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mooningningg · 2 days ago

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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

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redrage71890 · 2 days ago

Text

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

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

Genres: Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Yandere

CW: None

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

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

————————————————————

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

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

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

"Again, I'm sorry..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Trouble? That's new.'

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

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

'So close?'

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

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

"Oh, right."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”I do have one idea.”

”Just one?”

“Shoot, Zoey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now, marks the third time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

'Oh you don't say!'

"Ssh! Quietly, Zoey."

"Why are there so many people today?"

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

"Down that alleyway."

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

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

"Yep, about as legit as I expected."

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

"Earth and herby. Smells legit to me."

"Yay! That's the spirit! 가자 가자 가자!"

"Hurry, before someone sees us."

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

Though one picture caught her eye.

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

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

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

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

"Okay, let me see."

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm just trying to stay focused."

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

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

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

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

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

"W-What?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Just give us the voice juice."

————————————————————

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

That picture on the wall seemed oddly familiar.

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

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

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

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

"Oof!"

"Sorry, are you alright?"

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

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

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

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

"I remember that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm so glad to hear that!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I only see shame and guilt."

————————————————————

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

"I DON'T KNOW?!"

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

"Did anyone find where she went?"

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

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

"What is going on?!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait. What is that?"

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

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

"Hey, hey"

"Hey"

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

"Don't want you, need you"

"Yeah, I need you to fill me up"

"Masigo masyeo bwado"

"Seonge chaji ana"

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

"You could be everything that"

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

"Every sip makes me want more, yeah"

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

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

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

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

"Neoui modeun geol nan wonhae, wonhae, wonhae"

"Neo malgon modu pyeonhae, pyeonhae, pyeonhae"

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

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

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

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

"Jigeum dangjang nal bwa sigan еopjana"

"Neon naekkeoya imi algo itjana"

"'Cause I need you to need me"

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

'A drop?'

"My little soda pop"

"You're all I can think of"

"Every drop I drink up"

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop"

"Cool me down, you're so hot"

"Pour me up, I won't stop"

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop"

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

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

"It is annoyingly catchy, though."

"Its infectious."

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

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

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

"(Gasp) They're demons!"

"Magicians! Demons. Obviously demons."

"My little soda pop"

"Uh, make me wanna flip the top"

"Han mogeume you hit the spot"

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

"Soreum doda it's gettin' hot"

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

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

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

"'Til my soda pop fizzles out"

"Dang they're good."

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

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

"No, its too public."

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

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

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

"Kkum soge geuryeowatdeon neo"

"Nan jeoldae nochil su eopseo"

"Neol wonhae kkok"

"I waited so long for a taste of soda"

"So, the wait is over, baby"

"Come and fill me up"

"Just can't get enough"

"Oh"

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

"Demons are never nice!"

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

'Think before you act, girls.'

"You're all I can think of"

"Every drop I drink up"

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop (Yeah, yeah)"

"Cool me down, you're so hot"

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

"You're my soda pop"

"My little soda pop"

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

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

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

"Ooh, ooh"

"You're my soda pop"

"Gotta drink every drop"

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

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

The demon boy band disappearing in a puff of smoke.

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

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

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

*Ding*

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

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

————————————————————

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

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

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sevsevteen · 1 day ago

Text

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ [ laces // collar // midsole ]

The rest of the dorm was in varying degrees of chaos.

Mingyu was yelling about someone stealing his hair tie.

Dino was trying to brush his teeth and find a clean tee in the pile of dirty laundry.

And Vernon had locked himself in the bathroom playing music too loudly to hear Jun’s increasingly dramatic knocking.

Typical.

Meanwhile, Soonyoung shuffled out of his room, eyes half-closed, hair in what could only be described as a “lion mane.” He blinked blearily, scratching his stomach absently as he made his way toward the kitchen in search of iced coffee.

He froze.

Because the kitchen?

Did not look like the usual battlefield of half-eaten leftovers and cereal boxes.

Instead, it was…peace.

You were standing at the stove in an oversized hoodie - Wonwoo’s hoodie, he noted - humming quietly as you stirred half-finished ramyeon in a small pot. There was a bandage around your pinky, and you were balancing on one foot like you always did when you were concentrating.

Behind you, Wonwoo sat at the kitchen table, completely absorbed in slicing whole kimchi into little pieces.

But it wasn’t what the both of you were doing that made Soonyoung pause.

It was the silence.

The kind of silence you slip into with someone you’ve been around too long to need words with.

The kind that feels like a lived-in secret.

The kind that knows.

You turned with a small grin, holding up the pot.

“Is it too salty?” You took a test-sip.

Wonwoo looked up. “Let me taste.”

You held up a spoon to his mouth.

And he leaned forward and sipped it right from the spoon - the same spoon, mind him - like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“I think it’s perfect,” he murmured, picking up a piece of kimchi to your lips.

“Really?” You beamed, taking the vegetable right off his fingertips. “I tried adding new ingredients into the base.”

Soonyoung’s soul left his body.

He stared, jaw hanging slightly open, blinking rapidly like this was a sleep-deprived hallucination. But no - that was definitely Wonwoo casually wiping the corner of your lips with his thumb when a bit of leftover red had gotten on it.

“...HEY.”

Both you and Wonwoo jumped, almost dropping the pot.

Soonyoung pointed between them dramatically. “What. What is this.”

Wonwoo blinked. “Breakfast?”

“No. No-no-no. This–” he circled a finger at you, “–is not ‘breakfast.’ This is domestic bliss. This is so suspicious. This is...you let her wear your hoodie!”

You looked down. “I spilled soup on mine yesterday–”

“She’s holding your mug. The cat one. The one you don’t let anyone else touch.”

Wonwoo just blinked again, calm as ever. “She asked nicely.”

Soonyoung made a noise between a gasp and a squawk. “Something’s going on.”

“No, we’re—” You started, but your voice faltered when you saw the look on Wonwoo’s face.

He wasn’t denying it.

Not even close.

He was just...watching you.

Softly. Like he always did. Like the world stopped around him. Like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.

You blinked. Your stomach churned with butterflies.

Maybe he hadn't said it out loud yet. But this?

Yeah.

Soonyoung threw his hands up in the air. “I knew it! I KNEW something was going on. You two always whisper in corners and share books and act like you’re in a drama!”

“Hoshi-ngie,” Wonwoo said calmly. “Lower your voice. She’s burning the food.”

You squeaked and turned back to the stove with a laugh that gave you away completely.

Soonyoung grinned like he’d just discovered treasure. “I’m telling everyone.”

“No, you’re not,” both Wonwoo and you said in unison.

[세븐틴]

🐯: her. wonwoo. kitchen. soft smiles. spoon-feeding. hoodie sharing. I REST MY CASE.

🍊: I KNEW IT

🐰: should we pretend to be surprised or is it time to buy them matching slippers

🐶: I call best man

🦦: you just want an excuse to wear a tux

🐱: can they at least confess before we plan their honeymoon

🦔: 👀😳

...

🐈‍⬛ left the chat

#seventeen 14th member #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen #seventeen drabbles #svt imagines #svt 14th member #svt scenarios #svt #sevsevasks #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo fluff #seventeen wonwoo #wonwoo drabbles

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dono-harm-totonystark · 3 days ago

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Dear anyone out there who's got my brand of autism and can't bring themselves to drink water because of its texture and/or taste; and is struggling in the summer with everyone telling you to drink water but you would rather get heat stroke and die than have water in your mouth:

it's fine.

Drink anything! Juice, sports drinks, soda, squash, tea, iced coffee, whatever you can get in you. Eat popsicles if that's better. I don't care.

Because guess what? the main ingredient in all of these IS water.

I drink soda exclusively, all the time. I have my blood & urine tested regularly. I am not dehydrated, not even in the peak of summer. Sure, I'd love to drink juice, but soda is cheaper per litre and I can buy it in bulk and it will keep, as opposed to juice that Must Be Consumed Within 24h Or Else. ("Just put it in the fridge!" my neurotypical friends say; and then my object permanence makes me forget about it, it goes bad anyway, and I don't drink anything at all for days.) I am also a medical professional. Not for humans, but water metabolism is actually pretty much the same across all mammals. I have clients call all the time like, "I'm trying to get her to drink but she's not wanting water!" GOOD! That's a good thing! It means she's not dehydrated despite whatever she may have lost or she's getting enough water from her food to supplement those losses. That is a good thing! And any nephrologist worth his salt (hon hon) will tell you the same thing: your main indicator of dehydration is thirst. If you're thirsty, and you drink fluid, and you stop feeling thirsty? Congrats! You have achieved Hydration. What kind of fluid this was is secondary. (Side point: ever noticed how most doctors/nurses ask you about 'fluid intake', not 'water intake'?)

If you don't trust yourself to feel thirst, your second indicator of dehydration is the colour of your urine. If you look down and it looks strangely dark, and you think back and you've not drank anything in hours, you should probably do so. Also, the colour going from darker to lighter over the course of the day shows whatever you do for hydration is working.

"Sugar dehydrates you" is a myth. Sugar or salt, or most other readily available oral electrolytes are not diuretics. They don't make you urinate significantly more. If you intake too much of them, they will be excreted in urine, but that urine will be no more or marginally more dilute than if you had drank water, because of your kidney's reuptake mechanisms retaining fluid when it is needed.

The reason why this myth goes around is because sugar causing increased thirst, urine dilution, and chronic dehydration is something that happens with diabetes (and some other endocrine disorders). Health issues make it so you are more susceptible to various states of being, and you should always adjust your diet and fluid intake accordingly. BUT! If you are a healthy person with good kidney and pancreas function, you can safely consume water in any form or mixture, and it will hydrate you. Pinky swear. TL;DR: there's nothing wrong with needing to avoid water and drinking other fluids, if your body is able to pick up the slack.

~ sincerely, a person who has not drank water since the turn of the millennium and continues to be alive and well

PS. For the record, I'm not saying other fluids are as healthy as water or exactly as effective (though this is probably arguable, depending on what water we're comparing to what fluid) but since not everyone can drink water and it made me feel alienated to read 'you can still drink juice only if you drink water with it!' and I've met multiple people who had similar sensory issues and thought they were alone... It just felt prudent to mention it.

PSA: i keep seeing posts about staying cool in extreme heat that include advice like "gatorade is bad actually!" and "don't drink fruit juice it'll just dehydrate you!" and neither of these are true!

regarding fruit juice: there's apparently a misconception that Any Sugar At All will dehydrate you, and that's simply not true. yes, sugar will make you pee more when consumed in large amounts, but 1) the natural sugar in fruits won't do this to you 2) great news! a lot of fruit juices exist without any added sugar in them! 3) honestly even having a glass of the fruit juice with added sugar won't completely dehydrate you as long as you're also drinking water throughout the day. if its hot you deserve a cold treat of a drink!!! can't go wrong with fruit juice!!!

regarding gatorade: maybe this isn't an every day drink, but guess what: if it's 110F/40C or hotter outside, and you don't have AC, or you're moving around a lot outside of the AC, and you're sweating buckets: that's when you drink a gatorade.

gatorade exists to replenish all the electrolytes (salt) and glucose (sugar) that you sweat out. YES it is meant for athletes to drink during intensive work outs and not necessarily for people who aren't doing that kind of exercise. BUT GUESS WHAT! when you're sweating buckets because you had to walk to the bus in extreme heat, that's intensive exercise. please feel free to drink a gatorade after that! that's its intended use case!!!!

no: neither of these drinks should be a total replacement for water. but drinking a lot of water and then treating yourself to a fruit juice with lunch is a good idea!!! drinking a gatorade becuase you just had to walk for 20 minutes in the heat is a good idea!!!

Please Stop Spreading Misinformation About Drinks!!! It's fine if you drink things that aren't water!!!! Yes you should probably always be drinking water but drinking something else As Well isn't going to hurt you!!!! okay!!!! its fine!!!!!!

honestly so long as you are consistently getting Any (non-alcoholic) fluids in you, you're doing great!!!!!! okay!!!! i love you stay safe <3

#medical mumbo-jumbo #hydration #actually autistic #sensory issues

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ihrthoney · 2 days ago

Text

clean

pairings: namgyu x f!reader

summary: namgyu is more than a benefit. some things are tweaked ofc, everyone voted x and went home heh.

warnings: fluff!

an: hes still alive guys! kinda rushed cause i really wanted to get something out. i miss writing

namgyu saw you a few times at the club but never paid any mind when he was too busy chasing the high from different substances. he would give you a few free drinks, in hopes you’d let him take you out.

you always declined, telling him to get clean first then ask. your answer never changed and he scoffed, rolling his eyes at your response.

he never did get clean, but he tried because you were too pretty not to.

it was the games that brought you face to face again, he was shocked that you would ever give into something so sketchy. immediately he went up to you, your shocked expression matching his own.

you explained that you had issues of your own, hating that you owed people anything and this was the easiest way for money. it’s just games right?

after the first game, namgyu made you stay by him. he convinced you into one more game, promising to protect you. the man lived up to his word, asking you to join his team and continue being by his side.

although you scolded him still, even in a life or death situation, “don’t ever call se-mi a bitch again, or any woman at that,” he rolls his eyes until you pinch him, getting him to nod his head at your demand.

“good. you continue to keep your word and i’ll stay in this with you.” it made him feel good to be seen as useful and not just a benefit.

still, after the pill thanos gave him, the adrenaline in attacking people was too good, he couldn’t let the opportunity of more money slipping away, not when he could spend it on you! his logic was flawed and clouded by chemicals.

during the night of everyone getting attacked for more votes, he told you to get in his bed and lay as still as possible. you tried to get him to just sleep the night off with you, but he had to make sure no one attacked either of you.

you were pissed and terrified. namgyu was the only face you knew outside and it comforted you to have some kind of grounding to reality. 455 strangers in a windowless room made you want to vomit but standing behind namgyu and holding his bloody hand gave you a sick feeling of sanity. at least you could count on someone in here.

he squeezed your hand in reassurance, keeping you hidden behind his frame.

during the rebellion you stayed with him in his bed, bodies so close the only barrier between you two were clothes. his eyes were crazed but he was holding you gently.

for keys and knives you were on opposite teams, he was so excited to get a knife but seeing you in the blue vest sparked a fear he didn’t realize he had.

he tried to get minsu to switch with you, promising he wouldn’t kill him but you interfered, telling namgyu that you didn’t want to kill anyone. you couldn’t.

namgyu was obviously upset at the statment, needing you to have stronger survival instincts but he didn't have enough time to convince you, “don’t find the exit. just hide and i will find you okay?”

horrified at the people on the other team, you shook your head repeatedly, “i’m not strong namgyu, the men on your team-“

his hands hold your shoulders, thumbs soothingly massaging your shoulders, “don’t worry about them. i’ll get you. do you trust me?”

nodding you answer him, “of course.” looking in your eyes reminds him of all the times he has stared at you at the club. the rush of just wanting. he was afraid you’d use him or toss him aside like thanos, but you viewed him as an equal. as a person.

he watched you take off with the blue team and rushed into the maze to find you.

namgyu couldn’t find you. even with mg coin’s idea to have a key. every dead body he saw, he flipped to check if it was you. his heart was racing and it wasn’t because of the pills.

the time ran out and he could only hope he saw your face in the crowd of survivors.

and when he did, the smile of he relief dropped when he saw the tears in your eyes. the fear.

your legs moved fast to him, hands slamming into his chest to push him, an accusatory tone filled your voice as you drove your finger into his chest, “you said you would find me!”

he tries to grab your hands, moving back but you kept pushing forward, “i tried to look i swear!” your head was still shaking rapidly, “your number was called on the speakers, you passed! did you just leave me? did you forget about me? i almost died namgyu!”

finally, his hands latch onto yours, he steadies your form so you can look at him, “i’m sorry, im so sorry. i really stayed to look for you.”

the tears drip down your face, fear still prominent in your eyes, “promise me that you did.”

his heart only beat a bit faster at your frame hugging his, calm now that you didn’t leave him behind, “i promise. i would never let you die in here.”

due to the last game being so violent and loosing more people that accounted for,

the vote to leave was higher by a few people, one being namgyu who was tweaking at losing the necklace and not being able to have that piece of strength to get through the horrors of this place.

you tried to convince him that he didn’t need drugs to be strong but you didn’t fully get it, and you never would. his choice to leave was for the better. he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if you died because he couldn’t protect you.

after leaving, you found him in the club again but in casual clothes rather than a uniform.

“i was hoping to find you, namgyu.”

his eyes widen as he whips around, "yn."

your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, wondering why he's so surprised at the sight of you. you visited the club quite often, to stare at him, drink, and stare more, "what's with the look?"

he still stares, "why are you here?"

moving towards him, you grab his hand, "i'm here for you. you clean?" you sigh at his head shaking 'no' but almost dying multiple times makes you care less, "if you want to date, then you have to get clean. understand?"

namgyu's brain is trying to wrap his mind around everything, you want to date.. him?? why are you coming around? he killed people?

your finger flicks his forehead, it snaps him out of thinking, "life's too short, the games taught me that. you kept your word and saved me, i owe you a date, maybe two?"

"are you sure? thanos is over there." he points his finger to the crowd but your eyes don't leave his face, "i'm not here for the marvel villan, i'm here for you gyu." the nickname makes namgyu blush, he rushes to cover his face,

gently, you pull his hand down and hold it with your own, "when do you get off?"

he looks around, the club is busy enough that he agrees to take off with you right then and there. he treats you to dinner and walks you back to your place, his heart thumping like it would on a drug. walking hope he almost skips with joy, he hopes this new addiction doesn't kill him.

#ᝰ honeywrites #namgyu x reader #namgyu x you #namgyu x y/n #namgyu squid game #namgyu #player 124 #namgyu fluff #namgyu angst #squidgame season 2 #squidgame x reader #squidgame x you #squidgame fluff

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fakelaceyy · 2 days ago

Text

⋆˙⟡ 𝙩𝙫 - 𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙚 𝙚𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙝

summary - you had committed about a month ago, but chris can't move on. he found himself hallucinating and getting horrible sleep with the thought of how you could've possibly been feeling. he wishes he could've done more to help, but it's too late.

warnings - not proofread , angst , mentions of suicide and depression , crying , mentions of hallucinations and anxiety , venting , self blame

sparkle divider - @bernardsbendystraws

chris had been quiet for almost the entire month.

matt and nick tried to talk to him, but he was too numb to care about what they were asking him, or anything they were telling him.

he couldn't focus. not with the idea in his head that he should've done more for you. should've checked up on you more than he did. should've helped more.

he felt guilty, and nothing was helping. not company from his brothers, not the familiar, comforting scent of your clothes, nothing.

he'd been sitting on the living room couch for God knows how long, his eyes blurry as the tv played survivor in the background of his lingering thoughts.

he'd been paranoid for the past few weeks. over what?, he didn't know. he had no idea. he could've sworn he saw your figure lingering a few times in the hallway, in the corners of his room...but he couldn't do anything about it.

he wanted to talk to matt, to know more about his signs of anxiety, or possible depression..but he didn't know how. he felt weak whenever he even thought about mentioning it to anyone.

his friends had become distant, not calling or texting.

'they probably think i'm meaning to ignore them,' chris thought as he stared at his silent phone.

usually, his notification center would be full of texts or calls from you, the occasional video sent on tiktok or instagram. but there was nothing. and that made the pang in his chest hurt even more.

days had blurred into weeks, and he could barely read the time anymore. he assumed the hour by the light coming through the windows. he felt a little at ease when there was sun outside, but then the moon rose..he found himself feeling more empty than ever.

nights like those would usually mean watching a movie with you, or just talking until you dozed off.

on a random thursday, when nick would usually want to film, he sat next to him on the couch instead, not saying a word for a moment.

nick let out a small sigh before he attempted speaking to him.

"if you wanna take a break from filming for a while, it's fine.." he mentioned quietly, "you're going through a lot, chris. you need a break."

chris already felt the tears filling up his waterline. as a cold, salty tear dripped down from his cheek, he breathed in through his nose.

"i'm sorry.." he mumbled quietly, not completely sure of what else to say, "it's my job, i should be able to continue.." he murmured, leaning back against the couch, "i-it's just, i don't--"

nick cut him off, "but you should also be able to take a break." he said bluntly, "we don't need to continue immediately. you're grown, you can make your own decisions."

"i miss her, nick," chris choked a sob, unable to hold it back anymore.

"i know. we do too." he mumbled softly, his light blue eyes looking over to chris.

"i don't know what to do.." chris confessed, "i feel helpless..and..i-i can't help but think it's my fault, i should've done more.." he muttered, his voice shaky.

matt, who had just entered the kitchen looked over at the two as chris mentioned he felt like it was his fault. his brows furrowed as he slowly closed the fridge.

"chris, if she needed more of your help, she would've said something." matt stated quietly as he grabbed a small snack from the pantry.

"but, matt, she obviously needed help, and if she didn't feel comfortable enough to talk to me then it's obvio--" chris stammered out,

"enough, chris," matt demanded, walking over to the couch and tossing a bag of chips to chris, "you haven't eaten," he muttered, "and you need to understand that you're not the problem here."

chris wiped his teary eyes, sniffling quietly.

"it's just gonna take me a while, okay?.." he mumbled, "we had so many things planned, and..now she's gone..just like that.."

matt and nick sat there in silence, telling him he could continue if he wanted to. but chris kept quiet after that. he felt weak, crying like that in front of them. but at the same time, he felt more comforted than he had all month. all the time without you.

he felt helpless. angry, even. but he couldn't be mad at you. only at himself.

a/n: this took me soso long to write bc i needed to gather my fricking emotions . anyway.

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formulafanfics13 · 8 hours ago

Note

maybe another size kink fic with Max??? Reader always laughs it off when people point out their size diff but one night it just gets to her and she tries to leave. Max gets confused she tells him how he deserves some tall model beside him. And he gets pissed cz how could she think he wants anyone else does she not love him)?? So He takes it upon himself to show her how much he wants her and she belongs to him therefore never allowed to leave

Never Let You Go - MV1 🔥

Masterlist

summary: you've always laughed off the size difference. shrugged when people made comments. kissed max's hand and told him you didn't care. but tonight it gets to you. the whispers. the stares. the assumptions. and when you try to leave, max follows — furious that you'd ever think he wanted someone else. so he fucks the doubt out of you. hard. rough. worshipful. until you understand: you're his, and he's never letting you go.

warnings: size kink, possessiveness, dom!max, sub!reader, rough sex, emotional intensity, reader tries to leave (not a breakup), degradation mixed with praise, creampie kink, slight breeding kink language, choking (light), manhandling, overstimulation, slight crying kink, multiple orgasms, aftercare

It doesn't start with a fight. It starts with a whisper.

You're in the paddock, post-race. Max has already won. Again. He's glowing. A little sweaty, still in his race suit, Red Bull cap backwards and champagne in one hand. You're in a little sundress. Tight at the top, short on your thighs. Cute. You know it is.

But then a group of influencers pass. Too tall. Too model-thin. Too effortless. One of them glances at Max. Then at you. And smirks.

"She's, like... tiny," you hear her whisper. "Looks like his niece."

Laughter. High-pitched. Plastic. You roll your eyes. You're used to it. Always have been. Max is six foot one and carved from steel. You're small. Soft. Curvy in places that make outfits hard to pull off. You don't model. You don't pose. You exist, quietly, next to him.

And usually, it's fine. Usually. But tonight it's not. You try. You really fucking try.

You smile. You dance at the afterparty. You let Max wrap an arm around you while photographers shout his name.

But every time you catch your reflection, in a mirror, a phone, a camera lens, it hits you. You look like a joke.

So you slip away. Out the side door of the hotel ballroom, down the hall, back toward your suite. You leave your heels behind. Don't even care that you're barefoot on marble tile. You just need to get away.

You're halfway to the elevator when you hear it. "Where the fuck are you going?" Max. His voice is sharp. Angry. Worried.

You freeze. "Don't," you whisper.

He strides toward you. Fast. Furious.

You turn, arms folding over your chest. His eyes rake over you, bare feet, flushed face, trembling hands.

"What happened?" he demands. "Did someone say something?"

You shake your head. "I just want to be alone."

"Like hell." He grabs your wrist. Gentle, but firm.

"Max-"

"No." His eyes are wild. His chest heaving. "You're leaving my party. Without a word. Like you don't belong here. Like you don't belong with me."

You snap. "I don't."

His jaw tightens.

"I don't," you repeat. "I'm not like them. You deserve someone tall and gorgeous and- and photogenic. Not-not this."

You gesture at yourself. Small hands. Soft body. Breasts that never quite sit right in a dress. Hips that always need tailoring. Legs that barely reach Max's knees when you sit beside him.

You don't even realise you're crying until he steps closer.

"Don't do that," he says, voice low now. "Don't talk about my girl like she's not enough."

You turn to leave.

He growls. "I said don't." And then his hands are on your waist, lifting you like you weigh nothing, slamming your back against the suite door, mouth crashing onto yours.

You moan. Struggle. "Stop," you gasp. "I can't-"

He kisses your cheek. Your jaw. Your throat. "You can. And you will. Because I'm going to fuck the doubt out of you."

The door opens behind you. He kicks it closed. You barely register how fast it happens. Your back hits the mattress. Your dress is gone. Your panties too.

Max stands at the edge of the bed, shirt already off. Cock thick and heavy in his hand. "You think I want someone else?" he growls. "You think some runway zombie could take your place?"

He grabs your ankle. Drags you down the bed. "You're perfect. Every inch. Every curve. Every soft, pretty fucking part of you."

You whimper. He slaps the inside of your thigh.

"You think I don't see how gorgeous you are? You think I don't love how small you are under me? How my hands wrap around your hips? How I can lift you and fuck you in the air?" He's kneeling now. Pulls you onto his lap. Fists your hair. "I want you. Not her. Not them. You."

You shake your head. Still crying. He kisses your tears. And slams into you. You scream. Every time feels new. Every time makes you gasp. But this time? He's rough. He's furious. And it's all for you.

"Take it," he growls, voice animal. "Take my cock. That's it. Stretch that pretty cunt."

You sob. Nails clawing at his back.

He grabs your jaw. Forces your eyes open. "Say you're mine."

You don't answer fast enough. He flips you. Fucks you from behind. One hand on your hip. The other wrapped around your throat. "Say. It."

"I'm yours," you gasp.

"Again."

"I'm yours, Max-fuck-yours!"

He moans. Thrusts faster. Harder. You're already cumming. Shaking. But he doesn't stop. He keeps going. Keeps claiming. Until your legs give out. Until you can't form words. Until all you can do is feel.

And when he finally cums? It's deep. Slow. Hot.

He groans your name like it's a vow. "You're not allowed to leave," he whispers, panting. "You belong to me."

He doesn't pull out. He rolls onto his side, dragging you with him. Still buried inside you. Still hard. His hand comes up to cup your face.

"You're beautiful," he says softly. "You hear me?"

You nod.

He kisses your forehead. Your cheek. Your lips. "I don't want anyone else. I can't want anyone else. You're it for me."

You blink. Eyes heavy. Mouth sore. "You don't want a tall model?"

He laughs. Shakes his head. "I want you. My tiny little disaster. My favourite toy. The only girl who can take all of me." He kisses your collarbone. "I'll prove it again if I have to."

You smile and whisper, "Okay."

253 notes · View notes

vampyrixdarling · 2 days ago

Text

KISSING LESSONS┆Chance x GN! Reader

— After being given a romance novel from one of Chance’s family members, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to experience your first kiss. Your childhood best friend offers to teach you. Kissing your best friend has never hurt anyone, right?

C.W: Itrapped mentions. Also not proofread. Possibly out of character towards the end but I tried my best.

Word count: 3.5k

Note: I would've wrote more but lowkey I just wanted to get this out there plus I was running out of motivation (that's why the making out scene was scrapped... maybe another day),, this is self indulgent and also my first time writing a kiss scene so enjoy <3 Also how are we enjoying the new display?

Cool. Calm. Easygoing.

Spoiled. Cocky. Arrogant.

But nonetheless, a charming young robloxian who could smooth-talk his way out of quite a few things if he tried.

At least, that’s how people would describe Chance.

Growing up, you had always known Chance as this cocky, overconfident person who lived life for the thrill. Since birth, their every need was met immediately, given that they were born into an extremely rich family. Your parents had been good friends with his family, so it only made sense that you two would eventually become close. And after a long while of hanging out and constantly being around each other due to events and such, you two did actually become close.

His parents owned a casino that he was never allowed to gamble in, despite him showing clear interest in the games and how everything worked. And also the fact that he wasn’t allowed in. But when he finally turned the legal age, you were there to celebrate his first win. And ever since then, you discovered something new about him: he really didn’t know when to stop gambling.

As a child, you were, to put it bluntly, a shy and nervous person. You always have been. That was one of the things that set you and Chance apart. He was friendly and outgoing, while you leaned more towards the introverted side of things. But he didn’t mind that. Despite you being reserved and a little awkward, he somehow found ways to bring you out of your shell.

Honestly? He found it amusing every time you’d fiddle with your fingers, pick or bite at your nails, avoid eye contact, and your absolute refusal to talk first. But that wasn’t a problem for him. He’d take the lead in most of your conversations at the start, rambling on and on about nothing as you’d sit beside them on a park bench, your hands gripping the worn-out wood and your eyes trained on your shoes. But… It wasn't so bad. You enjoyed hanging out with Chance.They were your first real friend. Your only friend, aside from a select few. And being best friends meant doing best friend activities.

You’d force them to make friendship bracelets with you. Your bracelet had a letter C charm on it, while theirs had your initial. You’d have sleepovers at their house and hide in blanket forts you two would spend all day making, eyes on the screen of your laptop in front of you two and hands reaching for the bowl of popcorn in between the two of you. None of you said anything when your hands touched.

During your decades of friendship, he was with you during all of your highs and lows, all of your important milestones. He celebrated with you when you got your driver's license, celebrated with you when you finally graduated from university and were able to afford your own apartment (even taking you out to this ridiculously fancy restaurant that made you remember how much you missed foods that weren’t instant noodles and other disgusting abominations that would belong in a Uni struggle meal TikTok slideshow. He paid for it all despite your insistence, by the way). You were honestly quite grateful that your friendship lasted all the way to adulthood.

Your social anxiety never proved to be that much of a problem when you were around Chance. Of course it’s gotten better since childhood, but it was still present in your life. You could recall a few instances where Chance would take the lead in things you weren’t too comfortable with; such as talking to cashiers, politely telling waiters and waitresses that they made your food wrong if you weren’t happy with it, all you had to do was look at them the same way you always did when you got a little too overwhelmed and they wouldn’t hesitate to do the talking. You could also recall instances where he’d subtly encourage you to try talking on your own. Chance’s plan started with cashiers. flashing you a smile or giving you a thumbs up while he stood a safe distance away; far enough for you to be independent but close enough to swoop in if things got too much for you.

Of course, you had your fair share of quarrels, but you two normally managed to get over it with apologies from the both of you and promises to do better. That’s what you liked about your friendship; you’re always able to move past it. You’re always able to have the hard conversations.

You’ve talked to Chance about things you could never say to anybody else, and so did he. You couldn’t recall just how many times you two have slept on call together, with just the presence of each other being enough to soothe you. Needless to say, you were great friends. And that never changed.

Even when he introduced you to somebody he met at his Casino.

“He’s a really great guy,” he enthused. “You’ll love him!”

You had a bad feeling ever since you first met ITrapped. He was a tall Robloxian with long yellow hair that matched his skin that had a faint blue hue. His long hair looked shiny and soft - you had to hold yourself back from asking him about his routine - and was styled into a braid that hung on his right shoulder, and the bangs that framed his face were pushed messily to the sides. Atop his head sat an ice crown, and he wore blue earrings. His clothing consisted of a victorian-like fashion; a dark blue vest with a white dress shirt underneath, along with dark green pants. Over all of it was a dark blue cape lined in a thick layer of white fur.

Everything about him seemed stunning, yet calculated. But something seemed off about him. Something about him seemed too good to be true. Maybe it was how snobby he appeared; like he thought he was somehow superior to his peers and those around him. Or maybe it was that smile that never seemed to reach his eyes; those cold, blue eyes that seemed to stare into the darkest depths of your soul.

Regardless of the reasoning, he left a rather sour taste in your mouth. But you decided to be the bigger person and put your feelings aside rather fast after seeing Chance’s eyes dart between the two of you. They must’ve been waiting for one of you to break the silence; to introduce each other, shake hands, anything.

And so you two did. Not fully by choice, but rather the unwillingness to dishearten Chance. At least, that much was true to you.

From that day forward, iTrapped began to hang out with you two a lot more, and the tension between you and him began to get more noticeable. Not by Chance, though.

You didn’t fully understand why you felt this way for him - or really what you felt. Was this jealousy? Insecurity? No matter what this feeling was, you knew one thing for certain. You didn’t trust him, not one bit. You tried to tell yourself that you weren’t jealous; that Chance was allowed to be friends with anyone he wanted. He was allowed to date or hang out with anybody he pleased, it would just be ugly and possessive of you to argue with that. But no matter how hard or how much you attempted to argue with yourself, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to ITrapped than what meets the eye. Part of your gut was telling you that your best friend was being taken advantage of, the other was screaming... something. ITrapped always knew just what to tell Chance, always knew how to sprinkle in passive aggressive remarks that you could tell left an impact on Chance. You even found yourself comforting Chance after a few of those incidents.

But they stayed. You didn’t know why. You didn’t know why even after everything, Chance still found it in their heart to forgive ITrapped; to open their arms once more and laugh with his other ‘best friend’ once more. You wished you had enough guts to bite back at ITrapped, but you had a gut feeling that Chance wouldn’t like that. But you also trusted Chance. He wasn’t stupid; he knows when people are trying to con them. So maybe you should trust them on this...

So you stayed silent. You wished you knew why.

Needless to say, you two didn’t like each other. One could even say you had a little bit of a rivalry between the two of you. Which is why you felt a tad bit guilty for feeling so relieved that he wouldn’t be hanging out with you two this time.

You two were in Chance’s room in silence, each of you doing their own thing. You were on their bed, huddled up in one of their spare blankets with an open book in your hands. It was a romance novel. Romance was never your favourite genre, much less your go-to, but one of Chance’s family members bought you it on your birthday and you didn’t have the heart to correct her. Why did she make such a purchase for you? She may or may not have overheard a conversation between you and Chance where you had admitted you liked to read, and she may or may not have practically cornered you in his kitchen later that day and asked you about it. It started innocently enough; novels or comics? What authors? Series or not?

That was until she reached the dreaded question, “What’s your favourite genre?” Fuck me, you thought to yourself. Not only was it totally nerve-wracking to talk to one of Chance’s family members alone in the kitchen late at night, but she was asking you about your interests. When’s the last time somebody ever asked you that?

So you may or may not have stuttered; may or may not have panicked a little bit. May or may not have said the first thing that came to your mind.

“Oh, uhm, uh... Romance.”

I’m going to kill myself.

She seemed to beam at that. She smiled ear to ear, nodding. She finally let you go, waving you off as you made your way to one of the guest rooms. You chalked the strange encounter up to her just trying to be nice and show interest in what you like. You know, with you practically already being part of the family. Thinking nothing else of the situation, you assumed that she’d forget about it and it wouldn’t be brought up ever again.

She’s been giving you those kinds of books ever since. At least you’re reading one of them now, you suppose. Better late than never. And this particular book was expensive...

You flipped the page silently, your focus solely on the novel and occasionally the tea that sat on a coaster on Chance’s nightstand. His bed was comfortable as you lay on your back, your eyes flickering between the words on the paper, their ceiling fan which also had a light, and Chance who was currently playing video games not too far away from you. You were, admittedly, a little tired; occasionally letting out quiet yawns and eventually grabbing your bookmark in the novel and closing it, putting the book back on the nightstand.

The room was dead silent, aside from the TV. The silence wasn’t awkward in the slightest; it never was. It was nice how you and Chance could just coexist in the same room - how there didn’t even need to be any talking between you two. Just your presence was enough for each other, and you really valued that.

But the silence had to break eventually. Chance soon set the controller down, standing up and walking towards the bed. The TV screen was still on, displaying the menu screen. The mattress sank on the other end for a few moments before Chance fully laid down, his shoulder accidentally brushing against yours. Your face heated up, a light blush spreading across your cheeks as they got comfortable beside you.

“So? Decided you had enough of reading?” They asked you, their tone low and gentle; it always got that way when you two were alone. You glanced at him and hummed in confirmation. “It’s good so far. A little irritating at times, but other scenes and some of the comedy bits make up for it.” You explained. They tilted their head slightly.

“Yeah? Irritating how?” Chance questioned, taking one headphone off of his ear. You shrugged, your focus on the ceiling as you tried to find the words. “The author keeps, like, adding scenes where you think the main character is going to kiss the love interest, but they never do. Ever. It’s kind of annoying, actually.” He nodded, staying silent and allowing for you to continue. “The first few times it happened, I could understand it. Most people love a good slow burn. But it- um... Gets to a point, you know? Like, I’m over halfway through this novel, the main character has so many other good love interests, and I’m honestly losing hope that they’ll ever kiss.”

They nodded, snickering. That got your attention, and you looked at him quizzically. “What’s so funny?” You asked, your brows furrowing in playful frustration. He grinned, lifting his hands in a defensive manner. “Nothing, nothing! You just... Don’t really strike me as the kind of person to read that kind of stuff.” “I wasn’t, until your lovely relative - bless her heart - practically forced an answer out of me when it came to what my favourite genre was.” You explained, cracking a smile. You yawned once again, your eyelids lowering just a bit.

“Tired, huh?” Chance asked. You nodded. They seemed to understand, and you two laid together in silence.

“...So, uh... Have you ever kissed anyone before?” That question was enough to catch Chance off guard. Their eyes darted to yours, and your gaze was locked on each other. He seemed genuinely surprised, and a little red in the face. Nonetheless, he coughed into his hand and broke eye contact, opting to look towards the TV instead. “Wow,” they eventually said. “That was forward. Where’d that come from?”

You shrugged.�� “I don’t know. I’m just... curious, I guess.”

Chance stayed silent for a few moments, processing the question before eventually coming up with an answer. “...Maybe a few times, yeah. But it, uhm, wasn’t really anything serious. You know?” He confirmed.

“What about you? Have you ever kissed anyone?” They asked. Your mouth opened as if to say something, only for nothing to come out. You were silent for a few moments as you tried to come up with an excuse that did not make you sound like a total bitchless loser. But unfortunately, you found none. Looks like you have to bite the bullet.

“Mmm... No. I, uh, haven’t.” You sheepishly admitted, nervously taking your gaze off of him.

He looked genuinely surprised at that. “Wait, seriously? Never?” They asked. You shook your head once more.

“Never.”

“...Wow.” You playfully punched his upper arm, causing him to wince and rub at it. “Jerk.” You scoffed. Chance was quick to go red in the face, shaking his head in an effort to defend themself. “Ow-! No! I mean- I’m just surprised, that's all! I didn’t mean it like I was making fun of you. I’m not.” You knew they were telling the truth, but you couldn’t deny that you found the slightest bit of enjoyment watching them try not to fumble over their words while attempting to explain themself.

You smiled, rolling your eyes. “I know,” you assured him. “But still... What do you mean ‘surprised?’”

“You know. You’re just... really pretty. And thoughtful, and kind... it’s a miracle nobody’s tried yet.” He confessed. “If you’re up for it, I guess I could... teach you how.” their offer almost made you short circuit. You had a pretty good feeling that they were really nervous as well, judging by their hesitance to make eye contact with you. They seemed to notice your hesitance, as they were quick to add onto his sentence.

“Of course, we don't have to. The last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable, or pressure you into doing something you don’t want to. It’s just that... We’re best friends. It’s the least I can do for you. It’s totally cool if you, uh, don’t want to, though.” They assured you.

Wait, was he being serious?

...ITrapped wasn’t here to ruin the moment, and you weren’t sure if this opportunity would seek you out again, so why not?

Your heart raced as they leaned in, lips parting like a question - or most likely an invitation. An invitation to succumb to your deepest desires; to give into temptation and walk the thin line you’ve both been dancing on ever since you’ve started feeling that loving ache in your chest. Or maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was more complex than that. The closer he got to your face, the more his eyes closed. You didn’t even fully remember tilting your head ever so subtly, leaning into their addicting touch that sent a spark igniting in your warm chest.

“Do you want this? Are you sure?” They whispered, their eyes glancing at your lips as if trying to memorize them, and then back at your eyes. Those same eyes that they swore they could get lost in.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please.”

And so they broke the distance, their lips brushed against yours ever so softly; like they wanted to savour every moment that they had with you. Your hand brushed against his, and it wasn’t long before your fingers interlocked. You could feel their hot breath against you, and you couldn't stop yourself from resting a hand on the back of his head, their soft hair between your fingers.

His lips felt soft and warm as they locked with yours, the lingering taste of those chocolate Pocky Sticks evident on his breath. Those were one of their favourite snacks.

It wasn’t rushed. It was passionate. He took his time with you, constantly checking in on you to make sure you were okay; that you were comfortable.

The room was silent, aside from the noises that came from you two every time one of you even slightly pulled away, only to go right back to where you left off. It was... peaceful. Passionate. Nerve-wracking.

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to be doing; with your hands, with your breathing. But it wasn’t long before Chance gently grabbed your free hand, giving it a subtle yet reassuring squeeze. Then he whispered something to you under his breath.

“It’s okay, relax. You’re doing fine. Just follow my lead, okay?”

Even just the touch of his hands made you feel like you were going to short-circuit. You wanted to open your eyes. You wanted to bear witness to Chance; you wanted to see him at his most vulnerable. Sure, you’d seen him cry many times, but this just felt like pure intimacy. The kind of intimacy you were only capable of dreaming of prior to this.

Every move, every touch, every breath filled you with euphoria. They were so gentle with you; as if one wrong move would leave you broken or shattered. Their hands travelled to different spots of you, and your hands did the same. Every touch and every whisper sent waves of shock throughout your body.

Though every good moment must end eventually.

When they pulled away at last, their cheeks were a dark - yet beautiful- shade of red. “...Oh weasel diesel.” Their breaths came in rushed and heavy, staring at you as if you were a divine being blessing them with this opportunity. Truthfully, it should’ve been the other way around. But could you really blame them when they love you so much?

Though admittedly, you weren’t any better. Your heart felt like it was beating a thousand miles a minute, your face felt like it was going to melt off, and you hid your face in your hands. This earned a smile from Chance, and a light chuckle soon afterwards.

“You did... good. That was good.” He praised. “And for your first time, too. Quick learner when faced with a professional, huh?” He joked. You rolled your eyes at him. It felt like his lips were still there - or maybe that was just you trying to not let go of the feeling. It was really hard to tell. “Yeah, a ‘professional.’” You teased. “You know, since you’re so confident, why don’t you teach me some more? You know, since you’re so experienced.”

Holy fuck what possessed you to say that?

Was it years of their arrogance rubbing off on you? Years of them helping you grow bolder and less ashamed of every word you said? Or maybe it was your longing for more - the inappropriate yet thrilling intimacy being shared between you two?

...Yeah, that seemed right.

His eyes widened, and for once they almost seemed to be at a loss for words. Ironic, really, considering how he’d always act. But he was kind of cute like this, was he not?

“Oh! Uh.. Yeah, sure. Definitely. If you want to” He scratched the back of his head nervously.

Glorious (inside joke) image by Batterizzz on TikTok

#forsaken x reader #chance x reader #forsaken chance x reader #oneshots #romantic #i have never wrote kissing before please help me #anyways time to go on break #not proofread

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moonstruckme · 3 days ago

Note

Hiya Mae can I please request something with reader falling asleep on Spencer or even vice versa. I feel like you would write it so dearly

Thank you angel <3

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 538 words

The sunset is sinking below an ocean of wispy cirrus clouds, setting them ablaze in fiery orange. It’s breathtaking, but Spencer shuts his window. He doesn’t want it to get in your eyes.

Yours is a quieter sort of loveliness. Lashes casting their delicate shadows over your cheeks, mouth open just a hair, the soft whistle of your breaths moving in and out of it. Spencer would choose your kind any day.

The whistle, he suspects, is due to some congestion on your part. It’s bound to happen sometimes—even as used to it as you all are, the immune system doesn’t take well to the schedules your team often has to keep on a case. Spencer flies home in the middle of catching something every few months, too, it’s one of the many, though lesser, hazards of your job. He noticed you looking a bit worn earlier today. He wasn’t the only one either, but JJ’s concern had felt like mother henning to you, and you don’t tend to like that. Spencer tried a subtler approach.

If you were less exhausted, you probably would have realized what he was doing. There are much more pressing aspects of your case to review than the tiniest, most banal aspects of each crime scene, and cataloguing those after your unsub has been caught is mostly pointless, but it worked as it was meant to. You’d dozed off, getting the rest you’ve so desperately needed for the past few days, while Spencer was still going over cement types and mixtures.

That you’d dozed off on Spencer’s shoulder wasn’t part of his plan, but he’s not upset about it.

Emily’s lips tug upward as she sees you on her way to the coffee pot in the back of the jet. “Glad she’s getting some sleep,” she chuckles. “Think we could all use it after that one.”

A low vibration against Spencer’s shoulder alerts him to the change. It comes from a sound pulled from your unconscious, an unwilling little hum as you start to rouse. He puts a hand to your head reflexively.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we’re home.”

This is more of an impulse than a plan but regardless it’s destined to fail. You’ll hear Spencer’s voice—a different voice than he’s ever heard himself use, by the way, light and soft as dandelion fluff—and compel yourself the rest of the way to wakefulness, too proud to fall asleep on anyone and too stubborn to leave Spencer to do the “work” he’d made up alone.

He’s not expecting for you to settle. But you do. You let your cheek sink back down onto Spencer’s shoulder with a sweet little breath that hushes his anxieties to nothing. You’re breathing evenly again before Emily has finished pouring her coffee.

She tucks her lips in as she goes by a second time, giving Spencer a look like the front of the jet is going to be gossiping about you now, but he really doesn’t care. He relaxes his shoulders a bit, slowly. You don’t stir. He’s not confident to move his hand from your head and expect the same result, but that’s okay; he wouldn’t want to anyway.

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vvvchu · 2 days ago

Text

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ Poor Little Rich Boy.

(He doesn't know how to flirt, but he wants you to touch him forever.)

He doesn’t talk.

Not because he’s rude.

He just... doesn’t know how.

You met him through mutual charity work, and at first you thought he didn’t like you. Cold stares, stiff posture, barely made eye contact. But then—one day—you caught him staring at your hands.

Just... staring.

And when you asked him why, he blushed violently and muttered:

“You have very elegant fingers...”

That's how it started.

Bruce is painfully shy.

But not in a boyish, bubbly way.

No—he’s haunted. Like he’s afraid of the sound of his own voice. Every word he speaks is calculated. Precise. Like he’s been trained to never let emotion slip.

But when you call him baby—

When you ruffle his hair, tease his ears, kiss the corner of his jaw?

He shatters.

You find out he’s a virgin by accident.

Well—sort of.

You suspect it. He’s awkward around women. Stares at your thighs like he’s never seen them before. Once got hard just from holding your hand too long.

You finally ask.

“Bruce… have you ever…?”

(You watch his throat bob.)

“No.”

“…Not even head?”

“I don’t… think I could handle that. I’d embarrass myself.”

You almost pounce.

When it finally happens?

He’s shaking.

Lying under you, shirt off, panting, eyes wide with fear and awe as you straddle him.

“You don’t have to be nervous, baby.”

“I-I’m not nervous about you, I’m—nervous you’ll hate me. That I’ll… come too fast. Or say something weird. Or—”

You shut him up with a kiss.

You kiss him so slowly, fingers stroking his trembling arms, and whisper:

“You’re doing perfect. You’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”

You go slow.

He’s so sensitive.

You rub his cock over his boxers and he whines.

Like a whimper. Broken. Desperate. His eyes are red. His lips are bitten pink. He doesn’t know where to put his hands.

So you guide him.

Let him feel your breasts. Let him touch your hips. Let him bury his face in your neck while you grind on him.

“It’s okay, baby. You can moan. You don’t have to be quiet with me.”

When you take him in your mouth?

He gasps.

Loud. Like it hurts.

His thighs jerk. His back arches. He cries.

Literally—fucking tears roll down his cheeks because he’s never felt anything like it.

“P-please, I can’t… it’s too much—!”

You suck him until he grabs your wrist in panic, begging:

“Please—slow down—I’ll cum—I don’t wanna cum yet—I want to be inside you, please—”

And when you finally sink down on him?

He stops breathing.

His hands grip your hips like he’ll float away. His eyes roll back. He moans your name like it’s the first word he ever said.

“You feel like heaven.”

You ride him slow. Make him look at you. Praise him. Touch his cheek. Kiss him as he trembles under you, totally wrecked and overwhelmed.

He keeps whispering,

“You’re so warm… you’re so soft… I didn’t know… it felt like this…”

And then:

“I love you.”

He cums fast.

You expected that.

But he’s so embarrassed, he tries to sit up and apologize, until you press your fingers to his lips and say:

“No. You did so good. You were perfect. And we’re not done, baby.”

You ride him again. Slow. Then harder.

Until he begs.

“Please… don’t stop… I want to make you feel good… I’ll do anything…”

After?

He won’t let go.

Lies on your chest, face buried in your skin, breathing slow, whispering things he’s too afraid to say out loud in the light of day.

“I don’t think I ever want anyone else to touch me again.”

“You make me feel safe.”

“I want to fall asleep inside you.”

#۫ ִ ࿔ 𝑫𝐂 #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fanfiction #batman x reader #batman x you #batman smut #batman x fem!reader #dc x reader

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doomflambe · 23 hours ago

Text

The first year was the hardest. Long ago. Too long for anyone to remember. No longer passed down in legends, for there is no one left to pass them down. I remember.

I remember the breakthroughs, the setbacks, the sleepless nights. Those who I loved, those who I pushed away. And when I finally made it?

There was nothing left.

I could've saved them. They didn't want to be saved.

They asked me to save them. They didn't deserve to be saved.

The first year was the hardest.

The second was not much easier.

Watching empires rise and fall. New species be born and become extinct. Life gets so far only to fall to its own foolish desires. New planets have formed. Old ones have been destroyed. Stars. The one thing I could count on for so long. When you stare into space for long enough. They too will change. A shift here or there. Constellations losing a star. Or gaining a new one.

To never know anything as permanent as you is another feeling entirely. A loneliness unknowable to anything that has lived or ever will live. For to live is to one day die.

By the third year I'd had enough.

I'd had enough of forming connections only to end in loss. Of seeing the world I lived in eventually crumble. Of watching the beauty I had known slowly disappear and be replaced by something new. Something different.

I shut myself out. Out of the universe and all its wonders, horrors, and everything in between. An isolation only comparable to the loneliness I had felt before. But at least now I had nothing to lose.

Today is the beginning of my fourth year.

A new year, a new approach. For most of my life I've been driven by fear. A fear of loss had led me to lock myself away. A fear of death had led me to get here in the first place.

Perhaps it's time for a change. To be driven not by fear. But by love. A love for life, the universe, and everything in it. A love for all that has happened, and all that is yet to be. For there is nothing more beautiful than getting to experience even one of the wonders, across time and space, that this universe has to offer. And I'm lucky to be able to experience it all.

You're an immortal. Instead of counting orbits around the sun, you decided to count orbits around the galaxy. Today you turn four galactic years old, time for a galactic birthday party.

#writing #sorry for the wall of text #this was fun to explore

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pleasantlycrazyworld · 3 days ago

Text

Let Your Demon Fight For You

Bob Reynolds / The Void x Reader

Summary: When The Void feels you sinking into your own darkness due to hateful comments he promises to handle it for you. Because angels shouldn't fight demons, especially not when you have one who'd do anything for you.

Warnings: cruel comments about the reader, insecurities, mention of violence but nothing detailed

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The silence in the apartment was heavy—too heavy.

You sat curled on the couch, legs pulled to your chest, fingers twisting the hem of your sleeve. The words still rang in your ears, even though the person who said them had long since walked away. Cruel. Thoughtless. Weaponized truths made to wound.

“You make everything worse.”......“You’re too much.”......“No one could ever love something so broken.”.......

Your breathing hitched. You hated how much those words worked. How much they sank their teeth into the softest parts of you.

You didn’t notice the flicker in the air, the way the shadows stretched unnaturally across the hardwood. Not until the room dimmed like dusk had swallowed the sun and the air grew still—watching.

“I can feel it,” came a voice, velvet wrapped around something jagged.

Your heart jumped. “Bob?”

Silence.

No. Not Bob.

Void.

He didn’t bother stepping out of the shadows. They coiled around your body like dark silk, curling around your legs and waist, gentle and possessive. Protective.

“I felt the pain, its seeping out of you my angel,” he said, his voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere. “Like a scream across a thousand miles of nothing.”

You stayed silent, too ashamed to speak.

“They said things to you they should not have,” he continued, and though his voice was still calm, something rumbled beneath it, like a beast pacing behind a cage made of willpower.

“Don’t,” you whispered. “I--I don’t want you to do anything reckless.”

“Oh, my sweet angel” he said, and you felt the couch dip slightly behind you—he was there. Close. Closer than your next breath. His arms weren’t solid exactly, but they wrapped around you anyway—made of shadow and heat and wrath restrained by your presence alone.

“You don’t fight demons with angels…” he murmured into your ear, voice low, intimate, deadly. “Let your demon fight for you.”

Your throat caught. “Void—”

“They don’t get to speak to you like that,” he snarled, lips brushing your neck. “Not when you are mine. Not when you carry my shadow inside you like a second heartbeat.”

Your eyes burned. “Why does it hurt so much?”

“Because you believed them,” he whispered, with something that almost sounded like heartbreak. “But I don’t. And I never will.”

You closed your eyes as the darkness around you pulsed like a heartbeat. Safe. Warm. Vicious.

“Let me take care of them,” he said simply. “Let me hurt them, I'll unmake them for you my angel"

You shook your head, but leaned back into him anyway. “No… just stay. Just… make it stop.”

His shadows wrapped tighter.

“You don’t have to fight alone anymore. You never have to be soft for them again.”

You felt a kiss brush the back of your shoulder, warm and cold all at once.

“Let me be your monster. I was made for this.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

He hadn’t slept, he just couldn't find the sleep that kept escaping him. The sunrise bled pale gold across the ruined skyline, but Bob didn’t move from where he sat. On the edge of your bathtub, hunched over with blood on his hands not his and not yours—not yours, never yours—his hands were shaking so badly, fuck they were nearly uncontrollably shaking at that point as he’d scraped them raw trying to scrub himself clean.

That's where you found him just as the sun began to truly rise. The door had been open. The lights off. The shadows thin and brittle. Bob didn’t look at you when you stepped into the room. He couldn’t.

“I told him no,” you said gently, dropping to your knees in front of him. “I-I told Void I didn’t want him to hurt anyone for me.”

“I know,” Bob croaked. “He didn’t care.”

You reached out. He flinched—not from you, but from himself. Your touch was too gentle for someone so rough to handle. “Did you let him take over?”

A long, unwelcome pause lingered between the two of you. A war was clearly waging in his silence.

“No,” he rasped. “But...I didn’t exactly stop him either.”

His voice cracked on the last word. He finally looked up at you, and his eyes were red-rimmed, exhausted, but still glowing faintly gold. The glow always lingered after the Void came out--like something burned behind the surface of him.

“I can’t keep pretending he’s not part of me,” he said. “But every time he does something like this, I feel myself slipping further away from who I was. From who I'm supposed to be.”

You cupped his jaw gently. “Bob—”

“He hurt people, it-it was for you to...to protect you, to love you.” His voice was sharp. Self-loathing. “And there's...there's a big fucking part of me that thinks they deserved it, and that terrifies me. Because that’s not—normal. That’s not human. I want to protect you, but this thing inside me, he doesn’t know where the line is. And the worst part?” He broke off, looking down, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I don’t think I want him to find that line.”

That confession shattered something in you—and you weren’t sure it was fear. You leaned closer, thumb brushing his cheekbone.

“You think that makes you a monster?”

“I am one,” he whispered. “I’m not safe. Not even for you, especially not for you..you need a man not a shadow. ”

You leaned in until your forehead touched his.

“You’re wrong.”

His breath caught.

You spoke softly, but with a weight that made the shadows around him stir.

“You are not just those dark moments. And Void didn’t do it without reason. He did it because I was hurting. Because someone broke me down and he knew you wouldn’t survive watching me break.”

Bob’s jaw clenched.

You continued, voice gentle but unwavering: “He’s not separate from you, Bob. He is you. The part that refuses to let the world hurt you again. The part that wants to burn it all down if anyone touches what’s his.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Bob asked, broken and disbelieving. “You’re okay with him?”

“I didn’t fall in love with just half of you,” you whispered. “I fell for all of it. Even the part that howls. Even the part that bleeds shadows.”

His eyes filled again, but this time, he didn’t look away. His hands rose slowly, trembling, framing your face like he was afraid he’d stain you just by holding on. “I don’t deserve you.” You hummed “Maybe not,” with a soft smile blooming across your face, “but you have me always.”

He let out a shuddered breath. Then, in the quiet aftermath, a familiar voice slithered into the back of your mind:

She gets it, the Void purred. She understands. And she doesn’t run.

You didn't flinch. But this time neither did Bob.

And for the first time in a long time… neither of you tried to shut the darkness out.

If you like my work please let me know! Reblogging, commenting and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Request are open <3

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distuff · 1 day ago

Note

ahhhh thank you for writing such beautiful work...

baby when the reader gets pissed at him for saying something mean during a fight, so she ignores him? AND not only ignores him but chooses to spend an abnormal amount of time with Jinu/any other (Jinu cause the tiger and the bird) saja boy to rant about how obnoxious baby is and stubbornly refuses to interact with baby? and baby just going nuts because what do you mean he's getting ignored? (and maybe abby and romance trying to help him figure out why reader is pissed and get him to swallow his pride and apolgize?)

Answer: Oh my- I actually had fun exploring this dynamic ngl khahaha! You my dear readershi are also gettin' a renewed author (la mOi, obviously) who is more confident in my vers of the boyz. Gotta thank all the support (my beloved anons/ askers, taggers ( I see you @sleepylion ! ), commenters and even those who are silent enjoyers ) who showed support on stories I was unsure of. sO ! Pls, enjoy~ ( = ⩊ = )

Note. Please ! Do not take anything here seriously. These are my versions of the boyz where I'm tryin' to figure out their character through these prompts and make em react as canon as possible. Nothing in here is aimed at anyone just a faceless MC whose traits are created around the prompt. Arigatou ( _ _)人

📍Requests: Please check HERE

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Baby SAJA: Apology?

Featuring: Baby Saja Reader: female

It was a rainy night. The rain tapped gently against the windows, and dark clouds covered what few stars were ever visible—even on clear nights.

Their studio sat on the highest floor, close to the heavens, yet Jinu could rarely see more than two faint stars, even on a good day.

The only “stars” around were the distant lights from neighbouring buildings, all of them standing a few floors lower than the building their company had chosen for them.

It always reminded Jinu of a story Mystery had once told him—something about humans trying to build a spiralling tower to reach the heavens, only to be cursed by the very god they were climbing toward to.

Babilion? Bubilion? Tower of Bebil? He couldn’t remember the name. Never cared to. It was the idea that stuck with him.

Seems like that desire never left them, he always thought. Whether humans realised it or not, they always craved more.

Speaking of humans and their insatiable wants—

"Can you believe that smug—ugh!"

Jinu turned slowly from his desk to face you. You were pacing his room, eyebrows furrowed, hands flailing like you were about to strangle someone.

He let out a soft sigh and dropped the pen in his hand, casually covering the card he’d been working on. A loud, pink bird with spindly legs danced beneath the text Let’s Get Flocked Up!!—whatever that meant. It looked like a poorly drawn phoenix in his opinion.

He’d ask the phone to identify the bird, but for some reason you decided he was good for whatever conversation you were trying to have with him.

Jinu would shrug your words off and let you talk to yourself in hopes of you having some devine realisation, but he couldn’t risk drawing your attention to what he was writing. That would lead to questions. And Jinu was terrible at dodging questions. Which would only made him more suspicious.

Just thinking about Mystery giving him signs he was beginning to suspect Jinu of something made him wince.

So instead of kicking you out—which would only make things worse—jumping out the window, which wouldn’t solve anything—or trying to change the subject, which your expression made clear you weren’t going to let happen, Jinu gave in.

He dropped his arm over the card and leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking over to you with resigned sigh.

"Alright, I bite. What did you do?" he asked flatly. He didn’t even bother pretending to care.

Where were Romance or Abby when he needed them? What possessed you to bring this kind of thing to him? Not questions he voiced, of course. The carpet was white, and he had no intention of getting blood on it. No, thank you.

That, he quickly realised, was also the wrong question to ask.

You stopped pacing and turned to him slowly, glare sharp enough to make him consider jumping out of the window did actually sounded quiet helpful for this situation.

If human looks could kill demons, Jinu was pretty sure he’d be dead already. Moments like these reminded him why he appreciated your honmoon wave being bright crimson for more than easy snack. At least it didn't tried burning him while you were clearly distress.

And under all that curled one single feeling that most demon's would salivate at.

Hurt.

Funny, he thought dryly, how wrath is just crushed expectation throwing a tantrum.

You pointed at yourself, incredulous. “Me?” you repeated. “Me?! What I did—? I didn’t do anything!” you shouted, and Jinu winced, pressing his hand to his left ear.

You were off again, pacing as your frustration and sadness poured out.

“It’s him who can’t see past himself! He can’t shut up long enough to listen or—or understand that what he says hurts!”

Your voice cracked as your frustration pushed through. “It’s like I don’t even exist to him. Like I’m just… here. I expect something. Anything to show I’m not the only one who cares in this relationship!”

Your eyes were starting to glaze over. The shine of unshed tears formed as your honmoon line pulsed with that bitter sadness Jinu hated to taste but his body craved anyway.

Too bad he already ate tonight. No excuse to feed off you now.

Which meant, unfortunately, he had to listen.

He sighed again, bracing himself, and opened his mouth—fully prepared to be the voice of reason you’d ignore anyway, in the hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d use your last brain cell to hear what he had to say.

"Alright," he said calmly, his voice instantly drawing your attention. You stopped pacing, staring at him with that same look—expecting something. Jinu had to stop himself from shaking his head.

Expectations, were formed around the false believes one had about themself, fueled by the fear of unknown, they only built blueprints for reactions, and always ended in disappointment. Humans never learn, he thought with a quiet sigh. Funny how becoming a demon gave him the clarity to spot flaws he never noticed as a human—flaws now repeating in front of him like clockwork.

It was as if the behaviour had been coded into the human DNA.

No matter. Lifting his head—which he hadn’t realised had dipped—Jinu met your eyes. You’d calmed enough to sit on the edge of his bed, your attention fixed solely on him.

"I mean, this might sound crazy," Jinu began, his tone light as he straightened up, rolling his shoulders. "But did you consider—just maybe—that Baby is a demon?" His hands gestured to you like he was making a groundbreaking point, his face marked by exaggerated innocence.

The sound of Tiger rising from where he’d been lying beside the bed draw both yours and his attention to the spirit—giving you a pause from the conversation as the two of you watched it quietly prowling over to you with steady steps.

Its amber eyes didn’t blink as he stared at you—curious, and clearly reading the cocktail of emotion your body radiated. That, and shielding Jinu from your honmoon wave to give him a moment to breathe.

Magpie, on the other hand, looked wholly unimpressed. It blinked slowly between the two of you, flicking its head toward Jinu as if to say, Want a shovel to dig your grave deeper?

Jinu would have a full blown conversation with that ungrateful chicken if his attention wasn't stolen by your following words.

"Yeah, and?" you replied flatly, starting to pat Tiger without looking at Jinu. The spirit stood still, purring faintly, though it didn’t break his stare.

It was a stupid question. Jinu was going to say that aloud—but thankfully your voice cut through before he could.

"You're also a demon, and you're showing a clear interest in Rumi-nim." You met his eyes with a deadpan stare that made his spine tighten. His gaze flicked, involuntarily, toward the greeting card on the desk. Don’t look at it, don’t look at it, don’t look at it!

"I—I mean, as a fellow idol, it’s natural to be... cordial—"

But again, you cut him off, turning away as you focused on Tiger. Jinu stiffened, eyes falling on Magpie who continued preening its feathers with Tiger’s stolen hat, completely ignoring his discomfort.

"As a 'fellow idol', you owe her polite interactions and the occasional mention on your lives," you said, eyes locking with his again. "You’re doing more than that."

Jinu felt cornered. Accused of something he couldn’t explain to you. His brows knit as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Alright. And if I am—what of it? Doesn’t change how Baby behaves, does it?" His voice was flat.

He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.

You froze mid-pat, inhaling sharply. Your posture turned rigid—but thankfully, being in contact with Tiger meant you were also being bathed in his calming aura. Instead of shouting or throwing something, you spoke through a strained breath,

"It does. If you can act like Rumi-nim matters, then so can Baby."

Jinu had to resist the urge to groan, roll his eyes, and laugh into his palm. Of course. Of course. That was how you saw it.

You thought he was being “attentive.” You assumed that meant some grand revelation. Maybe you thought his "heart" was changing, that he was maybe starting to think differently about humans.

But no—he was just using Rumi. She was a means to an end: the path to reclaiming his soul from Gwi-ma. If satisfying the Demon King meant playing the role of a human idol—luring in as many souls as possible with the hope that it might make the King more willing to return his one meek, pitiful soul—then so be it.

And yet, just the thought of what Rumi might feel—what her soul line would pulse with if she ever found out—made his hollow chest tighten as he wondered what emotion she'll willingly feed him once she finds out what his real goal was.

It wasn't even a betrayal… it was Rumi's naive nature to trust something with no soul. Just like you with Baby... Rumi had created unrealistic expectations of him too.

Still, none of this was something he could say to you. He couldn’t tell you that he wasn’t any better than Baby.

The fact that you even knew they were demons was already crossing a line. They couldn’t offer you anything more than this simply because it could jeopardize what they have build.

Humans were fickle like that.

With a long, drawn-out sigh, Jinu let his hand settle over his mouth, trying to string together a sentence that would sound coherent enough to explain the situation from Baby's point of view.

Jinu's eyes flicked to you as you continued to pat Tiger, who still stood unmoving at your side. Both spirit animals focused on him—Tiger clearly anticipating the greeting card meant for Rumi, while Magpie looked far too smug for Jinu’s liking.

"How to put it..." Jinu muttered, gesturing for Tiger to come closer. The spirit prowled forward with deliberate slowness, unblinking eyes locked on him. Magpie, in contrast, glided down next to you, probably in some noble attempt to keep your nerves from fraying any further.

You trailed your eyes after Tiger, the stress and fatigue bleeding into your gaze, but then you gently started to trace a finger down Magpie’s spine. Jinu noticed that at least the tightness in your shoulders eased slightly.

“Well, I don’t know exactly what he said,” Jinu admitted as he folded the greeting card, keeping his tone even. “But there’s a high possibility that he just… bluntly said what he though at the time.”

He pressed his lips together. Tiger tilted his massive head to the side, bulbous eyes looking through him, clearly thinking: You're a fool

Not like Jinu needed reminding that he was probably making things worse. But sue him—he didn’t know what you expected him to say.

If he lied, you’d just march back to Baby, and that little bastard would crush all the soft hope Jinu managed to build with some sugary words. So all he could really do was try to soften the truth on Baby’s behalf.

Why can’t she go to Romance or Abby~ he whined internally, rolling his eyes as he turned, greeting card in hand.

With a flick of his wrist, he offered it to Tiger, who obligingly opened his mouth and rolled out his tongue. Jinu placed the folded card atop it with a sigh. No point hiding what you were clearly already aware of. Hopefully, you had some sense to keep it to yourself.

He gave you a sidelong, sceptical look, but it fall off when he caught the quiet way your body had curled in on itself. You were gently stroking Magpie’s feathers, your expression unreadable, but distant.

Jinu exhaled, placing a hand under Tiger’s jaw and gently guiding it shut, patting twice to signal the spirit to deliver the card to the purple-haired huntress. Then he turned back to you with a bit more urgency in his voice.

“Alright then. What do you want Baby to do?”

Maybe—maybe—he could actually get the brat to play along for once, just to calm you down. ...Maybe.

“Apology,” you said flatly, your eyes locking with his, hard as steel.

Jinu blinked.

And then— —he lost it.

He toppled sideways with a choked wheeze, clutching his stomach as laughter wracked his frame. Just the image of Baby apologising was absurd. Utterly beyond imagination.

Handing a cat a Bible and asking it to lead Sunday mass had higher success rate than Baby apologising. The young demon would no doubt look at him like he’d grown three heads before confidently diagnosing him as clinically insane.

As Jinu laughed himself breathless, he didn’t even register Tiger and Magpie slinking away. What he did notice was your now-throbbing honmoon wave, no longer behind the barrier, and radiating frustration.

Honestly, he was just impressed you were still this emotionally attached to the SAJA after what Baby had put you through. Wiping an invisible tear from his eye, Jinu sat up and met your glare head-on.

Arms crossed, expression locked down tight—you were not amused.

“Mind explaining what’s so funny about that?” you asked, voice dangerously calm.

He opened his mouth—and an involuntary snort escaped. Seeing your irritation bubble, he straightened quickly and cleared his throat.

“Well... you see,” he began, in the universal tone of a man about to say something you wouldn’t like.

“Uh-huh,” you prompted flatly.

“Apologising means the person believes they did something wrong,” Jinu continued, choosing his words carefully. “And I can very confidently tell you that Baby—”

- - -

“I don’t even know what I did wrong,” Baby groaned, fisting his hair as he stared down at the dark carpet of his room like it held all the answers to this frustrating and frankly uncalled for situation.

The constant pitter-patter of raindrops against the windows wasn’t helping. It only made Baby’s fingers twitch harder, itching to tear into something that would resist—something he could press against until it ripped.

Irritation, mixed with fury? Check. But only because you, for some incomprehensible reason, had to go and get upset over words. Characters.

Honest to Gwi-ma—invisible, untouchable things that just poured out of someone’s mouth. How could anyone get hurt by that? If you wanted pain, Baby could show you exactly what he did to humans who fought back during his feeding.

And yet... there was bitterness too. A hollow ache clinging under his skin. It made his jaw itch to sink into your honmoon and just roll in it.

He didn’t mind emotions—he wasn’t a picky eater—but fury? That tasted stale. Always just a layer for hurt, and hurt was the sweetly bitter flavour he never turned away from.

But when that hurt was tangled with anger, it tasted like a dessert coated in mould.

And now, with you still inside the apartment—your honmoon wave loud and heavy—it was impossible to ignore. He couldn’t take it anymore. So he dragged the closest brother of his with him to his room: Romance.

As they passed Abby, the other had to be grabbed by Romance by the back of his shirt just like Baby did to him as he could hear Abby curiously ask, “Oh? Where we goin’?”

Now, the two of them were seated on the bed in Baby's room, listening as he explained what had happened—though “explaining” was generous.

More like pacing in circles and hissing between clenched teeth as he began mentally debating whether licking bleach would soothe the sting in his mouth or if petting your honmoon would be more effective albeit risky with the state you were in.

Kicking you out would only make things worse. He knew that much.

His eyes finally left the carpet when Romance let out a long sigh—the kind that sounded straight out of one of Mystery’s dramas, complete with the tone of a tired, exasperated mother. He crossed one leg over the other, that dreamy smile curling over his lips.

“Aah, one has to admire humans for their shameless displays of selfishness.”

Baby shot him a sceptical look, hands finally dropping from his tangled hair. Why didn't I gone to Mystery instead?

Before he could voice the thought, Romance continued, voice light and knowing. “But it’s easy to understand what your human wants, my sweet little junior.”

“Call me that again and I’ll put that vanishing ability of yours to the test—”

“Mm, always so charming,” Romance said, waving him off as he leaned back, supporting himself on his arms. He locked eyes with Baby and smirked. “She’s dissatisfied~ You’re not giving her what she wants. Touches. Attention. Acts that make her feel special.”

He fluttered his lashes dramatically. Baby rolled his eyes, straightened, and arched a brow.

“Not everyone can act like you, shitty senior.”

Romance beamed. “Not as good, but they can try!” he chirped, holding up a finger like he was announcing a divine truth.

Baby exhaled hard, shaking his head. Then both he and Romance looked to Abby, once the other spoke, “If it’s so much hassle, why’d you even bother starting something with her?” Abby tilted his head, expression completely genuine.

They stared and he blinked back at them with the slow confusion of a dog not understanding another creatures speech.

Romance bit his bottom lip, visibly entertained, and reached over to pat Abby on the head. Abby blinked, but let him.

Baby, however, just stared at his so called senior like he’d said the most ridiculous thing in all of world's history.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Baby said dryly, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe because Jinu told me to accept her confession?”

Abby raised a brow while Romance, now fussing with his hair, didn’t even look surprised. Of course he knew. He had a habit of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong—especially the first time Baby had brought you home.

Abby, meanwhile, had just treated you like a living chocolate fountain he could snack on whenever you were around.

“Since when do you listen to anyone?” Abby asked, genuinely baffled.

Romance snorted and sat up proudly with hands on his hips, satisfied with his perfectly fixed hair. “Don’t worry,” he said with a laugh. “Baby didn’t hit his head. He only agreed because Jinu promised he could skip seven shows of his choice.”

That made Abby let out a long, exaggerated “Aaaaaaah!”—right before freezing and clamping his mouth shut. His eyes flicked back to Baby, confused again.

When is he not confused? Baby thought, already bracing himself as Abby opened his mouth to ask another question.

“But that still doesn’t explain… why you’re tolerating it.”

That gave Baby pause. He blinked, caught off-guard. He hadn't expected that level of insight from Abby of all beings.

Romance, on the other hand, didn’t even look surprised. He simply turned his attention from his hair to Baby, eyes glinting with curiosity, waiting, alongside Abby, for his answer.

They looked like those humans from that movie they watched “Dumb and Dumber.” Fantastic.

Baby sighed. Why does it even matter? But he gave a blunt reply anyway.

“Her soul helps suppress my hunger. I figured if I’m being forced to play pretend, I might as well get something out of it.”

He’d noticed it early on—whenever you were near, the gnawing void in his chest dulled slightly, tricking his instincts into thinking it was getting a full meal.

There was also another benefit to this bravado. As long as you didn’t try comforting him with words when Gwi-ma turned his skull into a private arcade, your touch was... grounding.

Of course, none of that was something he’d ever admit to these two jackals. And yet, even with the bare scraps he’d given them, both Romance and Abby were already grinning like they’d cracked some forbidden code. Jackasses.

The look they exchanged told Baby everything: Silence was the only safe option around these two, truly.

Why can’t they be this creative with the mission? he thought, mildly annoyed as his body instinctively tensed. He leaned back, away from Abby, who now wore a smirk that practically screamed bait.

“Well, that makes sense,” Abby drawled, eyes still on Romance as if Baby wasn’t even there. “Baby needs a pacifier during the day to keep calm.”

Romance nodded sagely, finger pressed under his chin like he was seriously contemplating Abby's words rather than suppressing a grin.

“Pacifiers do have the ability to keep Baby's nasty little temper in check, mm?”

At that, Abby flashed his sharp canines with a pointed look, practically daring Baby to lunge.

Baby knew they could’ve easily been referring to that snivelling pile of human meat that never stopped crying—but the words could also be taken another way. One that he knew was the correct one. He could feel his human glamour fading just slightly. Faint demon markings crept along his cheekbones, his own fangs peeking out as his claws dug into his palms.

His lips, darker now with a lack of oxygen, parted as he exhaled. And then he spoke—voice low, gravelly, and deadly calm.

“If I could… without alerting those three bitches to where we are… I’d slash every inch of your body, bit by bit, scatter the pieces across Korea, and watch your head roll around trying to put yourself back together.”

Yet instead of getting the reaction he wanted, Baby watched with half-lidded eyes and an involuntary twitch in his brow as Romance let out a delighted coo. Hands clasped together, the older demon gazed at him as if Baby hadn’t just threatened someone ranked above him. Worse, Romance even went and stretch out his hand, finger aimed at Baby’s nose for a little boop, and chirped, “Cute.”

Baby’s eye twitched.

And to make matters worse, Abby—arms crossed, muscles bulging in that infuriating way he knew was deliberate—wore the smuggest grin as he added in a teasing tone, “Can’t bring yourself to get fully rid of me? You must truly love me. Oh, I can just feel how much you care for me! ” He let out an exaggerated wail, swiping an invisible tear from under one eye and clutching the wrong side of his chest—the side where a heart wouldn’t be, even if he were human.

“Alright then,” Baby growled lowly.

His glamour frayed further as he rolled up his sweater sleeves, a malicious grin cutting across his face. His small tusks peeked from under his top lip, canines gleaming, and purple flames began licking off his skin. The pressure in his skull surged as Gwi-ma stirred, laughing in pure euphoria, egging him on with a hungry rasp: “C̶̛̩͈̋͑̎̽̈́l̵̲̥̫͚̳̞̗͒̊̽͘͝a̷̯͕̲̰̖̟̦͊͝w̵̛̬̱̦̻̟͗̄̄̋͜s̴̢̞̺̮͖͇̽͋̍͆̈́̔̍͂ ̴͉̯͕̹̞͖͈̈́͐̿̓̍̏̾͒t̷̡̢͉̖̠̺̺̝͗͊̐͛͒͠͠h̴̲̼̞̥̲̖͍͒͗͑̽̕r̸̙̘̟͍̺̟̲̱̋͑͒̿̇̒̚ơ̸̬̿̌̍͋́͗ų̴̘̟̤́̓͌̍̓͗g̶̠̝͍͈̼̦͕͐͋̅̋̀̈́h̵̛͇͗̏͋̄̍̈́̕ ̷̬̯̯̲̞̐̔̿̓̍͘͝͠t̵̺̖̩̦̳͖̯̜̉̈́̅̈́̚h̴̰̬͈͚̠̲̋̈́͗̽́͘͠ͅe̵̢͚̞̦̱̘̅͒̾̒̿͛͐͑͜ ̶̢͍̗̖͇̺͌̅͊̽͛͌̚c̶̳̤̞͈̬̩̬̐̄͜h̷̼̜̳͓̦̳̙̤̿͐̓̋͠e̵͖̰̰̲̼͕̅́̑̓͒̚͜s̷̢̢̱͖̠͓̈́̎̐̿͝t̶̛̤̖̬̟̮͌͂͠͝͝—̵̢̥͕̦̤͇̖̘̀̓̓̍̇̀͛̚s̷̘̱̼̋̈́̏͛̏̔͂͘l̴̞̮̱̞̬̩̏̈́o̵̠͎̤̮̥̫̔̈́̇́͝w̶̛̮̼̺͓͚̄̀̆͋͘͝ͅ ̴͇͎͍̖͓̒̅́͊̔͝͝a̴͖͓̰̳̲̞̍̒̎͗͊̕͘͜n̶̩̯͓͛͝d̸̹̮̟̰̺̼͈̏̏̽̾̏̀̕ ̵̻̯̥̞̺̪̙́́͛̑̽͝p̵̬̘̖̳̥̐̈́͊̚̚ͅa̵̢̨͖͇͈̲͐̈́ͅi̸̘̲͎͓͇͐͗̇͋̔̓̍͝n̷̙̟̙̮͑̍̓̿͆̅́ͅf̴̘̯͔̳̺͓͚̐̈́̇́̾͘ū̵̘̬̠͎̫͇̔̿̚l̵̢̢̺͚̜͇̐̽̐̐̎͘ͅ!”

Visions flickered across Baby’s mind, dizzying flashes of how to use abelites he didn't even knew possible—and for a moment, his vision blurred as he shook his head to fight it off.

He barely registered Abby’s widening grin as the older demon cracked his neck, clearly eager for the brawl. But before either of them could move—

They froze.

The air didn’t grow heavy like it did when Mystery was done tolerating their idiocy. No, it grew light. Too light.

Disorientingly so, like a false calm before something sharp breaks through. Baby almost wanted to laugh and flip Gwi-ma the middle finger as he felt his Lord disappear with furies thrashing before leaving Baby's head empty.

Only Romances aura was capable of submerging the demon King. He may not know the real reason, but he has a theory. Unlike the others, Romance never flooded them with his demonic presence like Mystery.

He let it slither—wrap and squeeze. It wasn’t choking—it was holding, threatening to shatter them from the inside if they so much as twitched. Baby felt it keenly in the way his ribs ached and his core pulled taut. And judging by the way Abby’s eyes widened beside him, he felt it too.

It didn’t help that Romance was older than both of them. Which made the subtle restraint feel effortless—unavoidable.

Baby knew, logically, that Romance didn’t have the kind of power that could cancel their regeneration. But it didn’t matter. The illusion—the intoxication—was enough to press every instinct into submission. He let out a slow breath, reluctantly pulling the frayed edges of his human disguise back into place, a silent show of compliance.

Only then did Romance smile wider, bringing his hands together with a gentle clap before easing off. As the pressure lifted, both Baby and Abby exhaled sharply, shoulders loosening.

Their eyes met.

A silent nod passed between them. Later.

If Romance noticed, he chose to ignore it. After all, what came later wouldn’t be his problem. Instead, he steered the conversation back to its original course, locking his brilliant eyes onto Baby’s with a quiet sort of focus.

“So?” Romance asked, folding his hands over his crossed legs. A lock of hair curled against his cheek as he tilted his head, flawless as always, voice soft with curiosity. “What are you planning to do, then?”

Great question. A slow smirk curved across Baby’s lips as he cracked his knuckles.

Now that the banter cooled him down and the storm of your emotions from your wave was drowned out by Abby’s demonic aura—still pulsing faintly from when he’d nearly launched himself at Baby—his head was clearer than it had been in days.

“Easy. Kill ’em.” He said it flatly.

Sure, he’d lose his easy snack. The occasional grounding effect you gave him when Gwi-ma got especially insufferable. Those moments when you simply enjoyed yourself without demanding anything, letting him exist without expectation. Moments when your happiness spread through him, and he did enjoy himself—those would vanish too.

But in return, he’d get back something far more valuable: the freedom to just be himself.

No more forcing conversation. No more awkward attempts to explain things you could’ve asked about without sounding like a guilt-ridden martyr. And that constant, nagging feeling—like you were trying to make him feel bad for you.

How? Baby always wanted to ask. He didn’t feel anything unless you did first. And when you were caught in that swirling mess of insecurity and longing, it made him want nothing more than to rip your soul out and consume it just to silence the white noise in his head.

So yes—pros outweighed the cons. Any day of the week.

And hey, maybe you'd finally find someone who was your actual match.

His words had barely finished leaving his mouth before Abby choked on his saliva, then cackled hysterically—head thrown back, heels of his feet thudding on the floor. Romance winced, pressing a manicured hand to his chest as if personally wounded, eyes flicking to Baby’s deadpan expression.

“Please don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Your kills are always so... messy.” His nose crinkled as he pulled a face of exaggerated distaste.

Baby crossed his arms and raised a brow at him. “Alright then. What should I do instead?” His tone was bored, but he was listening.

That was all it took. Romance perked up immediately, and just as Abby’s laughter began to taper off, they both blurted out two completely different responses at once:

“Suck ’em dry,” Abby grinned.

“Apologise,” Romance said at the exact same time.

Baby blinked, owlishly at first, then narrowed his eyes with growing scepticism—just as both Romance and Abby snapped their heads towards each other, startled.

For a brief moment, Baby swore the two of them were having a full telepathic conversation. Then, without a word, they nodded in perfect synchrony.

Romance turned back to him, casually, while Baby—still with arms crossed—had leaned down slightly, watching the pair with thinly veiled disbelief, scanning between them for any trace of logic. Naturally, he found none.

Romance shrugged. “Calm her down by apologising. Then devour her. No soul ever tastes good angry.”

Huh. Baby straightened up, expression easing as he nodded slowly. Romance had a point. Even if Baby wasn’t picky, it was common demonic knowledge that rage-flavoured souls only appealed to a rare few with weird palates.

Before he could open his mouth to agree, a soft click broke the moment.

The doorknob to his room twisted, the door creaking open. All three snapped their attention to it, wide-eyed—no doubt looking like startled hares caught in torchlight.

Baby didn’t know who to expect. But it definitely wasn’t Mystery, half-visible behind the slowly opening door.

He blinked. His spine snapped upright as his usually droopy eyes widened into doe-like. Romance, unfazed, lifted a hand in a pleasant wave. Abby grinned like a proud idiot for some reason.

While Baby continued to stare at Mystery as if the man didn’t live under the same roof, it was Romance who broke the silence.

“What are you doing here senior?” he asked, smiling, his tone laced with genuine curiosity.

Mystery stood motionless, one hand still on the doorknob. They couldn’t see his eyes, but Baby had the creeping suspicion the eldest had blinked once before speaking, voice as soft and chilling as ever.

“I was told to come... by him,” he replied coolly, raising two perfectly shaped fingers to point directly at Abby—who only grinned wider.

That snapped Baby out of his daze. He flinched slightly, turning sharply as Romance—seated next to Abby—did the same.

“Why?” Romance asked with a calm tilt of his brow, voicing what Baby had been about to bark out himself.

Abby looked far too pleased with himself, arms crossed over his chest like a smug lion. “Since Baby was being dramatic, it had to be important. So I figured Mystery would be perfect for solving it! While Baby was yapping and growling, I texted Mystery to come over.”

He said it like it was the most obvious, brilliant solution in the world.

Romance and Baby both gawked at him. Abby didn’t seem to notice. He turned back to Mystery—who remained standing in the doorway like a weathered statue—completely unreadable.

“What took you so long, old man?”

That was usually the kind of thing no one dared to say to Mystery—ranked as he was, not to mention his power—but Abby lacked the instinct for self-preservation. Always had.

Mystery, for his part, didn’t react in the slightest. He merely responded with a quiet, clinical jab, “Saw your name.”

Baby snorted, lips twitching into a grin. Romance chuckled softly behind his hand. Abby, oblivious, beamed.

“Ah! Still learning how to open the magical boxes in the phone?” he asked brightly, already launching into a pointless explanation. “You just gotta—”

Mystery stepped back without a word, shutting the door slowly.

That alone pulled Baby back into focus.

Wait. Abby might’ve actually been on to something.

And Mystery did have the most functioning brain cells out of anyone here. That alone made him worth listening to.

Baby stepped forward slightly, expression softening again, a rare earnestness in his voice. “Would Mystery-nim consider... having a moment still?”

For once, there was no sass or smugness behind it. Just a sincere question—he wanted to hear what his senior had to say.

A silence followed. Romance and Abby glanced between the two, waiting.

Mystery didn’t move right away. He remained still in the hallway, back to them. Baby couldn’t feel nervous, that was taken together with his soul by Gwi-ma. Baby could only stand quietly, watching, waiting for a respond to react to.

Finally, Mystery turned his head just enough to face him. Though his eyes were covered, his aura gave a brief flicker of contemplation. Then, he finally gave a short nod.

With a shift of his shoulders, Mystery stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. He stood inside the room, saying nothing—but making it clear he was waiting for Baby to explain the issue.

Baby didn’t waste a second.

He launched back into the explanation—this time without the growls, or slipping into demonic dialect that made Romance and Abby squint or read his aura like a weathered text. Now, it was just words. Clear, sharp, and finally spoken with some composure.

Once the full story was out, the room fell quiet.

Mystery hadn’t moved from where he first stationed himself, still standing near the door. The only change was the tilt of his head—chin lowered as he absorbed Baby’s words in full silently but most importantly thoroughly.

The three waited, clearly too eager despite trying not to show it.

Finally, Mystery straightened. He turned his head towards Baby. The attention made his fingers twitched slightly, resisting the urge to clap like an overeager child. Instead, he sharpened, silent, listening with his full focus.

“Humans are needy creatures,” Mystery began in his cool, steady tone—echoing Romance’s earlier words—before continuing without pause. “You should have taken that into account before letting Jinu sway you.”

Ah. Baby’s eyes flicked to the side.

It wasn’t a reprimand, exactly—Mystery wasn’t one for scolding—but the truth stung all the same. That was the reminder. Baby had been just as selfish as you, and this? This was the cost of that.

Fair. His eyes dropped to the carpet, shoulders heavy as Mystery’s voice carried on, calm and unbothered.

“However,” he said, “she is not one to leave.”

That snapped Baby’s head up. Mystery continued, head tilting slightly, fringe shifting, though never revealing the sharp briliant eyes hidden behind. “So... even if the two of you had a mindless argument over a foolish disagreement—which, I agree, could’ve been handled more peacefully if she wasn't blinded by her lack of self-worth—she’ll return. Even if you give her space and don’t speak to her.”

Baby grimaced, subtly. That didn’t help.

It wasn’t that he disliked the idea of keeping your cooling wave around... It was the thought of you returning anyway. Coming back while still expecting something from him he visibly couldn’t give.

But Mystery, unfazed, didn’t pause.

He lifted his chin to glance at the ceiling. “Of course, humans are fickle. So if she does surprise us and doesn’t return—worst-case scenario—she may attempt to damage your name. And, by extension, SAJA’s name. On those human gathering zones—”

“Socials, senior,” Romance cut in, smiling as he gently corrected.

Mystery paused only to nod, then continued, barely missing a beat. “...‘Socials’,” he echoed, as if the word were a foreign incantation. “The humans under the company that manage our images and interactions on those... 'Socials', would easily turn the narrative. She’d be painted as overbearing. You, as the wounded victim.”

He turned his face back toward Baby, cool and direct.

“That way, Jinu still gets the attention he wanted from the relationship,” he said plainly. “And you—get your ‘time’ back.”

Mystery finished with the same calm he always carried. He offered no emotional comfort, no praise—only clean-cut logic and resolution, as if he were stating a weather report.

The lack of him commenting on you potentially revealing they were demons spoke volumes too. No one would believe you and even spin it into one of those wild theories that would just give SAJA more attention through the content the humans would spin out of it.

Romance gave an approving clap, fingers snapping in a polished, regal manner. “Brilliant, as always.”

Abby just groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Too many turns and curves. I think I got whiplash.”

Baby sighed heavily. His arms folded again as he rocked back on the heels of his feet, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.

“So much fucking unnecessary drama...” he muttered, his voice trailing off, drawn out by the pitter-patter of rain tapping steadily against the windows, ringing in his ears and echoing in his mind.

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