#to ask them if i could just like. feel bad. noticeably

[mooningningg]

Extra Credit - Megumi F. (3)

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 02, chapter 04

pairings. nerd!megumi x popular girl!reader

words. 17.90k (???)

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

notes. i've been missing for two days, I rlly hope you won't be bored with this long ahh. and please try to not skip some parts since its important for you to understand the thoughts behind the actions.

You were supposed to be past this, supposed to be untouchable, unshaken, unbothered. That was your thing—right?

You didn’t cry over boys. You broke them. You didn’t second-guess yourself. You walked out first. You ended things before they could ever reach the part where you might actually get hurt. But now, you were lying in your bed, legs tangled in your sheets, staring at your ceiling like it held answers, and for the first time in a long time, you felt… small.

You hadn’t cried since the fight with Megumi, not really. But now, everything was creeping in. Quietly. Slowly. Like the kind of pain that doesn't hit you all at once—but chips away at you until suddenly, there's nothing left.

It wasn’t supposed to matter, it was just tutoring, just a deal, just a boy with glasses and too many books and a sharp tongue who should’ve meant nothing. But why—why—was it his voice in your head? Not Noritoshi’s, not the boy who said he loved you.

Not the boy you gave everything to for over a year—the one who knew all the worst parts of you, the one who held every dark thing you never dared show anyone else. The boy who kissed you like possession, who yelled in hotel rooms and made you feel insane for asking to be seen, for asking to be loved properly.

The boy who said you were too much. Who slammed doors and then begged at them the next day, who hurt you and then convinced you it was love. Noritoshi had everything—your trust, your secrets, your body, your pride. And he still made you feel like you weren’t enough.

He knew you, but he never saw you, and now here you were, spiraling over someone who did.

Megumi. Fucking Megumi Fushiguro.

The one you swore you’d never even glance at twice. The one you called boring. The one who annoyed you with his quiet judgement and his folded sleeves and his constant reminders that you could be better—if you wanted.

You hated that.

You hated the way he looked at you like he expected more. Like you weren’t just some pretty, mean girl with fake lashes and perfect skirts and an Instagram full of filters. You hated that he listened.

That he remembered how you hated black tea and liked your pen to have a cap instead of a click. You hated how he looked at you during tutoring—like he was trying to understand you, even when you were being difficult. Even when you didn’t want to be understood.

Noritoshi never asked how your day was, but Megumi always noticed if it was bad.

Noritoshi made you feel crazy for crying. Megumi… made you want to cry just because he was kind when you didn’t know what to do with kindness.

Fuck.

You turned over in your bed, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. Your chest felt tight, like there was something inside it you didn’t want to name. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You didn’t even like Megumi. You couldn’t. That wasn’t the plan. And even if you did, how could you ever trust that feeling again? How could you let yourself get close after what happened with Noritoshi? After all the fights? The screaming? The apologies that meant nothing?

You thought Noritoshi would break you once. But instead, he broke you over and over again, in pieces so small they were impossible to hold. and you were still recovering from that.

So how could you let someone like Megumi in? How could you admit that he made you feel safe when you barely knew what safety looked like? How could you admit that in just a few weeks, he did more than Noritoshi ever did in twelve months?

It terrified you.

So instead, you clenched your jaw. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just a weird reaction. A blip. Temporary insanity. You didn’t like Megumi. You couldn’t. You were just tired. You were just lonely. You were just angry, but none of those excuses explained the ache in your chest or the way your body still remembered the warmth of his hands on your waist.

You turned over again, you weren’t going to cry, you weren’t going to want him, you were going to forget it ever happened. Except you wouldn’t. Not really.

Because this feeling—the one clawing its way up your throat right now—it was something you hadn't felt in a long time. And that scared you more than anything else.

You leaned back in your chair, a groan escaping your lips as you stared at the pages in front of you. The words blurred together, a mess of historical dates and political concepts you could hardly care less about. If you were being honest, the only thing running through your head was the last few weeks. Megumi, and the words thrown at each other.

And now here you were, stuck at Nobara’s place, trying to study with her. She had a way of being productive even when she was too loud, her energy bouncing off the walls as she flipped through her notes with casual ease. You couldn’t even focus on the words in front of you.

"Are you even paying attention?" Nobara asked, voice laced with amusement as she glanced at you, catching you mid-eye roll. "You’ve barely looked at your book since we started, and I’m starting to think you’re just here for the snacks."

You blinked, snapping out of your daze. "I am paying attention, okay? I just... I hate civics."

She snorted, clearly unconvinced. "You say that about every subject, Y/N. But civics? Really? You hate it because it’s boring, or are you just avoiding actually trying?"

You threw her a look, already irritated. “I just don’t see the point. Why do I need to know how the government works? The most important thing in life is looking good and having fun.”

Nobara didn’t flinch. “You’ve got a warped view of life, you know that?”

“Hey, I didn’t get the memo about life being about politics and the will of the people,” you said, leaning back and crossing your arms defiantly. “I’m pretty sure I’ll survive just fine without knowing what a civil servant even does.”

"Well," Nobara began, flicking through her notes, "you might want to get it straight if you want to graduate."

You groaned again, ignoring her, but then she dropped the bombshell.

“So, tell me this, since you're so into skipping the whole responsibility thing," she said with a smirk, leaning in slightly. “Do you know what the kenpo means in relation to our government system?”

You stared at her, blinking. "What? What the hell kind of question is that?”

“Civics,” she replied flatly. "You know, the basics of how the government works. Japan’s constitution and all that.”

For a second, you were thrown. The question felt way too real, way too... serious. But more than that, it made you freeze because—shit—you remembered.

You blinked, trying to clear the fog in your brain. The words Nobara had just said echoed in your head, but your mind was somewhere else entirely. You shifted in your seat, leaning back, but then the memory of Megumi popped up—completely uninvited—and your heart stuttered a bit.

“The kenpo is a significant part of Japan’s post-war constitution,” Megumi said, flipping through his textbook. His voice wasn’t just calm—it was smooth, as though he'd memorized everything the night before.

You blinked. “Kenpo? What the hell is that?”

Megumi didn’t look up from his book. “The Constitution of Japan. Article 9, kenpo, which means the renunciation of war. It’s basically what keeps Japan’s military stance neutral.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “Are you on drugs? How the hell did you pull that out of your ass so easily?” You chuckled under your breath. “Like, are you secretly some government nerd who spends his nights reading about laws and shit?”

He didn’t react. Just flipped the page and kept going like it was no big deal. “No, just... you know, I study. Helps me understand shit.”

Now, back in Nobara’s room, you blinked as you realized the memory had pulled you in unexpectedly. You were so lost in thought that you’d almost missed her question.

“Did you hear me?” Nobara’s voice snapped you back to reality.

You looked at her. “Yeah, sorry,” you said, trying to shake off the mental images of Megumi casually schooling you in civics like it was nothing. “So… kenpo, huh?” you repeated, the word awkward on your tongue as it suddenly felt like a stupid joke.

“Exactly,” Nobara said, eyes narrowing a little, as if you should've known. “We’re studying this stuff for our shiken.”

You couldn’t help but wince. The term ‘exam’ had never felt so intimidating. “I think I need to study more than just government,” you muttered under your breath. “Maybe you’re right. I should try harder… and stop being an idiot about it.”

But as your thoughts drifted, you couldn’t help but think back to that tutoring session—how easy it seemed for Megumi to rattle off facts, making you feel completely out of your depth.

You suddenly felt the sting of your own inadequacies again, and it pissed you off. But then, you remembered his impassive face when he’d explained it all to you like it was nothing.

“Maybe I do need to try harder...” you said quietly, more to yourself than to Nobara. But of course, Nobara was quick to pick up on your mood.

“Exactly, don’t just sit there and whine about it,” she shot back, “You got this. You’re not dumb, just need a little focus.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

But as you sat back down, your mind couldn’t let go of how much Megumi had impressed you. No one else could’ve made civics feel like it was worth paying attention to, and yet... he did.

The day had barely begun when Gojo dropped his usual “important announcement” on the class.

It was a Tuesday morning, and as usual, you were walking the fine line between paying attention and planning your next social media post when he suddenly cleared his throat, commanding the attention of the entire class with a smirk that hinted at some ridiculous news.

"Alright, alright," Gojo’s voice boomed, loud enough for the entire class to hear. "Listen up. You’ve got an essay due next week."

You sat up straight, automatically feeling that familiar rush of anxiety that only came with the word essay. Everyone groaned in unison, and the collective energy in the room dropped a few degrees.

"Don't even think about it," Gojo continued, barely suppressing his grin. "It’s on a political topic in Japan. Your job is to research it, write your thoughts, and show me you actually give a damn about your grades."

He paused, looking around the room, gauging everyone’s reactions. "So, get ready to do some actual work. For once."

You felt a familiar knot in your stomach—mixed emotions all at once. The topic was nothing new. You’d been through political essays and assignments about Japanese government structures before, but this one felt different.

You had the tools this time. You had the resources. You had the chance.

It wasn’t like the other times where you’d half-assed everything or relied on cheating your way through. This was an opportunity to show that you could actually do something—for yourself. You had Megumi’s tutoring sessions to thank for that. Even if you hadn’t directly paid attention to every word, something had changed inside you. You were no longer the same lazy, apathetic person you used to be. You couldn’t go back to that version of yourself anymore. You refused to.

You glanced around at the other students, most of whom were still caught up in the collective sigh of dread. Some were already pulling out their phones, others frantically taking notes to pretend they were paying attention. But for once, you didn’t feel that sense of dread. You felt... determined.

This was your shot. You weren’t going to let this be another failure. You were done with disappointing yourself.

Gojo’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you caught the tail end of what he was saying: “...and the topic? Something like the kenpo, the Constitution, or Japan’s stance on foreign relations. You choose, but you better make it count.”

You didn’t even pause. Your hand shot up without thinking.

"Yes, Y/N?" Gojo raised an eyebrow, amused by your sudden enthusiasm.

“I’ll take the Constitution,” you said with surprising confidence, not caring who heard you.

“Ah, the kenpo,” he mused, clearly impressed by your choice. “Alright. I like it. Maybe you’ll finally do something interesting with that brain of yours.”

You didn’t care for his praise, but his approval made something stir inside you. You didn’t need his validation. This was about you. For the first time in ages, you were doing something for yourself, not for attention, not for anyone else’s approval.

The class continued on, but your mind had already shifted. You had a purpose now.

After school, you couldn’t shake the feeling that today was different. That essay, that political topic—it wasn’t just another assignment. It was the first step toward proving to yourself that you weren’t the lazy, self-destructive person you’d been in the past. This was about growth. Real growth.

You walked through the crowded hallway, determined. As you passed by the lockers, you saw the usual faces—people talking, laughing, their lives unfolding without a care. But for once, you didn’t feel like you needed to be part of that world. You were doing something for yourself, and you could feel the difference already.

You were going to finish this essay. You were going to nail it.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d be one step closer to doing something that really mattered for you.

You stood there in the hallway, clutching your books to your chest like they were some kind of shield. The hallway was buzzing with the usual noise—people chatting, lockers slamming, the clatter of footsteps—but it all felt so far away. Like you were standing outside of it, looking in. You should’ve felt free after making the decision to focus on that essay. You should’ve felt confident, like you finally had something to prove.

But instead, all you could hear were the voices in your head.

You’re doing this for yourself. You’re not weak. You’re strong. You don’t need anyone...

But even as you told yourself that, the insecurity gnawed at you. It clawed at your thoughts like a persistent itch you couldn’t scratch.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you turned the corner, but it certainly wasn’t this.

There, across the hall, Megumi was standing, leaning against the lockers. His usual scowl was in place, though something about it seemed softer today, quieter. His gaze wasn’t on his phone or the floor like usual. No, today it was directed at something—or someone.

Miwa.

She was walking past him, laughing at something with her friends, not even noticing that Megumi was watching. You saw the way his eyes followed her, how his gaze softened just slightly as she passed by. It wasn’t a look of deep affection or anything dramatic, but the way he watched her… it made something twist deep inside you.

It shouldn’t hurt. It really shouldn’t. You weren’t even sure why it felt like it did. You barely knew why you were standing there, frozen, as the pieces of your chest started to break apart, slowly.

You’re just being ridiculous, you told yourself.

But your thoughts didn’t stop.

You didn’t want to feel jealous. You didn’t want to care. But there he was, your Megumi—your Megumi, in some twisted sense, right?—just staring at her from across the hall, like she was the only thing that mattered in that moment. And you hated it.

You’re so different from her, the voice in your head whispered. She’s sweet. She’s easy to love. You? You’re just… a mess. You’re tough. You push people away.

The voice hurt, but you couldn’t stop it. You weren’t soft. You weren’t gentle. You didn’t smile like that, not naturally.

And sure, you could walk away, pretend it didn’t bother you, but it did. It really fucking did.

Megumi had always been this person who kept to himself, never revealing much, never opening up to anyone. But when it came to Miwa, when it came to her effortless charm, his guard was nowhere to be seen. He just stood there, eyes locked on her, and something in you broke a little more.

Why does it matter?

But you couldn’t help but wonder:

Why don’t I matter like that?

He wasn’t even talking to her. Hell, she didn’t even know he was watching. But in that moment, you realized something. He wasn’t looking at you. He wasn’t looking at anyone but Miwa, and it hurt in a way you couldn’t explain.

You turned, walking away quickly, your heart pounding in your ears.

It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t hurt. He’s not yours.

But there you were—walking away from it anyway, pretending it didn’t feel like someone had ripped something from your chest. You told yourself you were fine, but deep down, it was all unraveling.

You weren’t supposed to feel vulnerable. You weren’t supposed to let things like this get to you.

But here you were, wondering why you’d never be the one Megumi watched like that.

The clock on your desk read 3:30 AM, but the words on the screen still seemed to blur together. You’d been at this essay for hours—struggling to organize your thoughts, to make sense of it all. Your mind kept drifting back to Megumi. To the way he looked at Miwa. To the disappointment that welled up in your chest every time you thought about how far you’d fallen.

But this? This essay? You had to do it. You had to prove to yourself that you were more than just a pretty face, that you could do something right on your own. Something that mattered.

The tears were just waiting to spill over, but you kept pushing them down. They didn’t fit here. Not with the pressure of your name. Not with the weight of your reputation.

You rubbed your eyes, groaning in frustration when your screen stayed stubbornly blank. Your mind wandered again, this time to your father. He always said the same thing—you have potential. But did you really? Or was it all just a fucking game of appearances?

And then, as if on cue,

your father’s soft knock on your door was the first thing that registered. It took you a moment to process it, and then another to look up from the essay you’d been trying to work on for hours. The blinking cursor on your screen seemed almost mocking in its silence, and you could feel the weight of your thoughts pressing down, suffocating you.

"Daddy?" You didn’t bother trying to hide the crack in your voice, the exhaustion. It wasn’t worth it.

The door creaked open, and there he was, standing in the frame with his usual casual smile, his tall frame casting a shadow over you. Even after all these years, he had that aura about him—the kind that made the world feel like it was all just a little bit lighter. But tonight? You couldn’t pretend to be the girl who had it all together. Not anymore.

"Hey, kiddo," he said gently, stepping into your room without hesitation. He always did this, always came to you when he knew something wasn’t right. "I heard the tap-tap of your keyboard from down the hall. What’s going on in here? You didn’t turn into a zombie, did you?"

You managed a small smile, even if it felt like it was painted on, too thin to be real. "Just a stupid essay, nothing major." Your eyes flickered back to the screen, but the words weren’t making sense. Nothing was making sense. "It’s... whatever."

He didn’t buy it for a second. He never did. He moved closer, leaning against the desk, glancing at the papers you hadn’t touched. "You sure? Looks like someone’s been fighting with a word processor."

You chuckled weakly, shrugging. "Yeah. Me versus an essay. Guess who’s losing."

"Ah, classic. Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure essays are just a trap set up by the universe to make us feel like we have to prove we’re smart. Just a conspiracy," he added, trying to lighten the mood, his tone playful. He ruffled your hair a little as if to say it’s okay, even though the unease hung in the air like a storm cloud.

You pulled away from the touch, instinctively, and your stomach churned. The pressure inside you only seemed to build. "I don’t think that’s what it is, Daddy." You could feel the familiar ache in your chest, like everything you had worked so hard to maintain was slipping through your fingers.

He straightened up a little, letting out a small sigh. "Alright, alright, I get it. You’re not in the mood for Dad’s conspiracy theories."

His voice softened, but not with pity—no, he wasn’t the type to give you that. Instead, it was warm, steady, the kind that had always managed to make you feel like things weren’t quite as bad as they seemed. Even now, his presence was a comfort. But it wasn’t enough to silence the growing voices in your head.

"Hey," he said, nudging the chair next to you with his knee, "why don’t we take a break? You’ve been working at this for hours. Your brain’s probably fried by now."

You just stared at the screen. The cursor blinked, waiting for you to move. It wasn’t the essay that was bothering you; it was the constant pressure, the constant need to be more than just what everyone else saw. It was always about appearances. Never letting anyone see the cracks, even though you were the one who had to fill them every single day.

"I don’t know if I can do it," you muttered under your breath, voice small. "I keep fucking up, Daddy. I try, I really try, but it’s never enough."

He didn’t say anything at first, just waited, letting the silence hang in the room. You tried to ignore the tightness in your throat, but it only made it worse. The words came out before you could stop them.

"I thought I had everything figured out. That I could just coast through everything. But now… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I’ve let everyone down, including myself."

His face softened, eyes full of understanding, and before you could stop it, a tear slipped down your cheek. You cursed under your breath, wiping it away quickly, but it didn’t stop the flood that followed.

"Sweetheart," he began, his voice gentle but firm, "you’ve got to stop holding yourself to these impossible standards. You think you need to be perfect all the time, but no one expects that. Not from you, not from anyone."

You shook your head, the tears blurring your vision. "You don’t get it," you said hoarsely. "You don’t know what it’s like. Everyone’s always expecting something from me, and if I don’t deliver—if I fail—they’ll see me for who I really am. Not the ‘perfect daughter’ they want. And I’ll lose everything. My reputation, my place. I’ll be nothing."

He sat down next to you, brushing a strand of hair out of your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache. "You’re more than just your reputation. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, but—"

"No," he interrupted softly, "no buts. Listen to me. I don’t care about what other people think. I don’t care about how you’re seen. What matters is you. You have so much more inside you than this... this pressure you're carrying. And I’ll always be here, no matter what you do or how many times you fall down. You don’t have to do it alone."

You choked on a sob, your body shaking as you leaned into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, holding you as if he could protect you from everything, even yourself. His heartbeat was steady beneath you, a rhythm you clung to as if it was the only thing in the world that made sense.

"I just want to be enough," you whispered against his chest, barely audible. "I want to be... something good. For once."

"You already are," he whispered back, pressing his lips to the top of your head. "You’re my daughter. You’re everything to me. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone."

Your sobs broke loose then, and you let them come. Let yourself fall apart in the safety of your father’s arms, not caring about the essay, not caring about the image you’d been trying to keep up for so long.

You didn’t need to be perfect. Not for him. Not for anyone.

You woke up late, the alarm blaring its usual obnoxious tune, but this time you didn’t hit snooze. You just… didn’t feel like getting up. Still, after the long conversation with your dad, a sense of calm had settled over you that you hadn’t realized you’d needed. It wasn’t the kind of calm that fixed everything, but it was enough to get you out of bed and, against all odds, to school.

You sprinted down the hall, your bag bouncing against your side, heart pounding as you dashed toward Gojo’s office. Missing the first period wasn’t ideal, but you’d already made a decision. You were doing this. Not for anyone but yourself. Not for Megumi—whatever that was. No. This was about you. You had your own shit to prove. You were sick of falling short.

You burst through the door of Gojo’s office without knocking, barely catching your breath, and locked eyes with him. The typical cocky grin was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was a soft surprise behind his glasses.

"You’re late," he said casually, but there was no judgment, just curiosity.

"Yeah, I know," you replied, already opening your notebook, the pages freshly filled with the essay you’d been working on all night. "Here. I got it done."

Gojo raised an eyebrow, the sudden seriousness of your tone catching him off guard. He took the paper from you and glanced it over. His eyes scanned the words, his lips moving ever so slightly as he read. He seemed focused—more focused than usual.

"Huh," he said, breaking the silence. "Okay… I’ll check this."

You didn’t wait for him to finish. You just stood there, hands clasped tightly in front of you. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, but there was something else now—something that felt like you were finally getting it right. The words on the page felt like you, like they belonged to you. You hadn’t relied on anyone else. You hadn’t slacked off or tried to get by with minimum effort. This was your work. And it felt good.

"Good work, Y/N," Gojo said, surprising you. His voice was softer, more genuine than you were used to hearing. "I’m impressed."

You blinked. Impressed? Was that really the word he just used? You hadn’t been expecting that. You wanted to feel smug, to let that adrenaline fuel a comeback, but… no. You actually felt something else. It was a quiet, simple sense of accomplishment. And it felt better than you expected.

"Thanks," you said quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. The moment was brief but important, like the first small victory after a long time of feeling like you were just slipping by. But as soon as the pride started to settle, your mind wandered, as it always did, to him.

Megumi.

How would he react to this?

You almost scoffed at yourself for even thinking about it. It didn’t matter what he thought, right? You weren’t doing this for him. You weren’t trying to prove anything to anyone. But your mind kept circling back to the way he’d looked at you, cold and angry—words you’d hurled at him like daggers, only to have them stab you in return. He had no right to make you feel like you weren’t enough.

So why did it matter so much?

Gojo’s voice broke through your thoughts. "You want me to grade it now? Or… are you heading back to class?"

You gave a quick nod, barely aware of your body moving toward the door. "Yeah. Sure."

"Don’t go thinking this means you’re off the hook, though," he added, a bit of that teasing tone returning. "You’ve still got work to do."

You waved him off, not bothering to look back as you left the office. But as you walked out into the hallway, the quiet thrum of your heartbeat was steady. For once, it wasn’t anxiety or fear—it was anticipation. You weren’t sure where this would lead, but for the first time in a long while, you felt like you were in control of your own story.

And maybe, just maybe, Megumi would notice.

You and Nobara were hanging out by the lockers, leaning against the metal doors while the noise of the school buzzed around you. It was one of those rare moments where you didn’t have to be the perfect, untouchable “bad bitch” everyone expected you to be. Instead, you were just… talking. And it felt weirdly nice.

“Well, I’ll be honest, I thought you’d be a little more chill after everything with, you know, Megumi,” Nobara said, popping a piece of gum into her mouth and flicking it with her tongue. Her eyes studied you carefully, like she was trying to read a chapter in a book she couldn’t quite finish.

You scoffed, flipping your hair over your shoulder, giving her a pointed look. “I am chill. I’ve always been chill.”

“Bullshit,” she grinned, “You’ve been a walking hurricane lately. Like, you keep acting all tough, but you’ve been so fucking quiet.”

“Not quiet,” you replied, eyes narrowing in a fake attempt at annoyance. “I’ve just been—occupied.”

“Occupied with what?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “With your grades? Or trying to pretend you don’t have a damn heart?”

You laughed it off, crossing your arms. “No heart. No problems.” You rolled your eyes dramatically. “And don’t go all psychoanalyst on me either. I know what you’re gonna say.”

“Oh really?” she said, the sarcasm dripping from her words. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

You scoffed again. “I don’t need to figure you out, Nobara. You’re pretty simple to read.”

“Is that so?” She raised an eyebrow again, her grin widening. “And here I thought you were all mysterious and complicated. Guess not.”

You leaned back, hands on your hips as you gave her an exaggerated look. “I don’t know why you’re looking at me like I’m some emotional wreck.” You smirked, acting all nonchalant, but the words stung. “I’m fine, alright? Totally fine.”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s why you’ve been disappearing every time someone mentions Megumi. Total ‘I’m fine’ energy there.”

You shifted uncomfortably at the mention of his name, but you quickly masked it with a snarky smile. “You think I care about what he’s doing? Please.”

“Oh really?” she said with a teasing grin. “Because I seem to remember you having a meltdown in the cafeteria like, a week ago. Pretty sure your ‘I don’t care’ act needs some work.”

“Stop acting like you know shit,” you snapped, but it was all a front. You hated that Nobara could always see through you. “I’m done with him, alright? So drop it.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you are,” she said, not buying it for a second. She popped her gum again, a knowing glint in her eyes. “But tell me this—what’s really going on with you?”

“Nothing,” you shot back quickly, “Everything’s fine. I’ve been busy. That’s it. Now, can we stop talking about this?”

Nobara opened her mouth to argue, but then she stopped, glancing down the hall as she caught sight of the clock on the wall. “Oh look,” she said, not missing a beat. “Ten o’clock.”

You rolled your eyes, not understanding why that was significant. “And?”

She grinned devilishly, her gaze flicking to a figure in the distance. “Guess who’s about to show up.”

You blinked. "Who?"

“The one, the only…” she paused dramatically, “Megumi Fushiguro.”

Your heart skipped in your chest, but you refused to show it. You hated how he still had that effect on you. “Oh, great. What do you want me to do, roll out the red carpet?”

“Pfft, I’m just saying, you’re still not done with this whole ‘I’m the bad bitch who doesn’t care’ thing. That shit’s getting old, you know?” she said, the tone of her voice softening for just a moment. “You’re only fooling yourself.”

You straightened up, feeling the familiar defensiveness bubbling inside of you. “I’m not fooling anyone.”

“Sure you’re not,” she said, her eyes narrowing, but she didn't push it further.

You hated that she could read you like a book, but you weren’t ready to admit any of that to her. To anyone.

And then, there he was.

You didn’t even need to look hard; Megumi was walking toward you, his typical hoodie and glasses hiding his expression, but you could feel the weight of his presence as soon as he entered your field of vision. You instinctively tensed.

You stood there for a second, unsure of what to do. There was this insane part of you that wanted to go to him, talk to him, maybe even try to make things less...awkward. But your pride? Your damn pride wouldn’t let you.

“Go on, talk to him,” Nobara said with a grin, nudging you gently.

You ignored her, walking up to Megumi, your heels clicking sharply against the floor as you tried to mask the nerves building up in your stomach. You kept your gaze steady, but when you finally reached him, you faltered slightly. There was something in your chest, like an empty, aching pit.

“Hey,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I handed an essay to Gojo today.”

He looked at you, his expression unreadable as always. “Good for you.”

You blinked, the words stinging more than they should have. “Yeah, well... It was a little late, but I tried.”

He nodded once. “Try harder next time.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway, feeling stupid and small.

“Good talk, huh?” Nobara muttered, glancing between you and Megumi as he walked off, his back turned without a second look.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to hold your composure. But it was hard, so damn hard to pretend it didn’t hurt. It hurt more than you wanted to admit, and you hated yourself for letting it sting.

“Yeah,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Great.”

The soft hum of the lamp in your room was the only sound that filled the space as you sat at your desk. You’d somehow managed to grab one of the materials Megumi had made for you, the one with the little notes scribbled in the margins. The ones he’d given you after that one tutoring session that—well, now that you looked back on it—felt like a turning point.

The paper felt heavier than it should have, as if each mark, each word, was weightier now. His handwriting, a scrawling mess in some parts, neat and careful in others. But what hit you wasn’t just the content. No, it was the bits of comments he left here and there, like he was trying to break through his own usual, distant shell.

"Try connecting this with the main idea." "You're overthinking this, just read it carefully." "Good effort. I’m not totally convinced, but it's a start."

It wasn’t like he had to leave these notes. He didn’t need to care. He didn’t owe you anything. But there they were. Tiny pieces of advice, encouragement, frustration. And the one that made you smile for a second: "I know you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for."

For just a moment, your heart ached at the thought.

He didn’t have to say that. Megumi could have dismissed you like everyone else did. He could’ve walked away, let you fail, but instead... instead, he chose to give you a chance. And now? You were sitting here, staring at it all, because you knew deep down you had to prove him right.

But how could you do that now?

Your eyes flickered to the small sticky note stuck on the top corner, where he’d written a single line in the same pen, his handwriting barely legible: "You can do this. Just try."

You exhaled, biting your lip, trying to ignore the lump in your throat.

You remembered that day—his quiet, reserved voice telling you not to give up. It wasn’t a normal pep talk. It was more... personal. Like he was giving you something fragile, trusting you with a little piece of him. And somehow, you'd been too busy pretending to not care, too afraid to admit how much it affected you, that you fucked it up.

You remembered how he’d looked at you that day, his shoulders tense but his eyes softer than usual, like he was on the edge of saying something more, but he kept pulling back. And you? You were too wrapped up in your own self-image, too proud to let yourself show any weakness. So you made a joke, cracked a smile, pushed it away.

But now? Now, you wished you hadn’t. You wished you’d let him in. Wished you hadn’t been so fucking scared to be vulnerable for once.

Because if you’d been honest with yourself, you'd realized—just then—that Megumi had started to become someone you didn’t want to lose. Not just a tutor. Not just a guy you kept pushing away. But someone who saw past all the shit, all the walls you’d built around yourself.

You remembered when he opened up to you, just a bit, about the shit he was dealing with. About how much he hated being treated like he wasn’t enough—like a fucking robot in the eyes of everyone else. How he was constantly forced into situations where he had to be something he wasn’t.

You saw it. You saw that flicker of vulnerability in him that he hardly ever let anyone see. And you? You shut it down. You shut him out.

Your hands gripped the paper a little harder, and you exhaled slowly, frustration building up inside your chest.

"Why the hell did I have to be so goddamn stupid?" you muttered, slamming the paper back onto the desk. You leaned back in your chair, letting your head fall back to stare at the ceiling.

All that shit with Noritoshi. With the way things always went wrong. You’d shut yourself off from everyone, including Megumi, thinking you could handle it alone. And you did handle it... but now, sitting here, you realized how empty that felt. How lonely. How cold.

He thought you could be someone to trust. And what did you do? You let your pride, your stupid fucking pride, tear that down.

The thoughts swirled in your head—self-hatred mixed with the anger you had at yourself. You slammed your hand down on the desk, frustrated with how badly you’d messed up. You could feel the tears starting to burn at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away.

It wasn't just Megumi you were angry with anymore. It was you. You’d fucked it all up. And now, you had to live with that.

But what hurt the most? What really fucking hurt was knowing he wasn’t going to just come back and fix it. No. You had to fix this. You had to make it right, because if you didn’t, you’d lose whatever fucking chance you had with him.

And somehow, as much as you hated it, you realized that wasn’t a possibility. You didn’t want to lose him.

Maybe it was time you admitted that.

So, with a sigh, you pushed the paper back in front of you, knowing that this was more than just about a grade anymore. This was about proving something to yourself. About showing Megumi that you were worth the trust, worth the time, he’d invested in you.

And for the first time, you didn’t want to fail, not this time.

You stood there, staring at the building in front of you, your fingers clutching the crumpled piece of paper that seemed to have mysteriously found its way into your hands again.

It was Friday, the day Megumi had always made clear he wasn’t free. He’d said it casually enough back then, like it was something so ordinary that there was no reason to question it. “I’m not free on Fridays,” he’d said, voice flat and unaffected. But now? Now, you were standing here, outside what looked like an abandoned gym, the same address scribbled on the paper he’d let slip out of his textbook once.

What the hell is this place?

The paper hadn’t meant much then. It was just an address, a scribble, nothing more. But now, the fact that you were standing outside of it felt like something more—a revelation, maybe? Or just a damn mistake.

Was this where he goes? The thought kept pushing at you, refusing to stay buried. The building in front of you was weathered, the windows cracked, and the doors? Rusted. It didn’t look like a place Megumi would spend his time. Not at all. And yet, here you were.

You could almost hear his voice in your head, telling you he wasn’t free on Fridays, reminding you with that cold tone that he had other things to do. Other things that didn’t involve you.

But then why?

You didn’t know what had made you follow that scrap of paper, but somehow, here you were, your heart hammering a little too loudly, the nerves making your hands shake. You had no idea what you were hoping to find. What were you looking for, exactly? An explanation? A reason?

You inhaled sharply, trying to pull yourself together, pushing back the mix of doubt and curiosity that gnawed at your insides.

It’s none of your business, you told yourself, but the words felt empty. Because it was your business. Megumi was your tutor—your reluctant tutor, but still, he was the one you asked for help. The one you asked to let you in. And now you were standing outside, on the edge of some kind of answer, but you weren’t sure if you actually wanted to know what it was.

Is this really the kind of guy you want to know?

You stepped closer to the door, the sound of your shoes crunching against the gravel beneath you. Hesitation lingered in every movement, but your legs carried you anyway. There was something pulling you forward, an urge to know, to break down whatever wall he’d built between you.

The door creaked open as you reached for the handle, the scent of dust and old leather filling your nose as you stepped inside.

The gym was empty.

The air was heavy with the smell of sweat and old wood. The lights overhead flickered in a slow rhythm, casting uneven shadows across the worn-down equipment. Punching bags hung in the corner, their leather faded and cracked from years of use. Rusted weights lined the walls, a neglected space that felt like no one had cared for it in a long time.

What was Megumi doing here?

You looked around, feeling more and more out of place by the second. This was nothing like the Megumi you thought you knew—the quiet, reserved guy who seemed like he didn’t care about anything. This place was rough, tired, forgotten. So was he.

You didn’t expect to see him.

And he sure as hell wasn’t Megumi.

The man sitting on the bench had a relaxed, confident posture, like someone who belonged in a place like this—worn-out gym flooring, cold lighting, walls sweating the weight of discipline. His eyes flicked up as you stepped in, and when they landed on you—miniskirt, tank top, lip gloss still glossy—it wasn’t judgment you felt.

It was scrutiny.

Like he was sizing you up for something you didn’t know you were auditioning for.

He let out a quiet chuckle. “Well, shit.”

Your brows pulled in. “What?”

He stood slowly, broad frame shifting with ease, cracking his neck before he stepped forward just a bit, boots heavy against the floor. “Didn’t think a girl like you’d actually show up.”

You stepped back, fingers tightening around the crumpled paper in your hand. “Excuse me?”

The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, not quite mocking either. “Relax, I’m not gonna bite. You’re the one Megumi’s been tutoring, right?”

You blinked. “How do you—?”

He shrugged. “He doesn’t say much. But ‘m not stupid. Kid’s been dragging home worksheets and stress for weeks. Took a guess.”

Your heart stuttered, embarrassment bleeding into caution. “Why would he be here?” you asked sharply, voice a little too defensive. “And who the fuck are you?”

The man gave you a low, amused look, voice loose and grounded. “Friend of his dad,” he said, vague but intentional. “Used to run with the old man. Name’s Yoshinobu.”

He offered no last name, no further details. Just a beat of silence between you before he nodded toward the bench across from the ring.

“You came this far. Might as well sit down.” You didn’t move.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Then he turned back toward the ring, where the lights were dim, but movement flickered behind a mesh curtain. You could hear it faintly—dull sounds of something hitting leather. Gloves. Skin. Breath.

Your fingers twitched around the paper. You glanced at the exit behind you. You could still walk away.

But instead— You sat, "Where's Megumi?"

Renji said nothing more. Just leaned back, ankle over his knee, arms sprawled against the bench like he’d done this a hundred times.

“You'll see,” he muttered eventually, almost too casual.

And so you did, no answers. No explanations.

Just the heavy, humid stillness of a worn-out gym. And the echo of fists hitting something hard in the distance. Over and over and over again.

The sound came before the sight.

The sharp thump of gloves hitting canvas. The squeak of shoes on the floor. And then— Megumi stepped into the ring.

And you—holy shit.

You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe a hoodie, a scowl, more of the same stiff, buttoned-up Megumi Fushiguro who tossed study packets at you like you were a charity case. Not... this.

Not him. Shirtless.

Sweat-slicked skin, broad shoulders flexing as he rolled out his neck. Arms defined. Stomach lean and tight, with the kind of abs you only see in boxing anime or underwear billboards. Veins along his forearms. Knuckles wrapped. A thin scar near his rib you never noticed before.

And his hair—still messy, still unruly, but wet and spiked, falling into his face in that way that made your jaw clench because— What the fuck.

You were drooling. You were actually drooling. And the worst part?

He didn’t even look surprised to be here. He didn’t look embarrassed or shy or like he was hiding. He looked like he belonged in that ring—like it was the one place he let go.

Yoshinobu chuckled next to you, like he caught the twitch in your lip or the way you were suddenly sitting very, very still.

“Yeah,” he muttered, not taking his eyes off the ring. “Kid’s been doing this for years.”

You tore your eyes away just long enough to hiss, “He’s been hiding that body under those crusty-ass sweatpants?”

Renji smirked. “Not the only thing he’s been hiding, I’d bet.”

You gave him a side-eye.

“Relax, I’m not saying I know your business.” He leaned back. “But I’ve seen a lot of fighters. That kid? He’s sharp. Holds back too much sometimes. Always thinking five steps ahead. Got that from his old man. But when he lets loose?” He shook his head. “It’s brutal.”

Your gaze snapped back to the ring.

Megumi was facing down a taller man across from him—thicker built, more muscle, maybe even more experience. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Megumi didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down.

Then the bell rang. And just like that— He moved. Fast. Clean. Deadly.

You could hardly keep up. He dodged the first punch with a low slip, twisted his body, came up with a hook to the ribs so fast it barely made sense. His form was perfect—like he wasn’t even thinking about it, like it lived in his bones.

Another hit. Another pivot. A sweat-slicked arm. You actually let out a noise. A soft one. Embarrassing.

You crossed your legs tighter and leaned back on the bench, trying not to show it, but your face was burning.

Yoshinobu glanced over, clearly amused. “Not what you expected?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, eyes still locked on the ring. “I’ve seen better.”

You hadn’t. But you’d die before admitting that.

Megumi’s opponent landed a jab. He shook it off like it was nothing and came back swinging—faster, stronger, sharper. His entire body snapped with every motion. Power in every movement. Rage in every breath.

He wasn’t just fighting. He was working through something. And God, it was hot. You hated yourself a little for thinking it.

But you couldn’t look away, even if it burned, even if it hurt.

He was relentless.

The guy he was sparring with was taller, broader, probably stronger by weight class—but Megumi?

He was smarter.

You watched as he moved around the ring like the ground bent to his will—his footwork barely audible, shifting weight like water. He let the other guy swing wild—miss, overextend, pant like a dog—and Megumi waited. Studied. Measured.

Then he snapped.

A lightning-fast left jab cracked against the man’s cheek. The sound echoed across the room. You flinched. But Megumi didn’t.

He followed through without hesitation—hook, uppercut, block—his body twisting and coiling like a loaded spring, punching through the air with enough force to make you wince.

Every time his fist connected, sweat flew off his knuckles like it was vapor. Every time he exhaled, his jaw flexed, sharp under the bruised light. Every time he moved— You swore it did something to your chest.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. You just sat there frozen, pulse thudding in your ears, mouth dry, lips slightly parted like an idiot.

Yoshinobu let out a long whistle next to you, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“I don’t know what your deal is with him,” he muttered, tone unreadable. “But don’t hurt him.”

You blinked, dragged out of your haze. “What?”

He didn’t look at you. He was still watching Megumi. “He’s a good kid. Stubborn, quiet. Doesn’t care about much. Not money. Not praise. Not even winning, sometimes.”

You stayed silent.

He continued, voice low, like he was letting you in on something sacred. “So when Toji mentioned he’s tutoring some attractive girl—his words, not mine—so imagine my surprise when he started to ramble about asking me certain things."

You narrowed your eyes. “Okay, and?”

“And then,” Yoshinobu said, barely hiding a smirk now, “he starts taking longer showers in the locker room. Like ten, fifteen extra minutes.”

Your jaw dropped.

“What—?” you blurted. “Are you—? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

He shrugged. “Just saying. Maybe you’re not just his tutor project.”

Your face burned. You whipped your head away, cursing under your breath.

“I’m not—he’s not—” You scowled. “He doesn’t even look at me anymore.”

Yoshinobu tilted his head. “No?”

“No,” you snapped. “He’s probably still mad about the fight. Whatever.”

But your eyes said otherwise.

They dragged back to the ring—because even now, even when your heart was still sore, when everything inside you screamed you should hate him for how he talked to you, yelled at you, shut you down—

He still moved like he was carved from stone and fire. Still burned like something you couldn’t stop watching. Still made your stomach flip when he shifted and the sweat slid down his back, over the cut of his waist.

And he didn’t look at you once. Not even once.

Yoshinobu must’ve sensed the shift in your silence. “He fights like this when something’s in his head.”

You said nothing.

The match kept going. The guy threw another heavy swing, but Megumi ducked, moved so fast you almost missed the counter jab that sent the man stumbling backward. His chest was heaving now, face red, breath ragged.

Megumi didn’t gloat. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t say a single word.

He just reset his stance. Chin down. Eyes sharp. Fists up.

Focused. Controlled.

It hit you all at once.

That was the boy who sat beside you with textbooks and red pens. That was the same boy who rolled his eyes at your dramatics and still added notes in the margins. That was the same Megumi Fushiguro who kissed you with inexperience and slow-burning want—and still let you break his heart before he ever admitted it.

You hated this.

You hated the way your chest ached. You hated the way you wanted him to look at you—just once. You hated the way he didn’t. And still, you couldn’t look away.

The fight was over. But the tension still lingered in the air like smoke—thick, clinging, inescapable.

Megumi stepped off the mat, bandages undone, hanging in strips from his wrists like ghosts of the fists he'd just thrown. His chest rose and fell slowly, like he was still coming down from the adrenaline, but even from here, you could tell how calm he looked on the outside. Unbothered. Still. Like none of that meant anything.

You wanted to scream at how easy he made it look.

Yoshinobu watched from beside you, arms folded. “That was clean,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Didn’t even use his full weight.”

You swallowed thickly, unable to tear your eyes away from Megumi. He was wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt now—that shirtless torso lifting, exposing the bruises on his ribs, the scars on his waist.

You didn’t realize you were staring until Yoshinobu’s voice cut through again. “You planning to keep gawking, or are you gonna go talk to him?”

You flinched slightly. “I’m not—”

He gave you a look. The kind that saw through all your usual bullshit, the kind that made your spine straighten.

“I don’t know what the hell’s going on between you two,” he said, voice low, eyes flicking between you and the boy across the room, “but he’s not gonna make the first move. Not when he’s like this.”

“Like what?”

Yoshinobu shrugged. “Closed off. Pissed. Hurt. Take your pick.” Your throat tightened.

He turned away with a quiet sigh. “Go.”

You watched him kneel by the guy Megumi had just knocked down, murmuring something low, like a check-in, a reassurance. The other boy nodded slowly, rubbing his ribs.

Megumi, meanwhile, started walking to a bench. He still hadn’t seen you.

But you’d already disturbed so much, hadn’t you? You took a breath, and walked.

Every step echoed too loudly in your own ears. The gym felt cavernous now, like it was holding its breath, waiting for this exact collision. Him and you.

You stopped a few feet from him. His head was still tilted back. Eyes still shut. Bandages slack against his thighs. He looked peaceful.

God, you hated him for that.

You weren’t peaceful. You were a hurricane pretending to be a person. You were mascara smudged in the dark, whispers behind lockers, a reputation clinging to your throat like perfume. You weren’t someone who stayed.

But you were here, he didn’t see you at first, or maybe he did and just didn’t care.

His back was to you, chest rising and falling, fists still flexing at his sides. His bandages were half-off, peeling from his knuckles like scorched paper, sweat dripping down the slope of his spine. The gym lights weren’t kind, but on him, they didn’t have to be — they only carved the lean muscle of his back in harder lines.

You stopped short. Because goddamn, he looked— shut up. You shut it down. Now wasn’t the time.

You opened your mouth to speak— He turned around.

Slowly. Deliberately. And the second his eyes landed on you, the air shifted. His voice cut through the air like a blade. “What are you doing here.”

Not a question. A warning.

He was shirtless, breathing hard, chest streaked with sweat and god knows what else. His black shorts hung low on his hips, legs braced wide as he flexed his wrist slowly — as if shaking off the last of the fight. He sat down with a quiet thud, legs spreading carelessly as he leaned forward on his knees, eyes fixed on the floor like you weren’t even worth the effort.

You swallowed.

This was worse than cold. This was indifference, and it felt like hell.

You held up the paper in your hand, voice shaking despite everything in you trying to sound composed. “I found this. Once. It fell out of your notebook when we were—”

“Leave.”

He didn’t even glance at you.

You blinked. “I—I didn’t even know what it was back then, okay? I didn’t know what this place was.”

“I said leave.” His tone dropped. Sharp. Clipped. You flinched. But you didn’t move.

“I remembered what you said,” you rushed, stepping closer. “About not being free on Fridays. I remembered, and I—I was curious. That’s all.”

He stood suddenly, and you had to tilt your head to meet his eyes, he was taller like this. Broader. Angrier.

And even now, when he looked like he wanted nothing more than to get away from you, he still looked stupidly good.

His chest heaved once as he scoffed. “You’re unbelievable.”

Then he turned, and walked.

Not toward the ring. Not toward Yoshinobu. Toward the locker room. You panicked. You followed, because you weren’t done. Not this time.

“Wait—wait!” you called, footsteps echoing as you chased after him. “I’m not here to fight, I swear—just listen to me!”

He shoved open the locker room door, and you didn’t even hesitate before slipping in behind him. The slam echoed through the tile like a slap. He didn’t face you. Not at first.

He yanked a towel off the bench, wiped his face, cracked his neck. Like you were just noise behind him.

“Megumi,” you tried again, voice thinner now, fragile around the edges. “Please.”

That made him freeze.

“Please?” he repeated, quietly. He still wasn’t looking at you.

You nodded. “I need to talk to you.”

“And I need you to get the fuck out.”

You stepped forward. “I need you.” Silence. That got him. He turned, finally, eyes sharp and hard and fucking exhausted.

“For what?” he snapped. “To be your emotional punching bag again? I am just a emotionless virgin to you after all."

“No. I'm sorry.” He stared at you like he didn’t believe a word.

“I just—” You exhaled, chest tightening. “I need you to know I’ve been trying.” He said nothing. You pulled your bag around and yanked out a wrinkled paper. “Gojo gave us an essay about constitutional rights. I finished it.” Still nothing. “And today, Nobara asked me a civics question and I—I remembered what you said. About the electoral process. About proportional representation in the Diet. And I said it right, I think. Mostly.” Megumi blinked, jaw twitching.

You pushed on. “And yesterday, I tried answering a question about Newton’s third law. You said, ‘equal and opposite reaction,’ right? I think I got it.” Still, he didn’t speak. He was looking at you now. Really looking.

“And physics? I remember... I remember you said momentum equals mass times velocity, and I tried—” Your voice cracked. “I tried. I’m still trying.”

You laughed a little, bitter. “I don’t even know why I care. Why I wanted to get better. It’s not like anyone expected me to.”

Megumi’s hands were braced against the locker behind him, shoulders still tense, like if he moved, he’d explode.

You lowered your voice. “But I did. I do. Because I wanted to prove you wrong. I wanted to show you that I’m not just some spoiled, shallow bitch who uses people.”

Your throat tightened. “And maybe at first, it was just about spite. But it’s not anymore.”

The locker room was too quiet now.

You bit your lip. “You made me feel like I was capable of more. Of being someone better. You were the first person who made me want to stop coasting.” Still, he said nothing.

You swallowed. “I know I said things I can’t take back. I know I hurt you.” Your voice broke again, softer. “But I never stopped thinking about you. Even when I wanted to.” You waited. His face didn’t change. He just… stared. And you didn’t know what that meant yet.

But you’d said it. You’d fucking said it. And now it was up to him.

You didn’t know what else to say.

You’d poured it all out—your voice raw, your throat aching, your pride shattered at his feet. And still, he just stared at you. Silent. Stone.

So you filled the silence the only way you knew how.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” you muttered, eyes falling to the floor. “But I need you to tutor me again.”

That caught his attention.

Your breath hitched as you pushed forward—too fast, too vulnerable now to stop yourself. “I meant it. I remember everything you said. All those little examples, your stupid metaphors, even that time you made fun of me for not knowing what a veto was—”

Still nothing. His hands were still braced behind him. Still staring.

“I don’t care if you think I’m a mess,” you whispered. “I just… I just want to be better. And you’re the only one who ever made me believe I could be. I need you to help me get there.”

You looked up finally. “Please.”

Silence.

Then—

He moved.

Fast.

A blur of heat and muscle and fury, Megumi was in front of you before you could even blink, grabbing your face in both hands and crashing his mouth to yours.

You gasped, and that was all the invitation he needed—his tongue slid deep between your lips, hungry, slick, and fucking claiming. There was no hesitation, no sweet slow burn. Just raw, unforgiving heat. Teeth and breath and everything you’d both been swallowing for weeks.

His hands dropped to your waist, yanking you flush against him like he couldn’t stand the space between your bodies a second longer. You moaned into his mouth, your fingers knotting in his damp hair, tugging hard, and he growled—actually growled—into the kiss.

He kissed like he hated you for making him want this. Like he was punishing you and punishing himself all at once.

His palms slid down to your ass, gripping hard, forcing you closer as he slotted a thigh between yours and shoved you against the nearest locker. The cold metal hit your back, but you barely noticed—your brain was too fogged, lips bruised, hips grinding down instinctively against the heat of his thigh.

“Fuck,” he muttered into your mouth, voice cracked open, wrecked. “Why do you have to do this to me?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered back, breathless, dazed. “I don’t know, but don’t stop.”

His hands were everywhere now—palming your waist, dragging over your ribs, up under your shirt, fingertips scorching against bare skin. You could barely breathe, barely think. His mouth found your jaw, your neck, biting hard enough to bruise before sucking the pain away, tongue hot and wet.

You whimpered, head falling back, thighs squeezing tight around his.

“God, you’re such a fucking mess,” he breathed against your skin, voice full of heat and hurt and everything in between. “But I can’t stay away.”

You kissed him again—desperate, wet, open-mouthed—and he groaned deep in his throat, like he was starving for you. His hands cupped your ass again, lifting slightly, grinding you down against his leg so good it made you gasp.

Your hips moved on instinct. The friction was dizzying.

You tangled both hands in his hair now, tugging, pulling him deeper, and he let you—let you own him for a second, just like you always tried to do. But this time, he gave in.

No more rules. No more distance.

Just heat. And tongue. And teeth.

And the crashing, furious kiss of two people who’d tried so fucking hard not to want each other—and failed.

You were still gasping against him when he broke the kiss, chest heaving, lips slick and red from how hard he’d kissed you. His hands gripped your waist like he didn’t trust himself to let go.

Your hand dropped to his shorts.

His breath hitched.

You looked up at him with wide, daring eyes. “Can I?”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything—just stared at you like he couldn’t believe what you were asking. And then he nodded.

Slow. Tight. Jaw clenched.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Fuck. Yeah.”

You sank to your knees.

He watched the whole thing—eyes dark and blown, hands falling to his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. You tugged his waistband down, and his cock sprang free—and holy fuck—you were right.

So right.

Big. Thick. Heavy. Veined. The flushed tip already slick, like he’d been aching for this longer than he wanted to admit.

You bit your lip, fingers wrapping around the base as your throat tightened with anticipation.

“Fuck me…” he breathed.

You glanced up.

He was staring straight down at you, hair messy, sweat dripping down his chest, jaw flexing like he was trying so hard not to lose it already.

“You look so pretty like that,” he muttered, voice low and cracked. “On your knees. Fucking perfect.”

You smiled, wicked. “Gonna let me make you feel good?”

He groaned—half growl, half prayer. “Please.”

You licked a stripe up the underside, slow and deliberate, tongue tracing every ridge and vein. His hips twitched. Your lips wrapped around the tip, suckling lightly as your hand stroked the rest, wrist twisting gently.

“Oh my god,” he hissed. “Your mouth—fuck—”

You took more. Inch by inch, pushing down until your throat clenched around him, spit pooling, mascara probably already smudging. He was so thick your lips were straining around him, jaw aching—and still you kept going.

“Jesus—fuck—just like that,” he gasped. “Shit—don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—”

Your tongue licked under the head as you sucked, hollowing your cheeks, letting him hear how wet and messy it was. Slurping. Gagging a little when he hit the back of your throat—but you didn’t stop.

You moaned around him instead.

His hand shot out, threading into your hair—gripping, tight, controlling.

“Fuck—fuck,” he growled. “You were made for this, weren’t you?”

You blinked up at him, tears starting to prick in your lashes from the stretch.

“You like this?” he bit out. “Like choking on my cock?”

You moaned again, harder this time—vibrating around him.

His hips thrust forward suddenly, and he groaned deep, watching your throat bulge, your jaw stretch wide around him. You gagged a little again—but fuck it, you loved it. The way he cursed. The way his legs trembled.

“Look at you,” he muttered. “All pretty and ruined, just for me.”

You sucked him harder. Faster. Spit dripping from your chin, his cock slick with your saliva, your fist pumping the base while your mouth worked him with obscene, wet sounds.

He was shaking now, barely holding back.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he warned, voice cracking. “Fucking hell—don’t stop. I’m so close—shit—”

You sucked him deeper, letting him hit the back of your throat one more time, and that was it.

“Fuck—fuck!”

He came hard—hot and thick, spilling down your throat in long, shuddering pulses. You swallowed around him, gagging again as he groaned so loud, hand still tangled in your hair as his entire body trembled.

You held him there until he stopped twitching, until he was completely empty—then finally pulled off with a slick pop, licking your lips, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

He was still staring down at you, chest heaving, eyes wild and fucked-out.

“Holy shit,” he breathed.

You grinned up at him, ruined and satisfied. “That good, huh?”

He just groaned again and tugged you up by your wrist—dragging you into another kiss, filthy and full of spit and tongue and everything you didn’t say.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open.

You barely had time to adjust your shirt when a voice called out—lazy, amused, and way too casual for the situation.

“Yo, Megumi.” Your heads snapped toward the entrance. Yoshinobu stood just outside the locker room, one brow raised, arms crossed, clearly trying not to smirk.

“Toji’s gonna walk in any second,” he added, voice like a warning wrapped in a grin. “If you still want to keep that pretty little lady around for your tutoring sessions, you better hide.”

Megumi groaned under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. You wiped your mouth, slow.

Yoshinobu winked at you. “Hey, no judgment. I’d let her tutor me too.”

Megumi slammed the locker door shut hard enough to echo. “Get the fuck out.”

Yoshinobu just laughed and walked off, muttering, “You’re welcome, Romeo.”

As soon as Yoshinobu disappeared down the hallway, the panic kicked in.

“Shit,” you muttered, already bending to the floor. “Where the fuck���where did half my notes even go?”

Megumi was beside you in seconds, shirtless and flushed, sweat still clinging to his chest as he reached for your crumpled worksheets. His hand was still wrapped in bandages, movements tight and clipped as he grabbed a page and shoved it at you.

“You seriously brought all this to a gym?”

“Don’t start,” you snapped, snatching it from him. “Not when your dick’s the reason I dropped half my life on the floor—”

“Keep your voice down,” he hissed, eyes wild. “Do you want him to hear us?” Your mouth shut instantly.

You scrambled to shove the rest of your notes back into your tote bag—history quiz key, Gojo’s half-legible assignment sheet, your favorite black pen.

Megumi cursed under his breath. “Where’s your phone?”

“Under the bench—fuck—” He dropped to his knees, grabbing it just as the locker room door creaked again.

“Megumi?” came the voice. You both froze.

Toji. Your blood went ice cold.

Megumi’s eyes darted to yours, and without a word, he grabbed your wrist, pulled you hard toward the showers, around the tiled wall, and straight into the small, grimy private washroom stall. He shoved the door closed with his hip and snapped the lock shut in one motion.

The second the lock clicked, you were pressed together. Tight space. Too tight. Your back hit the tile. His bare chest brushed yours.

His hand was still wrapped around your waist. Warm. Big. He didn’t let go. You didn’t breathe. Toji’s footsteps echoed into the locker room like gunshots. Closer. Louder.

“Megumi?” he called again, annoyed now. “The hell are you hiding for?”

The stall was dead quiet. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Megumi’s chest rose against yours. He was breathing slow, controlled, but his eyes were locked on yours—burning.

His thumb moved once against your side. You swallowed, lips parted.

Outside, Toji’s boots scuffed the tile. He moved past the benches. You could hear him pause, like he was scanning the room. Listening.

“Thought I heard voices,” he muttered.

The air in the stall was thick. Hot. Oppressive. Your thigh was brushing his. His hand was still at your waist, tighter now, like if he let go, something would snap.

You looked up. He was already looking at you.

And fuck, that look—like he wasn’t just thinking about getting caught. He was thinking about what would happen if he didn’t stop. Right here. Right now.

Toji scoffed outside. “Brat probably bolted. Whatever.”

Footsteps. The creak of the locker room door. Then a slam. Silence.

You waited a few seconds after the door slammed before finally letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Megumi did the same, shoulders sagging just slightly as he backed up half an inch—but his hand stayed on your waist.

You waited a few seconds after the door slammed before finally letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Megumi did the same, shoulders sagging just slightly as he backed up half an inch—but his hand stayed on your waist.

You glanced down at it. Then up at him. Then cracked a grin.

“God,” you breathed, still half-giddy, “we really just sucked each other’s souls out and hid in a locker room washroom like porn extras.”

Megumi snorted, wiping a hand down his face. “I knew Yoshinobu was up to something the second he opened his mouth.”

“Uh-huh. And yet you still let me drop to my knees.”

He groaned. “Don’t start—”

“Oh, I’m starting,” you teased, voice syrupy and smug. “You were into it. You were talking, Megumi. Like, actual dirty talk. I almost dropped dead.”

His ears went red instantly. “You’re not gonna let that go, are you?”

“Oh no, babe,” you said, drawing out the syllables like velvet. “You called me pretty while I was choking on your cock. I’m gonna hold onto that forever.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like kill me.

You laughed. The air lightened, just for a moment. But then Megumi’s face shifted. Softer. Serious.

“I… I meant it,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “What?”

He looked away, rubbing at the back of his neck with his bandaged hand. “The pretty part, yeah. But also—” His voice caught for a second. “I’m sorry. For what I said before.”

The words hung between you. Still. Gentle.

Your chest tightened.

He kept going. “I was angry. But not at you. Not really. I was pissed at myself, and I took it out on you. I called you shallow, I said you didn’t try, and that wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve that.”

You stayed quiet.

“And I shouldn’t have…” His eyes flicked to yours again, raw around the edges. “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. To you.”

Your breath hitched.

To you.

He said it like it mattered. Like you mattered. Not just because you kissed. Not just because you gave him head in a locker room. But because, somewhere in all of this—he actually gave a shit about you.

You blinked fast.

“Well,” you said softly, trying not to sound as shaky as you felt, “you were kind of right.”

He frowned. “That’s not the point—”

“I know. But it’s true.” You shrugged. “I didn’t try. I was mean. I used people to feel powerful. But… I didn’t want to be that around you.”

Megumi’s mouth parted, like he didn’t know what to say.

So you added, with a wry little smile, “Guess we’re both disasters.”

He gave a breathy laugh. “Speak for yourself.” You rolled your eyes—but the moment lingered.

You didn’t say anything else. But to you echoed in your mind. And you knew, without question, you’d remember it.

You leaned back against the wall, eyes drifting toward the floor. The heat had simmered down. Your pulse was slower now.

But the words were still in your throat.

“…I’m sorry too,” you said quietly.

Megumi looked up.

You didn’t meet his eyes. “For what I said. The virgin comment. That was…” You sighed. “It was mean. And low. I was just mad and stupid and lashing out like I always do.”

He was quiet.

Then, “It’s okay.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s not. I knew it would hurt. That’s why I said it.”

A pause. You looked at him again.

He didn’t look upset. If anything, he looked… calm. Maybe a little sad.

“I get it,” he said softly. “You were angry. I was, too. I didn’t even care what I said until after you left.” He shrugged. “I don’t really care about the virgin thing, to be honest.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“I mean,” he said with a weak laugh, “not anymore.”

That made you smile—just a little.

A warm silence settled. The kind that felt… earned.

Then you cocked your head, eyes drifting down his chest.

“So…” you said slowly, lips curling into a smirk. “Nerd boy’s a boxer? Way to break the stereotype, Gumi.”

Megumi groaned. “Here we go—”

“No, seriously,” you said, pushing off the wall, circling him a little. “All this time I thought you were just some uptight know-it-all with no social life, and now you’ve got this—” You gestured to his body. “—situation going on.”

“Please stop talking,” he muttered.

You ignored him. “If you really wanted to bag Miwa, you should’ve just taken your shirt off in front of her. Instant success.”

He frowned. “I don’t—what?”

You raised a brow. “You’ve got arms, Fushiguro. Do you even know that? Should I start a fan club? The Biceps for the Blue-Haired Girl campaign?”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the faint pink in his ears.

“I don’t box to impress girls,” he said finally. “It’s not about that.”

You blinked.

He shifted, eyes dropping for a moment before he spoke again. “My dad’s really into it. He used to box when he was younger. I think… I think it’s his way of keeping me grounded. Especially since things have been rough with Tsumiki.”

Your teasing faded.

He continued, voice low. Honest. “It helps. Clears my head. Makes me feel like I’m in control of something. And he knows I’ve been struggling, so he’s trying to… I don’t know. Connect. Without pushing too hard.”

You stared at him, a little stunned. That wasn’t something Megumi usually said. Not something anyone usually said to you.

“…That’s really sweet,” you murmured.

He shrugged, looking away again. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” you said softly.

He glanced back at you, and you held his gaze this time.

There was still a teasing spark behind your eyes, sure—but it was quieter now. Warmer. You saw him. Really saw him, and you liked what you saw.

You leaned your shoulder against the tile again, biting back a smile of your own.

“So…” you said, voice light but curious. “Does this mean the deal’s back on?”

Megumi blinked at you. You raised a brow. “Tutoring. Both kinds.”

He scoffed, looking away like he wasn’t about to smile—but you saw it. The corner of his mouth twitched. Then curled.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Deal.”

You saw him by the lockers before he saw you—hair a little messier than usual, collar loosened, black glasses perched on his nose like he was born to judge the IQ of everyone passing by.

God, he looked insufferably smart. Pen behind his ear, shirt sleeves rolled neatly past his forearms like he had an oral defense due in five and a girl to make cry right after. No bandages today. No bruises. No gym sweat.

Just Megumi.

Back in his clean-cut, honor roll disguise.

You walked up slow.

Like prey turning into predator.

“So…” you said, voice lazy, teasing. “Your place free later?”

He didn’t even flinch. Just closed his locker like a professor finishing his office hours and looked at you over the rim of his glasses.

“No.”

You blinked. “No?”

He looked almost amused at your expression, but of course, didn’t smile. That would be too easy.

“My dad’s got people over,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Old friends. Loud. Crude. You wouldn’t like them.”

“Oh,” you said. “And what? You’re worried they’ll scare me?”

Megumi looked you up and down—slow, unimpressed.

“No,” he muttered. “They’ll annoy the hell out of you. And then you’ll start insulting them and I’ll have to explain why my tutor is verbally assaulting grown men.”

You snorted.

“I wouldn’t even raise my voice,” you said sweetly. “I’d just call them broke and unimportant and move on.”

He sighed, looking away like he was trying not to laugh. “Exactly.”

The silence between you crackled. People passed by in little clusters—some staring, some pretending not to—but Megumi didn’t care. He just stood there with his sleeves rolled and his glasses slipping slightly down his nose, like he wasn’t the one ruining your concentration.

You hesitated.

Just a beat.

Then: “My house.”

His head tilted. Just slightly. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Megumi’s gaze lingered, like he was trying to read between the lines.

You lifted your chin. “It’s quiet. It’s clean. My dad’s out. And I’m not about to wait another week because your trashy relatives want to drink beer and yell at the TV.”

There was a long pause, then Megumi nodded once.

“Alright.”

That’s all he said. And then he walked off like he hadn’t just accepted an invitation into your damn world.

You stood there, watching him go, and tried to get your face back to neutral.

It didn’t work. You were smiling. Ear to fucking ear. Like a clown in Prada.

You could already feel the whispers behind your back as people glanced at you from the corner of their eyes, because yeah. Yeah.

Megumi Fushiguro? The nerd in the glasses? Him?

He was tutoring you, and now he was going to your house.

You caught one girl staring too long and raised your brow with a sharp little smile.

“What, bitch?” you snapped. “Yes, it’s Megumi. No, you can’t have him.”

Then you turned on your heel and strutted down the hallway like the queen you were, mentally rearranging your bedroom and maybe—just maybe—deleting the playlist labeled for fucking.

Because if he showed up? You wanted to be ready.

You barely made it ten feet before a voice you didn’t ask for slithered up from behind.

“Well, well,” Aiko purred, her tone all sugar and spite. “The queen bee herself. Slumming it now, huh?”

You turned slowly.

She stood there with her knockoff handbag, fake tan peeling at the collar, and a smirk like she thought she mattered. Her eyes flicked toward your retreating hallway glance—right where Megumi had gone moments ago.

“Him?” she said. “You’re really hanging around him now?”

You didn’t answer.

“Oh my god,” Aiko grinned wider. “Tell me this is, like, community service or something. Please say you’re not actually with Fushiguro.”

You blinked at her. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I mean…” She scoffed. “Come on. He’s a loser. Always has been. Total social suicide.”

You just stared.

Aiko kept going, not seeing the cliff she was running toward. “Like yeah, he’s tall and all, but what else? He’s got zero presence, always alone, and he wears glasses, babe. Not even the hot kind. He looks like he’s allergic to sunlight. And you—” she waved a manicured hand toward your outfit, “—you’re you. Everyone watches what you wear, who you’re seen with. And now you’re doing hallway strolls with fucking Fushiguro?”

Silence. Dead, heavy silence.

Then, You took a step forward. “Say that again.”

Aiko’s smile faltered. “Say what?”

“Call him that again.”

Her face twisted with something smug. “What? A loser? I mean, sorry, but he is.”

That was it.

You closed the distance, grabbed a fistful of her hair so fast she gasped—and leaned in close, voice low and sweet like venom in champagne.

“You listen to me, you crusty, clearance-rack bitch. The next time you open your mouth about him like that, I will ruin your life in ways you can’t even spell.” Aiko’s eyes went wide, terrified. She didn’t dare move.

“He’s more of a man than anyone you’ve ever begged to text you back. So watch your fucking mouth. Or I’ll show you what social suicide really looks like.”

Then you let go—slow and deliberate. Her breath hitched. Her lip trembled. You gave her a tight, pitying smile. “Now run along. Before I start listing your body count in front of the juniors.”

She practically bolted.

Nobara wandered up from behind, chewing gum like she’d just witnessed a crime. “Jesus. You need to be arrested for that one.”

“She called him a loser,” you said flatly.

Nobara blinked. “You yanked her hair like she owed you money.”

You shrugged. “I was being nice.”

And as you walked off, flipping your hair and smirking like you didn’t just threaten someone into silence?

You felt proud. Let them all whisper. Because yeah.

Megumi Fushiguro is tutoring you. He’s also making you lose your goddamn mind.

What the fuck about it, bitches?

The car ride over had been quiet.

Not awkward—just charged. You didn’t speak much, and Megumi didn’t ask questions. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his notebook the whole way, like he was trying to remind himself this was still tutoring.

Not… whatever it had started to feel like lately.

When you pulled up to your house—gates sweeping open with the click of a remote—he blinked. Slowly.

“This is where you live?”

“Disappointed?”

He shook his head. “Just… surprised.”

You could see it—how he clocked the driveway lined with luxury cars, the fountain in the center, the perfectly-trimmed hedges that cost more than some people’s rent. You led him up the steps, pulling open the door with a toss of your hair. “Come on.”

The marble floor echoed under your shoes as you stepped inside, Megumi trailing close behind. His eyes flicked to the chandelier, the high ceilings, the art lining the walls.

“You can say it,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. “It’s a lot.”

“It’s…” He cleared his throat. “Nice.”

You scoffed. “You don’t have to lie. It’s ridiculous.”

He let out the ghost of a laugh. “Little bit.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Gets lonely sometimes,” you said, quieter.

Megumi looked at you—but before he could say anything, a familiar voice called out from deeper in the house. “Sweetheart? That you?”

Your heart dropped. You turned toward the hall. “Shit.”

“Yeah, Daddy,” you called, plastering on a smile as footsteps echoed.

Megumi stiffened beside you, And then your father appeared—tie loosened, whiskey in hand, and a brow raised when he saw your companion.

“Well, well,” he said, amused. “Didn’t realize tutoring came with the full door-to-door package now.”

Megumi immediately straightened. “Good afternoon, sir.”

Your dad eyed him. “Polite. Proper. Is this the boy who’s keeping you from flunking out?”

You groaned. “Daddy, don’t start.”

“What?” he said, smirking. “Can’t I be impressed that he’s not an airheaded jock or one of those weird artsy types who cry during movies?”

“He’s standing right here,” you hissed.

Megumi didn’t say anything, but you could feel the tension in his shoulders.

Your dad just sipped his drink, eyes still on Megumi. “Relax, son. I’m not grilling you. I’m just happy she’s letting someone else use her brain for once.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, grabbing Megumi’s sleeve. “We’re going upstairs.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” your dad called after you.

“That leaves nothing,” you shot back, dragging Megumi up the grand staircase.

“You wound me, princess!”

“Go work or something!”

You didn’t stop until you were on the second floor, yanking Megumi down the hall toward your bedroom.

He was quiet—still a little stunned, maybe. You didn’t blame him.

“Sorry about him,” you mumbled. “He thinks he’s funny.”

Megumi adjusted his glasses. “He kind of is.”

You shot him a glare.

He shrugged. “In a terrifying way.”

You rolled your eyes and opened your bedroom door. “Come on, nerd boy. Let’s get this tutoring shit over with before he comes back up here and starts quizzing you on wine pairings.”

He walked in after you, looking around your room, quiet again. But there was something different in his silence now.

Not nerves. Not intimidation. Just… awareness. Of where he was. Of you.

Of the way you leaned against the edge of your desk, arms folded, watching him like you weren’t even trying to pretend this was normal.

Megumi sat cross-legged on the floor of your bedroom, textbook open, notepad ready. You were lying on your stomach across your bed, skirt flipped up just a little too high, feet kicking in the air while you squinted at the words like they personally offended you.

“…So mitochondria is not the nucleus.”

Megumi didn’t look up. “Correct. They’re two different organelles.”

You frowned harder. “Then why the fuck do they both sound important?”

“They are.”

“That’s dumb. Why not just combine them into a super organelle and call it the brain of the cell?”

Megumi blinked, sighed, and scribbled something. “Because that’s not how eukaryotic cells work.”

You groaned into your pillow. “I hate this. Biology can suck my dick.”

“You barely passed chemistry. Don't give bio a reason to hate you too.”

You flipped over onto your back, glaring at the ceiling. “I’m trying, okay? I actually remembered that thing you said about ribosomes last time.”

“Which was?”

You hesitated. “They… do shit.”

He stared.

“…Protein,” you muttered, pouting. “They build protein. Calm down.”

Megumi finally cracked a smile, just a small one. “I’m genuinely shocked.”

“Fuck you.”

“I mean it. That’s the first time you’ve remembered anything correctly without pulling it out of your ass.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Watch your mouth, nerd boy. I’m fragile.”

“…Okay, um… ribosomes build protein. And lysosomes are… the trash guys? Or whatever.”

You were laying flat on your back now, textbook propped on your stomach, one sock half-off your foot, a pencil in your mouth like a cigarette. You were trying. Sort of. Even mumbling the definitions to yourself like they might actually stick.

Megumi was still sitting on the floor, but he wasn’t reading anymore. Wasn’t even looking at your notes.

Just at you.

You didn’t notice at first. You were too busy frowning at the page like it had insulted you.

“...Endoplasmic reticulum. That’s the… protein highway thing. Right?”

Silence.

“Megumi?” You looked up.

He was staring.

“What?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw shifted like he was chewing on the words.

Then, finally—

“I want to do something to you.”

You blinked.

“…What?”

His voice didn’t falter. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“I want to make you feel good,” he said, softer now, but still steady. “Right now.”

Your lips parted. “What—like—?”

“I want to go down on you,” he said, low. “I want you to teach me.”

The air left your lungs in a slow, involuntary exhale. The room felt suddenly warmer. He wasn’t even touching you, and still—your thighs pressed together instinctively.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, eyes narrowing slightly. “You… you serious?”

He nodded once. “You said you’d teach me. Right?”

You just hadn’t expected this. “Gumi…”

He exhaled through his nose when you said that. Quiet, but full of tension. “I want to know what you like,” he said. “I want to get good at it.”

You blinked, mouth dry, trying to find your usual smug tone—but it didn’t come. He leaned forward, kneeling beside the bed now, hands flat on the mattress.

“I think about it a lot,” he admitted. “What you taste like. How you'd sound.”

Your breath hitched. Heat rushed between your legs. “Shit…” You bit your lip. “You’re really fucking serious.”

He just looked at you. Still calm. Still intense. And fuck—you were wet already.

You swallowed and smirked, finally finding your voice again. “You want me to walk you through it? Like a lesson plan?” He nodded again, eyes hooded.

You dragged your finger slowly up your thigh. “Then get up here, Gumi.” His fingers curled over the edge of the bed. And he did.

Megumi climbed onto the bed, moving slow, like he didn’t want to startle you—like he was worried you’d change your mind.

You didn’t.

Not when he settled between your legs, arms on either side of you. Not when he looked at you like he’d waited for this—quietly, patiently. Not when he leaned down and kissed you.

God.

You weren’t expecting the kiss.

Not one like that.

It was soft. Intentional. His lips brushed yours once, then again, warmer the second time. He kissed you like it was something he needed to learn too, and he was determined to get it right. No sloppy tongue. No teenage teeth. Just slow, sensual pressure—like he was studying your mouth the way he studied your notes.

You made a soft sound against his lips. One that caught him off guard.

He pulled back. “Okay?”

You swallowed. Nodded. “Yeah. Just—kiss me again.”

He did.

Deeper this time. His hand came up, fingers brushing your cheek. Then your neck. And then—when he felt you shift under him, breath hitching—he let his hand trail down your chest.

“You’re warm,” he murmured.

You scoffed. “You’re laying on me, Gumi.”

But your voice broke halfway through.

His hand stopped at the hem of your shirt, hovering.

“Can I?”

You lifted your arms without speaking.

He peeled it off slow, letting his eyes take you in. And you didn’t hide. Not this time. Not when he kissed down your chest, not when his hands slid over your waist like he was memorizing every dip and curve.

When he got to your skirt, you reached down—silent—and helped him pull it off.

Your panties stayed on.

He stared at the damp patch darkening the center.

You turned your head away, suddenly flushed. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you were thinking it.”

Megumi leaned down, lips against the inside of your thigh. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I was.”

You shivered.

His hands slid up your legs, gentle but confident. He moved slow, kissing from one thigh to the other, tongue grazing your skin like he already knew how sensitive you were there. Like he wanted to worship, not just fuck. You’d had boys go down on you before—but it was always a means to an end. Messy, fast, mechanical. You never came. You always faked it.

But this?

This felt different.

“Are you nervous?” you whispered.

He shook his head, pressing a kiss just above the hem of your panties. “No.”

You looked down at him. “You’ve never done this before.”

“I want to get good at it,” he said. “I want to make you come.”

Your throat went dry.

Megumi hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and looked up at you one last time. When you nodded, he pulled them down slow.

He stared.

You wanted to squirm under the weight of it—how intense his gaze was, how quiet he got. He wasn’t gawking. He wasn’t blushing.

He looked hungry.

“…Can you tell me what you like?” he asked, voice low. “What feels good?”

You exhaled shakily. “I don’t know. I don’t—I haven’t really…”

You didn’t finish. But you didn’t have to. Megumi understood.

You felt his breath first. Warm, right where you needed it. Then his lips, brushing so softly over your folds that your hips bucked before you could stop yourself.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease. He just gripped your thighs gently and leaned in.

The first swipe of his tongue was cautious. Testing. He moved slow, tasting you. Then again. Deeper. He moved his tongue in long, languid strokes, growing bolder as you gasped, as your thighs trembled against his shoulders.

“Gumi—” you whimpered. “Fuck—oh my god—”

He hummed, low in his throat, and the vibration made your back arch. It wasn’t perfect—he didn’t know how to flick just right yet, didn’t know your tells—but god, the way he tried. The way he moaned quietly into your pussy like he liked the taste. Like he liked how messy it made you.

You threaded your fingers into his hair, tugging gently. “Right there—fuck—yes—”

He latched onto your clit with a soft suck, tongue swirling, and your whole body locked up. You weren’t ready. You weren’t ready to feel that pressure building, hot and dizzy in your belly, like something was going to snap.

You grabbed at the sheets, mouth falling open. “Wait—wait—Gumi—fuck—don’t stop—”

And he didn’t. Not once.

His tongue was relentless now, sloppy and eager, spit and slick coating your thighs, chin soaked, hands digging into your hips like he needed to hold you together while you came apart.

And then you did. Hard.

You came with a cry, louder than you meant to, your legs trembling and your chest rising in jagged gasps. It felt real. Raw. Like it had been buried inside you for months, untouched. No fingers. No toys. No faked orgasms in the dark.

Just him. You collapsed back onto the mattress, heart racing, breath shattered.

He stayed between your thighs, kissing them gently, like he wasn’t ready to stop. You looked down at him, dazed. Megumi wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, looking up at you like he hadn’t just rocked your whole fucking world.

“…Did I do it right?”

You let out a hoarse, shocked laugh. “What the fuck—”

He blinked. “You came.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Megumi crawled up the bed slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

“Teach me more,” he whispered, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. “Please.”

You dragged him down into a kiss. Tasting yourself on his tongue. And for once in your life—you didn’t feel like the one in control. You didn’t mind.

The old gym echoed with the steady rhythm of fists against canvas.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Megumi didn’t say much when he was focused like this—wrapped hands hitting the punching bag with precise, brutal timing, sweat gathering at his hairline. His school shirt was ditched somewhere on the bench, tie loosened and hanging off one corner of the bag like a casualty of war.

You were parked cross-legged on a mat near the ring, textbook open in your lap, highlighter in hand—but let’s be real. You’d read the same sentence five times now.

“Hey, Gumi,” you called, flipping to the next page like you weren’t totally checking him out. “How do I remember which cranial nerves are motor and which are sensory?”

“Mnemonics,” he said between punches. “Or just don’t fail.”

You threw a marker at him.

He dodged without even looking. “Try ‘Some Say Marry Money But My Brother Says Big Brains Matter More.’ First letter tells you if the nerve is sensory, motor, or both.”

You blinked. “…Wait. That’s actually smart as fuck.”

He smirked, still striking the bag. “Glad you’re finally using that oversized head for something.”

You gasped. “Oh, so you do think I’m smart.”

“No,” he said flatly. “I think you’re loud.”

You grinned. “Loud and sexy. It’s the full package.”

He didn’t reply—just shook his head, a breathy laugh slipping out as he went back to punching.

You closed the textbook with a dramatic sigh. “You know, watching you box is kinda hot.”

He didn’t stop. “You say that about everything.”

“Not true. I didn’t say it about that weird Gojo lecture where he compared thermodynamics to heartbreak.”

“That’s because Gojo’s an idiot.”

You snorted. “Takes one to know one.”

“I think I could take you in a fight.”

Megumi wiped the sweat off his face with the back of his hand, chest rising slow and steady as he looked over at you. “You getting in or what?” he asked, nodding toward the open ropes.

You raised a brow, still sitting on the edge of the ring mat, textbook half-closed on your lap. “You think I won’t?”

He didn’t even blink. “I think you’ll talk more than you’ll swing.”

You stood up immediately. “Bitch.”

He just stepped back, giving you space. You climbed in, fixing your skirt, cracking your knuckles like you actually knew what the fuck you were doing. Megumi tilted his head. “That serious?”

You flexed both arms in the most unserious way possible. “I think I could take you in a fight.” He stared.

You grinned. “Better watch out, nerd boy.”

He stepped forward, slow, that usual blank expression curling just slightly into something smug.

“Whatever you say, pretty girl.”

You didn’t react. At least not outwardly. Your heart? That shit didn’t know how to act.

You narrowed your eyes, tossing your hair back like it didn’t affect you. “Hope you’re ready to get embarrassed.”

He just smirked. “You first.”

And fuck, you were in trouble. Real trouble.

You raised your fists like you knew what you were doing—which you absolutely did not.

Megumi stared at you, unamused. “That’s not even a stance.”

“Eat shit, Fushiguro.”

He sighed through his nose, rolling his shoulders back, completely relaxed. “Keep your hands up. You’ll get decked first swing.”

You tightened your fists, legs bouncing. “I am up.”

“Barely.”

“Ugh,” you groaned, stepping closer. “You talk like I won’t lay your ass out right now.”

“You’re five-two,” he said flatly.

You lunged anyway, throwing a punch directly at his side. He dodged, clean and fast.

You jabbed again, wild and reckless, and Megumi dodged like he was bored. That just made you madder.

“Stop doing that!”

“Doing what?”

“Dodging! That’s fucking cheating!”

He snorted, stepping just out of range like it was easy. “I’m literally just not letting you hit me.”

You lunged at him, swinging fast—and missed again, nearly tripping when he twisted around you.

And then— smack. His palm landed hard on your ass.

You gasped. “Megumi!”

He blinked, deadpan. “What?”

You turned, jaw dropped. “Did you just spank me?!”

He looked completely unfazed. “It’s a good ass.”

“You absolute slut—” You tried to swing again, but he caught your wrist and spun you with zero effort, stepping behind you and bending a little—

“Don’t you dare—” And then he hoisted you clean off your feet.

“MEGUMI!” Your body flipped over his shoulder, hair falling in your face as he held you with one arm like you weighed nothing.

“You’re insane!” you shouted, punching his back. “Put me down, you fucking bastard!”

“Nope,” he said, too smug for someone carrying a feral gremlin over his shoulder.

“You perverted little freak—!”

He smacked your ass again, harder this time. You shrieked.

“I WILL BITE YOU.”

He laughed. Actually laughed. That warm, deep, rare laugh that you only heard when you caught him off guard.

“Fucking nerd boy with muscles, I swear to god—!”

“I told you I boxed,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world while you kicked your feet like a goddamn cartoon character.

“YOU NEVER SAID YOU’D THROW ME AROUND LIKE A DUMBELLLLLL—”

And then— A voice. Lazy. Loud. Horrified.

“Oh what the fuck—” You froze. Megumi did too.

“Oh my god.”

You twisted—still slung over Megumi’s shoulder like a dramatic, designer handbag—and craned your neck as the voice echoed through the gym’s open doorway.

Yoshinobu stood there, a water bottle in one hand, towel slung around his shoulder, his brows lifted like he just walked in on a goddamn soap opera.

“I’ve seen a lot of sparring in this place,” he said, casual but amused. “But I’ve never seen that boxing move before.”

Megumi didn’t flinch. Just slapped your ass. Hard.

“Fushiguro!” you shrieked, legs kicking. “You absolute bastard!”

He had the gall—the straight-faced, gorgeous nerve—to act like nothing happened. Just hauled you up and dumped you like a sack of attitude flat on your back in the middle of the ring.

“You’re insane!” you coughed, sitting up and shoving your hair out of your face. “Feral! I hope you get athlete’s foot!”

Megumi just wiped the sweat off his chest with a towel like you weren’t actively losing your mind right there.

“Hit the showers, kid,” Yoshinobu called, half-laughing as he crossed his arms.

Megumi flipped him off without looking and strolled off toward the back, slinging the towel over his shoulder, his back flexing with every step.

And then— Silence.

You sat on the mat, breathing hard, heart still thudding, every part of you aware of just how deeply he’d rattled you. Then—

“You gonna tell me what that was?”

You turned your head.

Yoshinobu was leaning against the ropes now, one brow raised, his smile gone.

You rolled your eyes. “It was him being a dick. What else is new?”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t smirk.

“I’ve seen a lot of shit in this gym,” he said slowly, “but that wasn’t just a dumb joke.”

You scoffed, grabbing your water bottle and avoiding his stare. “Don’t start.”

“I saw the way you looked at him,” Yoshinobu said. “And I saw the way he looked at you.”

Your breath hitched. You stood abruptly, brushing invisible dust off your skirt. “He doesn’t look at me like anything. Okay?”

“You like him.”

You scoffed. “He’s just my tutor.”

“Right.” Yoshinobu nodded like he believed you. He didn’t.

“I’m serious,” you bit out, annoyed at how hot your face felt. “He likes—” You stopped. You didn’t even know who he liked. It didn’t matter. “He doesn’t like me like that.”

“I don’t care what’s happening between you two,” Yoshinobu said finally. “That’s none of my business.”

He took a step back from the ropes, grabbing a clean towel from the rack.

“Go easy on him..”

You blinked. “What?”

Yoshinobu turned, half-glancing back at you.

“He doesn’t talk much, y’know?” he said, voice a little quieter. “Doesn’t let people in easy. And when he does—he doesn’t have backup plans.”

You folded your arms, trying to look annoyed. “What makes you think I’d hurt him?”

“Because you’re scared,” he said simply. “And scared people bite.”

Your jaw locked. He gave you a last look—measured, unblinking. “He’s got a soft spot for you. Whether you like it or not.”

Then he walked toward the back, leaving you in the middle of the ring, staring at the mat beneath your feet, heart in your throat.

You didn’t know how long you stood there.

But the echo of his words didn’t leave.

He’s got a soft spot for you. Whether you like it or not.

And maybe that was the worst part. Because somewhere deep in your chest—you already knew.

parts, chapter 04

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

[m3mento-m0rii]

Hiii Capt. Morii!!~~~🫶🏻

I just finished reading your recent update and I kinda want to request.

I'd like to request Baby saja being a total baby or being babied by the reader☺️

Or

Saja Boys being babied by the reader (and liking it)

(Babied like being spoiled and just showered with extra affection)

Thank youuuuu

And also, I would like to purchase a ticket for Morii's Business Class🥰

Spoiled Sajas—

1.6k words; Saja Boys x Affectionate! Reader Masterlist | Requests open!

You know what? Being an idol and a demon at the same time is tough. They deserve to be loved on for their troubles.

A/N: Hiii thank you so much for requesting!! I had fun brainstorming this one, and I hope it meets your expectations. Welcome to my business class, and the way you asked for that is so cute btw. Happy reading!!

Jinu—

He didn’t want to outright say it.

Mainly because he didn’t know how to.

You were a surprise at first; someone who always greeted with hugs, those real ones, the ones that linger for a moment so that your warmth is shared briefly before pulling away to say hi. Someone who didn’t just hold hands but wove them together—someone who didn’t mind touch.

Then came the little ways you took care of him.

Making his tea just right without being told, simply from watching. Making little origami pieces and folding notes inside of them, reminding him that he was doing good. The gentle way your hand would brush his hair as you removed a stray string.

At first, he didn’t know how to feel about it. He would stiffen whenever you were in his general vicinity, flinch when your hand brushed his arm as you passed him. It’s not like he wasn’t used to touch, just that . . .

Well, he hadn’t experienced such an affectionate type in a long, long time.

Eventually you stopped, though, which was bad for him because now he craved it, and he didn’t know how to ask.

It started with small things, you noticed.

A little nudge in passing, sitting next to you while Derpy’s head rested in your lap. A not-so-casual glance when your fingers brushed while you pet her, and then he’d snatch it away as if it physically burned him.

You found it amusing.

“Jinuuuu,” you tried to hide a laugh, and slowly his head turned to face you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he brushed off, curling further into himself. You reached over to poke his cheek and he jumped a little—until your hand gently rested against it.

Then he froze, not knowing what to do.

“You can just say it, you know,” you chuffed, pulling his head into you. He stifled a noise, his cheeks turning red.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—!” Jinu stuttered, short-circuiting as you pulled his hand into your lap, gently rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

You laughed at him, of course you did. How could you not?

“You’re cute.”

Jinu only mumbled something, pressing further into you.

Maybe he liked being cute.

Abby—

It didn’t take a genius to figure out Abby was eating your affection UP. He lived for the way you’d wrap your arm around his, hug him tightly, straighten out his shirts (even if they were so tight they’d probably wrinkle up again).

“Your hands are a little rough,” you’d say and he happily stuck them out to be moisturized by you. He relished in the vanilla cupcake scent and warmth that remained, and generally being able to watch you care.

“You look kind of tense,” you’d notice, and he’d slump into the base of your palms as you massaged the knots out of his shoulders. 

Or maybe you’d say nothing and just sneak up behind him, snaking your arms around his torso and pressing your head into his shoulder. Those times, he could feel the strength leaving his knees, and he’d only settle his hands over yours.

You were an angel.

He didn’t even need to ask, Abby had no problem initiating first.

Abby gently pulled you into his lap, grinning when you didn’t even hesitate. His arms settled nicely around your waist, pulling you further into him as you looked up at him.

“Hi, Abby,” you cooed, and he beamed.

“Hi, (Y/N),” he mirrored quietly, pressing his face into your head.

Your fingers carded through his hair, a satisfied hum escaping from his chest as he closed his eyes. His own hands traced your spine slightly.

Abby’s head tilted further into your hands, following the movement of your fingers. “Can you go to the left . . . okay, no, back to the right, back, back . . .”

“So demanding,” you accused, though your hands immediately followed the directions anyway. You could feel the relaxed sigh he let out.

Abby didn’t know how he had gotten ahold of something so sweet, but he’d never take it for granted.

Mystery—

Honestly? Mystery was living the life.

It was just him. The couch. You, and all of your tender little touches.

He was no better than any dog, really.

Begging for your attention openly, and, to be fair, he got it. No extra expense. The way your thumbs brushed his cheeks and your head against his was what he lived for. Mystery was not ashamed of the lengths he would go to obtain your affections.

Mystery was all for it. If he had a tail, it’d be generating wind with how fast it wagged. But he could get more out of it, he knew it.

He tilted his head just slightly; not enough to break any of your contact, just into your palm. His hair shifted, revealing those golden eyes of his. Soft, and staring at you? Puppy eyes?

Super effective. KO. You crumpled on the spot.

“Ohoho, honey,” you awed, and he KNEW he won. “You’re so precious, such a pretty boy . . .”

And he only milked it more, pressing his face further into your hand, making that little whine. A strangled noise escaped you at his cuteness, and you pulled him further into your body.

“You’re killing me, here,” you pinched his cheek lightly, just between your fingers. “How can one thing be so lovely?”

He didn’t know. Mystery asked the same question when being handled by you.

Romance—

When Romance had figured you gave affection out like rich neighborhoods gave king sizes on Halloween, he could have jumped for joy. He did, actually.

Because what do you mean you make sure he’s drunk enough water? You cook?? For him??

He didn’t need it, he’d always do what was necessary to stay in tip-top diva shape, but . . . boy did he want it.

“It was TERRIBLE, oh, a tragedy-!” Romance dramatized, throwing himself to the floor at your feet like a miserable princess. You giggled at his display, pushing your legs up a little to pull him closer. “You’re laughing? I’m suffering, and you’re laughing??”

“You could have had an excellent career in melodrama,” you muttered, ignoring the pout forming on his cheeks. His chin pressed gently into your knees as he looked up at you.

“Well . . . I am a performer, close enough, darling.”

“Touché, I suppose,” your lips twinged up, fingers finding his scalp. Gently playing with it became braiding his hair. “Stay still.”

“You’re going to mess it up,” he complained, but you both knew he wouldn’t move away. You only continued braiding, tilting his head up to look at you so you could do one by his part. “Who said you could be so pretty, huh?”

“It’s a curse,” he easily muttered, his eyes fluttering shut on your knees. You pulled him up, and Romance had no problem crossing over your lap.

“You’re such a princess,” you teased, pressing a kiss to his eyelids. He immediately flustered, a delighted smile crossing his face.

“A compliment. Now hold me tighter.”

Baby—

It had taken Baby a minute before he adjusted to affection the way you gave it. But when he did, he was never going back.

Baby didn’t really ever say what he meant. Oftentimes, you had to figure that out for yourself, in the other little ways he asked.

The other, little, vaguely annoying ways he asked.

It could be stacking his legs on top of yours on the couch. Taking your hand when he’d decided you’d given enough attention to what you were doing, no matter what it was. Ignoring your advice because he’d know you’d fix it for him, anyway.

“Did you get enough sleep? You look a little tired,” you muttered, brushing just under his eyes. Maybe that was intentional, because the next night you’d cuddle with him until he fell asleep.

“When was the last time you had actual food?”

“Stop leaving your phone on the charger all night, it’s bad for the battery, Baby.”

God, he loved how you said it with that sweet lilt, like it was both a petname and his name.

Currently, it was invading your personal space without a care. You were standing over the sink and he was looming over your shoulder, not even saying anything as you did the dishes. You kissed his cheek, and still he didn’t let up. Occasionally you’d glance at him. “What?”

He only shrugged, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. What’s it take for a guy to get some attention around here?

“Nothing.” You knew what he wanted.

Baby watched you roll your eyes with exasperated amusement, standing up to kiss his other cheek. Finally, he leaned back, half-satisfied. “So needy,” you lovingly huffed, finishing up. “You’d think I neglected you or something.”

“You do,” he fussed, but you could see the playfulness in his eyes. “Why are you doing dishes? Especially when you could be hanging out with me. The nerve.”

"Brat."

Finally you pulled him by the wrist to his room. He grinned triumphantly, watching as you shook your head exasperatedly.

Even so, you curled up with him, drawing patterns into his nape as he searched for something to watch. Though, he couldn’t really focus on it; he was more intent on the weight of your head on his shoulder, the way your legs tangled with his.

“You’re name suits you,” you finally said, feeling his head press further into your neck. “But you’re my Baby.”

Yeah. You were his, too.

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

A/N: Okay another request done!! I hope you liked it! I enjoyed doing this one, and I feel like the Sajas are definitely all touch-starved. Okay, see you soon! <33

—Captain Morii 🌤️

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

[rhube]

They're also doing this because the prisons are overflowing and the court system is collapsing due to chronic, decades long underfunding.

Don't misunderstand me, I think mandatory chemical castration is monstrous, and its hard to see how it cannot be coercive in the space of incarceration, but a lot of people only know about the headline and not the details, and the details are multi-faceted and important.

In no particular order:

1. There are different options on the table. Mandatory castration is one, but it's not the primary option being explored.

2. Some inmates want this. We don't like to think of sexual offenders as people, but they are. And sometimes people feel compulsions to do things that they don't actually want to do. In this context, the hormones are not meant to be a punishment, but a treatment - one that would be available to these people if they were not incarcerated. The matter of rights is extremely complicated here. These people have the same right to treatment as everyone else in the UK. It is wrong to bar them from it just because they are incarcerated. But it's also hard to see how they can freely consent to permanent bodily changes when they are incarcerated, when the treatment has health risks, and when it's what the state wants them to do it. Because:

3. There are too many people in our prisons. Way too many people. We do not have room to put new people away. Yes, yes, dismantle the carcereal system, but how are you going to do that? What are you going to do about sexual offenders who still experience the desire to repeat their crimes? This is an experiment to see if hormonal treatment could be an answer to the problem whilst also enabling these people to live more normal lives, not driven to commit crimes. The headlines talk about 'chemical castration' but that is not the intended consequence. It is a *possible* side effect. That said:

5. Of course it opens the possibility for abuse. Let me be clear on this website where we routinely piss on the poor: in providing perspective here I am not defending the experiments, but I am asking you to tone down the knee jerk reaction of 'they're doing this because they want to castrate trans people'. I get it. And I agree it opens the door towards abuse by bad actors, and that's a strong reason against it. But that's not actually the aim. This is not a grand plan by Labour to exterminate trans and non-binary people (although, yes, I know, there are people in Labour who would want that); it is honestly about saving MONEY. Because if you could offer a treatment that made these people not a danger, they could leave prison, free up space, and reduce the burden on the tax payer, which, idk if you noticed, but Labour care more about than justice, ideology, or anyone's lives and liberty.

6. What happened to Alan Turing was horrific and should never happen again. It is a national shame. That is not what is being proposed here. Conflating the two issues does not help anyone.

TO REPEAT: while I do think inmates deserve the option to access the same treatments that would be open to them as free people, and that if people WANT to do this, that should be an option, I do not see a realistic way to enable incarcerated people to make a free and uncoerced decision about this.

Moreover, I do not want to open the door towards future potential abuses by bad actors, which could include transphobes and binarists and homophobes, which we know do exist in the Labour party.

I am NOT defending it. I just don't think it helps to muddy the water with misinformation that builds fear and mistrust.

Unfortunately, I can't provide sources and my info comes from an in depth radio programme I listened to on the subject. But when you hear about something like this, I strongly encourage you to get informed on the details rather than being allowed to be led by headlines and assumptions made my users on Tumble.com.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

⊹Biker!Mingi⟡

RATED X. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.

❥Song Mingi x fem reader

➯a/n: sooooooo... i already have so many wips and the urge to make this a fully fleshed out story is SO tempting but im finally practicing self control for once 😓 if, hard IF there's enough interest, ill add it to the list lmao

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: slow burn condensed (takes place over multiple months), forbidden romance, mingi is a teacup puppy in a pitbull body; reader thinks he's scary at first but he's actually very very sweet, reader falls first / mingi falls harder, jealousy, sexual tension, semi-public, blow job + cunnilingus, mingi oral fixation transcends universes idc fight with the wall-

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

─..★.─────

Thinking about Song Mingi, the youngest member of the biker gang that your father is in — but he's also the scariest looking.

Your father doesn't have to, but he tells you to stay away anyways. You'd be doing so whether he told you to or not. Because not only do you have no interest in getting caught up in their affairs — you just work at the shop they do business out of (strictly on the legal side of things) — you also have no interest in the man who looks like he could snap someone's neck without breaking a sweat and not feel bad about it either.

But then, a few weeks after he's joined, you're at the bar with them all, chatting with one of their wives; and you hear him laugh.

You look over and are horrified to learn that he has the most adorable gummy smile ever. And you fall in love with him on the spot as he stumbles a bit drunkenly and leans his hands on the pool table to stable himself.

He falls for you just a few weeks after that. You've been around more, bringing him parts and orders instead of your coworker, and he notices how you linger at the door a bit shyly before you call out to him. He thinks you're cute.

But what really gets him is another night at the bar. You look so pretty in the low light, nursing a non-alcoholic drink so you can make sure all of your friends get home safe. You tell him as much whenever he leans on the bar next to you, making small talk as he waits for his drink. He, jokingly, asks if you'll make sure he gets home as well — and he chokes on his beer when you say "absolutely!"

He can't get you out of his head after that. He looks forward to working at the same time as you; because he's still not technically initiated, he's left out of a fair amount of more incriminating things. Which means he's confined to work from the shop most of the time. Which means he gets to spend more time with you.

And when your father notices your giddy mood after your shared shifts, he immediately puts the pieces together. He corners Mingi and tells him to stay away if he wants to keep his job and his head.

And Mingi tries. By god, he tries so hard. He ignores you, for the most part, for two weeks until he snaps. He sees some jackass flirting with you while his car is in the shop, and when you smile at him — Mingi can't take it anymore. You should be smiling at him.

He makes up an excuse to get you in the back, and he kisses you before you can even ask what he needs. Because what he needs is you. It's all built up passion, hungry and lustful and claiming as he pushes you against the wall.

And when you finally part, he tells you he really, really likes you — as if that wasn't clear by the way he just absolutely devoured your mouth.

Something shifts in your relationship after that. Stolen kisses and smiles when you think nobody is looking, a few three a.m. rendezvous to the town over for something resembling a date. But there's something hotter, suffocating almost. Bubbling to the surface but never breaking the waters tension. Both of you feel it.

And you can't tell what it is until you're sitting in the shop by his work bench, watching him suck on a lollipop as he changes car parts. The stick flicking around from the way he's swirling his tongue around the sweet. He's always chewing on gum, sucking on a lollipop, biting his straws, licking his lips when he's focused. It makes your cheeks feel warm.

He notices you staring, and he sits on the hood of the car, asking what's on your mind before licking the lollipop.

And you only respond with, "take your pants off." His eyes widen, but he certainly isn't complaining when his cock is in your mouth a few minutes later. His back falls against the hood, his chest heaving as you suck him like he's the sweetest lollipop in the goddamn universe.

And he returns the favor, practically throwing you onto the hood and yanking you to the edge so he can eat you out like the fate of mankind relies on him making you cum. And holy shit, does he make you cum. He's insatiable after that, and you are more than willing to satisfy his raging oral fixation for a few hours at a time by letting him slurp at your cunt.

You get eaten out in the bar bathroom, the other members joking that you've had one too many as you come back out to your seat a bit sweaty and wobbly — and Mingi licks his smirking lips before taking a drink to hide his glee quickly when your father looks over at him.

He stops in the middle of the deserted road on your way back from one of your dates. Eats you out right there. He takes his lunch break most days beneath your desk. Anywhere, everywhere, every single chance he gets to make you feel good on his tongue — he takes it.

He gets brave, or rather he's so obsessed with you and licking your cunt, that he sneaks into your room through your window like a horny teenager. He lays next to you after, playing with your fingers. He asks if you ever think about getting away from everything, for good.

And you're on the back of his bike the day after that, arms around his waist as he drives away from your hometown.

─..★.─────

₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy @kyomiingi @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @klllerwaifu @seonghwasslytherin @yoonglesbae @wolviejex @estrnrea @lover-ofallthingspretty @willowwyy @jaerisdiction @peelingpaint-heavyheart @satsuri3su @bubbly-moon

[mejaemin]

city girl 𐚁 with mark lee and lee donghyuck (18+)

preview wc ⭑ 541 summary ⭑ moving from the city to the country was definitely a downgrade, but ranchers mark and donghyuck from across the street seem to make it a little better! pairing ⭑ rancher/cowboys!markhyuck x reader an ⭑ ah, the long awaited +82 pressin fic… can i even call it that anymore? idk but if you’re new, that’s what this fic was created for, inspired by the cowboy concept photos !!! so, yes, this has been rotting in the drafts since march 💔

release date ⭑ july 20th !!! comment to be tagged in the final product 🤍

“it’s hot as fuck down here. like, i’m about to start a charity event for you or something. i feel so bad, girl, imagine having to live here..” giselle complains, fanning herself as she sits on your porch with you.

“i know! it fucking sucks! first of all, i’m like, chained to this house because my dad said i’m too fast.. like, what does that even mean? i’m an adult! and on top of that, it’s always hot as balls! and everyone here is ugly!” you complain, hands waving around dramatically. giselle is right there with you, nodding and agreeing. living in the south, burning hot country area is the worst. so not your style.

“..well, maybe i’ll ask my parents to fly you back to the city every once in a while. i’ll miss you so much.. this is unfair.” she pouts, resting her head on your shoulder.

you sigh, swinging your feet as they hang off the edge of the bench you sit on together. plenty of cars pass by, all big trucks with longhorn bumper stickers or a horse trailer on the back. it’s so weird! is this really the culture down here? no crime, no noise, no peeing rats, no peeing people, and you’re expected to be happy living here? your dad can kiss your ass. you’ll find a way out of here. getting a job and saving money to move back to the city is a little far-fetched for your tastes, but if there’s a will, there’s a way.

just as you start plotting your escape, there’s a little bit of motion across the street. it’s a cute little ranch, fancy and adequately sized. two boys walk out of the barn on horseback, making their way towards the training area. it looks so dumb, so boring, watching them run in circles together, but upon getting a closer look at their features.. you can’t look away.

one sits on a pretty white horse, wavy brown hair on top of his head. he’s got a white tank on, pretty, big shoulders on display as his horse picks up its pace around the track. he looks handsome, but in a pretty boy kind of way, and he looks.. strangely good doing his thing. god, you can’t believe you’re actually ogling a fucking cowboy.

the other one spots you, a boy just as gorgeous, except he’s a little darker in skin tone, with a lighter shade of hair, equally as curly as the other’s. he makes his way over to his friend and starts saying something, laughing the whole time he does so. it’s such a pretty sight, you wish you could actually hear it. then, they both turn to look at you, and you flinch, hiding in your friend’s hair.

“what the-” she starts, confused, but then she notices the two boys. “ew, there’s two.. country boys staring at us. that’s disgusting.

“i know! and it looks like they were talking about me, too!” you complain, kicking your feet in your rise of emotion.

she laughs, “..maybe they want a taste of the city girl?” she sing-songs, obviously teasing, but when you peek through the fingers that cover your face, you can’t help but think..

you might just let them.

nct 🏷️ @chenlezip @cinnayomiroll @prettymoles @jia127zen @polarisjisung @ikozen @tinkerbell460 @ninety-nite-99 @markkiatocafe

[zeropro]

Q&A Corner: Autobot Base

Wanted to try and clear some of my inbox before moving on to the next phase of the story. (long post warning)

It's gotta be Bumblebee, tho he and Wheeljack are chill. The Dinobots trust everyone inherently because they are the strongest and also a little stupid.

Jazz is like, just as cautious as Red Alert, but instead of getting anxious and paranoid he stays cool and relaxed about it. He's keeping just as close an eye on the Decepticons roaming the base as anyone, you just wouldn't know it if you didn't know Jazz. And everyone knows Jazz.

I get a lot of asks about random characters, and I cant really draw all of them, but I like the idea that Cosmos is chilling at some amusement park. Kinda like in EarthSpark, but like consensually haha. I bet he's great with kids.

They're divorced. Ratchet didn't approve of his malpractice and Pharma didnt approve of his personality.

No one will ever find out what happened between Starscream and Cryak if Starscream has any say in it. And he won't refuse a spark exam, it just gives him anxiety and he has a hard time with them. He'll do it but he might have to hold someone's hand.

I don't think it hurts to roll around in vehicle mode, but it's possible it hurts when transforming. Bumblebee can join the chronic pain gang.

Probably my fault, not my best writing if I have to be honest. The dialogue in that comic didn't quite get across what I wanted, I cringe a lot when I look back on it lmao;;; (Also yes best not to touch him or stand too close)

Well Bee is the Autobot leader and Starscream thinks himself the Decepticon leader, so it makes sense they'd work together. Prowl, Jazz, and Red Alert def notice something else going on there and are torn between wishing Bee would be just a little less trusting of the war criminal and hoping this is doing some good for Starscream.

I actually love when fics explore this. I don't think the Autobots are perfect or anything, I'm sure there is still animosity there for sure, but the leadership doesn't rely on fear to maintain power and I think the contrast wouldnt be lost on Starscream. If nothing else it puts into stark contrast just how far Megatron has fallen (heh heh).

Yeah Megatron isnt doing great after coming back online. I think the coneheads left specifically because he started taking it out on them in lieu of Starscream. I don't think anyone wants to be there anymore but it can be really hard to leave. Soundwave is still loyal, he can sense the nuance of what's going on inside Megatron and it makes it hard to turn his back on one of the most important people in his life.

I'm certainly going to try (it's a canon event!)

That would be so very cute, but it wouldn't happen haha.

Of course he misses them, but he's a big boy, he wont cry (maybe in his sleep).

They didn't know he was there. Fireflight got lost and they kinda just stumbled across Thundercracker's house while out looking for him and started bothering him.

I think we all could use a break and a nap mayhaps...

They barely know each other, like coworkers that work on different floors of the same office building.

I'm sure he knows there's a difference. Probably doesnt realize they're cats and not, idk, a bear or something. He didn't really pay attention to Earth creature taxonomy until very recently.

Sunstreaker doesnt feel bad about it because I dont think he had full intention of killing an unarmed incapacitated mech. He was more using intimidation to keep Skywarp from warping out and attacking him, he totally woulda killed him at that point, or at least tried to. Skywarp doesnt hold it against him tho, it was war, it happens, he prolly woulda killed him back if given the chance.

Skywarp also hasn't seen or spoken to Thundercracker since then. Skywarp was really really mad when Thundercracker originally defected from the Decepticons, and he doesn't really understand why Thundercracker wont talk to them. It's complicated. He also just hasn't really thought about going to see him. Keep in mind they've been with the Autobots for a little over a year, so not a very long time.

It's fun how many people were worried for Swindle. I can at least say he didn't really deserve it this time. Man's out here thriving under capitalism but Megatron needs his combiners.

Soundwave is of average size, Megatron is just huge! Soundwave and Starscream are the same size.

They didn't lose Soundwave, they know where he is. They can go visit him any time. And no one has to take care of them, they're full grown adults haha. Honestly, the Autobots are used to them spying on them in their walls, they're probably just like "at least they're running around out in the open where we can see them now."

I think the only other notable one is Defensor. I don't have any plans to include Defensor.

No thanks, that's weird. :P

Stay tuned!

[thewayilikemycookie]

🎮┆nerdy talk .ᐟ

Spencer Agnew x f!reader

Summary: “you’re such a nerd bro, like just kiss me already” girlfriend and tomato level flustered boyfriend

Word count: 891

Okay, fine, you admit it: You have a huge thing for nerds (It’s not even a secret now given how much you talk about it). So, bagging Spencer Agnew out of all of them felt like you won the lottery everyday.

You truly love your boyfriend. You love whenever he talks about his interests, when you two play games together, when you get to watch him in his element, at the games stage, and literally everything else about him.

Currently, Spencer was sitting on the big gray couch waiting for the rest of the cast members. You sat next to him and made small talk with the crew until the start of the video.

The game you were playing today was more of a team game, so it was pretty fun for you to play into the dynamics with your fellow cast members while still trying to not do too bad at the game itself. About halfway through the shoot Angela asked a question about a specific part of the gameplay.

“oh it’s like a secret door thing” Spencer answered “you have to find a code hidden in the other levels, but we can just use this other door for now”

“How do you just know that?” Angela asked while following his instructions

“Gosh, you’re such a nerd, Spencer” you smiled at him “like just kiss me already, bro”

You whispered the last part, knowing the editors would most likely cut it out of the video. But nonetheless, Spencer’s whole face turned red from your comment. He hid his face with his hands immediately after seeing your amazed expression.

“Oh?” Angela gasped, already starting her signature laugh

“I’ve never seen your face do that” You smiled between your laughs, with no malicious intent in your voice

“Don’t do this” you could hear his muffled giggles, you could tell he was partly joking and partly a little embarrassed

“Okay, let’s move on!” Trevor announced, mostly for the camera, leaving Spencer with a few seconds to regain his composure. You noticed his cheeks were still a little pink and he seemingly couldn’t look at you without a smile growing on his lips.

After the shoot day, you and Spencer went back to his place for dinner and video games. On the way there, you picked up some take out from a drive through while talking about the new game releases coming this year. You loved listening to Spencer’s non-stop yapping about the graphics and the design and the mechanics and whatever he wanted to talk about, really.

The image of him being so flustered never once left you mind, though, and at some point he must’ve caught you staring, considering the weird look he was now giving you “What?” He asked

“Nothing,” You smiled at him “so, tell me more about that game trilogy” you changed the subject

He dragged out the suspicious look on his face, but ultimately decided he wasn’t going to push you “The horror one?”

You continued listening to him until you got home and the conversation dissipated. You ate your meal under the colorful television lights as you and Spencer watched a movie, legs all tangled together under the blankets. You would sometimes joke about certain parts of the movie, ending up doubled down laughing and having to re-watch multiple scenes.

You put your plates aside on the coffee table “Can we play that horror game?”

“Sure,” He beamed at you “do you want the controller?”

“Hell no” You cuddled up next to him

The game itself wasn’t too scary, but the jumpscares would always jolt you awake screaming, making Spencer hold in his laughter, not wanting to be rude. At a specific part of the game, where the character was walking down a hall and tensions were high, you could feel yourself getting increasingly scared.

“It’s crazy how they can build so much tension” You said, hugging his arm tightly

“I know” his whole face lit up with excitement “and it’s all in the atmosphere, like literally the little details, its insane. It’s like the song and the purposeful glitches and the lights and the scary pictures. It’s those small things that we wouldn’t notice otherwise”

“Gosh, Spencer, you’re such a nerd” You were fully staring by this point “like, literally just kiss me, dude”

In a matter of milliseconds, he threw the controller across the couch and cradled your face with an intensity you’ve never seen him adopt before. His lips met yours and you instantly melted from his touch, moving your hands to the back of his neck. You were almost sinking into the couch cushions, but you didn’t mind at all, never wanting to leave this moment.

He pulled away and placed little kisses on your cheek, nose and forehead “Got what you wanted?” He asked

“Yup,” You beamed “I can die happy now”

He laughed but didn’t quite pull away and you admired his smile.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Your hands moved to cup his cheeks

“Anything”

“I have, like, a huge crush on you, dude” You whispered, being met with his laugh

“can I tell you a secret too?” You nodded “I have a crush on you too”

You widened your eyes and opened your mouth in fake shock and he leaned in to kiss you once again.

A.n: guyssss I have like no time to write, idek how I managed this many words 😭😭 Also!! My requests are literally full, so I’ve been trying to select a few to work on (so I’m sorry if yours takes to long/doesn’t get picked). But pleaseee keep them coming!! They inspire me so so much <33 Anyway if you got to this point of my yapping I love you, thanks for reading, have a great day/night!!!!

[daithedune]

Clark Kent / Superman Boyfriend Headcannons!

Cw: NSFW at the end (half of it), fluff. Read the nsfw content warnings. Established relationship. English is not my first language btw. Fem!Curvy!Reader!!!!

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Clark is a cutie. When he first asked you out, he wasn't shy, but he had that hint of nervousness or responsibility on his shoulders.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 he is the definition of chivalry. He's opening doors for you, He's giving you his jacket, He's paying for you, He is made for all of this. He's absolutely charming.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He never cared about your weight or your body, but he always thought you were absoluteky stunning. He hugged you as much as he could, you were soft and it only made him melt for you.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 he's a professional hugger. And by that i mean he holds you. It's something almost instinctive, He will go close and hug you from behind, maybe squeezing you a little in the process.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 he doesn't notice how he treats you sometimes. He's there just, hugging you, close, and you're so perfect and so soft he just pulls you closer, as close as he can. You feel his broad, toned chest against your plushy body and the way it squeezes on him and he's just about to explode.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 sometimes, he will lay his head on your tummy as you watch a movie. He likes it, it's warm and comfortable; and he can feel your scent, so, better.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 absolutely Loves tight clothes on you. The way your thighs just seem more thick, more fleshy when you wear those pajama shorts that barely fit you anymore, the way your chest seems bigger with that one bra, he's drooling.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 don't you dare say anything bad about your body. You feel fat? He will give you a hundred reasons why it doesn't matter to him and why you look gorgeous. Your clothes don't fit you anymore? He will say cheeky comments about it. He will look for a way to make you feel good with yourself.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 he makes sure you aren't a watcher. He will do anything he sees you yearning. Picking you up? Got it, show you off? He will, a new stupid couple trend you saw up on tiktok? He will do it.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 and if anyone says anything about your body, he will get serious. He does, and he's even a little scary. He looks at them like he's going to break their neck, then makes some quick comeback that leaves the guy silent. He will also give you a speech on why that guy was wrong and that you're beautiful.

Nsfw ahead.

Cw: Explicit content. Mdni. Explicit descriptions of femsle antomy, oral (f receiving) doggy style mention, brief anal fingering mention, marking and hickeys, tit sucking mention.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 he loves to see how everything bounces. He will have you on top, riding him, and he will just smile, seeing with his x-ray what he's doing to you, all of it, at the same time, he enjoys how your tits go up and down with every trust.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He's leaving marks. Your hips? Fingerprints. Tits? Hickeys. Tummy? Bites. He's getting his mouth and hands everywhere.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 he's touchy. If you let him, sometimes you will feel a sneaky hand down your ass, squeezing it softly. Maybe on your tits.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 he likes you on top, your weight on him as you have your soft breasts on his face. He will kiss, suck, everything. He loves it.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 in between your thighs? He loves it. He's a MUNCH. This man will love those pillows around him, he's chewing on them, he loves it, he loves to kiss your intimate labia as he has that softness surrounding him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 eatingit from the backkkkk he's doing it, he can get on those cheeks and softly mouth at them as he eats you from the back, ass up face down and he's fucking you doggy after.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ah yeah, speaking about that, he loves how your ass jiggles at his thrusts, he's grabbing it and jiggling it with his hands, maybe he even gets a finger or two on your asshole just to experiment.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Aftercare king. He's attentive, he's affectionate, he will do anything you need. He will make sure you're warm, he'll put on a movie you like or maybe some chill music, maybe a bath if it's necessary and if he was too rough he will make sure to caress and kiss every single part of your body.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 finally, he will make sure you're asleep first and just then, he will turn off the tv, put everything aside and lastly turn the lights off, cuddling besides you, and hugging you like a plushie. He loves you and, he's grateful you love him too.

a/n: Guess who knows NOTHING about dc. This is the firdt dc movie i watch in AGESSSSSS stawppp. Btw i love him pls david!Clark let me carry your child

[butterfly-wingss]

Work

prev | next

Danny still remembers Jason learning Ghost speak the first time. He wears his heart on his sleeve, quick to Anger, Sadness, Joy. He’s always had a current of Curiosity about him.

But after a while Danny could hear the Hurt, Pain, Suffering, Loathing that seemingly lived under Jason’s skin.

It wasn’t under his skin anymore.

Jason was flipping rapidly between Soft, Safe, Comforted, Love and Hurt, Hurt, Pain, Undeserving, Wrong, Selfish, Greedy. And he feels disgusting now because Jason hates opening up like this.

Danny can’t tell him though.

If Jason knows he’ll figure out how to clamp down on his emotions in a nano second. But if he knows how Jason is feeling he’ll be able to help better.

Danny doesn’t know how to help. Danny doesn’t know what to do here. But he can’t not help. He can’t just leave Jason to deal with this alone. He needs to protect his fraid, even from themselves.

But every time he touches Jason a current of Love shoots through him and it’s like he’s dying all over again.

So he’ll stay. He’ll stay until he’s asked to leave, and he’ll do what he can, and maybe then this gaping void in his core will close up and not eat away at him like the black hole he knows it is.

Danny flops onto Jason, hanging off his back while Jason works at his laptop. “What ya doin’.” All sing songy.

“Working.” He says with that stupid little crooked smirk he does. Fond.

“Why. You’re supposed to be resting.” Suspicion. Ripples off him playfully, it’s hard to tell how much ghost speak Jason can hear/feel right now but talking to him should help even if he doesn’t consciously notice.

“I am resting. It’s just some paperwork.”

“Jay.” He lets the disappointed leak into his normal english.

Jason sighs. “I need to. We’re opening up that nightcare place, keep teens out of crime, give child care to the working girls and goons and whoever else might need it. And tomorrow I need to do Rosa’s shopping and the food bank.”

“Rosa this apartment or is that one of your others?”

“This one. Her son just had another kid recently so I need to check in on her more often right now.”

“Is all that going to be restful?” Accusatory.

Rolling his eyes or rather his whole head, like he does when he’s wearing his helmet. “It will sate my protection obsession while I’m being forbidden from patrol.” FOND pulses between them.

“Okay, I’ll allow it.” Smug, Playful hangs heavy in the air.

————

Watching a hearth core in their element is truly amazing.

Watching anyone in their element is great but there’s Something about watching Jason taking care of his community, playing with kids, and feeding people. It’s special and its so uniquely Jason of him.

He’s got a line of children following him, like little ducks and oh doesn’t that just remind him of Jays Robin cape.

He stops his rounds to talk to a kid about their book. Yelling at his men over his shoulder. Danny wonders what Jason’s position in the Red Hoods gang is, do they know Jason is Red Hood, is he actually in the gang or do they just work together sometimes.

“Oi, Star! Come here.” Calls out standing over some of the kids doing homework at the back tables.

“What up.” Danny walks up hands in the pockets of his NASA hoodie

“You’re a chem nerd yeah?”

“Organic, inorganic,?” trails off.

Jason shakes his head, sighs. “High school?”

“Organic.” The kid pipes in.

“Cool what’re we doing.” Pulls up a chair

“You know Bio too?” another kid asks

“Yeah, anything science or math I’m a much better bet than Jay.”

“Oi! I’m not bad,” Slaps him lightly, oh so offended. “I’m just surrounded by STEM geniuses.” Jason grumbles.

“STEAM. You think I can design half the shit I do without being able to draw it.” Danny corrects.

“What do you do?” one of the younger kids asks, maybe 10, he’s not great at telling ages.

“I’m an engineer.” He happily replies.

“Mad scientist.” Jay corrects.

“Not in Gotham I’m not. I did not spend 4 years editing patents and turning a bunch of government tech non lethal to be thrown in Arkham. No. Thank. you.” Absently reading through the chem work sheet.

Turns out that’s not a normal thing for teenagers to do, even in Gotham. They burst out in questions, the kids, some of the adults, even Jason himself. At least it helps these kids warm up to him.

“Y’know, breaking into government facilities to fuck with their tech and scramble their servers and shit.”

“So that counts as vigi-“ Jason laughs out

“Nope. No, that is being a hooligan, destruction of private property, trespassing, absolutely got me on a few watch lists.”He ticks off on his fingers “But again, in Gotham, I ain’t shit.”

Jason shakes his head. “Gotta introduce you to everyone eventually.”

“Can’t hear you doing math and science.”

“Danny-“ laughs

Danny shoos Jay away from him and the small group of kid surrounding him. “Get your Literature cooties away from me.”

“Rude!”

Danny was posted at the homework tables the rest of the day. The kids keep asking him about Jason.

When Jay comes over to collect Danny the kids absolutely swarm him. “We have to go now. Yes I’ll bring him back at some point. I’m ignoring that. Star you coming?”

Jason starts trying to walk away but there are kids hanging on his legs, one even tries to steal his boot knife.

“Sure thing Birdie.” As soon as the name leaves Danny’s mouth the room goes silent Jason takes two whole steps before he reacts “Shut up and hurry up.” Awkward, Anxious radiates off him.

“What’s for dinner?” Danny asks just to annoy him.

“Nothin’ if you keep asking.” Snark

“Nah. You physically can’t not feed people.”

“Fuck off.” Jason pushes him away but grabs him at the last second and pulls Danny against his side.

[thatonegrimm]

CAN WE GET A SAJA BOYS (SEPARATE) X READER WHERE READER IS SUOER GOOD AT GIVING MASSAGES, AND GIVES THEM ONE AFTER A PRETTY STRESSFUL DAY? 

-⭐️

Thank you for the request! These are always fun to write lol. Here you go!💌

🌙 Saja Boys x Reader – You Give the Best Massages

------------------

🧿 Jinu 

Jinu wasn’t the type to admit when he was stressed.

He just sat a little too still. Smiled a little too tightly. Rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to manually release the tension coiled in his spine.

You found him like that on the balcony, sitting in a patio chair with his tea untouched, his gaze unfocused.

“Turn around,” you said softly.

He blinked. “What?”

You stepped behind him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “I said, turn around. Let me help.”

Jinu stiffened as your thumbs pressed into the knots beneath his hoodie, but he didn’t pull away.

You worked in silence—slow, firm pressure along the cords of muscle between his shoulder blades. He exhaled sharply, head tilting forward just slightly.

“That’s… wow. That’s really good,” he muttered.

You smiled. “You carry everything here,” you said, kneading gently. “Let me take some of it off your shoulders.”

For once, he didn’t argue. Just leaned back into your touch, eyes closing.

Later, he’d quietly bring you a blanket and your favorite tea.

But in that moment, all he said was: “Don’t stop.”

------------------

💪 Abby 

Abby looked like nothing could shake him. Unbothered, unbreakable, all relaxed charm and big energy.

But after back-to-back rehearsals and helping move heavy set pieces when no one else could, even he had his limit.

You found him face-down on the floor, groaning into a pillow.

“I’m dying,” he mumbled.

You grinned. “Good. Stay there.”

You straddled his lower back and started working your hands up his spine. He jolted.

“Wait—woah, that’s—holy crap.”

Your thumbs hit a tense spot near his shoulder blades and he let out a very un-Abby-like whimper.

“You’re tense,” you teased.

“I’m always tense. I didn’t know until just now,” he muttered into the pillow.

You laughed, but your touch stayed steady—rolling circles into his shoulders, then kneading into the muscles of his arms. Slowly, Abby melted under you like warm butter.

By the end, he was completely limp.

“You’re magic,” he groaned. “Marry me.”

You smacked his shoulder playfully. “Let me finish the massage first.”

------------------

📚 Mystery 

You didn’t notice it at first.

Mystery never looked tired. He didn’t slump or complain or sigh dramatically.

But his silence had shifted—more withdrawn, more brittle.

So when he sat beside you, eyes shadowed and shoulders tight, you didn’t ask questions. You just reached out, lightly brushing your fingers over his arm.

He flinched—but only a little.

“Let me?” you asked quietly.

After a pause, he nodded.

You moved behind him, fingers finding the edge of his shoulder blade, working along the tight bands of tension he’d clearly been ignoring. He didn’t speak, but he tilted his head slightly to the side—giving you access.

You felt him unravel in degrees. A breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. A subtle shiver when you found just the right spot near his neck.

Finally, he whispered, “…Feels good.”

“I know,” you said. “You don’t have to hold everything by yourself, you know.”

He didn’t reply, but you felt it—the way his fingers brushed yours afterward, small and deliberate.

A thank you in silence.

------------------

💋 Romance 

Romance lived for affection, but even he had bad days. Off-stage stress, a manager with too many opinions, and a performance that didn’t go how he wanted—it left him sulking on the couch, arms crossed, frown threatening to settle in for the night.

You came up behind him quietly, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing the crown of his head.

“Want me to help?” you asked.

He turned just enough to meet your eyes. “You’ll make me cry.”

“I’ll risk it.”

You pulled him onto the floor between your knees and began massaging his shoulders, thumbs pressing in small circles.

He melted. Instantly.

“Oh god, you’re good at this,” he moaned. “Is this love? Is this how I die?”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “Yes, by massage. Very tragic.”

As you worked down his back, he sighed, completely boneless in your hands. His voice dipped quieter.

“…Thank you.”

You kissed his shoulder. “Always.”

And later, when you tried to stop, he dramatically flopped back onto you.

“Now I live here. This is my home.”

------------------

🔥 Baby 

Baby never asked.

But you noticed how he moved a little slower that night, hoodie riding up his back as he sprawled on the floor after practice, arms crossed under his head like a makeshift pillow.

You sat beside him and poked his side.

“Wanna trade? I give you a massage, you stop being grumpy.”

He grunted. “I’m not grumpy.”

You arched a brow. “That wasn’t a no.”

So you scooted behind him and gently placed your hands on his back.

At first, he tensed like he was trying not to react.

Then your palms pressed into the tight space between his shoulders—and he groaned.

“Don’t tell anyone I made that noise,” he mumbled.

“I’m recording it for blackmail,” you teased, grinning.

But you kept going—slow, methodical, watching his posture shift as he finally let himself relax. His breathing evened out. His hands unclenched.

When you stopped, he cracked one eye open.

“…Ten more minutes.”

You smirked. “You like this, huh?”

“…Shut up.”

But the next night, he was already sitting on the floor, hoodie off, waiting.

------------------

M-List

[rhettrosunsets]

With You - Bob Floyd X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Bob Floyd X Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Summary: It'd been an agonizingly long day and while you adored the Hard Deck and your squadron most nights, your social battery was on the verge of going out. Luckily, your boyfriend can read you better than you can read yourself, and he knows when you need him.

Based Off This Ask Here!

Masterlist

Warnings: Reader has had a bad day. Reader gets sort of overstimulated. Bob uses pet names like Honey and Baby for the reader. Readers social battery goes out. No use of Y/N. No description of reader.

Notes: Thank you so much for requesting!! I hope I did your ask justice and that you enjoy it! ❤️

The Hard Deck was normally a safe place for you. Typically the entire squadron was always there and it was a way for you guys to unwind and relax and enjoy your Friday nights with each other. The atmosphere was something you typically adored, the echoing of laughs, the sound of pool balls sliding across the tables, and the loud music playing that somehow still to this day caused arguments within the team. It was your favorite place to be with the people you now considered to be family to you.

But tonight? It was just a bit too much for you to handle.

You were sat in between Phoenix and Bob near the pool table, while you sipped your drink with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You felt a bit foggy and like everything was just going in slow motion, you’d had a long day and while you weren’t quite overstimulated yet, everything just felt like too much.

Bob was right next to you with his arm resting against the back of your chair like he always did when the two of you were out, his thumb brushing your shoulder gently, something he often did. It was more to soothe himself rather than you, often a reminder to him that you were there and that you were safe. But right now? it was helping you more than him.

The conversations kept flowing, the music kept playing, and your body was beginning to get that panicky feeling of everything being a bit too much. The tugging feeling in your chest was getting impossible to ignore, and the last thing you wanted to do tonight was cause a scene. You leaned over to Bob and whispered “I think m’gonna go get some air. I just need a minute.”

Bob looked at you quickly, his eyes doing a quick once over to check if you were alright, his eyes softening when he noticed your tensed shoulders and the way you seemed like you wanted to bolt out of the bar, before whispering quietly into your ear “You okay, sweetheart?” his eyes full of concern

“Yeah.” you promised quickly, your voice wobbling the slightest bit.

The promise was a bit too quick for Bob's liking as you jumped off the chair smoothing your shirt down. He could tell you were about to start crying if you stayed here for any longer.

You continued “I just need some fresh air. You stay here, I promise I’ll be okay, you won't even notice i'm gone.” you said with a soft smile, reaching out to squeeze Bob's hand, before walking towards the front doors as fast as you could.

Bob knew that was a lie. You weren't okay, and he could see the signs, but he knew that he needed to give you a few minutes to decompress before he went and checked on you. If he tried now, you'd shut him down and it'd probably do more harm than good, even if his brain was screaming at him to go run after you and give you a big hug right then and there.

You continued walking, your head down as you tried to control your breathing, hoping no one would stop you or notice you so you could just sneak away from all the chaos inside for a bit. You reached the front doors and pushed them open with a big sigh of relief. Your shoes thudded quietly against the deck as you made your way to the edge of the patio, so you could overlook the beach. It hadn’t been a bad day, but it’d been long and honestly physically draining. And now? Well now your social battery was paying the price for it.

Being around the squad helped lift your mood, but they couldn't always help you when your social battery went out too. But having Bob around was always something that comforted you, and had since before the two of you had even started dating. He was someone that never required you to have a social battery.

You let out a slow exhale and wrapped your arms around yourself, letting the breeze and the smell of the ocean air slowly start to calm you down. You felt the tension slowly start to leave your body, and finally for the first time in a while, it felt like you could breathe freely.

The wooden deck cracked behind you, and a smile quirked up on your lips. You didn’t need to turn around to know who had followed you out. Bob always would check on you, even if you said you were fine. “M’okay, baby. I told you that you didn’t have to come out here.” you said, a smile evident in your voice as you continued watching the waves.

“I know. But, I want to be where you are, you're more fun than everyone in there.” Bob said in a slightly teasing tone, as he walked over to you and wrapped his arm around your waist. Your heart started beating quicker as you felt the heat rise to your face, and scoffed slightly “You could be inside having fun with the others you know.” you mumble as you leaned into Bob’s side, his arm a comforting familiar feeling.

“I am having fun." Bob said in mock offense as he looked down at you, a fake offended expression settled across his face before he continued. "This is my favorite part of the night actually. Getting to hold you in my arms will forever top anything that’s going on in there.” You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t move away, just quickly huffing out, “You’re ridiculous, baby.” before leaning your head against his shoulder and let yourself fully relax and let your guard down for a few moments.

The two of you watched the waves crash against the sand, the buzzing noise of the Hard Deck now just a quiet background noise, a comforting ambiance for the evening you where now having with Bob.

Bob didn’t press you for why you were feeling off, or had to come out here. He just knew that he didn’t want you to be alone, and that if sitting outside with you was all it took, then he’d be more than happy to do it. Eventually, you broke the comforting silence that had settled between the two of you, and looked up at him whispering “Thank you. For coming out here, even if I told you that you didn’t have too.”

Bob smiled down at you, his hold tightening a bit before he spoke “Always. I love being with you. You’ll never have to be alone, baby."

Your eyes burned a little as tears threatened to prick your eyes but you quickly reached up to wipe them away before you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you so much, Bob Floyd.”

He smiled wide, adjusting his glasses slightly as he muttered “I love you too, baby.” before cupping your jaw and pulling you into a real kiss that made you burst out with giggles in surprise, as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Even on your hardest days you knew that Bob would always try his best to be with you, and that made you breathe easier than anything else ever could.

[plotwholls]

In general, try coming up with a couple of flaws, and a couple of bonuses. I think I’ve talked about it before, but with Stephanie Brown, Spoiler, I like to make her great at pattern recognition, but some of the other stuff she has to do, like chemistry and hacking, makes her feel a migraine coming on. She’s not stupid by any means, she just has certain strengths. Like, she may hate chemistry, but maybe she notices something about Scarecrow’s latest fear gas, because it doesn’t fit with his usual variants. Or, maybe while hacking, she recognizes the coding style, and could swear she’s seen it before. Your character not being as smart as Batman doesn’t mean they’re stupid. They can keep up, which means they are smart. They may do stupid things, but they aren’t stupid, so don’t make them stupid. They’re so much more interesting as smart people who do stupid shit.

Having said that, if you struggle with writing one of these characters, writing them into a side plot that keeps them mostly out of your way is a good way for you to build up a nuanced version of that character in YOUR head. Once you have a more solid grasp on them, writing them will come easier.

So, here are some subplots for characters you’re bad at writing that should get them decently out of the way without making them stupid:

Aquaman and GL team up for politics. One of them is sick of politicians’ shit and needs someone sane to come with and keep them in line (this never happens the other person blows up, gives a rousing speech, and resolves the situation through pure determination)

Flash has taken over the Watchtower Forensics Lab and is claiming that he’s taken it hostage (he saw someone contaminate evidence and now he won’t leave the lab so no one can ruin anymore cases) he’ll run your evidence, he just won’t let YOU run your evidence. Get out. He’ll send you the results in three days. YES THREE DAYS DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG A DNA TEST TAKES—

Green Arrow has done something stupid, like decide to preform a sting operation on the local mafia with his civilian ID. It wasn’t actually stupid, it was a very well thought out plan, but the rest of the Arrows are Not Pleased and if you call it anything but stupid they’ll give you a death stare. No one wants to mess with the Arrows, okay? They may be chiller than the Bats, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less intense!

Aquaman and Wonder Woman are tied up in the UN. Aquaman has to keep telling people to stfu about him being there. What, was he supposed to make his ambassador come right after their kid was born? NO (Diana is sooo glad Arthur is here bc in three days she’ll have worn him down enough to talk shit w her, and she’s NEEDED that)

GL is about to go insane. He’s explained that blowing up that space station will trigger intergalactic war SEVENTEEN TIMES. SOMEONE COME FUCKING HELP HIM BEFORE HE DEPOSES THIS IDIOT— NO, OLIVER, HE’S GONNA GET HIS CITIZENS KILLED SO HAL ISN’T BACKING DOWN— “agreed but deposing him is just going to cause more issues, so let’s go get Arthur and Diana, and let’s plot his political downfall” “this is why I hang out with you”

Batman is outsourcing some analysis to Flash or needs a second opinion. Don’t tell anyone, but Bruce hasn’t slept in five days and may be hallucinating the face of Jesus in the RNA. He isn’t m? Oh, good…. Wait.

GL and GA are having a political debate in the hallway. They keep on adding addendums like “obviously accounting for/excluding nuance” and the other keeps going “yeah yeah yeah obviously get back to being wrong—” this conversation is 4x more heated than any presidential debate and yet is also 60x more civil. Don’t ask anyone to explain how it works. The only answer they have is “they’ve been doing it for years, so I guess they found a rhythm?” (this is an actual dynamic, and GL is the conservative of the two. This does not need to be written as a negative. Try looking for arguments that give you pause. For the gun control debate, for me, it’s that outlawing guns just means that law-abiding citizens can’t respond to equal force without also becoming criminals. It’s more of a USA issue, imo, but it’s still important to note. A solution I personally like is a cultural shift, since a societal change will last longer than a law) If you don’t want them to argue, you could have them watching political news like it’s a football game “OHH ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? KISS YOUR RE-ELECTION GOODBYE—” and “SAY IT AGAIN FOR THE PEOPLE IN THE BACK—” and “mmm he should’ve used the third amendment to back up his argument—”

Sorry, Aquaman can’t come to the phone right now… he’s too busy fighting capitalism in Atlantis by playing on his people’s still deeply ingrained disgust with the surface 🤺🤺🤺

GL and Batman team up. GL is valiantly failing to understand what Batman meant when he said “keep flashiness to an absolute minimum”. He’s getting the job done, they’ve found his fugitive, but now the underworld is riled up by an outsider showing up, and it’s gonna take two months to quell it. It’s fine. If Batman couldn’t handle it, he would’ve told GL to stay the hell away and to let the Bats apprehend GL’s guy.

Flash has been poached by Superman!!! He’s too busy to consult on Batman’s cases!!! This is war, Clark!!!!! WAR!!!!!!!!! (Clark rn: >:3c )

Every week, the Birds of Prey have a sleepover (which may or may not include nail painting and crime fighting). One of those sleepovers, every month, Green Arrow gets to go to. He paints their nails and they yell at him for whatever stupid emotionally unavailable thing he did this time. He takes this night very seriously, and if you try to pull him from it for anything less than an AHOD, he’s going to kick your ass when whatever it is is over

Aquaman desperately wants to go home and take a nap with his baby. UNFORTUNATELY. HE CAN’T DO THAT, NOW CAN HE, AMBASSADOR STEVENS? STOP DUMPING YOUR TRASH IN THE OCEAN SO HE CAN GO HOME AND CUDDLE—

GL is teaching some of the newer Leaguers how to fly the Javelins. He has to be reminded several times that this isn’t like when he’s teaching at Ferris. His students aren’t pilots here. He is very displeased by these reminders. He’s struggling to NOT speak Aviation instead of English. Luckily, he headed most of the issue off at the pass and told everyone in their introduction to the class that it might happen, and he gave them cheat sheets, and they can ask him for translations anytime, duh, but he’s really struggling to communicate without his professional jargon

Flash spent a month trying to get everyone to buy CCPD’s novelty calendars and now GA is on Superman and Batman’s asses about how THEY should have a novelty calendar! Clark thinks it’s hilarious and is totally down until Batman reminds him his mother would inevitably buy the calendar. Now Clark is very much NOT down. Stop bringing this up Arrow (wrong move. GA got Flash AND Hal on board. Now all THREE are campaigning for it. Superman and Batman are trying and failing to convince Diana to be against it)

No one can reach the GLs because Hal is hosting a seminar on Oa

Flash is not able to pick up the phone because he’s Barry Allen, and Barry Allen is currently testifying in court

I’m sure there are plenty more ideas, but these are mine, and you should all totally take this as a sign to add on your ideas, or even better, tell everyone about the characters who keep getting made stupid and different subplots writers can shove them in that won’t make them stupid

Okay, listen. I love Batman and the Batfamily as much as the next person, but can we stop putting down the JL to push the bats onto a pedestal?

Like- Hal Jordan. He's an Air Force Academy Graduate, was in the Air Force, and is a Test Pilot. You don't do that while being 'dumb'. He differs from Bruce because he trusts his instincts rather than data. He's impulsive where Bruce is calculated, and it's what makes him thrive in chaos where Bruce does with control. Not to mention, alien politics can NOT be an easy thing.

From what i've seen, people like to put Barry Allen in a 'dumb' light too. Which, couldn't be more wrong. He's a forensic scientist, a good one at that, and it's not an easy job. If anything, I'd like to see him conversing with Bruce on the topic more within fan-made media. It would probably be a joy for Barry to talk to someone who understands his work without him having to simplify or explain everything. And I've also seen people putting him down as 'weak' for his compassion, which...really..?

Then we got Arthur Curry.. He's a king, you guys. King of Atlantis? Protector of the Seas? He's royalty and a warrior, and has the diplomacy and instincts to back it up. His kingdom trusts him despite likely still not trusting those on the surface, and from what I can tell and assume, he's the main mediator between those of the ocean and those on land. He's impulsive, which is always seen as a weakness, but he's also passionate and very loyal to his people.

Oliver Queen? Let me start by saying he is a master archer, but Bruce is not. Bruce is not going to be able to correct him or talk as if Oliver is just..not shooting arrows correctly. Oliver has run for mayor of Star City and used his platform to challenge systemic inequality. Not to say Bruce hasn't, but they do it in very different ways. And with that, unlike Bruce, who often remains emotionally closed off, Oliver evolves. His relationships—with Dinah Lance, Roy Harper, Connor Hawke, and likely others that I can't name for the life of me—are messy but deeply human. He’s made mistakes, owned them, and grown from them. I believe people tend to forget how much Oliver has grown and changed throughout everything. Bruce is not the only human walking alongside gods and metas.

There are MANY others that we could bring up; feel free to do so. But the point is, Bruce is not the best. He has weaknesses just like the others. I know that it's hard as hell to write a story where they all have a place to fit in and have a part to play that is independent from the others, and I know it's easiest to focus on one character to progress. But I did just kind of want to acknowledge this. And please, feel free to correct anything I said if needed, perhaps I mischaracterized someone in my attempt not to, but that's because I, like them, have weaknesses alongside my strengths.

[charmedntruer]

FORTRESS — clark kent x reader

summary: tasked to take clark to the safest possible place he can recover from the pocket universe, you come to a few new revelations of your own upon seeing where clark was raised in the countryside.

content warnings: contains light spoilers from superman (2025), some spoilers but like one-off mention style so you should be ok, established (?) relationship, semi-proofread writing, not the biggest fan of the ending but writer’s block hit

authors note: this could either be really bad or subpar, but bear with me i’m only on my first watch 💔 this is also technically my first fic 💔 will be going back to see it again tho dare i say peak superhero film in recent years??? and i don’t take my love for the Lego Batman movie lightly

wc: ~1.4k

The Kent family farm feels isolating in the best way.

It’s something you’d come to notice instantly. You’ve never been too deep into the country; Metropolis, as it stands, was all you’d ever really known and probably ever will know—a place with its downs and ups, sure, but nevertheless the big city in which all your dreams had flourished since before you could even really see them.

And yet, even despite the circumstance—that is, hauling the 6’4 brick wall that was a mostly immobilized Clark Kent up the path to his parents’ front door—you could take even the briefest of moments to appreciate the silence, the tranquility of the farm. There wasn’t the whisper of crowded noise for miles upon miles, and you liked it. Stillness was something hard to come by in your life back home, whether that be due to the demands of heralding upcoming events back to back at the Daily Planet, or even trying to wrap your head around this not-quite-relationship between you and Clark for the last few months, you were kept on your toes. Being raised here, though, you thought, how wasn’t Clark supposed to become the humble, honest person he was today? It wasn’t all about being metahuman.

You introduced yourself briefly to his parents upon exiting the shuttle, explained as best as you could the situation from which you both crash landed from without giving them too much more to worry about. Johnathan and Martha were quick, unraveling Clark’s form from your caving shoulders as you all walked to the front door. They ushered you both with gentle words that reassured your own ears as the four of you made your way down the hall towards his childhood bedroom.

God, his room. Sometimes you had trouble imagining what life was like before for Clark. You knew some of what he told you about his adoptive parents, about what life was like here on the farm. He’d even mentioned taking you to visit someday. You were certain it was something he’d shrug off, but he’d insisted he meant it. And though the circumstances could’ve been better, sure, as you walked around slowly observing the figurines, posters, and books that made him him, you couldn’t help but smile thinking about how similar you both were.

You watched on as the Kent’s continued to comfort their son, replying with all the calm reassurance you could offer when Johnathan asked if their boy would be okay, until both of them stood, Martha with the intention to bring you back a cup of tea. You thanked her with a smile, watching as she left until the room grew silent.

Then you heard a rumble.

“Geez, don’t act so shy”.

The words almost made you jump a bit, regardless of how strained they sounded. You looked over at the previously presumed to be knocked out Clark making the effort to stare back at you, and the sight brought an awkwardly breathy laugh past your lips. “Sorry,” you apologized quietly, straightening from your position beside a bookshelf. “I wasn’t expecting you to wake back up”.

“Neither was I,” Clark’s grin is a mere raise of one corner of his mouth, but it’s enough to warm you just like it always does. “You don’t have to stand so far, y’know. Come sit down”.

He tries to pat the (little to nothing) space beside him on his childhood bed, and you grin at the effort. You make your way over, the bed dipping beneath your weight as you settle against his side. You fold your hands in your lap, then unfold them, pacing in your mind over what to say, if you should even say something more to begin with—he’s barely conscious after all.

You find some words finally when you feel his eyes burning into your skin. “I really like your parents,” you offer, turning to him slightly. “You can just…feel how much they really care about you. That’s really special”.

Clark gives something between a grunt and a hum of agreement, tilting his head on the pillow to look at you better and offering you a real smile. “Yeah. They’re incredible”.

And though his words are kind, certain, you feel like you can sense a sadness behind his eyes as he looks away from you. You think you know why, but you won’t pry on it, not now. You’d heard his heartbroken whisper to Martha about his birth parents, more resigned than how he’d spoken to you about the same thing before leaving to turn himself in. About how their message wasn’t what it seemed—how he wasn’t who he thought he was. And then Clark looks at you again and says your name softly, forcing your thoughts away from all of that. “I’ll be alright”.

“I know,” you nod swiftly, “I heard Terrific—“

“No,” Clark shakes his head in a definitive whisper. Then, he extends one of his hands to take yours where it rests on your side, his palm swallowing the back of your hand, encouraging you to really look at him and not speaking again until you do. “I don’t mean just my body. I know what you’re thinking, and I’m telling you now. I’ll be alright. All of me”.

You blink at him for a moment, your brows softening, but you don’t try to pull your hand away. It’s like the simple enough words are all it takes to ease that nagging in your brain, not just about this and all that had happened not even an hour before, but all that’s to come when he recovers and faces the world again.

“I know that it might not be much comfort at this point,” you start suddenly, “but I believe you. I meant to say it back at the apartment, before you left, but I—“

You pause, trying to find the words to explain your way of going about all of this but coming up short. If you were being honest you thought you took it all really well, but maybe you hadn’t. You knew Clark wasn’t a monster, but what did your word matter in a pool of hundreds of thousands?

It meant everything.

Clark is silent for enough time after you’ve spoken that you start thinking that he might’ve fallen back asleep. Then he asks, “That’s all you meant to say back then?”

You know what he’s referring to instantly, you just hadn’t thought that despite how battered up and drained of practically all of his energy sources he’d still manage to bring something like that up. His confession (confession? It didn’t feel very confession-like. It felt like a statement, the most normal thing in the world. Clark Kent somehow managed to make “I love you” feel like the least conditional thing in the universe). You could groan about now, but you don’t. You keep holding his hand.

“You know it’s not,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He can’t tell whether or not you meant for him to hear it, but Clark does. He squeezes your hand once. “Ok. That’s good. I won’t make you say anything, but…that’s good to know”.

You hum, nodding softly. You think that finally might be the end of it.

“Give me a sign?”

You raise a brow. “A what?”

“A sign,” he repeats casually. “ Don’t say the words until you’re ready, but give me a sign that you reciprocate, maybe. If you want. If you do”.

You’re not really sure how to respond at first. And then you feel your heart flutter. Here he was, as he’d always been. Letting you do things at your own pace. Letting you know that superheroes needed reassurance, too.

Your lips curve up into a faint smile as you look down at him to see he’s already smiling lazily as well. You’ve had your sign since the second he asked, and now Clark knows for sure.

“The Mighty Killjoys,” you say finally, lifting your opposite hand to brush a stray curl away. “They’re not trash”.

In the dim light it’s like Clark’s eyes begin to glimmer before they flutter shut, full of content. “Yeah. That’s a good one”.

You manage a small laugh, shaking your head at him. Then you lean forward, just enough to plant a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead. “Sleep, Clark,” you say against his skin, not leaving any room for further discussion or debate. “I’ll be here”.

Clark’s eyes remain closed when you pull away, and he obliges you. With another squeeze to your hand, the gentle swipe of his thumb, he takes an exhale that signals that he’s finally succumbed to the weight of slumber.

It’s then that you really get it. The fortress that is this home, this whole farm. The kind of place that could only nourish good and wholeness. Could nourish a hero.

[lucysarah1875]

I got this ask

Can you do a request for bedhead Levi when he is just waking up? Thanks!

Hi, love! How are you? I hope you’re doing great! Something you should know about me is that writing daily/mundane Levi is MY FAVORITE LEVI; therefore, I loved this one! Since you clarified to me that you just wanted early morning Levi, no need for it to be romantic. Here it goes!

Tiptoes running cold, shoulder blades aching painfully, saliva dropping to his chin. Contouring uneasy, paper sticking to his humid face. A numbling feeling down his folded arms as he softly peeked over them. He had fallen asleep on his desk… again. Slouched against the desk’s chair, feeling the chenille relaxing sensation against his cheek as he rubbed his head against the furniture, like a cat against a leg.

A pointless search for relaxation again, as he had learned the hard way that once he had woken up, it was too late. His insomnia wouldn’t allow much rest, or perhaps it was that the second his mind was slightly awake, it had the arduous and tireless task of reminding him how much work he had left—an endless mental to-do list.

Pale fingers brushed against his face, applying pressure to the bridge of his nose and rubbing his sticky eyes. The headache was an announced occurrence, perhaps due to the heavy strain on his neck… was it from sleeping on a desk? Absolutely. Did he have any intentions of changing that habit? No. Levi considered himself an “old dog” that doesn’t learn new tricks, despite picking up new skills every day to improve his 3DMG performance. Old habits die hard.

Hearing the bird chirping from the window behind was relaxing; the earliness of the morning was something he valued. The calmness, the silence, the peace – a mellow feeling that lingered with an anxious anticipation of the upcoming routine or, perhaps, something worse, but he was unsure of what. Soldiers are always in fear of something, an unknown source of danger that is extremely vivid.

A loud scoff, echoed steps against the wooden planks as he finally stood up. His legs hurt because, once again, sleeping sat down at his desk wasn’t a healthy practice for his blood circulation. Groan after groan escaped him as he did some daily stretches. It was like a drop of water for a starving man, soothing his exhausted muscles. Checking his reflection in the mirror, a swirl of hair in the top back of his head, locks pointing upwards, and the rough sensation under his fingertips as he caressed his face was noticeable. He sighed, tired and resigned. The shower turned on, waiting for the water to warm up.

Five minutes, a quick and effective military shower. Everything in Levi’s life is measured in millimeters; this man is a man of discipline and order. It’s hard to believe he was ever a thug. Towel around his hips, toothbrush in his mouth, free hand whipping the brush to create the shaving cream. Spitting in the sink, not wasting a second, he was already getting ready to achieve a clean appearance. Hair quickly accommodated with the wetness of the fresh shower, a sharp razor carefully caressing his neck. Days like this made him wish he wasn’t so stupidly pale and his hair wasn’t so dark. A bad combination.

Tidying up his room, folding papers back to their respective places for easy retrieval later, softly removing any dust that could have accumulated on any surface, brooming the place, and making the bed. The bed was immaculate and would remain that way; each morning he made the promise of extending the sheets so he would just have to jump right in when he got tired later on. He broke that promise almost every night. Tightening up the cravat around his neck, checking the weather through the window, he opened it to let the fresh air come in. It was a perfect day for 3DMG practice, so he tightened up his harness. The wings of freedom were on his back.

With a quick pace down the hallways, he knocked three times at Hange’s office. ‘They always oversleep,’ he thought. At this rate, either they always oversleep or they are using him as an alarm clock. Brewing his own tea, the only luxury he allowed himself to buy, only to pair up with the breakfast tray everybody got. Sharing the meal with his team, he considered it an important bonding moment with the rest of the soldiers, or at least it was with his previous squad.

Who thought that waking teens up at 6 am was a good idea? Armin was basically asleep, resting his head on Jean’s shoulder. Jean and Eren were arguing across the table, Connie was sleeping with crossed arms over the surface. Sasha and Eren were pushing food down their throats. Loudness, noises, high-pitched comments as the teens talked to each other. Levi wrinkled his nose, unsure if it was because most of the boys and Sasha were eating with their mouths open or the stink from the teens. 'Titans kill people, not soap and water for fuck’s sake,’ he thought. Then, 'You’re supposed to eat with your mouth, not your clothes, Eren; pigs eat tidier!’

Fingers around his tea cup, deep breath in, counting in his mind, trying to find any piece of remaining patience left in him. The heat of the ceramic, the smell of a good brew invading his senses. Peace, peace at least in some form.

“Captain?” Eren’s childish voice came from his right, breaking the mental relaxation. Slowly opening his eyes, silently checking on the titan shifter. “Today we will have 3DMG training?”

“Yes,” he replied slowly. The smile on the teen’s face, the happiness. 'Like a kid in a candy store,’ he thought. He would even dare to admit to himself that the ridiculously childishness was almost endearing; it could have made a subtle smile appear on his face with the rest of his team cutely asking if “he slept well.”

Until… “Jean! Stop kicking me under the table!” “I’m not kicking you; I’m simply taller! I need more space!” “You’re only 5cm taller, you asshole!” mixed with Sasha pushing a bread down her throat.

Dead tired eyes admired the scene, 'I love my job… I swear I do.’

[princessfbi]

Bucktommy + 9

Bucktommy + 9… in public

Sometimes, Tommy couldn’t believe how his life had turned out.

There’d been a time when he hadn’t even bothered to dream. Dreaming had been killed with the hope that he ever could’ve lived the way he wanted to under his father’s roof. So he’d focused on day by day events instead. It had been practical. Pragmatic. Something that made his transition into military life easier than some when the desert air was hot and the patriotism was thick enough to make them ask how high when they were told to jump.

It wasn’t until later when he saw things that still haunted him when he closed his eyes that Tommy had started to ask why he was being asked to jump at all.

Maybe that had been the unraveling. The beginning of the fraying of the tightly wound thread holding the perfect image of himself together and that held back the young kid that just wanted the cute boy to hold his hand and for it to feel like home.

And even afterwards, when he’d done his time in the army and carried a knapsack full of sand and regret to the fire academy, he’d kept his head down. He’d taken every test, every physical push of his body, one day at a time until he was sent to a station that was even harder to dream in than in the middle of a war zone.

He’d tried. With the wrong person who he ended up hurting who’d gone on to hurt someone else who didn’t deserve it either and even though he'd moved on by then he somehow, still couldn’t help feel like it was a little bit his fault.

But then he’d been caught by two blue eyes and an adorable shy smile that could light up a room and a boy who looked at Tommy like he hung the moon and Tommy had thought… he’d thought just maybe he…

It hadn’t mattered. Because Tommy had thought he didn’t get to dream. He’d been a survivor a lot longer than he’d been a dreamer and he’d done what he could to make it through the heartache without truly shattering.

Except that boy kept coming back for more and more and more and Tommy could never tell him no and at some point he realized he never wanted to in the first place and and and…

The blue eyed boy was a dreamer. Tommy was a realist. They’d both seen the worst the world had to offer, been the target of some of those cruel, awful things too. And yet, Tommy still managed to be able to hold that boy’s hand in public as they walked down the pier like it was a dream.

Evan was still talking, used to Tommy’s quiet internal moments to himself. He was squinting against the sunlight even after Tommy had offered him his extra pair of sunglasses in the car. It wrinkled his nose and made the goofy grin on his face lopsided and Tommy’s heart swelled until he was sure it was going to burst from his chest and for one moment it was like he was living in a dream until Tommy realized he wasn't.

It wasn't a dream. It was real. So, very real.

Tommy’s feet stopped before he realized what he was doing and Evan took a few more steps without noticing until Tommy dropped his hand.

“You o—”

Whatever else Buck had been about to say got lost in a laugh as Tommy swooped an arm around his waist and swung him back to him, rocking him up onto his toes. Broad hands landed on his chest as a stubbled chin tipped upward. Then soft, sweet lips met his own for a kiss that had Tommy’s blood singing.

Kissing Evan never got old. Even when he tasted like the kale salad he swore wasn’t that bad and wouldn’t stop smiling long enough for Tommy to get a proper fix.

“What was that for?” Evan asked, long lashes fanning his cheekbones as he pressed his forehead against Tommy’s.

“I wanted to,” Tommy said like it was easy. Because it was. Because he’d always wanted to and never thought he’d be able to. Because he’d never thought he’d be able to live a dream where he could kiss his boyfriend in public and not care who saw.

But Evan was real. So beautifully real and Tommy never wanted to quit dreaming.

[mentalpolaroids]

A restricted zone (part I)

Steve Harrington x female!Reader

Summary: Steve likes to flirt with her, but so does Keith. A little lie to protect her catapults into restricted feelings being spilled.

Warnings: none (I think)

a/n: no use of y/n (for the very first time in my life please applaud me); no specific physical descriptions of reader (besides her being female)

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Shelves were stocked, tapes were rewinded, every corner of the store had been cleaned at least twice. There were no tasks left to do, no positions left to stand or sit down that would make that shift less tedious. It was a Tuesday, Family Video was dead and so was Steve’s list of topics of conversation. There was literally nothing left to do.

“Ugh, where’s Robin?” his coworker threw her head back, groaning in fake agony. Steve rolled his eyes at her dramatics but smiled in amusement.

“Uh, you sent her home early because there was no point in her being here, remember?”

“Right. I should’ve sent you home instead.”

Steve scoffed.

“Woah, calm down, no need to be so excited to be working with me.”

“Well, no offense but I’m kind of tired of looking at your face ‘cause it’s the only face besides Robin’s that I’ve seen all day and it’s actually driving me insane.”, she replied while grabbing a stapler from the counter. She started playing with it, tearing it apart as if to understand how it was made and how it worked.

“I wish I could say the same thing.”

She looked up from the stapler, suspiciously eyeing him.

“Are you flirting with me, Harrington?”

“Why are you so surprised? I flirt with you all the time.” Steve replied nonchalantly, as if that statement wasn’t news to anyone. In fact, it really wasn’t, but for some reason she never realized it, or if she did, she didn’t take it seriously or simply chose to ignore it.

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do, ask Robin. Ask anyone, really.”

The girl rolled her eyes. Robin was always insisting about Steve’s supposed feelings for their best friend. She never understood where that was coming from, why Robin was constantly picking on her about it and, worst of all, why Steve never denied anything. She has always witnessed the boy flirting with anyone attractive enough to catch his eye, especially customers. Hell sometimes she wished she was on the other side of the counter also being flirted with. But, contrary to him, she would never admit to being attracted to her best friend. She also couldn’t notice, let alone admit, that Steve hadn’t attempted to use his charm on anyone else for a long while, except for her. She had been his target long enough for Robin and the kids to notice and for them to make a big deal out of it, loud, in broad daylight, with her being present. She still didn’t get it.

“Gosh. Why is this day taking so long to end?” the girl leaned on the counter in front of her, her elbows supporting her weight and she let her head fall in her hands. Steve sighed and nodded his head in agreement.

“I might actually die of boredom.”

“Can it get any worse?”

And just as soon as those words left her mouth, the bell over the door announced a new presence in the store, but it was just Keith. Steve sighed again, this time in annoyance, and replied to her rhetorical question.

“I guess it can.”

She looked up abruptly and swore under her breath. If there was someone even more obnoxiously and straight forward with their flirting than Steve, it was Keith. The only difference being she noticed when her boss did it because not only was he really bad at it, she definitely, very clearly didn’t like him and the way he talked and looked at her made her skin crawl. It was way too easy to get that job, for obvious reasons, and the only justification as to why she still worked at Family Video was because her two best friends were there to make up for the hell that working for and with Keith was. And honestly, if she got to work alongside Steve, and spend even more time with him, then dealing with her boss’s disturbing approaches was a small price she was willing to pay.

Keith greeted her first, and even attempted a wink that, if she wasn’t so disturbed by it because it was directed at her, she would’ve laughed at it.

“Hi.” she greeted him back, with an awkward smile and her eyes fixed on the stapler again.

“And hi, loser.”

“Keith.” if looks could kill.

He made his way around the counter to join the pair and, as if by instinct, the girl took a tiny step closer to Steve. She always did that, even with Robin. Having someone extra close to her was like having an armour to protect her from Keith’s attention.

“So,” she started, still not lifting her gaze from the stapler, “what brings you here on your day off?” the boy smiled pathetically, delighted that she was directly and intentionally talking to him.

“Well, it’s oddly quiet today, so I thought there’s no point in keeping the store open for the rest of the day.”

“Couldn’t you have called?” Steve asked, “We could’ve closed it ourselves.”

“I’m not talking to you, Harrington.”

Again, if looks could kill. The girl rolled her eyes at the petty disdain over her best friend.

“He’s right, though. You didn’t have to bother coming all the way here.”

“I understand.” Keith’s tone transformed once he turned to her again, “But I also wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh boy.” she mumbled.

“I was wondering if you’d be interested in going out with me? We could even, maybe, rent out something from the romance section, although, I’ll have to say, not my first choice, but I’m determined to put our differences aside.”

She cringed at his words. Surprisingly, it took him too long to ask her out, considering the effort he put into wooing her. Not that it ever worked. She saw Steve through her peripheral, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth, trying not to laugh.

“What gives you the impression romance is my first choice?” she crossed her arms, the action intimidated Keith enough to drop his confident smile.

“Uh, well,” he cleared his throat, “I just assumed since you’re a girl, and all girls like romance,” her eyebrows shot up in amusement at the assumption. The lack of experience with women was so evident and equally entertaining for both her and Steve, who was growing red from holding back his laughter. “And, you know, you’re such a sweet, nice girl, I uh, I just assumed you’d be into that kind of stuff.”

“Tough, man. Very tough.” Steve mumbled behind his hand, and the girl not so lightly smacked him in the stomach.

“Right.” was all she could come up with. Now, she just needed an excuse to let him down gently. “Well, I’m flattered, Keith, truly.”, not, “But, uh, I already have a date today.”

“Oh?” Keith chuckled nervously, “And who’s the lucky gentleman?”

“Steve.”

She said her best friend’s name way too quickly, and it felt almost as embarrassing as Keith’s attempt at asking her out. Almost.

It was now Steve’s turn to raise his eyebrows in amusement and, truthfully, surprise. He surely didn’t expect to be used like that, but he would be lying if he said he was offended. Any opportunity to humble Keith? He would take it, and now he had a new favorite thing to throw at his face.

“Steve?” Keith asked, confusion and also a hint of disgust dripping from his tone.

“Yes. Steve.” her voice was gentle.

“This Steve?”

“Hmhmm.”

“Him?”

“Yes, Keith.” she was now getting annoyed, “This Steve. Harrington. Douchebag Steve Harrington.”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.” the girl whispered and patted his shoulder.

“Uh, okay. I had no idea you two were going out.”

Steve joined the lying train.

“That’s because we keep it professional when we’re working together. But outside,” his arm was thrown over the girl’s shoulders to pull her closer, her fingers crossing with his where his hand hovered her chest, “we are so in love.” she pinched his side, a sign for him to stop talking and hop off the train.

“Anyway, uh, sorry about that.” she intervened, referring to the rejection.

“It’s okay. But between you and me,” Keith leaned a bit forward and held his hand up, palm facing out and hiding his mouth from Steve’s sight, “you can do so much better.”

“I can hear you.”

“Once again, not talking to you, Harrington.”

After a few tense and awkward seconds of silence, Keith eventually told the pair that they could go home, or, “go on their date” and he made sure to use as much venom as possible in his wishes. Once outside, they both got in Steve’s car and sat there in silence for a fat moment, unsure what came next. They didn’t exactly think it through. They could go home, Steve could drop her off at her place and he would follow to his own. Or, since they were leaving work earlier, they could hang out. Or:

“What if- What if we went on an actual date?”

It took her a moment to digest his question.

“Uh, babes, you know we were just joking in there, right?” she looked at him, searching for any hint of humor in his genuinely hopeful expression.

“I know, I know, it’s just-” he sighed, “What if it doesn't have to be a joke?”

“Steve-”

“No, seriously, why not?” when she didn’t answer, he continued, “Look I know I have a long history when it comes to dating and this stupid reputation or whatever and you guys make fun of me for it, rightfully so I’ll admit, but,” he adjusted himself in the driver's seat to have his attention fully on her, “it was never a joke with you.”

That last sentence made something tighten in her stomach.

“What do you mean?”

“I think you know.” he took another deep breath, “Look I totally understand why you wouldn’t believe me but there’s no way you haven’t noticed. I haven’t been on a date in months, I don’t find anyone else interesting, I don’t even remember most of my pickup lines.”

“That’s okay, they were shit anyway.”

They both laughed, the tension building up in the car regressing a little bit.

“They were.” he chuckled again and returned his attention to her, again, hopeful.

It was her turn to take a deep breath. She always pictured how this conversation would go down, in a very hypothetical way. And now that it was actually happening she felt at a loss for words and control of her nerves. Her best friend was stepping into a restricted zone, or at least she thought they couldn’t and wouldn’t ever trespass. But there he was, spilling his feelings in the front seat, right between them, and nearly begging for a chance. She always assumed she would be the one in that position because, like he said, he had a history, and she never fit in it, so sue her for taking a while to accept her feelings were reciprocated.

“So,” she finally built up the courage, “say we would go on a date,” she raised a challenging eyebrow, “where would you take me?”

“I would pick you up from your place, we would get food from your favorite fast food restaurant’s drive-thru, go watch a movie at an outdoor cinema, then I would drive you back home and walk you to your front porch.”

Her smile grew bigger and bigger as he described what was basically her ideal first date. He was attentive and thoughtful, that certainly gave him bonus points.

“And then?”

“Then?”

Her smile became suggestive. Since they were putting all the cards on the table, they might as well play.

“How would you say goodbye?”

“How would you like me to say goodbye?”

“If you stop answering my questions with another question,” she too turned in her seat to face him completely, “I would like for you to kiss me.”

And that was his cue. He even took a look out the window to make sure that was real life, that he wasn’t dreaming, daydreaming or in an upside down reality. He placed his hand on her cheek, just to make sure she was actually there. He felt stupid.

Steve had wished for so long for her to look at him that way. Exactly like that. Like he was worth something, deserving, desired, truly looked at. So he decided he would accept it, try it out, see how it felt.

The boy leaned a bit more, he was now close enough to admire her irises in close detail, to feel her shaky, nervous breathing match his, to touch her lips with his own… except she turned her head slightly and his lips met her cheek instead.

“Take me on that date first?”

Steve felt like he had just been slapped awake from a dream. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed, but he also knew they had just marked territory in that (no longer) restricted zone. They needed time to settle and build.

“Right. Sorry. Of course.” he looked away, shaking his head with a nervous chuckle. So she held his face the same way he did to her a few seconds before and quickly pecked his lips. A tiny little taste. A promise.

“What are you waiting for Harrington? Start driving.”

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Part 2 soon