stunned him with your honesty. Uttering your inner desires as if it came easily to you. Wanting so badly for your world to contain more than mundane human life. He would have known if you were lying or giving him half truths. But you didn’t.

“My name is Sylus.” He says and holds out his hand for you to shake. It’s scaly, rough, sharp and magnificent. 

You offer him your name in return as your hand joins his. He brings it to his lips and places a gentle kiss on your knuckles. The contrast of his rough hands and soft lips surprises you. You want him to keep surprising you. More discoveries, more unpredictable behaviour, more dragon, more him. More, more, more! 

“So greedy…” He laughs as his warm breath ghosts along the hand he still holds close. 

“Don’t you like greedy humans?” You question.

“I like greedy humans when they give in.”

You couldn’t fight it even if you tried. The greed and desire to take, take, take. Devour him. Sylus wanted you to take, he would have allowed you to feast on his blood if you asked. Everytime you gave in to your desires to know everything about him and his world, you allowed him to peek into yours. 

Your world was bleak, empty. Devoid of anything that brought you pleasure. His world offered everything you craved. The more time you spent in it, the more you wanted to stay. Forever. 

The village had begun to take note of your trips into the forest becoming longer and more frequent. Whispers and rumors discussing whatever you could be getting up to in the forest late at night, spread like wildfire. 

‘She’s a witch. A servant of the underworld claimed by the Source of all evil.’ You didn’t care, at first… Then there were subtle threats that made you feel unsafe. Red string tied to your doorhandle. Dry lavender stuffed into the letterbox. Your village wanted you gone. They were scared of you. The child who was so badly burned by the dragon, whose life should have been claimed all those years ago, had finally been taken to serve some evil deity. Perhaps they were right, that it should have been you and not your mother. Perhaps the fire should have taken you instead. 

The whispers only worsened when the family of the boy who tormented your childhood publicly shared that you had wished for their son to turn into charcoal on the very night of the fire. Now that you were publicly accused of witchcraft, your words held a different meaning to them. Their son perished that night. Suddenly the accusations became harder to ignore

Even Tara and Simone had to abandon you. They didn’t want to, but you feared they’d be subjected to the same torment as yourself if they stayed by your side any longer. 

There wasn’t much you could do. If you stopped going to the forest, stopped going to Sylus, the witchcraft accusation that led to the death of a child wouldn’t disappear. People would watch over your every move, anything you did or said could be used as evidence against you. So you left. Spending more and more time with your dragon only sneaking home at night when the village was sleeping. You had to get away from them and their unjustified judgement. There was only one person you wanted, only one person who made you feel safe, him. 

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find peculiarities.” Sylus says.

You and Sylus have a perfect view of the sun setting in the horizon. Propped up on a little ledge high up in the mountains. He’d been taking you flying fairly often these days, loving being able to put a smile on your face. Taking you far far away from the horrible whispers from your village. Flying made you feel powerful, like you were stronger than any other regular human. Even if the wings didn’t grow out of your back, when you were flying, it felt like they were a part of you as well. Like you and Sylus were one. 

“Peculiarities? Is that what I am?” You exclaim, faking a hurt expression.

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find a quarrelsome human who dares question the mighty dragon.” He continues. Not only teasing you further, but also skipping your turn in the game.

“Be quiet, it’s my turn!” You laugh, slapping the tail that pins you in place. The tail curls tighter around you, before tugging you closer to Sylus’ warmth. A warmth you greatly appreciated at your current altitude. 

The deep rumble of his laughter had quickly become one of your favorite sounds. You craved it the same way you once craved to know his name. You began appreciating time, wanting to make the most of it rather than simply waiting for it to pass and bring you closer to an end. Now you wanted to savor it.

With the passing of time, came the change of seasons. Winter was looming and with it came earlier nights and colder weather. Sylus kept you safe and warm, but he could not accompany you back to the village. To keep you from wandering the forest in the dark, you had to cut your evenings together short. 

“The sun is setting, we should get you home, kitten.” He hated parting from you. Hated sending you into the forest alone, back to this other life of yours where he wasn’t welcome. Where his presence in turn had made you unwelcome as well. 

Before you had time to protest, heavy raindrops prickled your skin. The raindrops quickly became firmer as they slapped against you. A wing quickly enveloped you acting as a shield protecting your feeble body from the forceful hail. The sun had completely abandoned you, allowing clouds, lightning and thunder to forcefully punish you both for staying together for too long. 

A quick glimpse at Sylus told you that he was not immune to the hail attacking his exposed body. There was an inkling of pain in his expression as he looked around for a way to get you both down from the mountain. 

“Sylus…”

“Do you trust me, kitten?”

“Of course!”

“I’m taking you to my cave. It’s a shorter flight than all the way back to your village.” You simply nodded, eager to find somewhere that could cover you both and give his wings a break from the piercing ice.

When you were finally airborne, he held you closer than he ever had before, unaware of the fact that your skirts had risen leaving your scarred leg exposed to the elements. It was agonizing, but he had it worse, so you kept your mouth shut and allowed mother nature to continue punishing you. 

“We’re almost there, sweetie.” Your head was tucked against his chest, protected as best as he could. Not good enough! He was a dragon for fucks sake, he should be able to keep you safe from something as simple as a quick change in weather. He cursed himself for failing you, clutched you even tighter and flew faster than he had in a long time. 

Then the howling wind stilled and the burning ice pounding against your sore leg disappeared. You were covered, and no longer flying. Sylus walked forward, further into his cave, with you in his arms. 

Now you could tell how quick his heart was beating, how erratic his breathing had gotten, and how tightly he was holding you. You softly hiss in pain before you realize that the stinging sensation you’re reacting to is his claws digging into your thigh and waist.

“What is it? Where are you hurt?” Concern flashes over his eyes as he gently sets you down in a pile of furs and blankets. 

“It’s nothing.” A lie. 

“Sweetie, please.” He begs. But he doesn’t need to beg for long when he sees the pattern of red seeping through your clothing. A pattern he recognizes as his own beastly talons. 

Panic quickly sets in and he scrambles to pull your skirts back to assess the damage he inflicted on your thigh. Your hand on his wrist halts his movements and he looks at you with pleading eyes, urging you to allow him to continue. 

“Please.” He begs once more and you reluctantly release your hold on his wrist.

He’s gentle. Careful. Treating your tattered old dress as if it was made from the finest silks. The exposed burnmarks covering your left leg consume your attention, pulling you in like a magnet. Sylus hasn’t even noticed the burns, he’s close to tears by the four specks of blood slowly gliding down your thigh. The wounds themselves are barely bigger than the tip of a needle, but that doesn’t matter to him. He put those there, he hurt you. 

“Sylus. You didn’t do it on purpose. With the force of the wind and all the water I would have slipped from your grasp had you not held me closer.” It’s not enough to comfort him. His greatest fears are coming true. He truly is a monster, put on this earth to maim and kill. ”Sylus, listen to me. I’m fine. If not for you, I would have never made it down from that ledge.”

“If not for me you wouldn’t have been on that ledge in the first place.” He says coldly. 

“Don’t you dare. Do not allow your mind to wander toward those thoughts! To you these wounds may seem like the end of the world, but to me they are the beginning.”

“Every time you take your clothes off you'll be reminded of how I hurt you. These will become scars and serve as a constant reminder of the beast who wounded you.” Those words hurt more than his claws ever could and before you have time to think you reach out and strike him. So hard that the scales on his cheek leaves a stinging sensation in your palm. 

He growls at you. You keep your eyes locked on his, matching his anger.

“Don’t you dare speak like that!”

“Any man or woman you chose to take to your bed will see that you were once captured by the foul fiend from their childhood nightmares! You won’t ever be able to escape the horrors caused by the disgusting dragon!”

You knew he wasn’t mad at you, he was mad at himself. Your wounds served as tangible evidence of his weakness. Proof of why he chose solitude. It was like looking in a mirror and only seeing the dragon staring back at him, rather than the man. 

“Sylus, look at me. Look at my legs.” He listens and you feel his gaze move from your bleeding thigh before stopping at the healed burns. “Regardless of whom I take to my bed, I’ve known for a long time that they’ll see my damaged body. I’ve been reminded of horrifying events whenever I take my clothes off since I was a child.”

You gently take hold of his hand and allow his claws to glide along the tender skin. 

“These are a constant reminder of the fire that took my mother away from me. I’ll never forget how much pain I was in, but that pain pales in comparison to coming to terms with my mother being gone.” You pull his hand back up to your thigh, where the blood has already started to dry. He winces at the sight and tries to pull his hand back, but your hold is relentless. “No matter what happens, these will remind me of the wonderful man I met in the forest who offered me a new world. A world where he showed me things I never could have imagined. Experiences that made me want more. They will remind me of my dragon.”

Humans are such strange little creatures. Sylus thought he knew everything there was to know about them, but then he met you. 

“You’re shivering, sweetie.” He sighs and places a warm hand on your cheek.

“I am rather cold.” You can sense how tense he is, like he’s scared of touching you. 

“I’ll be back shortly.” He says, before retreating further into the cave.

He returns mere moments later with a large linen garment in his hands. 

“I’ve used this on the coldest nights of my life, I don’t need it now.” He hands you the garment and turns his back toward you. 

“I won’t peek.”

You gladly shed your soaked layers eager to discard the wet fabric clinging to your body. Whilst his back is turned, you take a peak at the markings his claws created on your waist. After a quick assessment you deem them harmless and pull the shirt over your head. He didn’t need to see them. The shirt is far too large and quickly slips off your shoulder.

“You can turn around now, Sylus.”

He takes a deep breath before kneeling next to you urging you to lay down on the soft furs. 

“Good night, sweetie.” His words give you this horrible feeling that he intends to leave you here alone.

“Please stay. I’m still cold.” You hesitantly whisper, feeling a flush spreading over your cheeks.

Sylus takes a moment to ponder. How was he worthy of laying next to you after what he had done? How could he trust himself to keep you safe ever again? Why did you still trust him? But the pleading look in your eyes, the blueish tinge to your lips gave him an answer. You needed him. And if he dared admit it, he needed you too. The fragile little human who wasn’t scared of him, she never was. Perhaps she wasn’t as fragile as he thought… 

“Close your eyes.” You do as you’re told without knowing why he asked you to do so. Then you hear the sound of metal and leather gathering on the floor. The sound echoes slightly within the cave.

His feet shuffle and the furs shift slightly next to you.

“How cold are you?” He carefully asks, keeping a safe distance until you wish for him to be closer.

“Quite cold.” You turn to carefully peek at him over your shoulder.

He scoots closer before placing an arm around you and pulling you toward him. He’s so warm allowing your shivering frame to instantly relax against him. Sylus is still tense, fearful of the new closeness. Then your nimble fingers rest over his caressing his scales. He has never felt safer than he does in this very moment. 

“Will you tell me a story?” He asks as his lips slowly graze your shoulder.

“Which one do you want to hear?”

“Do you know any stories about dragons?”

“Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find forces of evil that torture and bind. Treasures of gold and jewels to feed the insatiable sin of a dragon's greed. Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find black magic that curse and bewitch the mind. Crystals and gems to quench his desire hidden away by the forces of fire.” You pause before continuing, the final line was always your least favorite. “Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find the stench of a beast so foul and unkind…”

“How unpleasant. This is what your impression of dragons was based on?” Warm breath cradles your neck as he speaks.

“We can change it. I’ve heard different versions, every village seems to have their own.”

“Alright. How about this; Under the wings of a dragon you’ll find a sleeping maiden so delightful and kind.”

“I like that.” You giggle, pressing yourself impossibly close to his warm chest.

“Sleep now, sweetie. We can create more stories tomorrow.” He whispers and kisses your cheek. 

That night you fall asleep with a smile on your face that holds emotions you’ve never experienced before. Emotions you’ve never felt for anyone other than the dragon who holds you close whilst the storm rages outside his cave. 

My dragon.

Under the wings of a dragon you’ll see that his greatest treasure has always been me.

AN: Thanks for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! If anyone is interested in being added to the taglist, let me know!

Taglist: @babyx91 @lemurianmaster @morrigan87 @dawnbreakerswife @sylusgworl @seraphimcollections @plzdonutpercieveme

Read more ll Masterlist ll Colonel Kaboom 𓂃🖊

[solarstranger]

a/n. i really don't know where i'm going with this, y'all. but getting to role-play as a therapist (my dream job lol) and explore bakugou's psyche has been lots of fun, so bear with me. (1.1k)

navigation. part 1, part 2, (you are here)

“n-no.”

at that, the woman’s eyebrows shoot up, disappearing underneath her fringe. “no?”

“you heard me,” bakugou spits instinctively, immediately regretting how hostile that sounded not even a second later. “i mean, no, i didn’t.”

his therapist, apparently unfazed by his show of aggression—she must’ve gotten used to it by now, although he still feels bad when he gets testy—only jots something down in her clipboard before looking back up at him, an inexplicable expression etched across her features.

“do you have any ideas, then, why, for the first time in seemingly forever, you’re fixating on a particular social encounter?”

bakugou barely manages to bite back a scowl.

he hates it—this part. the part where his psychologist obviously has theories as to why he’s acting a certain way or how he’s actually feeling but chooses to ask him instead, in an attempt to draw it out of him.

as if talking about difficult shit in the first place isn’t already painful enough.

and isn’t that what he’s paying her to do? give him answers? why’d he have to be the one to wrack his brain for uncomfortable answers to uncomfortable questions?

“do you?” he then challenges, emboldened by that train of thought just now.

“yes,” she responds truthfully and without missing a beat it somewhat surprises him. “but as i’ve explained to you before, i think it’ll be helpful for you if we try a more active approach on your end so that any insights gleaned from our discussions become more personalized and stick with you longer.”

well, then. fuck.

the lady’s got a point.

“so,” she continues when he doesn’t reply, annoyingly aware her little spiel got to him, “any ideas? working hypotheses?”

“uh,” he starts begrudgingly, eyes roving over the bookshelves lining the room’s walls as he struggles to come up with another angle. then it dawns on him, and he looks directly at the woman. “i didn’t expect to see someone in here, and when i did, it caught me off guard.”

“that may be because most of our clients opt for virtual consultations rather than face-to-face ones.”

“yeah,” he piles on quickly, admittedly thankful for the validation, and for the fact. the absolute last thing he needs is to bump into some extras before and after therapy. “that must be why.”

“but how does that explain your, and i quote, ‘dumb as shit reaction’?”

bakugou instantly feels himself flame. he clears his throat, “i told you, didn’t i? it caught me off guard. how the fuck did you expect me to react?”

that must’ve been a reasonable point, thank the fuck, because the woman pauses in thought before nodding slowly. “i suppose you’re right.”

he narrowly bites back an of course, i am.

but then she’s spouting off again.

“although it’s interesting to me how your immediate reaction was to say hi, when that’s not really…how should i say, your style, based on our prior sessions and your personality test results.”

a pause.

bakugou scrambles for a bulletproof rebuttal. he comes up short.

the lady cocks her head to the side, curious. “how often would you say you mull over social blunders?”

never, he thinks to himself. because they never happen.

“i figured as much,” comes her unexpected reply, and only then does it dawn on him that he said the last bit out loud.

“can we talk about something else?” he finds himself suddenly asking, totally over this entire conversation. he can worry about being a loser and pathetically begging for an out some other time. right now, he just needs a break.

“actually, you’re in luck,” she checks her smartwatch, “the session’s just about to end.”

at that, his shoulders almost instantly sag in relief, which makes the woman laugh. he shoots her a half-hearted glare.

they spend the next few minutes summarizing what has been discussed, as well as the arrangements for the following weeks, with bakugou eventually throwing his bag over his shoulders and bidding her a mumbled goodbye. he tosses her a nod over his shoulder as he crosses the threshold of her office, mind already drifting to what he’s going to cook himself for dinner.

and that, for a typical session, he’s walking out relatively unscathed.

but then he does the stupid thing of looking up from where he was studying his trainers when a door creaks open, and he freezes.

because standing a few feet away from him, right beside the entrance to the restroom, is you, equally frozen.

he doesn’t know how much time passes with him just staring at you like a motherfucking idiot, and you, strangely enough, peering at him back, but it’s you who eventually takes a hammer to the silence.

“h-hi,” you offer, voice soft and quiet, just like how he vaguely remembers it from two weeks ago.

“hey,” comes his gruff reply, which would’ve been immediately followed by a wince at how rough his tone was just now had he not stopped himself in the nick of time.

at least he didn’t stutter.

“…b-bakugou, right?” you ask after a moment of neither of you saying anything, confirming his earlier suspicions.

“right.”

you nod, a polite yet somehow stilted smile on your face, and suddenly he’s mentally slapping himself. since when was he fucking bound to one-word sentences?

he decides then and there that this shit won’t do.

in an attempt to convince himself that no, this is just a weird outlier of an encounter for him, and that no, he’s not a fucking idiot like dunce face, and that yes, he is and is being perfectly fucking normal, he resolves to ask you for your name.

and he was just about to do that—he swears he was—when someone from the other side of the door calls out a name, and you whip to face their direction, breaking eye contact.

“yes, doc!” you holler back, and he watches you as you hesitate in place for a second, before turning to face him with an awkward smile.

“nice meeting you, bakugou-san.”

and then you’re off and shutting the door behind you.

he stands there for what feels like a few minutes, just blinking at the door in front of him, what must be your name echoing—again and again—up to the far recesses of his mind.

then: fuck.

he may or may not have just lied to his therapist.

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[redhoodi]

you can hear it in the silence

summary: Late night study session with Clark doesn't end with a confession, or even acceptance of feelings. But with a kiss on the forehead and a very nervous Kansas boy.

pairing: Clark Kent x reader warnings: none words: 1,019 note: i spent all night thinking of this. i am now cursed with the need of more metropolis university setting sorry. this is kind of inspired by spoil it all by saying something stupid but you don't have to read that to understand this one!! english isn't my first language and any feedback is appreciated<3

Knowledge brought wisdom to the sharpest minds. Ignoring evidence of his powers getting out of hand would be dumb. On the other hand, the perfume mixing fresh citrus with the sweetness of your skin filled his lungs dumb. To focus on his strength as to not break your books carried in his hands was dangerous. To be around you numbed his senses beyond the human scale. Fear of losing his grip near you filled his thoughts, but infatuation rushed blood high to his crimson cheeks after your eyes meet.

The risk of being alone with you intensified as he could feel his heart flutter, waiting for the crush. Nobody in sight as the world peacefully limited to your bedroom. Posters and pictures hanging on your walls, a chair with piling clothes in front of your desk and soft sheets covering your bed. Kindness attracted people to you, being head of the university newspaper or volunteering at events, somehow someone at any place in campus knew your name. He honors the oath between inviting him to your room and studying together, fearing that saying something out loud would make you snap, and notice he was a variant in your world.

“Do I have something on my face?” you duck your head, steading him to reality. To the warm rug where he sat, back against your bed where you laid and his head resting against your mattress, parallel to your arm. The history books in your hands could have been the reason for the roughness in your voice.

Soft raindrops tapped the window above the desk before dawn settled the night. Clark’s index wandered across the page, long forgotten stories about fallen empires and tragic heroes. He mumbled a sound, playing confusion. You sighed a smile, complying his ingenuity. All his attention shifted to the book he wouldn’t admit he read twice now.

Thoughts of the crowd in the debate class bypass his mind, how you got his lost eyes with your lips raising your cheeks. The only thing that kept him in that class was being assigned your partner. Some topic about rights and being against something he believed in wasn’t worth his grade. It was worth yours, which you saved by researching the topic and guiding through the steps. His emotions got the best of him, strengthen by the yellow sun and somehow you absorbed yours as motivation to guide your words and help him find the right ones of him. Too much strength, and heat vision, and sharp hearing—weak against diplomacy, gathering his thoughts and shaping his ideas. He hoped being around you would rub something of your magic against him.

“I don’t think I’ll do well,” he says solemnly, winning a snort from your tired laugh.

“That’s what you say,” you turn on your back meeting the roof. “And then you get a 90% score. You’re the worst”

He lets a proud sound of defeat while he rises his shoulders, “I have a great tutor”

Your opened mouth hypnotized his senses so far to ignoring the horses racing in his chest. All of his attention was stolen by the rhythm of your breathing, and the sound of your finger tracing circles on your stomach. Captivating silence settled in the room, before being broken by a mutter daring your sleepiness: “Come here”

He opened his eyes, unsure of what he’d heard as you omitted the letter O as you whispered. Waited for infinite seconds, before you moved slightly to make space for him in your bed. Heavy fingers fought to not break the floor when standing up, reaching for your bed. This is what normal people do; his mind repeated countless times. Your world centered in doing extraordinary things without needing lightning speed or breath that reached below negative degrees, and you were inviting him in—he kept refusing to say no.

Clark Kent spent half his life balancing belonging, fitting into normality. An outsider, who felt too big and taking up space in any and every room. When he met you, the rooms seemed to fit you, a force driving your fate unashamedly taking up space. He could physically touch the clouds but, in his eyes, you’re always capable of flying and competing with the sun. Distances apart from what meant to be human, none of his powers reached your resilience of loving your community. You kept welcoming him to your world and he’s offended to the idea of a world where he doesn’t belong with you.

Even if he did have these feelings in mind, which he didn’t. Because he’s your best friend. Shaking hands trying to reach your mattress, but your weighted breath and closed eyes froze his feet. He reached for a lighter covering your pillows and wildly wondered, for a long instance, if he could lie next to you without breaking the bed. If Clark ever allowed himself to share that the thought of you heated his ears, and for some mystical reason you shared his feelings; it wouldn’t be with you heavy on your sleep in your pajamas and his grey sweatpants. As the sheets reached your shoulder, and his fingers dared to trace a path against the skin in your arms, you moved your head lightly with eyes close and a snore-like sound escaping your mouth.

The heat in his face hurt his smile, and he swore his heart fluttering was a cardiac attack. Numb on his limbs and with a whirl in his mind, his longing threatened to close the distance between your forehead and his lips. Pausing before shattering the barrier between your worlds, the risk greater than the control of his power. He defied his speed by counting every second he spent close to your face. The instant where his lips tapped your forehead was enough to daze his body stumbling to rush out of your dorm. His fleeting steps took all his focus away from your lips raising to your cheeks. Leaving you with an empty room and the wondering of where the boundaries of best friends ended and the need for another kiss began.

-

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redhoodi © my writing is prohibited from any replication consisting of reposting, copying, translating or profiting, on any platform regardless if credit is given.

[mountaingutta]

Dumb idea of the day №2

Do you remember that episode where Megatron ended up inside Bumblebee’s mind? But he left rather quickly.

So I wondered, what if he didn’t have enough strength to take control and just stayed there?

So now he’s something like a demon on Bumblebee’s shoulder.

At first, Megatron was even slightly content, since it gave him a chance.

Now he’s doomed to eternally witness the mundane existence of Autobots and their organic pets on this Unicron-forsaken base. It’s like watching a terrible sitcom you can’t change the channel from. Endlessly. From everything he’s observed, he’s reached the following conclusions:

Either his Decepticons are complete incompetents or the Autobots are just ridiculously lucky. There's no other way to explain how this circus on wheels hasn't been obliterated yet

As it turns out, life on the Autobot base was rife with the strangest and most absurd incidents - ones that could’ve easily wiped them all out. But as mentioned before… these fools are absurdly lucky.

Optimus has absolutely no control over these idiots—if anything, he secretly encourages them to cause as much chaos as possible, then quietly observes the madness and steps in only when the medic’s ready to rip some foolish heads off.

Speaking of the medic: he never thought his temperament could get worse than it was in his youth. But he was wrong. On the bright side, it seems everyone on base either deliberately or accidentally is trying to drive him to an early grave. Megatron wholeheartedly endorses these efforts and supports every single one of them.

That vicious two-wheeler, whose sarcasm and spite rival the medic's and sometimes even outmatch it could make a decent Decepticon. Better than Starscream at least. And the way she slices heads off with her blades? She’d be a crowd favorite in the pits.

The two-wheeler comes with one of those organic parasites. His name’s Jack. Nothing interesting. Until the moment he blew up Airachnid aboard her own ship. They ought to keep a closer eye on the humans. Maybe they'll be useful someday.

His favorite among those pitiful organic creatures was a wild little beast named Miko — loud, reckless, always hanging around that useless ex-wrecer Breakdown couldn’t shut up about

That tiny gremlin could've made a perfect herald of chaos worthy of Unicron himself. The level of destruction and turmoil she was capable of was limitless. Megatron found himself somewhat fond of her. She reminded him of young Orion

To Bumblebee, Megatron is essentially an insufferably persistent voice in his head — constantly commenting on everything and urging him toward all sorts of nefarious deeds. And the worst part? There’s no way to block him out for long or make him shut up. Now, 24/7, Bumblebee has to endure:

Grandiose monologues worthy of Shakespeare or Dante, usually centered around “Optimus, my ancient foe, our eternal clash…”

Imitations of practically every word Ratchet utters when Megatron's in a good mood

Sarcastic commentary on everything when Megatron’s in a bad mood, generously sprinkled with sneers like “watchdog,” “medic,” or “scum” after nearly every sentence

Rants about every failure Starscream’s ever committed from that forgotten report on some useless pit on Kaon’s outskirts to the current catastrophe

An uncomfortable amount of praise for Soundwave

Persuasive speeches encouraging deeply unethical and borderline illegal actions

Surprisingly decent poetry — on the rare occasions when Megatron’s in good a mood

truly horrid erotic poetry—possibly, but not certainly, about or dedicated to one of Bumblebee’s parents when Megatron is in too good a mood. Bumblebee did not need to hear that. At all.

Then there’s the recurring temptation to tear Starscream’s wings off and shatter his legs at every encounter, followed by two full hours of lamentation. Though in some particularly foul moments, Bumblebee nearly (!), nearly gives in to the impulse.

Also unavoidable are Megatron’s completely unnecessary remarks like “back in my day, bots your age would’ve…” delivered with the tone of a disappointed ancient warlord.

And don't even get Bumblebee started on the flood of stories designed solely to make Optimus and Ratchet look like total hypocrites. For example: the one time Bumblebee took part in illegal street racing, he got slapped with house arrest and a two-week cartoon ban. Meanwhile, other bots his age—allegedly—got away with(included in the list, but not limited to):

Organizing a graffiti gang and vandalizing every government building in Iacon with extremely crude drawings and slogans

Pelting police stations with paint

Participating in drunken bar brawls and doing obscene dances in front of a crowd of wasted bots — all while sober

Committing blackmail, kidnapping, and extortion targeting government officials

[sometimes-studios]

Red Leaves 1.4 Patch

Hello hello! Sorry for the silence! I know it's been months since the last patch but watching Joy stream the game last night kickstarted me a bit.

PATCH NOTES:

-Removed forest ambience playing during the first wolf cutscene

-You can no longer accidentally consume the certain materials and therefore softlock yourself

-The tutorial has been refined to have less awkward pacing when it comes to actually doing your turns

-The woodcutter's skill now costs Energy to use as it didn't before for some reason

-There was one line in the game that used "Red" instead of "You" in its narration and I fixed that

-You can no longer access the mouse room. It's a pretty pointless room to have since the little side-event I planned for it is currently unused. Maybe one day...

-Changed the layout for the save menu and your regular item menu. They are now the default appearance as I found the layouts added by plugins looked really messy and crowded. Sometimes, simple is best for some things!

There are some other things I'm still aware of that are not necessarily fixed in this patch and I will get to those another day.

Aside from Red Leaves, here's a personal update from me below if you're interested:

It's been very quiet on this blog. I'd apologize but we were pretty clear about why we're called Sometimes Studios LOL. I know there were many instances where I kept saying "yup, we've got a project we're working on" or "we've got a new project" etc, several times over, and that was dumb.

I keep luring myself into a false sense of confidence with ideas that I get on whims. It's not even necessarily all that because they are ideas I really want to make, I have many game project concepts on the mental bench that I want to make. But from now on I just need to be a little more chill about it. I'm pretty sure I know what I want my next game to be, but I likely won't get to it for awhile. I've finally picked up a piece of media that grabs my attention again, something I've been longing for for months, and gotta get it out of my system and enjoy the high while it lasts. It's currently all I can think about lately so there's no chance in game dev for awhile. All in all, I've mostly been taking a break. Not to mention I've been working a lot recently. Being a cashier sucks ass!!

However even if I'M not heading a project, that doesn't mean nothing is happening: One of us IS currently chipping away at heading a project. We'll see what happens and maybe you'll start hearing about it.

Thank you for your continued support!

[phasezeroo]

I DON’T LIKE DARKNESS

Sim Jake x f!reader

summary: Jake is comforting you, after you lost your dear childhood pet.

warnings: pet loss, crying, fluff, kissing, jake is a softie

song inspiration:

author’s note: I wrote this yesterday, crying like a baby during it, but I needed to get it off my chest. I miss my fur baby very much and the only way I can cope with it, is probably writing about it.

Please be kind :)

Jake stood in your apartment, unnanounced, still, not daring to breathe.

He must have figured it out, probably did your mom spilled something, the last time she saw him.

It wasn’t rare for Jake to visit your house, your parents were best friends after all, and you were friends since you were little kids. So he basically grew up with you and your cat, who sadly passed away a few weeks ago.

The pain still fresh, wound ripped open, the way Jake’s eyes were glassy, starring at you. You ignored the lump in your throat, building up, ready to burst over. It was your soulmate, but in a pet form. Your family had it since you were five, so you grew up with it.

It died a peaceful death and that is all you cared about when you asked your mom over the phone how it happened.

You were never good with feelings, or telling people how you felt. It was always easier to hide everything, rather than to admit to even have feelings. As soon as you ignore the problem, it would fade away eventually.

You were busy, cleaning up your kitchen, not trying to say anything that might make you break.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

A pause.

Your hands paused with cleaning the dishes, starting to shake. Sighing you leaned against the counter, not daring to look at him.

“I figured if I keep quite, it wouldn’t be real… and maybe it would hurt less.”

Your voice was barely there, a whisper, your apartment silent.

The only thing that was heard was Jake’s breathing combined with yours.

Before you knew it, he made his way around the counter, hugging your back, trying so hard to heal the broken pieces in your heart.

That was the moment you broke, tears falling uncontrollably, hitting the sink.

“Please, Y/N, you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here whenever you need me, never hide anything from me, especially when you feel sad.”

Jake’s voice was soft, gentle.

He turned you around, so he could look at your face. The make-up from today was ruined, mascara running down your face, puffy nose and your cheeks red.

You were trying so hard to keep it together, but his eyes showed nothing than care and love for you.

Sincerely meaning it.

You bit your lip, looking away, not used to crying so hard in front of anybody else than your mom or brother.

Your heart was still aching, but as soon as Jake wrapped his arms around your waist again, the world stopped for a minute.

It was warm, real, full of unspoken feelings.

His own eyes began to burn, imagining how you must have felt all these weeks without him knowing. You were still smiling, laughing at his dumb jokes, he didn’t even noticed the difference in your state.

Going home after you hung out with him and your friends, crying yourself to sleep, trying to cope with it all, alone.

Feeling horrible, he rubbed your back softly, hearing your breathing uncontrollably fast, fearing you might have a panic attack, but it wasn’t.

You just let it out for once, hugging him back, your arms hang loosley around his neck, trying not to drown in your own tears.

You were standing in your kitchen for a while, before you calmed down. Still embraced in his strong arms, you sniffled, wiping your nose with your long sleeve, leaving a mark.

Jake pulled back, holding your face in his hands, to really look at you.

His heart ached.

You wiped your cheeks, skin burning under your touch, soft even.

You coughed.

“Sorry. Just being dramatic. I’m fine.”

“Please, Y/N, don’t be like that”, he pleaded, eyes closed, shaking his head lightly.

“Don’t shut me out right now.”

Your heart raced at his words, almost begging you to stop doing this to him. You sighed, head falling forwards, leaning against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent.

The overwhelming feeling of being save whenever you were around him hit you hard.

He kissed your hair, his hand resting on your warm cheek, stroking it softly, afraid you will break like a doll if he put too much pressure on it.

“I hope you know, you can talk to me, or don’t, just enjoying the silence. You don’t need to talk, just let me be there for you, please.”

You couldn’t help it, you needed to look at him now.

Face so close, too close.

Jake’s warm breath hit your face, seeing how his chest lifted in uneven beats, being nervous that you were so near.

“I’m not gonna push you away again, I promise.”

That was all you said, before breaking the last centimeter your lips were apart, kissing him with such a softness, he might explode at the feeling.

Jake immediately pressed his lips against yours, not rushing it, just putting all his feelings into it.

Showing you, how much he cares and loves you.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer. Breaking apart after you couldn’t breathe anymore, forehead leaning against his.

“I’m glad you’re here now, Jake.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Not now, not ever.”

[takentothedepths]

Dares and Bandaged, Batboys

just making this up rn.

But like, I'm in the cinema and I just need to write something-

____

The manor was weirdly quiet. Barely a sound. Bruce was sure that if he didn't know better, he's children might be out. But he did know better, and he knew something was wrong.

Walking up into the hall, he spots it. He's kids (Jason, Damian and Tim), hoarded around holding a limp figured, heavily bandaged and hiss sharp insults to each other.

Tim (holding what seemed to be the legs): Jason! Your in my face, I can't see! *He hissed sharply, trying to move back a bit without letting go of the person.*

Jason (holding an arm that was in a cast): Not my fault replacement! If only Demon spawn would move over!

Damian (holding the arm with the head in his chest): It's not my fault, Todd, he is heavy then he looks. *He hissed a bit louder then the others* If only you hadn't dared him to try and make that jump!

Jason: He had the chance to say no! He didn't! He said, and I quote 'Im flippy enough, bet' and then did anything before I could stop him!

Bruce finally managed to get closer and realised it was Dick, who, from context clues, had tried to do a dumb jump Jason dared him to and failed and was now bandaged and out cold.

Just as he went to speak, the boys noticed him, and wordlessly dropped Dick and ran out the hall at light speed.

They were so in trouble, but right now, Bruce needed to get Dick into bed and try not to grow a few more grey hairs.

[sunlitv]

Dreams Full of Meaning

Pairing: Bangchan x reader

Summary: You've been having dreams that your soulmate is a certain Idol. When you attend their concert and make eye contact with him what happens when something inside you snaps and you realize dreams aren't always meaningless.

Genre: fluff

Warnings: Literally none, all fluff, conflicted reader, emotions, reader is younger than Chan, slight make out session.

WC: 2.1K

A/N: First story, this came to me because I dreamt that Chan was my soulmate like 3 times...ik weird.. and I'm also feeling Post-concert depression, so of course it gotta be during tour hehe :)

Dreams are meant to be meaningless and all over the place, so then why do I keep dreaming the same thing…

“See Em this is the perfect out—” I don’t get to finish my sentence because all of a sudden I feel this warmth creep up my neck and my heart starts beating faster, I turn around and my eyes meet this built man not just any ordinary man, but an Idol not just any Idol but Bangchan of Stray Kids and as my eyes wonder towards his face and I stare into his eyes something in me knows that aside from how I admire him, nothing about this sudden meeting screams normal. This feeling is not normal and it is not the admiration I have for him as a fan, something inside of me is alit and he is the very person who just lit it. 

He comes closer looking me straight in the eye, he whispers “Please tell me I’m not crazy and you feel this too.” wordless I muster a response, “I do, what does it mean.” He stares at me, sending a shock through me. My whole body feels like it's on fire, “Do you believe in fate.” He asks me. “No, not really.” I let out softly, “Well I do, I’m heavy into soulmates and that’s what we are.” he replies confidently. Before I can reply something in the background starts ringing and it keeps on getting louder. 

“Y/N-AHH your alarm has been ringing for 10 minutes straight, will you please get up already." someone screams, jolting me awake. As I shut off my alarm I make my way downstairs toward the kitchen, “Mornin’ sleepyhead, how did you sleep y/n.” Emily, my younger sister asks. “Good apart from the fact that I keep having the same dream just in different ways.” I reply, she laughs. “I think you need a break from being a fangirl. The delulu is getting to your head, this is like the fifth time you dream that Bangchan is your soulmate. You’ll actually have better luck pulling his photocard than actually being his soulmate.” she says while letting out a chuckle. “Yah don’t make fun of me, I’m older than you and hey you never know not all dreams are dumb and meaningless.”

She looks at me while handing me my coffee, “Yeah but when was the last.. wait actually no, when was the first time that a dream has ever been useful.” she asked me. “Hey there was that time where I dreamt that you got arrested, so I prohibited you from going to your friends party and the day after you got a call from another friend that the police showed up and a few people got arrested.” I look at her waiting for her response. “That was one time.” she says, looking at me with a frown.

I sat down so I could enjoy my breakfast, “Hey going back to the topic of SKZ, our concert is next week.” she squeals with excitement. “Ahh I know I can't wait, it feels like we’ve been waiting years but in reality it's been a couple months.” I say. “I can’t wait to finally put my outfit all together, I will turn heads.” she states with a beaming smile. “Yeah, you're excited to see your buff man hmm.” I chuckle then look at her, she looks back to me before speaking again. “Yes, I will leave Changbin speechless.” she smiles.

I open my eyes to an excited Emily jumping around my room, ���Wake up y/n, it’s today it’s today.” she screams while jumping. “Emmy as much as I love your enthusiasm, the concert doesn't start until 7:30pm. It’s..” I grab my phone to check the time, “6am way too early for this.” She looks at me with a frown, “Come on y/n-ahh don’t be like this, the earlier we wake up the more time we have to freak out and plan out what we do before the concert.” she leans closer to my face with a smile on her face.

I reluctantly got up, “God Em, you have to remember that I’m not as young as I used to be.” I say while walking to my bathroom. “Y/n don’t be so dramatic, you're still young, you're only 23, and you don't turn 24 until September.” she shouts from the room. “Oh so you want me to call you out missy, you turn 20 in August. Oh and can you please make me coffee.” I ask, I hear her scoff as she starts walking. “I love you.” I shout before she leaves my room, I smile as I hear a faint ‘I love you too’.

I look in my mirror before heading out of my room, ‘Ok y/n don’t let the dreams keep you from having a good time today’ I say to myself. As I walk downstairs Em looks at me before saying, “Y/n-ah are you ready?” I smile at her, “Yep all ready, so do you know what merch you’re going to get?” I ask her, “Mhm, I’m of course gonna get the evil skzoo shirt, obvi dwaekki, and the sweater, honestly not too many things.” she says. “Ok well lets go” I say as I grab my keys. We make our way outside towards my car. Em laughs “Well we’ll definitely get noticed with this car.” she says while looking at my bright orange mustang, “Yeah..” I chuckle.

⠀:¨ ·.· ¨:⠀ ⠀ `· . ୨୧⠀

We get to the venue and make our way to the merch booth, “I can’t believe we’re actually here.” Emily squeaks, “Honestly I can’t either, this feels unreal.” I replied. 

I look at Emily as we head inside, “Now I know we might not be in the VIP section Em, but when they pass on the carts we will definitely see them up close.” I say looking at her. “Y/n-ah I don’t care that we aren’t in VIP. The goal was to be at the concert and hey it’s better cause we are right in the middle, and you’re right we’ll see them up close thanks to the carts.” she says, looking at me with a smile on her face. I smile and give her a big hug and whisper ‘I love you’ to her, she pulls back and says ‘I love you too.’

As the concert goes on it’s officially time for the carts, “AHH y/n-ah here they come, we get to see them closer.” she squeals, I laugh. As the carts get closer to our section I feel the same warmth that I dreamt of, creep up my neck, ‘No it can’t be’ I think to myself. As I look at the first cart that is slowly making its way I see Bangchan turn around instantly, subtly looking around. Once the cart is right in front of our section we instantly make eye contact, he instantly goes still and I don’t blame him cause I blank out as well. I’m heating up inside and I can tell that he is too but he can’t let it show, so he removes his tiny wolfchan and leans down a bit over the railing of the cart, handing me the tiny wolf. He looks at me and smiles before mouthing ‘don’t leave after’.

For the remainder of the concert I’m left speechless and spaced out trying to figure out what he meant. When they get to saying goodbye Em looks at me before saying, “I can’t believe the Bangchan gave you his wolfchan.” I look at her, “Honestly, I can’t believe it either Em.” I say, before she can say something someone with a lanyard comes over.

“You’re the one who got the wolf right?” she says pointing at me, “Uhh, yeah.” I say confused, Em looks at me in total shock, speechless. “Ok, are you alone?” she asks. “No it’s me and my sister.” I say while pointing at Emily, “Alright, I’m a staff member I’ll need both of you to follow me, I’ll explain everything as we walk.” 

We follow the staff, Emmy looks at me confused, “What is actually happening right now.” she whispers, “I have no idea Em.” I whisper back. “I was instructed by the leader to find the girl with the Bbokari and the tiny Wolfchan plushy, I wasn’t told why exactly but he said it was urgent.” the staff says, Em looks at me shocked and mouths ‘could it? your dream?’ The staff stops and gestures to a door before saying, “Here we are, he’s waiting inside, go on.” she urges.

⠀:¨ ·.· ¨:⠀ ⠀ `· . ୨୧⠀

I’m speechless, because what she failed to mention was that all eight of them were inside, but before I can dwell on that, my insides are burning ready to explode. I look around my eyes, instantly landing on a certain boy, just to notice that he is staring right back. He gets up and makes his way towards me, “Hi, I’m Chan but I guess you already know that huh.” he chuckles while rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah.” I chuckle, looking at him unable to contain my smile, “I’m Y/n.” I speak up again. 

“I guess we should point out the elephant in the room.” He says with a smile, “We’re soulmates.” we say at the same time. I laugh, “Well I guess there is no denying it huh, we are actually soulmates.” I say, “Yeah no denying it.” he chuckles.

We stare at each other, before we can say anything else one of the boys comes closer, “Hyung is this why you suddenly went still while we were on the carts.” they say, I look at them and see that it’s Felix. “Yes, I guess I should explain to you guys, as we were going around I felt this heat inside and when we got to the middle I made eye contact with y/n, honestly it's insane but it’s fate, we’re soulmates.” he said to all of them.

Seungmin is the first one to speak up, “Finally, now the old man will leave me alone.” I laugh loudly at that, Chan just looks at him with a displeased face. “Well it’s nice to meet you y/n, I’m Felix, you already know who we are but I still wanted to introduce myself.” he says, I chuckle, “Well it's nice to officially meet all of you.” I say with a smile.

Han speaks up, “Who’s this?” he points to Em, “This is my younger sister Emily.” I say. She instantly introduces herself, looking around in shock still not believing that this is happening. 

While she talks to them I feel someone pull me aside, I look up to see it’s Chan, he walks me to the other side, “I wanted to have a bit of privacy.” he says looking at me.

I smile up at him, “This is a bit weird honestly.” I say, “Why is that?” he asks me, “It’s weird because I have been dreaming that we were soulmates, but I never thought that those dreams actually had meaning. I came with no expectation that my dreams would become reality.” I say looking at him.

“Would it be less weird if I tell you that I’ve had a few dreams about meeting my soulmate, and that they looked exactly like you.” he says, I laugh, “No, actually that makes it more weird.” I say chuckling. He laughs, “Not weird, just fate.” he says getting closer.

I walk closer as well, he looks at me, “I really want to kiss you right now.” he breathes out, “Please do.” I softly let out, both of us inches away.

Slowly he puts one hand on my face and another on my neck before leaning in, when our lips finally touch the heat inside me explodes. I wrap my arms around his neck and deepen the kiss, my fingers make their way to his hair slightly tugging it. He lets out a groan and I take the opportunity, my tongue meeting his in a sloppy kiss.

As we pull apart he rested his forehead on mine, looking me in the eyes before saying, “T-That felt amazing, I’m glad the universe put you as my soulmate.” Then he pulls me in for another kiss, “I’m also glad that the universe put you as my soulmate.” I say pulling away with a smile on my face.

Dreams aren’t always useless, sometimes Dreams are Full of Meaning.

..

But while you were busy, you didn’t notice the lingering glances between Emily and I.N. Is it just a coincidence? Or could both of them be feeling that same burning sensation?

A/N: This is my first story I hope you liked it, I'm unsure if I should do a pt.2 but maybe I will... oh but what can the very ending intel ;)

[operation-cursed-sweet-tooth]

Tysm everyone who helped with the update✨

Credits, in order, for who drew what ^^

@lilfox87

@whocaresifwearecrazy

@agent-atlas

@jadedpawz

@geszti12

⚠️Eyestrain/ Blood Warning⚠️

Too much noise…. my head feels like it’s about to just pop right off…. *groan* nauseous…. room’s spinning….

Too… much… going on at once….

SLAM

E-excuse me…! I’ll be back..!

Just need to use the bathroom…!

Huh? Rook-?

That… isn’t something he usually does…

The fella does seem rather sick-

I guess…? But even then… he doesn’t just rush off like that….

Hehe- maybe he finally ate something that fought back- payback for the times he’s made us all eat something gross-

Dot… not funny-

Oh shush- it was too-! You’ve been subjected to the weird stuff he eats! And you got just as sick-

*grunts* yeah… while this one brings us spicy stuff to eat-

Ay… you said y’all liked trying new stuff so I decided to literally spice stuff up for once!

I couldn’t feel my mouth for a week, Rory-!

Sounds like a you problem, Mr tough Guy-

Regardless…. him running off for any reason isn’t normal…. not unless he’s of course anxious… or in trouble for whatever reason-

He kinda just looked nauseous to me-

Hmm…. I���ll go and check on him then… hopefully he didn’t just rush out of the building-

*pants* too much….

Way too much…

Just… need to breathe and… calm down- and not get sick…. not at work…

Everything is still just… spinning….

Head hurts… and also my stomach…. That’s kinda normal right….? I did eat a lot of candy… despite when ma and Gary keep telling me… ughhh….

N….now I’m hearing things again…. Those bad thoughts again…. it’s making me even more nauseous…. Just… gotta keep that down….

*groans* not that nightmare again…. Please….

That nightmare is even more scary than all my others combined…. Except maybe the clown ones…

So much…. blood…. Ugh….

Just…. stop thinking about it…. It’ll go away….

Maybe it’s like… one of those symbolic nightmare thingies that Sensei told me about…. Wouldn’t even know how to understand it though… or where to start if I could….

This taste in my mouth is also just… gross…. It doesn’t even resemble chocolate anymore… maybe the candy was just bad…? Did the candies always taste like pennies… or did I mistake one for a candy… and that’s why I’m sick…?

It tasted fine yesterday…. I think….

Ugh…. Now I think I really am seeing things….

Wait…. why are my eyes yellow….? Were they like that all morning…?

I…. should’ve just stayed home…. I think I’m having like… hallucinations or something… really scary ones…. I’m just glad they’re not clowns….

Whatever they’re supposed to mean…. It’s not making this nausea go away… *whines* just… making it worse….

Maybe I should just clean up…. tell Ma…. I’m sick…. and hopefully I’ll be sent home..? Yeah…. That sounds like a good plan to me….

That should hopefully make me look better…. right…? My beak kinda just felt sticky anyway….

Now to just go and find Ma-

Hey Rook? You ok in there..? You kinda just ran off without much explanation….

H-huh?!

Oh uh… y-yeah! I’m uh…. I’m ok!

I-I’ll just be an extra minute or so…. Don’t wait up on me-! *nervous laugh*

Don’t take too long in there then…. Kinda already worried you just ran off like that….

Just uh- really really had to go- yknow? *nervous laugh* nothing bad…. I promise- at least I don’t think so….

Uhuh…. You had the whole table worried… aside from maybe Dot…. *scoffs* she tried making a dumb joke out of it…

Oh just ignore her- I’m… sure she didn’t mean it in a bad way- you know how she is-

Still doesn’t excuse anything, Rook… if something bad was going on I wouldn’t want anyone to just be cracking jokes at their expense… even if that is my type of coping mechanism….

Just…. When you’re done meet me outside, got it? I want ya to take care of yourself if something is wrong though…. You looked kinda pale….

It was… probably just something I ate…. yeah- just…. some bad candy-