Pairing Fushiguro Megumi with you whose cursed technique melts cursed-energy constructs should, by every measurable standard, qualify as administrative negligence. Instead, it somehow becomes a long string of investigations, convenience store dinners, train rides home, and increasingly guilty apologies to his shikigami. Somewhere between burned shadows, said train rides home, and entirely too many photographs, Megumi makes the catastrophic discovery that everything he relies on is vulnerable to you—including his composure.
content ꩜ 9.9k words?? ， fem!reader ， not proof read (i'll go over it later) ， fluff ， canon typical violence (blood, injury) ， rivals to lovers ， slow burn ， mutual pining ， idiots in love whatever ， reluctant partners ， hurt/comfort ， confessions and first kisses ， emotional constipation (megumi disease) ， reader has a last name but doesn't diminish her being a reader insert ， happy ending
A camera is an instrument used to capture and store images and videos, either digitally via an electronic image sensor, or chemically via a light-sensitive material such as photographic film.
For best results, avoid exposing the film before the shutter is ready. This was shot on a 35 mm SLR Camera. HOW TO OPERATE:
I. LOADING THE FILM : A camera cannot record anything until it has something capable of holding light.
Loading the film determines whether a photograph can exist at all. Every image depends on this step, though none of it is visible yet. Film is light-sensitive by design. Exposure before the appropriate moment permanently damages the image.
Fushiguro Megumi already knows your name before the two of you officially meet because Gojo keeps bringing you up like you're some sort of punchline. It's not because you're especially strong—though you are—but because 'you can actually joke around instead of hurting his feelings.' It gets especially more annoying because he keeps bringing you up to Megumi specifically because you're 'the girl who makes being a shikigami living hell.'
To him, you're just the second year who thinks Gojo (who's objectively unfunny) is funny, and apparently takes the most dangerous intelligence missions because nobody else is able to.
Then, Megumi gets stuck with you. Not with Kugisaki, not with Itadori, his actual classmates. Because Gojo can't seem to stop tampering with his life, maybe because he knows Megumi through whatever hardened aloof shell he has, truly loved the guy who took him under his wing at such a young age. Suddenly he's pulled into the entrance of the dorms and introduced to you, who's equally as aggravated by his stunt as Megumi is.
Still, Megumi dismisses everything as one of Gojo's exaggerations until the first joint mission. The moment your camera flashes and Divine Dog lets out a startled yelp before dissolving back into shadow with singed edges, he doesn't even look at the curse you exorcised. He's already kneeling beside the place where his shikigami disappeared, jaw set tightly enough to hurt. He doesn't yell at you. Somehow that's worse.
The afterimage won't go away; there's a light, jagged edge on the surface in which your camera pointed and shuttered on. There's a tremble to your fingers as you let the camera fall, hanging low on your neck.
A patch of fur from White covered a small patch on the ground, nearly melted into the concrete. Megumi's head cranes towards you, and in a frighteningly level voice, he asks, "Can your technique do that every time?"
When you answer with your voice so tinted with guilt after realizing what happened, "...Only if the lens catches them," he simply stands up, turns to Gojo, and says, "Request denied. Find me another partner."
Megumi becomes impossibly difficult to work with afterwards. Not because he actively sabotages missions—Megumi would never compromise civilians over personal grievances—but because every fight becomes an exercise in avoiding you. He'll deliberately reposition himself across rooftops so your field of view never overlaps with his shadows. He starts recalling Divine Dogs far earlier than tactically necessary. Rabbit Escape becomes a last resort. Nue practically disappears from his arsenal altogether. You begin noticing that his fighting style has changed entirely, becoming more physical, more exhausting, because every time his shadows touch your lens there's that horrible smell of burning cursed energy.
There's no shadows swarming the area anymore, no elaborate combinations that you were always amazed of. There were no overwhelming summons, which you were kind of glad for because Megumi didn't have to exhaust himself for conjuring up straining things. Everything becomes close quarters and everything becomes efficient. When Yuji notices, only saying "you don't summon Nue anymore," he gives no reason as a response. You're standing thirty feet away.
Either way, you apologize every single mission. To him, to his shikigami; he never summons them around you anymore, so you ask him to tell them for her. He nods every single time. Nothing fixes anything.
It doesn't take long for you to confide in Gojo Satoru over your worsening image in the lens of Megumi. It also proves to be a mistake.
The red velvet cake sat atop the small, round cedar table is barely touched, only a single spoonful visibly taken from the slice. The cafe you're in is warm and exuberantly luxurious, something that Gojo picked after you muttered, I'll pay, Sensei, only for him to risk a heart attack from you by taking you here. He's paying. He would never make his students pay.
You poke at the cake once, then twice, and you still have entirely no real appetite since whatever happened a week ago. When your gaze comes up to your teacher's sunglasses-clad self, you sigh. "What do I do, Gojo-sensei?"
"No idea," he says with a dismissive shrug. Your expression immediately sours and your grip on your fork tightens. Gojo smiles at that. "You'll figure it out. Megumi probably knows you never intended for any harm."
"But I," searching for words for whatever cacophony inside your head, you click your tongue, "—don't know."
Gojo snickers, picking up the singular cream puff on his plate with his two fingers, shoving it in his mouth vulgarly. He gets up from his chair, stretching his arms, and you glare at him. "Right," he hums, already walking to the cashier with his wallet open, "I have to get going. Tata, [Name]-chan!"
Your hand moves towards the half-empty cup of your strawberry yoghurt drink and you grip it hard enough that you feel the drink rising to the lid with the pressure.
Failure to load the film correctly will prevent image formation regardless of lens quality, focus accuracy, or exposure settings.
II. FOCUS : The focusing mechanism determines which subject is rendered sharply and which remains indistinct.
The lens decides what deserves clarity and what will remain blurred. A lens cannot keep every subject equally clear. Rotate the focusing ring until the intended subject appears sharp within the viewfinder. Subjects positioned outside the selected focal plane will appear progressively less distinct.
Fushiguro Megumi is not someone who doesn't notice, not because he wants to be, but because he can't. He's been around too many things and too many watchful eyes to not realize that being on guard is just the norm.
Fushiguro Megumi finds your personality deeply irritating because it doesn't match the damage your technique causes. He expects someone arrogant. Detached. Clinical, maybe. Someone who doesn't sound the way you do, tone high when joking with his teacher who he oh so despises, and someone who's nose is held so high up to the sky, you'd summon Buddha himself with it. Instead you're the sort of person who kneels in front of injured shikigami with your camera already forgotten around your neck, apologizing so sincerely it almost sounds painful.
The inciting incident happens on the same mission string as the first. Investigating whatever happened to an old, wealthy townhouse in the outskirts of Tokyo, who apparently now had crazy owners. The mission was declared a success, even if you and Megumi were stuck for five hours in the creaky old estate; now you're back to investigating the town.
You aren't curt with Megumi. Not even after the four reassignment forms he filed to the higher-ups and complaining to Gojo about how fundamentally incompatible your techniques are. Megumi is still adamant on this. You can't expose flesh to radiation, it'll burn. The same way you can't expose beings constructed with cursed energy to a technique that burns cursed energy.
The opposite:you're warm, figuratively and literally, and also basically the only thing that emits warmth inside the claustrophobic, yet entirely too big hallways of the hospital you're investigating. There's amber to your fingertips and honeyed softness in your voice that Megumi notices and hates himself for noticing. You don't treat him any differently from before the incident, not really, just more careful.
Divine Dog Black conjures into the vicinity and you turn around just before Megumi lowers his hands from his hand sign. There's a twitch in your fingers and by the next second, the exact second a camera needs to activate its shutter, you take a step forward.
Megumi's eyes follow your movements, watching you, unmoving with only a single step back as you crouch down besides the dark-coated wolf. "I'm sorry," you murmur. You scratch beneath the dog's chin, nails gently scraping at a pressure where the dog leans into your touch. "I'm really sorry."
"It wasn't your fault," Megumi says. And yet, he still feels something unpleasant as he looks at you. Not at you, just an unreasonable feeling in general. Something curdling in the middle of his ribs, spreading throughout his spine. Megumi knows it himself it's irrational for him to still have any sort of condemnation for you, and yet, he still convinces himself that the dogs are still hurt by you. White still doesn't wanna come out when you're with him.
"I know," you agree, pressing your forehead to the dog's own, "I still hate it."
Megumi doesn't say anything because what can he say, and neither does Divine Dog. The dog just closes its eyes, smiling while panting. Its tongue sticks out.
The second incident comes in the form of him really realizing how much you apologize. To him, to the dogs, to Nue, to Max Elephant. Not one mission you and Megumi have been on ends with you not apologizing for your perceived insolence.
The words don't even come grand and heavy, they're muttered like hushed secrets from the curved bow of your lips, which Megumi wanted to kill himself for noticing. Nue is here after Megumi summoned him in the dark corners of an abandoned warehouse. You didn't even raise the camera, and yet you're still approaching the winged creature with the carefulness and gentleness of that of a nurturing mother. Your camera is yet again dangling from your neck, unused and absolutely unpaid with attention. Nue's feather not even burnt, because now you've silently repositioned yourself as to not be in line with Megumi's shadow, or any place where his shikigami could jump out, and yet you're still apologizing to the owl-like thing.
it astonishes Megumi, because you aren't scared. It astonishes him that the expression on your face only features guilt and affection for a creature that shouldn't even be able to understand you like that, nor should you understand. You pay no mind to the giant bird creature that only looks half like a bird because of its wings. You pay no mind with your hands reaching out cautiously to pet him, caressing his feathers, even as Nue is a bird as big as you are, perched precariously on the edge of the metallic table in the study room of the house you're examining.
"Sorry Nue," you murmur under your breath to the bird, caressing its feathers. No mind to Megumi, no mind to anything except to him. Your flash didn't even go off, your shutter didn't go off. There's not a single shred of fear lacing your face even as a bird the size of yourself simply stares you down, perched on top of a desk. "Did I hurt you? I'm really sorry."
The third, is that you don't get mad at anything, you readjust. Like everything is some bad angle that can be fixed just by nudging yourself a little millimeter over. And you don't even think it's a big deal, when clearly it is. He doesn't even understand where your lax demeanor even begins from, and where the anxious, ever-apologizing demeanor starts, because you aren't Gojo. You aren't a theatric, and you certain aren't Itadori with the most earnest smile anyone will ever see in their entire life.
Midnight comes with a deep blue sky, blackened almost, and the chill from the wind hitting your skin. There' s a slight tremble to your fingers from the exhaustion. The streetlamps emit a hearthlike glow that hits your left cheek at an angle that completely contrast the FamilyMart's own fluorescent lights flickering at your right. None of these things emit heat however. You should remind yourself to thank Megumi for his great suggestion in coming to a convenience store after the mission because you looked worn out.
"Kozukata," Megumi calls out, walking towards you with a plastic bag of whatever snacks you had asked him to get you and his. An unopened can of coffee is in his left hand.
You look up from your camera bag and your face softens into a smile. "Hm?"
"…Your lens cap," he points.
"Oh," you glance down, realize it's dangling by the strap instead of attached, and simply click it back into place. "Thanks."
That's it. Megumi realizes what he's done three seconds too late and the name has already come out of his mouth, and he sits far too distanced because he still doesn't know whether to let your light shine to him. You both just eat the heated onigiri in silence and eventually, walk side by side in silence.
He can't take it anymore. "…I didn't mean to."
You blink, readjusting your camera strap, the discomfort of it digging into your shoulder weighing you down. You're pretty sure you're a little bit hunched by now. "Mean to what?"
"…Call you Kozukata," muttering, Megumi tries so hard to avert his gaze. Right, because even if one of his guardians were Gojo Satoru, notoriously disrespectful, Megumi had manners.
"Oh," you shrug. It bothers Megumi for two nights. "S'alright."
The fourth incident of him noticing you is that he slowly realizes your camera isn't actually pointed at battles nearly as often as it's pointed at people. And a horrifying realization that accompanies this is that he knows each film you have.
You photograph abandoned shrines overtaken by ivy. Vending machines glowing alone in empty train stations, illuminating the platform in kitschy flickering lights. Half-melted popsicles left on park benches by little children that you'd later say are gross and unhygienic, and entirely too disrespectful to the Earth. Yuji laughing so hard he doubles over. Nobara asleep during train rides with her mouth slightly open. Even Gojo, somehow, has candid pictures where he isn't posing. Megumi notices because he doesn't have any.
Whenever he glances over your shoulder while you're reviewing photos, he's conspicuously absent. "...You don't photograph me," he says one afternoon without really meaning to.
You shiver. Tokyo is cold at night, always. The pantyhose, while military grade, apparently, under your standard-issued Jujutsu Tech uniform doesn't help much in combating the cold. Megumi's eyes drift to your knee, smooth with the sheer black nylon. He hates this.
You blink at him before answering honestly. "You always leave before I can."
The focusing mechanism adjusts the optical distance between the lens and recording medium. Failure to achieve proper focus may result in loss of image definition.
III. APERTURE : The aperture regulates how much light is permitted to enter the optical system.
Aperture settings regulate the diameter of the lens opening and determine the quantity of light reaching the recording medium during exposure. Aperture values are expressed as f-numbers. Each full stop adjustment doubles or halves the amount of transmitted light entering the optical system.
There comes a point where Fushiguro Megumi realizes that actively avoiding you requires more effort than simply existing in the same space as you.
Not because he forgives you. Not entirely. Divine Dog still returns to him occasionally with singed patches of shadow around its legs whenever your timing slips by half a second, and Nue still sheds the occasional feather that disintegrates before it even reaches the ground. Your cursed technique remains, fundamentally, the worst possible thing to pair with his own. Gojo's matchmaking—professionally speaking, anyway—continues to be one of the greatest failures of modern jujutsu administration.
But you adapt.
Megumi notices that before he ever consciously decides to.
You stop standing directly behind him during missions. Then you stop standing beside him. Eventually, without either of you ever discussing it, you begin positioning yourself forty-five degrees to his left whenever he summons Divine Dog. It keeps your lens naturally angled away from the shadows at his feet. When Nue takes flight, you lower your camera until it's absolutely necessary. You switch to a narrower lens on assignments involving shikigami-heavy combat. Megumi catches you doing it once while pretending to check the straps on his sword.
Tolerating you and liking you is not the same. But somehow, his dogs have accepted they like you faster than he did. Megumi realizes the dogs forgave you before he did a month before your cat's birthday. Your cat's birthday doesn't mean anything, because the most he'd do is congratulate you with his deadpan and you'd both move on with your day. But the dogs annoy him. They're usually right about people.
The first time Divine Dog actually approaches you on its own, pressing its snout into your palm despite everything, Megumi genuinely frowns at the animal. Comparable to a child seeing another child get the last piece of candy from a house during Halloween.
It's White this time that comes to you, completely separating himself from Megumi and leaving him to die. You don't notice him at first. You're kneeling beside your camera bag, quietly replacing the cracked UV filter from yesterday's mission, lips pursed in concentration.
Megumi does.
"...White."
The dog ignores him, snout up in the air like he's smelled something friend-shaped that he liked a little too much. White sniffs once, twice, then pads toward you with complete confidence. The wolf nudges your side and startled, you finally look up.
"...Oh," your entire face softens.
Megumi watches in growing disbelief as you slowly reach into the side pocket of your satchel instead of immediately trying to pet him. It's something he noticed a week into you apologizing to his dogs. You've started carrying dog treats, maybe to curry favor from his canine, but now he's sure has just become a habit. Those treats are the expensive kind and he knows that even your sugary drinks aren't that pricy.
How can Megumi keep hating you when you've been carrying dog treats?
"...Can I?" White has already answered by sitting down, some simper already on the dog's lips that entirely betray Megumi's constant shielding of him from you. You pull out a small paper pouch, neatly tied with a pink ribbon. Megumi's brows knit together.
"They're safe," you say quickly, glancing toward him instead of the dog. The idea that you'd poison a dog is far too out of reach, even for Megumi. He just doesn't know why his dogs want you.
Megumi doesn't say anything, but his eye twitches in disbelief. White gently takes the treat from your fingers and lap at your hand. A startled squeak sound stumbles from your mouth, but you immediately relax when the dog leans his entire head into your palm.
Megumi exhales through his nose. "Traitor."
"...Seriously?" he mutters beneath his breath, "after one apology?" Divine Dog merely closes its eyes while you scratch behind its ears. Several apologies, Megumi. He spends the rest of the mission irrationally annoyed with his own shikigami.
Not on a mission, but a team bonding exercise that Gojo set up, which somehow didn't include Kugisaki and Itadori (who were eventually found, to be in a booth somewhere drinking cheap American-imitation milkshakes), nor anyone from your grade, Megumi finds out that he completely regrets saying anything about your camera and why you don't take photos of him because you start asking.
Quietly, politely. "Can I take one?"
Somehow, you've ended up in Shibuya Parco, with a shopping bag in hand because you decided you deathly needed new stationery you don't need, the afternoon sun hitting him from behind. He's sweaty, exhausted, hair sticking up in every direction imaginable. "Now?" he asks flatly.
You tilt your head. "Yeah."
The rough edges of his voice have appeared and a rasp takes form in his throat. You want to offer him water. It also isn't really because of exhaustion. "...I look terrible."
"You always think that," you deadpan. He doesn't know how to respond because you didn't compliment him exactly. You simply stated it like it was an observable law of physics. Somehow, that embarrasses him more than outright praise ever could.
It's embarrassing the first time you ask to photograph him intentionally, and it's still embarrassing for every time you ask. He thinks you're doing it on purpose because every single photograph somehow captures him looking miserable. Hair a mess, uniform dirty, blood on his cheek, or just plain ugly. It's also embarrassing when you take photos of him candidly; so maybe, it's just embarrassing in general.
Eventually he realizes they are the only photos anyone has ever taken of him. Nobody has photographs of him laughing, because it's rare, and the only person who somehow thinks of taking a picture of him like that is you. Nobody has photographs of him eating, Itadori eats funnier. Nobody has photographs of him sleeping on the train, nobody rides to his stop. Nobody has photographs of him existing. You just have a camera constantly slung around your neck like a geek.
The aperture mechanism controls both exposure and depth of field. Incorrect aperture selection may produce underexposed images or unintended background sharpness.
IV. SHUTTER : The shutter controls the duration of exposure. Once released, the recording process cannot be interrupted.
The shutter regulates the duration for which light reaches the recording medium. Exposure time should be selected according to subject movement and available light.
The first time you get critically injured, is technically, because of Fushiguro Megumi.
Your loafers whine against the creaky floorboards and you hear the leakage coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. The damp, utterly uninhabitable home you're in reminds you more of a comically over the top horror movie. You wouldn't mind watching a horror movie after this mission, something stupid to help you unwind. But who the hell would you ask when Maki's not interested in hate watching and you barely talk to anybody else. Kugisaki's bad at horror. Megumi is off the table.
Four steps is all you need for a curse to appear and disappear
One, you step forward until your weight terrorizes the floor. Heat curls under the humid wood of the house and your brows furrow at the sudden change. Your eyes flicker to Megumi and he's already looking at you cautiously.
Two, your hands brace around the camera around your neck, gripping tightly on the device. From behind, you hear whispers from unseen things, dim apparitions clouding your vision. Megumi's hands are already up and ready to summon one of his shikigami. You mutter something incoherent; the curses that hide first are the worst.
Three, you step closer to Megumi, back to him. A pit of dark, shadowy energy forms from the ground in front of you, materializing into a semi-translucent man, eyes curled like it was smiling so happily, yet frowning so deeply. It groans at you, ghastly muttering chants. Megumi summons his dogs.
Four, you place your finger on the shutter and the curse growls at you hostilely. You run to the other side of the room and dodge the projectile-like attack it lunged at you. It seemed entirely too preoccupied on you and the finger on the shutter of your camera. The next second, it's lunging itself at you and you raise your camera up, the viewfinder lighting up as its essence is perfectly focused in frame.
You don't click though.
Numbing pain is all you feel the second after your hesitation. Luckily, the Divine Dogs tackled the curse, enough for it to divert enough to not reach your lethal points. Your shoulder feels heavy, blood drips from a gash far too big for minimal blood loss. Tugging, biting, wailing. Eventually the curse cries out in pain when Megumi hits it particularly hard.
And Megumi reprimands you the second the exorcises the curse. "What the hell were you thinking?" hs voice cracks through the ruined hallway harder than the curse had.
The Divine Dogs are still tearing through the remains of the spirit just meters away. The wet sound of exorcism echoes once before everything finally falls silent. You don't answer. Your hand is pressed against your shoulder instead, blood slipping steadily between your fingers. It stains the leather wrapping of your camera before dripping onto warped floorboards one drop at a time.
Megumi is already in front of you. "What were you thinking?" he repeats, louder this time.
His hands stop just short of grabbing you, fingers twitching. Your injury sits too close to your shoulder. Too much pressure would only make it worse. "You had it. "You had a clear shot."
"...I know," your voice is shaky and your head feels just fuzzy enough for you to panic, but entirely too conscious to still be able to decipher what is happening, what you're doing, and where Megumi is. Still, you aren't good with blood.
"So why didn't you take it?"
The house creaks around you. Silence engulfs the uncomfortable distance between you two and you search for a response. You lower your eyes to the camera still hanging from your neck. "...White was still on it."
Megumi frowns. "...What?"
"The frame," your thumb unconsciously rubs over the shutter button. "He was still pinning it," you realize your fingers have gone numb as well. You swallow and you really don't know why the words won't come out. "If I'd fired, I would've hit him too."
Megumi stares so intensely you feel as if he's burning holes inside your brain. You awkwardly laugh, a pathetic sound that doesn't hold nearly enough comedy for the situation you're in. "I figured a shoulder would heal... burning your shikigami again doesn't."
The sentence lands with all the weight of concrete and all the idiocy of both of you.Megumi can't even find something to argue with. Because from your perspective, it makes perfect sense. You'd made a choice.
And ever since your shoulder injury, Fushiguro Megumi has found it impossible to stop noticing you. He tells himself the reason he's watching you is practical.
Your shoulder has been wrapped for twelve days.
The first three, he only checks because Shoko had warned you against overextending it, and your definition of overextending appears to differ wildly from everyone else's. You still carry your camera around your neck. You still insist on lifting evidence boxes whenever missions require documentation. During one assignment in Yokohama, he watches you reach for a rusted metal cabinet with your injured arm before stopping halfway, blinking once, then quietly switching hands as though you'd only just remembered.
You never complain, that's the most irritating part. Megumi almost wishes you would because then he'd have something reasonable to react to and stop the itching feeling up in his neurons.
Instead, because of this absence, he starts noticing stupid things he has no business noticing. The way you subconsciously roll your shoulder every twenty minutes, trying to loosen the stiffness without making a show of it. The way your fingers hesitate over the shutter button for a fraction of a second whenever Divine Dog is anywhere near your frame. The way you've somehow taught yourself to walk around him instead of expecting him to move around you. It should have made working together easier but somehow it only makes him more aware whenever you're there.
It starts becoming irritating. Not you. The awareness.
He notices you arriving before he actually sees you because your camera strap makes a quiet clicking sound against the metal buckle every fourth step. He notices you carry too many rolls of film in your jacket pockets because your silhouette isn't symmetrical anymore. He notices you always drink the fruit-flavored drinks from convenience stores first and save bottled water for the walk back to the dorms.
None of this information is useful.
And the worst part is that Gojo Satoru notices this change in his awareness level, and notices it first. And Gojo knowing only serves to mock Megumi in ways too conniving for him to handle. Kugisaki and Itadori follow suit. Megumi doesn't know if Gojo started gossiping and spreading baseless rumors about him or something else.
It becomes significantly worse after he realizes you've stopped apologizing to him, which started on the exact first mission you went on after your shoulder injury. The day they took you to Shoko, you apologized to Megumi again and only god knows what happened during that. So not because you've stopped feeling guilty (for what?) but because you've decided he probably doesn't want to hear it anymore.
The apologies redirect themselves, now only to his shikigami. To Divine Dog. To Nue. To Max Elephant after it brushes your shoulder and nearly knocks your camera over. Never to Megumi. He doesn't know why the absence bothers him; it shouldn't, if anything, it's what he'd wanted. Instead there's a strange emptiness where the soft, embarrassed sorry used to be after every mission.
He catches himself waiting for it once on some mission in a faux bustling illusion of a shopping mall. "...Mission's over," you say instead, then you smile politely. Then you leave.
For reasons completely beyond his comprehension, that feels worse.
Megumi finds himself remembering your cat's birthday Nuppe, the day of her birthday. You've shown him photos of her exactly once, when Kugisaki asked about her and you panned your phone to your underclassmen one by one showing you the Angoran cat with a permanently resting bitch face. And somehow, during a rain that starts halfway through the end of a surveillance assignment—meaning, going home—he says in his typical flat voice; happy birthday, I bought her treats.
The rain isn't that heavy. But it's enough to make Tokyo shine and for the dampness surrounding the roads to look like makeshift lacquer. You're standing underneath the awning of a closed pharmacy, trying to wipe rainwater off your lens with a microfiber cloth that has very obviously become too wet to accomplish anything.
You sigh, "gods."
Megumi looks over because you've spoken. That's all. Just because you spoke. Your hair is darker from the rain, flattening to your scalp. Water gathers at the ends before dripping onto your collar. You blow a loose strand away from your face without thinking. Then you laugh to yourself.
"...Guess that's today's lighting ruined."
Megumi stares. Not because you've done anything particularly interesting. Because—you're pretty. The realization arrives with all the elegance of being hit in the face with a brick, because it has none of the kind of exaggerated adjective Gojo would throw around carelessly.
"Shit," he immediately looks away. He has absolutely no business thinking that. Because what are you if not just the second year that makes being a shikigami a living hell?
Do not apply excessive force to the shutter release button. A single complete press is sufficient to initiate the exposure sequence.
V. DEVELOPMENT : Exposure alone does not produce a visible image. Development reveals what has already been recorded.
Exposed photographic film does not produce a visible image until processed using the appropriate chemical development procedure.
Megumi starts lingering after missions with you. Which at some point, became rare, because you've been given your regular missions, paired up with whoever was in your grade. Gojo notices this of course, unbeknownst to Megumi. Eventually he starts being sent on more missions with you; that makes him feel both extremely embarrassed and extremely pleased.
And he doesn't linger to talk. He only stands there while you clean your lens, nothing to discuss. You're packing your camera, checking memory cards. He'll wait. Not because he wants to, he tells himself desperately, because leaving first feels wrong and he's gotten into the habit of walking you to the train station now. Well, walking together, which he also tells himself, because you board the same train and your three stops apart.
It's agonizing when he realizes he's slowly starting to become aware of physical details against his own will. You're shorter than he thought. Your sleeves are always slightly too long. Your fingers have tiny calluses from gripping the camera. You smell different depending on whether it's before or after missions. He hates this.
Megumi is fine with knowing things about you, unless it's unnecessary. At first it's tactical. Which shoulder your camera hangs from. Which eye you instinctively close while looking through the viewfinder. Whether you're reaching for a zoom lens or a prime lens. Then, somewhere along the way, those observations become... less useful. He notices your perfume changes depending on the weather. Notices your nail polish is always chipped on your dominant hand because that's the hand gripping the camera body all day. Notices you chew absentmindedly on the inside of your cheek while waiting for elevators. Notices your hair smells different after rain. Every realization is immediately followed by another thought: Why the hell do I know that?
Megumi absolutely refuses to admit he's becoming physically attracted to you because it feels fundamentally unfair. How is he supposed to be attracted to someone who accidentally burns the very extensions of his soul? Every mission becomes psychological warfare. Every mission all he thinks about is the smell of your perfume, how sweet the strawberry is, and the vanilla that lingers after the first whiff. You're crouched beside him reviewing blurry photographs while he's trying very hard not to acknowledge how close your shoulder is to his.
You roll your sleeves up during summer because it's too hot, exposing your forearms, and suddenly he can't remember what Gojo was explaining five seconds ago. He starts looking literally anywhere else. The all too interesting ceiling, the large tree shading your face that makes the soft light that does hit your face do wonders to it, pavement. curses. Anything except you. Unfortunately, every reflective window reminds him you're standing beside him anyway.
He discovers you bite your lower lip when you're concentrating, not until something severe, not until blood draws and metallic flavors hit your tongue. Just enough for your teeth to leave tiny pale indentations before the color slowly returns.
You do it while changing film. While reading mission reports. While trying to untangle camera straps. He notices it once; then twice, then every single time.
"Megumi," right, you've called him Megumi, no honorific, no last name, for months now since you've met. He let you. Nothing changed, and yet somehow his whole interpretation warped a hundred and eighty degrees. "You've been staring at me for like thirty seconds."
"Huh?" is all he can muster.
"Something on my face?" you ask, quirking an eyebrow as your hand swats to your face, hovering just above your cheek. You wait for a response carefully, watching Megumi's face unchanging despite his overheating interior.
"Yes," he nods. He didn't take himself to be a liar, and that bad at that. You immediately wipe away invisible dust that he made up. After ten seconds of lying to you, he hisses, "...No."
"Oh."
He wants to throw himself into Tokyo Bay.
Everything is over for Megumi when he realizes with dawning, wretched clarity what the fuck his observations about you mean. And it chokes him more when he experiences the slow, humiliating death of his own composure. It starts small. He fixes his hair before meeting you. Then he starts changing hoodies because he remembers you once said dark blue looked nicer than black. He catches himself wondering if you've noticed. He almost asks once. The words get halfway up his throat before he swallows them back down so violently he nearly chokes. This is ridiculous. He's ridiculous. He doesn't care what you think. He repeats that to himself every morning while subconsciously choosing whichever jacket you've complimented before.
And he starts knowing that you have at least four shades of lip tint you alternate with. He averts his eyes whenever they even think about looking at you, like they have a mind of their own. The first shade happens after a scuffle with a curse.
Megumi notices your lip tint by accident. Not because he's looking at your lips. Because he's looking for injuries. You come back to the open world wiping dried blood from your jaw with the sleeve of your uniform. It's instinctive now. Before either of you speak, his eyes automatically scan your face first, then your wrists, then whatever part of you looks like it hurts the most. The cut on your cheek is shallow. Your shoulder has already healed months ago. Nothing serious.
"You're bleeding," Megumi says, voice level. He tries so hard not to let his concern—the overwhelming kind—seep through his cadence.
Your brows scrunch up and you look down, hand coming up to your face. You pause momentarily, fingers touching the corner of your mouth before erupting in quiet laughter. You look at Megumi with a glint in your eyes. "Not blood," you pull out a tiny tube from your pocket and hold it up. "Lip tint."
Megumi blinks. The color is pinkish, plum-like. He files this away unsuspected by his own self. "...You wear makeup?"
The question comes out flatter than he intended and your eyes narrow. You look mildly offended; Megumi hisses inside his mind. "Girls usually do."
"...Right."
The second shade, he sees when you are making indignant sounds somewhere between a protest and a laugh as Kugisaki grips your chin with absolutely no regard for personal space. Megumi doesn't bother looking up from the mission report spread across the common room table. He's already learned that whenever Nobara says hold still, somebody's about to become collateral damage.
"Hold still," Kugisaki complains.
"I am holding still!"
Kugisaki smears the lip tint, a coral color that Kugisaki picked out for you that you personally think is way too coral. It suits her more. There's a slight cooling sensation from the tint and you flinch slightly as the cold reaches your lips. "You're talking."
Finishing, Kugisaki retreats, brows furrowing as her eyes shift back and forth from your eyes to your lips. You ask, "Is it crooked?" she says no, "too bright?" she says no. "It feels bright."
Kugisaki glares at your insistent questioning, then turns to Megumi, filing paperwork nobody in his team would ever wanna do. "Megumi, does this look right?"
"No idea."
"Look," Kugisaki kicks his foot under the table. grunting, he does reluctantly. It was the worst mistake of his life.
Finally lifting his head, he notices. Your lips are pink. Not dramatically, but pinker, and definitely more orange. Like you've been eating strawberries, or wearing something. He tries so hard to maintain his composure. "...It looks the same."
Kugisaki groans loud enough to concern nearby wildlife. "Men are hopeless."
Now the thing is, you own an embarrassing number of lip products. Not because you're particularly vain, but since every photograph renders color differently. One's too orange on film, one disappears completely, one's fine indoors but awful outside. You explain it absentmindedly while reorganizing your camera bag and Megumi wasn't even part of the conversation. He just happened to be sitting nearby.
"...Film changes it?" is what he asks. You sound surprised that he did but you nod and explain anyway about differing color temperatures while you continue sorting lenses like this is obvious. Megumi pretends to return to reading.
Megumi also grows quietly possessive before he's even willing to admit he likes you. Yuji calls you cute exactly once after you cut your hair. It's harmless. Entirely harmless. You're showing everyone because Nobara insisted the new bangs framed your face better. Yuji grins and says, "Looks good." That's it. That's literally all he says. Megumi spends the next twenty minutes unusually curt with Yuji for reasons he himself cannot articulate.
Later that night, while trying to fall asleep, his brain cruelly decides to replay that interaction on loop. Then it starts inventing entirely fictional conversations between you and Yuji. By two in the morning he's lying awake staring at the ceiling, furious with himself over scenarios that never happened.
He's restless for the next two weeks and becomes irrationally irritated whenever Itadori talks to you for too long. Not because he's jealous. Obviously. Itadori's just loud... annoying. Standing too close. Laughing too much. Existing incorrectly.
"...Can you stop monopolizing my partner."
"Your partner?"
"...Mission partner."
Megumi's internal monologue becomes progressively more pathetic. Your hair smells nice today and the hinoki wood suits you a lot. Stop. Your hands are really small, thinking of how'd they be compared to his. Stop. The skirt looks—Jesus Christ.
It eventually goes to a point where he doesn't even wanna talk to you. Well, he forces himself to trick himself into forcing himself to not wanna talk to you. Layers upon layers of lies that conceal the fact that he doesn't know if he can want you.
Megumi doesn't realize the exact moment he stops seeing your cursed technique as the thing that destroys his shadows and starts seeing it as the thing that lets you understand him. Every photograph you take strips away appearances. Cursed energy. Performances. Masks. It captures what people refuse to look at.
One evening you hand him a printed photograph you'd taken weeks earlier without telling him. It's just him sitting beneath a tree after a mission, Divine Dog White asleep with its head in his lap. His expression is softer than he's ever seen it. Peaceful, almost.
"...Delete it," he mutters automatically.
You smile a little and shake your head. It's almost a smirk, something devilish that Megumi thinks you've learnt entirely from Gojo Satoru. "No."
He frowns."...Why?"
Moving to his flank, you give him another smile and tuck the photograph back into his hands. For the first time in his life, Megumi can't think of a single thing to say because of your response. "Because I don't think you've ever seen yourself the way your dogs do."
So handle exposed film carefully before development. Excessive heat, moisture, or accidental light exposure may permanently degrade recorded information.
VI. FIXING : Without fixing, the image continues changing until it destroys itself.
After development, film must be immersed in fixing solution to remove remaining light-sensitive compounds and stabilize the recorded image.
When Megumi first started taking the train home with you, with neither of you planning it, he didn't expect for it to be the highlight of his day, the constant thing he looks forward to when they're granted leave from the dormitory.
He spends entire train rides pretending to scroll through his phone, aimlessly scrolling through internet forums or just some Wikipedia article he could care less about. He's actually watching your reflection in the window. Not creepy. Just—checking whether you're asleep. Whether your stop is next. Whether you remembered to zip your bag. He catches himself doing it. Looks away immediately.
Megumi's eyes drift down momentarily down to your thighs, squished together gently in the seat. He cusses himself out for noticing once again, because he's not stopped noticing things about you, if anything, he notices more.
Now he knows the five different ways you laugh. Divided into fifteen more ways because Megumi spends his time looking at you whilst you're on missions far too long. nothing changes about this, he's noticed things, everything that adds to his suffering.
Tokyo passes outside in streaks of reflected neon against rain-darkened windows but Megumi hasn't looked out once since boarding. He's become painfully aware that somewhere over the past several months, sitting beside you has become so habitual that the absence of it would probably feel stranger than the presence. Your shoulder brushes his every time the carriage sways around a bend—not enough to linger, only enough to remind him that you're there—and every accidental touch feels catastrophically deliberate despite the fact that neither of you moves away.
Megumi stares at absolutely nothing in front of him; he's become good at pretending not to look at you. Mostly because he knows that if he lets his gaze drift even slightly to the left, he'll notice something again. The way your lashes lower whenever you read. The tiny crease that appears between your brows while deciding which photographs deserve to stay. The way your thumb always hesitates over the delete button for half a second longer than necessary because, for reasons he'll never understand, you feel guilty deleting blurry pictures of abandoned buildings.
You yawn without covering your mouth, then seem to remember halfway through and awkwardly hide the rest behind your sleeve. Your head tips backwards against the train window with a soft thud, eyes fluttering shut only for a second before reopening again. Sleep is clearly trying to win and Megumi notices because of course he does. He notices that your grip on your camera bag loosens each time your eyes close, then tightens again whenever the train announces another station. He notices you've missed the announcement entirely this time. He notices the strap digging into your shoulder exactly where it always does after longer missions, leaving that faint indentation that disappears by morning. He notices because his brain has apparently decided that documenting you is now a full-time occupation.
The words leave his mouth before he has the chance to inspect them. "You can sleep."
You blink slowly, still fighting whatever exhaustion has settled over you, before giving him a sheepish smile that feels entirely too warm for someone who should just be another classmate. Is he? "...I'll miss my stop."
"I'll wake you."
"...Promise?"
The question is quiet, that same tone you use when you're talking to his dogs in that way so utterly filled with affeciton. So absurdly trusting that something in Megumi's chest tightens without permission. "...Yeah."
You're both still in the train when Megumi realizes that he should've said to Todo Aoi that his type was you. Not someone with unshakable character, because that could be anyone. That could be Itadori and his loud ass self. That could be Kugisaki. That could be anyone.
Because what he wants is some girl who's a year older than him who looks to pretty to be alive, the first person to have ever made him want so suffocatingly. Because he remembers your hair and how it catches light under the sun, the constant, almost exhaustive gentleness you show to anything and everything—to him, when he so adamantly avoided you because you hurt his dogs—and the snacks you bring for his shikigami, not just the Divine Dogs now, constantly, which Megumi suspects has probably drained far too much of your wallet now. He wants you. Nothing else, nothing more. And he wants you in the middle of his life, perfectly centered like the axis of a pendulum.
And it's hopeful because somewhere between the hurt, electrifying feeling that hummed through his body when you smile at him, and his stomach coiling with something addictive, you started acting differently around him too.
Your backpack jingles because there's always some ridiculous charm hanging from it. One charm never changes; some cat thing that looks too cute for a bag that's seen too much. On his birthday, you gift him the same charm in black.
"Megumi," you murmur, holding the charm up to him, "happy birthday."
That's all it takes. That's everything it takes for Fushiguro Megumi to stop his own heart to look at the cave and asking whether the feelings he has for you aren't worth it, or if what his brain has quietly been saying should be taken seriously or not. So Megumi accidentally lets the truth slip in the most infuriating way possible. Only two hours later, when you're adjusting the strap of your camera before a mission when he says, without looking up from his phone, "...You look pretty today."
Silence. Absolute silence. He freezes exactly half a second after speaking. You stare at him. He stares very intensely at absolutely nothing.
"...What?" you ask eventually, eyes looking up at him through your eyelashes.
Proper fixation permanently terminates the film's sensitivity to light, allowing the negative to be handled safely under normal illumination.
VII. PRINTING : The developed negative is transferred into a permanent positive image. Proper archival storage protects an image against deterioration while preserving it for future viewing.
A photographic negative cannot be interpreted directly without appropriate printing. Enlargement onto photographic paper reveals the recorded image in its intended tonal values.
Eventually Megumi discovers something infinitely more dangerous than your cursed technique: you actually see him. And that's probably the reason you've carved your way into his heart so deeply. You see him. Not the Zen'in heir. Not Gojo's student. Not the prodigy. Just Megumi. You ask if he's sleeping enough because the circles under his eyes have gotten darker. You quietly hand him bottled water before he remembers he's thirsty. You notice he's favoring his ribs after missions without him ever saying they're injured. None of these observations are dramatic. None of them are accompanied by speeches. You simply pay attention. Megumi realizes, with mounting horror, that nobody has really done that before. And he wants you to continue doing this.
There comes a point where Megumi can no longer pretend coincidence is simply coincidence.
Individually, none of it means anything. You wait for him after missions because you happen to finish packing your camera at the same time. You happen to buy two cans of coffee because convenience stores only sell them in refrigerated rows anyway. You happen to sit beside him on trains because there are only so many empty seats. Every explanation is perfectly reasonable on its own. Megumi accepts every single one without argument because he's always preferred simpler answers. Life is easier when things have practical explanations. The problem begins when practical explanations start occurring every single day.
It starts with the train.
Not because the two of you share the same line—that part has always been true—but because you begin missing trains you ordinarily would've caught. You're standing beside him on the platform one evening, camera tucked safely beneath your coat against the rain, when the doors slide open in front of you. You glance at the carriage. Then at him. Then, with complete nonchalance, you let the train leave without boarding it. The next one arrives seven minutes later. You spend those seven minutes discussing whether convenience store pudding has become noticeably worse in recent years. Megumi doesn't think about it until it happens again. Then a third time. Then enough times that he quietly checks the timetable himself just to confirm you really are choosing to wait.
Megumi never asks why; somehow he knows the answer already. And the entire school knows before either of you do.
Not because either of you are particularly obvious. Quite the opposite, actually. You and Megumi never touch beyond whatever is strictly necessary during missions. You don't flirt. You don't exchange lingering glances across classrooms like some cheap romance manga. Half the conversations you have consist of practical things like checking train schedules, reminding each other to eat after overnight assignments, or asking whether either of you remembered extra film. On paper, the relationship is painfully ordinary.
People have functioning eyes.
Itadori notices first because Megumi starts waiting outside classrooms he has absolutely no reason to be standing outside. Kugisaki notices because you've somehow become the only person capable of convincing Megumi to actually buy himself lunch instead of another miserable convenience-store rice ball. Maki notices because the two of you unconsciously drift toward one another during briefings until there's barely enough room between your shoulders for another person to stand. Panda starts making bets. Inumaki simply looks between the two of you once before muttering, "Salmon."
Gojo is, naturally, unbearable. Because he was the one who put you together in the first place, alll those months ago.
"So," he says one afternoon while Megumi is filling out mission paperwork, "how's your wife?"
Megumi is alrady aggravated by so. "...What."
"[Name]-chan."
Megumi doesn't even look up. He always found it strange that he refers to you by your first name and not your last. but he guessed it was because Gojo liked picking up random kids to nurture them. "...She's not my wife."
"Girlfriend?" Gojo asks, a vehement no following. He hums. "Fiancée?"
The pen snaps. Gojo bursts into laughter loud enough that several first-years poke their heads into the hallway to see what happened. Megumi silently reaches for another pen while considering whether murdering one's teacher constitutes self-defense.
And the confession happens after a mission so painfully ordinary neither of you will remember what the curse even looked like ten years from now.
Just rain.
The kind that starts as mist before deciding it has somewhere important to be, soaking through uniforms within minutes. The station entrance is crowded with people waiting for it to pass, umbrellas colliding every few seconds as strangers apologize to one another without looking up. You stand beneath the awning beside Megumi, carefully drying your camera with a cloth that has long since become too damp to actually absorb anything. Something about this feels entirely too familiar but everything that comes after feels novel.
"...It's ruined," you sigh quietly.
"It'll dry."
You shake your head and Megumi doesn't even try to argue. You know better. "The film won't."
Silence settles comfortably between the two of you. Not awkward. It hasn't been awkward for months now. And the air, while you're sure you aren't crazy, feels sweet, like amazake, or something else that reminds you of warmth.
You glance sideways. "You're staring again."
Megumi blinks, shuffling slightly. "Sorry."
"You've apologized to me more this week than I apologized to you in six months," you state. You counted. You would never admit this to Megumi but you've started counting how many times he's apologized. For simply brushing your arm. For talking first before you.
"...I have?"
"Mhm."
He hadn't realized. The rain grows louder against the station roof and the foggy mist beyond your vision continues. You smile to yourself while carefully removing the memory card from your camera. "...It's cute."
Megumi stiffens. "...What's cute?"
"You," the words leave your mouth with complete sincerity. Megumi forgets how to breathe momentarily. An actual contraction in his lungs he's sure isn't good. You point absentmindedly toward the space between his brows. "You have a wrinkle—when you're embarrassed."
He immediately smooths his expression and you smirk playfully, snorting. "...It's gone now."
"It probably isn't," you flatly say, though the teasing edge of your expression doesn't minimize itself one bit. It's become one of his favorite expressions. Maybe he's just a masochist. Or he thinks everything you do should be framed like a photo album.
Megumi complains. "...Stop looking at me."
"I am," you frown at him, squinting at him and kicking the back of his leg softly, not enough for him to tumble, not enough for him to buckle.
Megumi falters, head turning just a fraction to his left, where you are. "Don't."
You raise an eyebrow at him, hand gripping on the camera bag so hard, your nails dig into the fabric. Your heart flutters, and you're entirely too sure what the feeling is because Gojo keeps teasing you about it. And he's mostly right. You continue looking anyway.
Megumi exhales through his nose. Another silence unfolds surrounding your space, only the open sounds of rain drizzling atop the roof. This one lasts longer. Megumi doesn't mind silence, and yet, he couldn't stop himself from breaking it.
"...I think I'm in love with you."
The sentence arrives in the exact same tone he'd use to announce tomorrow's weather. Flat and matter-of-fact like he'd simply become too exhausted to keep carrying it.
The realization strikes him approximately one second after the words leave his mouth. His eyes widen exactly half an inch but neither of you move, not because you don't know what to do, but because you've both imagined this moment so many different ways that reality somehow feels smaller than expectation.
Rain continues hammering against the pavement beyond the station roof. People hurry past carrying transparent umbrellas. Somewhere farther down the street, a crossing signal chirps into the evening.
"Megumi," you say his name in that tone again, whatever tone you use for dogs. At this point, he's compared it to how you talk to White too many times, but he's far too in love with it to hate it.
"...Forget I—"
"I can't," you quickly interrupt then you falter the same way as him. the hold on your camera bag tightens and you murmur: "I think I love you too."
He closes his eyes just for a second. Like someone who's spent months bracing for impact only to discover the ground beneath him is unexpectedly soft. "You do?" he asks, genuinely surprised.
"I thought I was being obvious," you deadpan. Well it was obvious, to anyone but the two of you apparently. Megumi trails off with an unsure no. "I've literally been carrying cat treats for your dogs."
His voice disappears. You step closer before he has anything else to say. Close enough now that your soaked sleeves brush together every time either of you breathes. Close enough that your warmth seeps into him and his warmth seeps into you.
"Can I kiss you?" you ask, peering up at him through lashes wet from the rain.
It's almost funny how immediately he answers.
"...Please."
Your fingers reach first, not for his face, but for the collar of his uniform, straightening it out of pure nervous habit even though the rain has already ruined it. Megumi watches every tiny movement with the concentration of someone trying to memorize something before it disappears forever.
Then you lean up and he meets you halfway. The kiss is embarrassingly gentle, barely there. Nothing like either of you secretly imagined during sleepless nights and train rides home. Then again, you've never kissed a man before, and Kugisaki told you that Megumi's never had a girlfriend before (which relieved you way too much).
It's just warm despite the rain. Short enough that neither of you is completely certain it happened until you separate again. Megumi doesn't move very far. Neither do you. You feel fulfilled, but somehow incomplete. What a selfish being.
"...Can I do that again?" he asks so quietly you're almost convinced the rain invented the sentence for him.
You laugh. Not loudly. Just enough that he thinks he'll spend the rest of his life trying to hear that exact sound again.
"Yeah," you whisper. As many times as you want."
Megumi has one catastrophic realization. Everything he values—His techniques. His shikigami. His composure. His plans. His emotional restraint. You've managed to disrupt every single one. And somehow, he doesn't actually want things to go back to the way they were.
The final print cannot contain information absent from the original negative. Printing reveals only what has already been recorded.
Store negatives in a cool, dry location away from direct sunlight. Proper storage ensures the image remains stable for future viewing.
notes ꩜ hi i've been in a slump lately AND on vacation so all my actual fics are in the gutter im sorry for only giving you slop :[ i made this literally TODAY so if you see any errors lmk. anyway, i have a taglist, i have an ao3, i have a camera ripped off from fatal frame. comments and reblogs appreciated. byebye 𖹭
some people will be like “I wonder why fanfic writers don’t share their works anymore😔” and then this is them when a writer is kind enough to share something they write — as a hobby, for their own enjoyment — with them for free.
some people really don’t realize how privileged they are that they get fanfics for free. imagine having access to something for free because someone is kind enough to share it with you… and then being rude, entitled and an ungrateful pos to that person who was kind enough to share their creation with you for free
“almost 1 year is a lil too much for me” fuck off. fanfic writers don’t owe you anything. one of my favorite fics was updated after 13 years, and what I did is that I thanked the author for choosing to continue the work, I didn’t act like a spoiled toddler by asking why they didn’t update sooner. and even if a writer chooses to abandon their fic permanently with no explanation, that is their choice, their hobby, their decision. they don’t owe your entitled ass anything.
you people let tiktok rot your brains to the point you see everything as content farm and engagement. not a piece of art created by the artist’s love and passion. it’s dystopian.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ A STUDY CONDUCTED BY MEGUMI FUSHIGURO EST. 2009-2018: HOW NOT TO RAISE YOUR YOUNGER TWIN SIBLINGS!
tags/warnings: ooc,, they only have little kid crushes at first okay these are CHILDREN, yuji’s twin sister!reader (born 2002), older brother!choso (born 1996), older brother!sukuna (born 1992), cussing (it’s sukuna’s fault), all fics in this series don’t follow the same timeline, final destination 5 spoilers, violence/death mention (in a movie), drug use
main masterlist | series masterlist | join taglist!!
INCIDENT #1: “i swear ON MY LIFE, they were standing there two seconds ago. Is it really my fault all of them are five apples tall?” - choso est. 2009
Sukuna made the mistake of sending Choso off to take care of you and your twin brother while he ran errands at the mall. He was responsible, yeah, but was he responsible enough?
You two had this weird habit of going into any supermarket you saw. No matter wherever you were, you’d insist on going in. No one objected, because the one time they did, yuji threw himself onto the floor crying as loud as he could.
You happened to run into Megumi that day. Lucky ass.
Choso had zoned out in the produce aisle, staring off into the shelves of endless fruits and vegetables. He didn’t even need to focus on the world to know you two were still standing near him. You were so loud that he couldn’t hear his own thoughts anyways.
“[Name]! I already told you, I’m allergic to dairy! Are you trying to kill me, huh?” Yuji boomed, yelling so loud people would stop walking up and down aisles to stare. “You should know this better than anybody!”
“Lawyer up, bro.”
“Megumi, shut up.” You hissed. “Eggs aren’t dairy, idiot.”
“Then why are they in the dairy section?” Yuji rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the entire world. Megumi mumbled something about how it was ‘to confuse dumbasses like him’.
The pink haired boy pouted pettily. “I’m literally about to die, and you give zero fucks about me.”
“I do care. It’s just that I know something you don’t.”
“What?”
“That eggs aren’t fucking dairy.”
You would rather not spend thirty minutes explaining to your brother how eggs came from chickens and dairy products came from cows.
“They’re literally not in the dairy aisle though.” Megumi supplied, backing you up on your claim that shouldn’t even have been an argument anyways.
“Yuh huh they are.”
“Nuh uh.”
“Yuh huh!”
“They’re not!” Megumi knitted his brows together. “They’re in the frozen food aisle!”
“Fine. Why don’t we just settle this by checking the dairy aisle?” Yuji offered, with you two nodding in agreement. Before you knew it, you had wandered off, away from your older brother, who was still staring at a tomato like it was whispering the secrets of the universe to him.
What was more concerning was that it took him ten whole minutes to realize you were missing. The moment he did, he ran around the entire supermarket looking for you three. You were basically toddlers in his eyes, and losing three toddlers would definitely earn him an ass beating.
He eventually found you through his panic, but not in the way he hoped.
You were all sitting in one of those stupid trains in the centre of the mall that would go round and round and round for a hundred million times. You pulled the lollipop out of your mouth with a loud ‘pop!’, waving at your dark haired brother.
“Cho! Kuna found us!” You grinned. “Oh! And we found out Yuji isn’t allergic to dairy anymore!”
He could tell. Both because of the choclate ice scream smeared all across Yuji face, and because Sukuna was standing off to the side glaring holes into his skull with his arms crossed.
“Hi, kuna…”
“Choso.”
Megumi and Yuji ‘ooooo’ed at the same time, still on the train, going in circles.
INCIDENT #2: “I saw that shit fall right up his nose, I swear.” - [name] est. 2011
Sukuna and Choso were working on their homework, so you and Yuji had dinner together alone that evening. You poked around at your rice, pausing when you noticed Yuji staring blankly at his food.
“What? Is something wrong with it?”
His gaze flickered up to look at you, raising his hands and shaking his head frantically. “No, no! There’s nothing wrong!”
“Then why are you staring at it like it owes you money?”
“You know how in cartoons, black pepper always seem to make characters sneeze?”
“Yes..” You shoved your spoon into your mouth, eyes narrowing. You didn’t like where he was going with this.
“Do you think that actually works in real life?” He tilted his head at you. “I wanna test it out, but..”
“Go for it.”
You really shouldn’t have encouraged him, cause Yuji ended up with an entire peppercorn lodged up his nose. You yelled at him to just ‘sneeze it out’, but the more he stuck his finger up to get it out, the more he shoved it further up his nostril.
You only decided to notify the adult of the house when his nose started bleeding. He burst into tears out of fear, blood dripping down to his lip and into his mouth, which only made him sob harder.
You slammed a palm against sukuna’s door. The door swung open, and his larger frame peered over your tiny one.
“What d’you want, brat? I told you I’m working on a project.”
“Yuji’s guts are spilling from his nose.”
“What.”
Now that’s what you call an exaggeration.
Instead of taking responsibility like you should’ve, you decided to lie. You lied to both the doctors and your older brothers, both of which would get you in big trouble if they ever found out.
You told them that Yuji was lying under the kitchen table when the peppercorn rolled off the table, and right into his nose.
INCIDENT #3: “you can’t fucking tell me that you wouldn’t have freaked out either. my sister’s a fuckin’ psycho, I tell you.” - sukuna est. 2013
When Sukuna told Choso ‘to put something on for the kids to watch’, he 100% did not mean final destination 5. When he walked in on a girl falling and breaking her neck on screen, he almost threw his coffee mug at the TV.
“Choso!” Sukuna growled, instantly snapping him awake.
“Oh. You’re back.”
“Oh? Is that all you have to say for yourself, huh?” He wasn’t sure if yuji had picked up his way of speaking from Sukuna, or if Sukuna picked his speaking habits up from yuji.
“What I do wrong now?” Choso groaned, dragging a hand against his face hard. Sukuna took a whiff of the air, immediately catching the smell of-
“Hey, asshole! I told you not to smoke that shit in front of the kids!” Sukuna hated being the oldest, cause that just meant he had to do everything around the house.
He really shouldn’t have left his brother with you two, especially since he was now high as shit. What a perfect family.
He yanked the remote from Yuji’s hand and changed the channel right as a woman fell through a high-rise window, switching it before you could catch a glimpse of her plummeting to her death.
“Hey! We were watching that!” You whined. Though you were upset at the change of channel, Yuji didn’t seem to mind all that much. You frowned at the sound of Peppa pig starting to play.
“You weren’t supposed to be watching that in the first place.”Sukuna grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How old are you three anyways? Six?”
“We’re eleven.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
He shouldn’t have changed the channel, cause you remained extremely pissed for the rest of the day. Your glare almost reminded Sukuna of his own, all because he wouldn’t let you watch a movie about death itself.
Megumi didn’t know why he was always at your house. Maybe because his parents were never home, but even that would be a lie, because the boy enjoyed silence, and your house was the complete opposite of quiet.
Whenever you’d have sleepovers, the three of you would sleep in your room. He was never a heavy sleeper, so whenever he detected the slightest shift or movement in your room, he’d jolt awake, ready to throw hands.
He knew you were the one awake from your footsteps alone. Well- maybe more so the fact that he could hear Yuji’s loud snoring rumbling throughout your bedroom, but that wasn’t the point.
He pushed himself up from your spare mattress, tiptoeing out of the room, careful not to wake your twin brother. His feet padded across the wooden floor quietly, hand trailing against the hallway walls.
Wherever you went, he wouldn’t be far to follow.
“[Name]..” He whispered as he came up behind you. You didn’t flinch, but he certainly did. He looked down to what you were hiding behind your back and thought ‘sheesh’.
“Hi Megi.” You smiled wider than usual, almost scaring him.
Sukuna stirred slightly, flipping onto his stomach and throwing his arm over the side off of the bed. Doing so, his hand accidentally brushed your arm, which coaxes him out of his sleep.
“Kid?.. what are you doing?”
“Noooooothing.” You hummed, rocking back and forth on your heels. He eventually sat up and caught a glimpse of what you were holding behind your back.
The largest possible carving knife you could find in your kitchen.
“What the actual fuck-” Before you could speak, a pillow was flung towards your face at full speed. You fell face flat onto the ground, unmoving.
“Ah shit..”
INCIDENT #4: “I hate Christmas.” - choso est. 2015
“[Name], what’s this?” Yuji held something up, but you were to occupied struggling to wrap a gift with Megumi to look up.
“That’s a- Megs.” You huffed as you watched him wrestle with the wrapping paper. “That’s a poker stick.”
Through the sounds of Choso’s Christmas playlist (why?) and you and Megumi’s bickering, Yuji held up the poker stick right in his face. Everyone was too busy with their own activities to pay attention to him. Now he knew how Choso felt.
You had told him to leave the kitchen while you two wrapped the gifts. He had always been a tad bit too nosy for his own good. Last Christmas, he accidentally opened everyone’s gifts except for his own.
“Are you sure I can’t help?”
“No!” You and Megumi’s yelled in unison. Why were you two wrapping the gifts again? You didn’t know. Sukuna and Choso were off doing something- thud.
You watched as Choso fell from the roof. Oh, right, they were decorating the roof. You could hear Sukuna cackling about what a ‘fucking dumbass’ he was, with Choso cursing back at him with every cuss word in the book.
You were on the brink of beating Yuji with a gift box with the way he kept following you around, asking the most obnoxious questions he could think of.
“Would you rather chop up and sauté a million kittens and feed them to kindergarteners or swallow six thousand wasps in one go?”
“Would you rather run headfirst into a glass door at full speed or let twelve dogs shit on your face?”
“Would you rather be the 1st, 2nd, 3rd or last person in a human centipede horror scenario?”
Sometimes you questioned how you were related. Actually, everyone questioned how someone like you was related to someone like him. He was the type of person to bite his own thumb off and not realize.
“Ji.”
“Yes, [n/n]?”
“Would you rather I shove your head into the garbage disposal or leave us alone for ten minutes while we wrap your gifts?”
He never ran off faster.
Looking back at the memory, sometimes you regretted telling him to scurry off into the living room, on the other hand, there would always be a tiny voice in your head telling you that what happened next was fucking hilarious.
Yuji sat in front of the fireplace, waving the poker stick around through the flames. When he pulled it out, the tip of the metal was a glowing red colour. He squinted his eyes at it, curious.
So, what did this idiot decide to do? The obvious thing, of course. What any normal, sane person would do with scalding hot metal that would probably give him a third degree burn.
He gave himself a third degree burn.
Smartass over here decided to press the poker stick against his leg to test ‘how hot it was’. He let out a girlish scream that sent you running into the room before it let the sound slip from his lips.
Megumi stood off to the side, filming the entire thing while chuckling under his breath.
INCIDENT #5: “someone put bars on these kids’ windows, so help me god.” - sukuna est. 2018
Megumi sat on the floor with his back against your bed, nose buried in some random book he found in your room. What you were sure of, is that you and Megumi had gotten.. closer.
Yuji has always questioned your relationship, but you always brushed it off as being ‘just friends’. (do friends kiss and hug each other?)
Though you were all older now, that didn’t mean the sleepovers would stop.
Neither would your pranks.
Yuji gasped when he pulled a large bowling ball from under your bed. “[Name]! Look what I found!”
You shut your phone off, snorting. “Oh my god. Not that.”
He spun the ball around in his hands. The glittery green bowling ball was beat up, scratches and dents along the sides. You didn’t know how it was still in tact after what happened.. last time.
“I kinda wanna play street bowling.”
Megumi raised a brow as you threw your legs off the side of your bed and over his shoulders. “What the fuck is street bowling?”
You snickered. “Normally we’d take the car, but Sukuna’s driving around the neighborhood for fun tonight..
“We first take the bowling ball down the street, then we throw-”
“There it goes.” Yuji tossed the bowling ball right out the window, causing Megumi’s jaw to go slack.
“Then we see what it hits.”
Smash!
“SON OF A BITCH!”
You weren’t sure which one filled you with more dread, the sound of the glass smashing, or the sound of your brother cursing in the dead of night.
Yuji hesitantly sticks his head out your bedroom window, immediately pulling back with a yelp when he spotted Sukuna standing there with his arms crossed, right by the car he just destroyed.
“Oh god.” You ran a hand through your hair. “What the fuck did you just do.”
“He never gets back this early! I didn’t think he’d be standing there right as I chucked that thing out there!” Yuji bit the inside of his cheek, pacing around the room. “This is worse than the time I accidentally dropped his AirPods in the toilet.”
“You were seven! The only thing helping you back then was your cuteness, and you’re definitely not as cute anymore
“Hey!”
“He’s going to beat your ass with the bowling ball, then the car.”
a/n: I’m sorry if there r typos I have no motivation to proofread rn 💔
the thing about megumi is that he notices everything twice.
once when it happens, and once again when he replays it later in the dark of his room, picking it apart like he’s trying to find the exact moment he could have done better. or less. or anything other than what he actually did –which was usually nothing.
you’ve been best friends since first year. you sat next to him on the first day because the seat was empty and you didn’t feel like walking farther. he didn’t say much back then. still doesn’t, really. but somewhere between the third mission where you dragged him out of a domain by the sleeve and the hundredth time you fell asleep on the common room couch with your socked feet in his lap, the silence between you stopped feeling like silence. it became something warm, where he could lean into without speaking.
lately though, that warmth has started to burn.
it’s stupid. he knows it’s stupid, but just a hand it’s enough to make him nervous. more precisely, your hand.
the same one that passes him half-eaten convenience store onigiri, the same one that flicks his bangs when you think he’s brooding too hard, the same one currently dangling inches from his own as you both walk back from the vending machines behind the dorms under this sweltering late april evening. sakura petals keep committing suicide into your hair, dying at its tips and behind your ear. you’re complaining –halfheartedly– about how gojo-sensei made you do a hundred extra burpees as ‘character development’.
megumi is barely listening. not because he doesn’t care, but because he’s focused on something else.
he’s listening to the soft slap of your sneakers. to the crinkle of the plastic bottle in your other hand, the crunch of the empty wrapper of the protein bar you ate in one bite after finishing your workout. to the way your pinky keeps brushing the side of his palm every four steps like it’s accidental. but he knows it isn’t. he checked. in fact, he counted.
his pulse is loud in his ears. louder than your voice. louder than the cicadas starting their evening shift. he’s pretty sure if a grade 2 curse popped out of the ground right now he’d exorcise it on reflex and then immediately die of embarrassment anyway.
you stop walking, and he almost walks into you.
“you okay?” you ask, tilting your head. a petal lands on your collarbone, discreet and vivid. “you’ve got that face again.”
“what face?” he murmurs, unbothered.
“of someone who was told that kenjaku didn't hide 20, but 50 sukuna fingers.”
he exhales through his nose and immediately looks away. the vending machine lights paint the side of your face in weak blue.
“i’m fine.”
“c’mon.” you say it gently. not accusing, just stating a fact, like the sky is up or megumi fushiguro is a terrible liar when it comes to you.
he swallows. he thinks about all the times he almost did this before:
1. the rain after shibuya (november, age 16)
you were both soaked through, adrenaline still rattling your bones. the safehouse was three blocks away and neither of you had the energy to run. you walked shoulder-to-shoulder under the same umbrella gojo had tossed at you like it was a joke.
your sleeve was torn. blood –yours or someone else’s– had dried in a rusty smear across your knuckles. megumi kept glancing at your hand dangling limp at your side, fingers slightly curled like they hurt too much to straighten.
he lifted his own hand once, pretending he was just adjusting the umbrella angle. his fingertips brushed the edge of your pinky for exactly two seconds and his heart slammed so hard he tasted metal. he jerked his hand back like he’d been burned, shoved it deep in his pocket, and muttered something about the umbrella tilting.
you looked at him then, but you didn’t push. just kept walking.
he hated himself for the rest of the night.
2. the train ride home (january, late evening)
you’d both fallen asleep against the window after a long mission in saitama. your head ended up on his shoulder; his arm was trapped awkwardly between you. when the train lurched, your hand slid off your lap and landed palm-down across his thigh, just above the knee.
he froze –like, completely–, not even breathing for what felt like minutes.
your fingers were loose, relaxed in sleep, and warm through the fabric of his uniform pants. he could feel each one individually: thumb near the inseam, pinky hanging off the edge. he stared at your hand like it was an ama no sakahoko he didn't know how to use.
the announcement for your stop jolted you awake. you lifted your head, yawned, and pulled your hand back without comment, like it had never happened.
megumi spent the rest of the ride with his own hands clenched between his knees so they wouldn’t do anything stupid again.
3. convenience store parking lot (february, golden hour)
you were sharing a melon soda because the vending machine ate your coins and you refused to let it win. you held the can between you, passing it back and forth. when you offered it to him the last time, your fingers overlapped on the cold aluminum. not brushing, just overlapping.
he felt the soft pad of your index finger press against his middle one. deliberate? accidental? he still doesn’t know. his grip tightened involuntarily, trapping both your fingers against the can.
for three full seconds neither of you moved. then, you tilted your head, smiled that small sideways smile you do when you’re teasing but trying not to scare him off, and said: “you gonna drink it or just hold my hand through the can?”
he let go so fast the soda almost spilled and apologized under his breath.
you laughed and forgot about it in a blink. but he didn’t sleep that night.
4. library corner, 2 a.m. study session (march, spring heat)
you were quizzing each other on barrier techniques using yuji’s messy flashcards. the desk was small and your elbows kept bumping. at one point you reached for the same card at the same time, and of course, your knuckles collided. you didn’t pull away promptly, but let them stay pressed together, looking at the point of contact so immersively.
megumi’s pulse roared in his ears. he could slide his fingers over yours. just rotate his wrist half an inch. it would be too easy. natural. inevitable.
instead –because megumi seemed to hate easy things–, he snatched the card, flipped it over too aggressively, and started reading the answer in a flat monotone as if you’d insulted him and ruined the game.
you watched him for a beat too long, but you regained your composure leaning back, stretching, and changing the subject to cursed spirits that hate (the imminent) summer.
he still feels the ghost of that almost-touch on his knuckles when he’s all alone in any room.
5. jujutsu high (yesterday)
you were both sitting on the dorm roof after lights-out, sharing earbuds because your phone playlist had a song he ‘needed to hear’ –it just so happened to be picture you by chappell roan, nothing rehearsed (obviously), just improvised. your shoulder was against his. your hand rested on the concrete between you: palm up, fingers relaxed, like an open invitation he was too terrified to accept.
the wind kept pushing your hair into his face. he reached up to brush it away (pure reflex) and his fingertips grazed your temple instead.
you turned toward him. close. so close you could feel his sigh caressing your face, spreading his breath like the wind did with the scent of the ashes of the bonfire that had been lit to watch over the outskirts.
his hand dropped, landing less than a centimeter from yours. he could feel the heat radiating off your skin, but he didn’t move.
you waited as he stared at the tiny –chasmy– gap, but the song ended and you pulled the earbud out, gave him a long look he couldn’t read, and said softly: “you’re invading my personal space.”
he flushed red as a higanbana and moved, awkwardly.
that night, after you’d gone inside, he sat on the roof alone for another hour, flexing and unflexing the hand that had almost been brave.
every single time he froze. every single time he told himself there would be a better moment.
there isn’t a better moment. there’s only this one. those near-misses will forever live rent-free, and tonight, he feels the pull stronger than ever. your curious eyes meet his and something in his chest ignites.
you’re still looking at him. patient, but a little worried now.
“megumi?”
his throat clicks when he swallows again.
and then, before the part of his brain that overthinks can strangle the impulse, he moves.
his fingers kind of fumble into the spaces between yours like he’s trying to solve a puzzle with gloves on, but fitting like they’ve always belonged there. the contact sends a jolt up his arm as your skin meets his, warm and soft against his clammy palm. his heart thunders, a wild rhythm that drowns out everything else, and for a split second, the world narrows to just this: the way your breath catches, the subtle hitch in your step, the sakura petals still catching in the wind like they're dancing for you both.
he hates that he notices his clumsiness. he hates that you’ll notice.
and you do, but you don’t pull away. your fingers curl, slowly, carefully interlocking with a gentle pressure that makes his pulse spike even higher. your thumb traces a slow, deliberate circle over his knuckle, sending shivers racing across his skin.
he can’t look at you yet. he prefers to stare at the space between your shoes instead. in the background, there’s the sound of a local shop curtain closing and the footsteps of a lady moving away, indifferent to the heroic act that the boy has performed on her street.
“you’re shaking.” you mutter, laced with wonder.
he dares to look at you now; your eyes are wide, shining with something that mirrors the storm in the sky from a week ago. you bite your lip, trying to hide a smile that's breaking through anyway.
“i know.”
he squeezes your hand and a small, surprised laugh escapes you; it bubbles up like champagne, and you swing your joined hands a little. the motion is playful but charged, sending another thrill through him.
“you’re so dramatic.”
“i’m not.” his ears burn. the words dissolve as you step closer, your free hand brushing his arm lightly, igniting sparks wherever you touch.
you start walking again, slower this time. neither of you speak again for a while, but you don’t need to, because the cicadas do it for you, singing louder now.
he still feels the rush, the excitement coiling in his veins like cursed energy ready to burst, but now it's mixed with something deeper. sweeter.
and somewhere in the middle of all that noise, megumi thinks maybe next time he’ll be brave enough to kiss you.
Please, Please PLEASE For the love of god, JJK fandom, The Jujitsu Kaisen fandom. STOP USING THE WRONG TAGS! AND STOP TAGGING OTHER CHARACTERS IN FICS WHERE THEY ARE NOT THE MAIN CHARACTER IN THE FIC OR IN THE FIC AT ALL. YOU ARE DROWNING THE TAGS WITH THE WRONG CHARATERS!! AND STOP TAGGING ALL THE CHARACTERS TO GAIN TRACTION ON YOUR FICS!! BASIC FANDOM ETIQUETTE!!!
EX: A Gojo fic should be with the Gojo Tags, not the Nanami Kento tags. A Toji fic should be with the Toji tags attached, not the Geto tags! Etc, etc!
GENUINELY why are so many fics ending before anything good happens. 1k words for nothing to happen... 1-3k isn't even a lot why is the biggest thing that happens is the two characters smiling at eachother or looking into each others eyes i want a fully fleshed out fic why are we losing the art of writing good stuff. AND IT'S LIKE you guys have the skill to write actual scenes. Im reading these fics just to be left in some weird cliffhanger but it's all nothing burgers.
you’re just tired of feeling like you’re the only one who cares more. of watching megumi stare through you like he’s never once thought about you too hard.
so when he walks you home and stops at the bottom of the steps, hands shoved in his pockets like he always does, ready to say goodnight the same way he always does—with nothing at all.
you stop him.
“can i ask you something?” your voice isn’t angry. it’s just soft. tired.
he looks at you, nods once.
“do you even like me?”
his brows pull slightly together, that blank expression faltering for the briefest second.
“what?”
you let out a short breath.
“you never say anything. never show anything. you look at me like we’re classmates, not like you… like me.”
his silence is a confirmation in itself, and it stings more than you thought it would.
you glance toward your door.
maybe you should just go.
“forget it,” you mutter. “just get home safe, alright?”
but his hand reaches for your wrist before you can turn away. he’s not rough, just… firm.
“you think i don’t feel anything?” his voice is low, flat, but undercut with something sharp.
you look back at him. his eyes are harder than usual.
“i think you’re good at hiding things. even from me.” your own voice cracks a little on the last word.
his hand drops.
he exhales, staring at the ground like he’s thinking something through—fighting with himself. and then he speaks.
“you want me to open up?” he’s not asking. he’s warning.
“fine.” he’s still not looking at you, jaw tight.
“i’ve been trying to un-like you for weeks and i can’t. it’s pissing me off.”
you blink. “megumi—”
he doesn’t stop. like he’s been holding it in for too long and now it’s flooding out of him, quiet and biting and desperate in its own way.
“you distract me. i think about you when i’m supposed to be fighting. when i’m supposed to be sleeping. i’ve run entire scenarios in my head of what happens if something happens to you and it makes me physically sick.”
your breath catches.
“i don’t flirt. i don’t say sweet shit. that’s not who i am,” he continues, voice low but steady. “but you think just because i don’t say anything that i don’t feel anything?”
he looks up at you, finally. and it hits you like a punch.
his expression is raw—eyes wide, mouth tight, like he’s two seconds from completely losing it.
“i’ve never wanted anything as bad as i want you” he says.
you don’t move.
don’t even breathe.
“but if you need someone who’s better at showing it, say the word and i’ll back off” he says, voice suddenly softer. “i’ll figure it out. i always do.”
he’s giving you an out.
but it doesn’t feel like a threat.
it feels like grief.
and your chest aches with how much you don’t want him to.
you reach up, fingers brushing his jaw gently, and you swear he freezes.
like your touch rewrote his whole nervous system.
“you don’t have to be anyone else,” you whisper. “just… don’t shut me out.”
he closes his eyes for half a second, exhales slow. “okay.”
“and stop trying to ‘un-like’ me,” you add. “that’s dumb.”
his lips twitch into the smallest smile, barely there. but it’s real.
he tilts his head slightly, eyes softening just enough.
“you inviting me in, or you just gonna keep yelling at me on the porch?”
you smile back, heart still racing. “come in.”
he doesn’t say anything. just follows you up the steps.
and when you brush against him at the doorway, his hand finds yours.
no words.
but you feel it.
everything he never said, all in the way his fingers tighten around yours like he finally decided—
im a huge freak who likes megumi more than anything else in the world all my favorite books are about megumi i visit megumi cafes every single day and i collect megumi figures too my heart races every time i play a dating game and the guy looks like megumi and in my free time i dress in megumi cosplays and breathe heavily while i stare at myself in the mirror
yearner megumi painting u like one of his french girls, dedicating this to my favorite person ever tqm <3
wc: 0.6k
Underneath all the notebooks and manga volumes covering his desk is one particular treasure.
Megumi Fushiguro's sketchbook.
It's not something he was particularly passionate about, and he didn't spend hours with creases between his brows, trying to get the perspective right. Instead, it was something he indulged in, letting the scruffs against paper fill the silence.
Self-taught would be the right word. It started in grade school, the margins of his homework, littered with petals that made out lilies; Tsumiki's favorite flower.
Then it was the neighborhood cat that wandered the streets. Ravishing the tuna Megumi left out for him as he sketched every detail of its tattered fur. Kissing his teeth, irritated, when his subject moved too much.
Before he knew it, he was buying another book with pages to fill. The fruit bowl was purely for decoration, yet he found himself figuring out how to capture every shadow. He used to talk to the waning moon, but now he'd rather draw out every pore and concave.
Then it was you.
Megumi didn't know when it started, his growing annoyance towards you. Maybe it was the way you waltzed around the school, never bothering to acknowledge him. Even on missions, you'd only talk when necessary, preferring to take charge and let him have half the credit like he wasn't competent enough.
Maybe annoyance was too light a word.
He hated your pessimistic attitude, the bored look in your eyes. He hated how you gnawed the inside of your cheek, how your fingers tapped against the desk as if you were counting the minutes.
And God, he hated how good you looked on Bristol paper.
Graphite pencil lining the edge of your jaw. The pads of his fingers smudge the grey to mimic your eyeshadow. Geometrical shapes that just so happen to make up the proportion of your body. Every page he touched became you. Sketch after sketch—he couldn't help himself.
Megumi's hand moved before his mind caught up. Hunched over in his bed, detailing the way your hair blew in the wind. During training, watching you spar from afar, making sure he got your posture just right. The rules of the third no longer mattered to him. Composition didn't exist in his art. Not when you were his only focal point.
It was just practice; he tried to tell himself. Honing his skills through you, trying to focus on how the sun blends into the horizon rather than the texture of your hair. But somewhere between the first and last graze of his pen, your silhouette appeared in the corner, and suddenly his landscape felt complete.
He tried to be subtle, he really did. A mere creak in the floorboard was all it took for his hand to snap the book shut, a quiet wince at the graphite smearing against each other.
But when relief washed over him, and the pounding against his ribs calmed, he finally put his pencil down with a breath caught in his chest. Silently wishing it was you walking through the door, catching him—drawing you in every way he shouldn't.
But sketchbooks turned into loose sheets, and grey pigments became color. Because a pencil couldn't capture your vivid eyes, nor the faint tint on your lips. Only the shades of skin could highlight the faint crinkles in your features when you smile.
And every tender stroke of his brush painted the way he wished to touch you. Diluting shades into reverent words he could never say, illustrating the version of you that only he understood.
But you'll only ever live on paper. Longing words caught between the borders of bleeding colors.
Avoiding your eyes as if he isn't falling in love with every shade of you.
I've been feeling a little down lately with my writing, so I decided to do another prompt generator for regency!Megumi. This one turned out a lot longer than I was expecting, but I like it and I hope you do too <3
word count: 3.4k
let me know if I missed any tags, and thanks to Moni (@karamfilmare) for beta-reading this for me
She stood out from the crowd simply by existing.
Honora Zenin was only eleven years old, yet she captured every eye on the lawn with her budding beauty. While it was rare children were allowed at society functions, it wasn’t exactly odd she was there. Instead of a ball at a dance hall or dinner at one of the many great manor houses in London, you were celebrating a christening. A christening for Suguru Geto’s newest granddaughter, to be exact.
The young girl was probably safe in the Geto’s family manor in the arms of her nurse and not out and about the throngs of partygoers mingling in the garden amongst tables of refreshments and lawn games the families were enjoying. The Zenins were among them, sitting under one of the various canopies set up to provide shade for the ladies. You were sitting under another across the way with Nobara Kugisaki and Maki Zenin, surveying the other party guests. The two women chatted about both everything and nothing while you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the passel of blond children. Portia Zenin sat amongst them in a gauzy blue gown, looking particularly uncomfortable with the swell of her belly. The youngest among them, a young girl no more than one, sat on her lap as Portia bounced her on her knee. The middle three alternated between crowding around their mother vying for her undivided attention and running too far from their spot on the lawn chased by their nurses. Honora, the eldest of them all, sat next to her stepmother. She looked nervous, her blonde curls swinging around her head as her alert eyes tried to absorb everything around her. Her dress was obviously of good quality, made of light green cotton which paired well with the delicate golden chain around her neck that shone when it caught the light. Something that would show the Zenin’s wealth. Probably at the behest of her father. The man in question was nowhere to be found. Several of the men had gone somewhere further into the garden with Geto, presumably to smoke and drink away from their wives’ nagging eyes.
“You wouldn’t believe the lecture I got this morning from Grandmother as we were preparing to come here.” Nobara complained while fanning herself. Her eyes were following every passerby. She knew everything about everyone, and every party just made you more sure she was shaping up to give the gossiping mothers of the ton a run for their money. “I’m sure I’ll hear another about how I’m wasting my fertile years instead of finding a husband and getting it over with already.”
“At least your grandmother cares enough to nag.” Maki scoffed as she took a sip of her lemonade. “My mother just gives me these sad looks and my father barely speaks to me except to yell about a declined marriage proposal.”
“What, you didn’t want to be married to a man five years your father’s senior? I couldn’t imagine why.” You smirked. You looked across the garden for the third time that hour, trying to find Megumi. He had gone off with Yuuji to follow the other men as soon as the opportunity presented itself. You had half a mind to find him yourself and bring him back. You were married, he was supposed to at least be seen with you once during the gathering.
Movement to your right caused you to look quickly at the entrance to the hedge garden, hoping it was Megumi returning. Instead. Naoya Zenin entered, smiling condescendingly at those around him before finally reaching his family. He greeted his wife with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a genuine smile before turning his attention to his small army now surrounding him, all calling out ‘Papa! Papa!’.
Your mind went to your own father, halfway around the world. You hadn’t received a letter from him in months, though letters were few and far between, given how long it took for letters to even arrive. You’d requested he stay in London for the whole season, but he left soon after your confrontation with Kinji Hakari on urgent business despite your pleas. His departure wasn’t necessary. You knew he could have stayed, if he wanted to. But he didn’t. You couldn’t remember the last time he had stayed in town for the whole season, let alone three months together. It had to have been before your mother died, and you barely remembered her face.
Did he ever even interact with you the way Naoya was now, letting his children chase him on the grass and ‘tackle’ him? Or guiding you through a dance as he did with Honora minutes later, joining other couples in an impromptu quadrille, leading her with the strength and poise she needed to be confident in the steps herself until she was dancing with a grace that caused all eyes to be on her. There she was, daughter of Naoya Zenin, a known womanizer turned family man after his sudden wedding, to his daughter’s governess no less, looking at Honora like she was the apple of his eye when you knew for a fact she was produced from an illicit affair. And yet, she had her father’s support when you didn’t. You, whom everyone envied. Who had everyone’s eye when you entered a ballroom, who had her choice of any man in the ton before your marriage to Megumi Fushiguro. But you didn’t have what she had. And it made your blood boil.
You never even had the chance for such tender moments with your father. At age three after the mourning period for your mother had ended, your father had sent you to live with your maternal uncle and his wife while he went away on business, which then turned into…forever. The house your family had shared in London was sold, the property in the north closed up indefinitely. He only returned for short periods at a time, usually at major events. A birthday milestone, your presentation at court. Even then it wasn’t a guarantee he would come, evidenced by his absence at your wedding. You postponed the event as long as possible given the urgency of the situation, but he still didn’t attempt to come. Too busy, too needed, his letter stated. You needed him, didn’t that matter?
Envy. You realized with sudden self-awareness. The burning hole in your gut that threatened to claw its way up and out your throat in a scream that would rattle the windows. Have you ever felt this way before? You wondered if you had. Jealousy, yet. You were jealous of the dress another woman, you were jealous that a friend had been able to go to seabathing, you still felt small pangs of jealousy as your eyes drifted to Yuuji Nanami and Yuko Ozawa, standing in a semi-secluded corner with their heads together and smiles on both their faces. This was different. This was…ugly.
“Please excuse me.” You said suddenly to Maki and Nobara, walking out of the garden towards the house, through the first floor until you finally reached the retiring room. You collapsed on one of the ottomans, taking several deep, gasping breaths until you felt the haze clear from your lungs. Why did you feel this way? Why did watching that man, of all people, cause you to feel this way? You had accepted your circumstances long ago. You lived with your aunt and uncle, and your cousins. You had the support you needed from them, they treated you like you were their own child. Your father worked wherever the company sent him,and sent letters and favors on a periodic basis. You were sure your father cared, in his own way, but the death of your mother had such a lasting effect on him. Why, at this moment, was it now bothering you?
You didn’t know how long you remained in the retiring room, trying to compose yourself enough to rejoin the party. It had been less than two hours since your arrival, but you wanted to leave. As if hearing your thoughts, Abigail, your lady’s maid, entered the room and bobbed a curtsy to you once finding you resting alone.
“My lady, are you alright?” Her eyes showed genuine concern. “You left so abruptly.”
You ignored her question and ran a hand down your face roughly. “What is it, Abigail?”
“His lordship requested I find you. I believe he wants to return home.”
“So soon?” She responded with a shrug. You sighed and stood though you were grateful for the excuse to leave. “Best not keep him waiting, then.”
Megumi was waiting outside the room, leaning against the wall looking impatient while he waited for you to emerge. His eyes, normally so distant and devoid of emotion, were hard and burning. Something had upset him enough to prompt his departure. Had something happened when he was with the other men? He normally never reacted to what was said, even if it was a slander against him. He didn’t care what others thought of him. Why was he troubled?
“Let’s go.” He said flatly, pushing off from the wall and walking towards the exit. “I’ve already had Samuel call for the carriage.”
“What happened?” You had to pick up your skirts to follow his quick pace. “Is something wrong?”
He stopped only when you were both safely outside. He turned to look at you and opened his mouth like he was about to speak, but closed it and focused his gaze on the stones beneath his feet. “I’d rather not discuss it.”
“When we’re home?”
The pointed look in your countenance told him that you would discuss it when you were home and he sighed in resignation. “Yes, when we’re home.”
Later that night, you laid awake staring at the canopy above your bed. Even though you and Megumi had finished speaking hours before, his words still rang in his ears.
Lowborn. Upstart. Opportunist. That’s what Naoya Zenin had called you. He had mocked Megumi for your match because you were not born to a noble family with titles, like them. More specifically, he called you a charity case due to the nature of your upbringing. You were unworthy to even breathe the same air as those of their station, and they would never see you as equal to them. Your marriage was morganatic to the Zenin family, and they saw you as no better than a peasant.
You squeezed your eyes shut to banish the thoughts from your head. You weren’t bothered by what Naoya had said. Whether he approved of your or not was of no consequence. Megumi had no relation to the Zenin family any longer, being liberated from them along with Tsumiki when he was younger to live with Gojo and be raised in his rightful place as heir. Whatever opinion they had of him, or of you, or of any decision you two made did not matter.
What bothered you was how upset Megumi was, even when he told you. His shoulders shook with rage even recounting the story to you. Before you could discuss it with him further, he had left the room. You thought it best not to seek him out. He was upset, that was for certain. You had learned when he was upset, it was best to leave him alone until he worked it through himself. You preferred to discuss, however. And right now, the only person you could discuss this with was him. Abigail had long gone to bed, and this was not a topic you could discuss with her. You trusted her to an extent but you couldn’t risk this spreading amongst the servants.
Climbing from bed, you grabbed your dressing gown and tied it tightly around your waist to protect yourself from the chill in the air. You chose to forgo your slippers and walked to the door barefoot, set on walking to Megumi’s room to see if he was awake.
“Oh!” You exclaimed when you opened the door.
Megumi paced outside in the hallway opposite your door, clad similarly in his dressing gown and bare feet. His pillow was clutched in one hand, swinging next to him as his gaze remained focused on the carpeted floor. At the sound of your voice, his head shot up and turned to look at you.
“(Y/N).” He answered simply. You could have sworn his face was slightly red in the dimly lit space at being caught loitering outside your room.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, I…I was having trouble sleeping. So I decided to walk to try to calm my mind, I just happened to end up here.” His voice stammered slightly while explaining. He looked almost sheepish.
You fought back a smile and decided to tease him a little. “With your pillow?”
His back stiffened at your jest. “I forgot I had it.”
“Of course.” You demurred, turning behind you to look into your room. You suspected he had come to look for you as well, still disturbed by what had transpired today. You normally slept better with someone in the bed when you had something on your mind, or a nightmare. Before when that happened, you usually went to your cousin’s room or she to yours if she were in the same predicament. Now that you were married and living with Megumi, seeking that comfort was no longer an option.
“Would you like to sleep in here?” You gestured behind you.
He stared at you blankly for a moment then seemed to compose himself and took a step back. “I, I don’t think--
“We’re married. It wouldn’t be unheard of for us to sleep in the same bed. It might actually be encouraged.” You managed a small smile. “Isn’t that what you were coming to ask?”
He looked down at the pillow clutched in his hand. “I suppose.” He murmured.
You stepped to the side to allow him an entry. “Come on, then.”
The dogs who had been resting near their master as he paced stood at your words and ran into the room, followed slowly by Megumi as he walked carefully into your room. When you turned, both hounds were relaxing on your bed.
“Hey, off!” He ordered but they both stared at him and didn’t move a muscle. You stifled a laugh, covering your mouth with your fingers when Megumi turned to glare at you.
“They’re fine.” You assured him. “Do they normally sleep on the bed with you?”
“When they’re inside.” He responded, walking to the made side of your bed. You walked to your turned-down side, turning your back to him. You were suddenly self-conscious, having him in your room. The room was dark, but you were hyper-aware of how thin the cotton of your nightdress was with Megumi standing on the opposite side of the bed. You looked over your shoulder at him. He was still standing, staring at you.
“Could you…turn around?” You asked. He nodded and faced the windows on the west wall, allowing you the opportunity to take off your dressing gown and slip under the covers without his eyes on you. When you were safely covered, you turned your own gaze away. “It’s fine now.”
You kept your head turned, listening to him take off his own gown and enter the bed. It was much larger than the one at your uncle’s house, large enough to accommodate the two of you, and his two dogs, while leaving plenty of space between you as you laid next to each other. Once the rustling stopped, you turned your head to look at him. His eyes were on the canopy just as yours had been moments ago, hands clasped over his chest. When he didn’t turn to look at you, you looked up as well.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said.” You finally announced.
“Please don’t.” His voice responded after a pregnant pause. “You shouldn’t give anything Naoya says a moment of your time.”
“Oh, I don’t care what he thinks.” You turned to your stomach and propped yourself up on your elbows to look down at him. “I’m a marchioness now.”
His eyes stared blankly at you for a moment before a gentle, lazy smile spread across his face. “I suppose you’re right.”
You grinned back at him. “What I was about to say, isn’t the Duchess of Cleveland ‘lowborn’ like I am?”
Megumi nodded. “Her father was a gentleman, but I don’t believe her family held any titles. That was before her father wasted their fortune, though.”
“Do you think he has the same thoughts for his own wife that he does for me?”
“I doubt it.” He answered. “Naoya has some wool over his eyes when it comes to his own wife’s situation. I think it’s because she did so much for him and Honora when she was her governess. But calling you…that and not thinking the same of his wife doesn’t make sense. Naoya doesn’t make sense, though.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Does what bother me?”
“What Naoya said. It seemed like it bothered you far more than it bothered me.”
The easy expression on his face disappeared. A line appeared between his brows when he was thinking hard about something, a trait you noticed several years ago, long before your fake courtship and now very real marriage. You had always wondered what would happen if you reached out and smoothed that line. Your hand moved slightly as if to do so, but you caught yourself before you could. Being in bed together was already too intimate, touching him would only make it worse.
“Yes.” You were taken aback by his candor. He usually kept his true feelings close to his chest and didn’t even share them with you. His expressions were always guarded, showing neither joy nor sadness. Even with his two closest friends, he was a closed book. You never expected him to trust you enough to share his true feelings. This was a marriage of convenience, after all. You were noticing however, little by little, that he was becoming more comfortable with you, instead of avoiding interaction in the large townhome you shared. It was a shock at first but came to feel easier as the weeks went on. Perhaps you could actually have a partnership after all.
“Why?” You pressed.
He stared at you, then looked away. “Naoya doesn’t know you, yet he passed judgment solely based on what he had heard, and your previous social standing. What he says affects the viewpoints of others. I don’t want anyone to look down on you. They have no right. The king himself should bow his head to you. Your pinky is worth more than all of them combined.”
Cotton filled your mouth and throat at his words. There was no response you could give. Any denial you might have put forth would have been met with disagreement. Megumi did not say things he did not mean. How long had he had these feelings? You laid back down on your side, facing him.
“I don’t want it to bother you.” You murmured. “I’m used to people talking about me, good and bad.”
“Shouldn’t it?” Megumi turned to face you as well. “You’re my wife. It’s my job to defend your honor.”
“You don’t have to.” You whispered.
“I want to.”
His green eyes met yours with unwavering certainty. Who was this man laying next to you? This certainly couldn’t be the same man who was so cold for so many years, barely maintaining a veil of decorum whenever you spoke. He never seemed to want to be around you, could barely stand to be in the same room as you. Now he was declaring he would defend your honor from others? The change made your head hurt. It was too much to think of tonight.
“It’s late.” You managed to intone. You turned so your back was to him but didn’t close your eyes. “Good night.”
There was no movement behind you and no response. The only sound in the room was the dogs’ occasional snoring. After a few minutes, you closed your eyes and remained still willing sleep to come to you, but it did not. You were left with more questions than answers after your discussion leaving you just as restless as you had been before Megumi had come into your room.
A piece of hair fell from your braid over your face as you shifted into a more comfortable position, but just as it was bothering you enough to make you want to move it, a featherlight touch tucked it behind your ear. Megumi. He must think you were asleep.
“Let me be what you need.” He whispered in the darkness. “Please.”
a multifandom writer oh em geeness! 😁 could i request a megumi fushiguro x fem reader where the scenario is their relationship is kept a secret from everyone, but the secret comes out when yuuji and nobara try to set up reader on a date with someone? i’m curious to see how far along reader and megumi would go with this until megumi gets jealous hehe
ꜱᴏʀʀʏ, ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ
megumi fushiguro x fem!reader
warnings: none :)
“[Name],” Nobara slammed her hands down on your desk with the kind of energy that meant trouble. “You’re not going to believe who I met yesterday.”
You didn’t even get a chance to respond before Yuji leaned over the back of your chair, grinning like he had the winning lottery numbers.
“This new guy from the second-year class,” he started, “he’s super nice, and he’s a great cook. Like…gourmet-level.”
Nobara’s eyes glittered like she’d just spotted the lead in a romance drama “He’s tall, dresses impeccably, he even has a deep voice!"
You gave a small, nervous laugh.
“Uh…thanks? But it’s not like that—”
“It could be,” Yuji cut in, leaning closer. “We could totally set you guys up. He’s free Friday night.”
You were already shaking your head, but Nobara ignored it completely. “Seriously, you two would look perfect together. Like..Instagram couple perfect..”
“I swear, you have to meet him! He’s literally the definition of your type.” Yuji added.
Megumi sat slouched in his chair with a book open. He hadn’t said a single word, but you could feel his eyes flick over every time Nobara mentioned how “perfect” the guy was.
When she went on about how “gentle” and “attentive” he seemed, Megumi’s page turn was so sharp it sounded like he might tear the paper.
“He’d be so good for you. Kind, respectful, really—”
You shook your head. “Seriously, I’m fine—”
“That’s what people say before they meet someone amazing,” Nobara insisted. “This could be fate.”
Megumi’s voice cut through the chatter like a blade.
“What’s so special about this guy anyway?”
The room went still for a second.
You, Nobara, and Yuji all stared at him like he’d just sprouted horns.
“Uh…” Yuji tilted his head. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” Megumi said too quickly, eyes dropping back to his book. “Just curious.”
“Ohhh,” Nobara drawled, a slow grin spreading. “Fushiguro’s curious about Y/N’s love life.”
Yuji’s smile turned downright mischievous. “Yeah, are you worried she’ll fall for this guy?”
Megumi’s jaw tightened. “No.”
“That sounded like a yes,” Nobara sing-songed.
“Fushiguro…are you jealous?”
He didn’t look up. “No.”
“He's jealous.” Yuji said.
You opened your mouth to step in, but Nobara beat you to it, crossing her arms. “If she’s single, she has the right to go out with whoever she wants.”
“She’s not.”
Both of them froze. “…She’s not?”
Megumi finally looked up from his book, gaze cool and steady. “She’s with me.”
You could feel the silence stretch in the room.
Nobara’s mouth fell open. Yuji blinked like his brain was buffering.
"WHAT?!" they both screamed at the same time.
“Y-you’re…dating?!” Nobara stuttered.
“Yes.” His tone was clipped.
Nobara and Yuji exchanged the kind of look that said this is the most gossip-worthy moment of our lives.
Yuji grinned. “...Well, that explains a lot.”
Nobara leaned back in her chair, smug. “Guess Friday night’s off the table, then.”
You looked at Megumi with a look that said "seriously?"
"What? It was stupid how they were trying to set you up with that random guy..." He held his hand out for you to take.
You sigh, look at him a moment longer, then took his hand in yours as Yuji and Nobara snickered in the background.
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