every monday and wednesday at 10:30, you slipped into the seat beside megumi.
never early enough to make conversation.
never late enough to apologize.
just...right on time.
the first week of the semester, it had only been because it was the last empty seat in philosophy. the professor always arrived a few minutes late, the room buzzed with sleepy conversations, and everyone claimed their usual spots before you walked in with your coffee balanced in one hand and your backpack hanging off one shoulder.
megumi remembered looking up exactly once.
"taken?" you had asked quietly, pointing to the chair.
he shook his head.
"thanks."
that was it.
the next class, you sat there again.
and then again.
and somewhere between lectures about free will and ethics, it stopped being the empty seat.
it became yours.
---
you weren't what people expected.
everyone knew who you were—the girl whose laugh echoed through the student union, whose instagram stories somehow made grocery shopping look cinematic, who had a different group of people waiting to walk with her after every class.
megumi figured someone like you would spend lectures whispering.
checking your phone.
leaving halfway through.
instead, you actually listened.
your notebook was filled with neat handwriting, tiny doodles in the margins, highlighted quotes from philosophers you'd probably never think about again.
sometimes you'd lean over without warning.
"did you catch what he said?"
megumi would nod.
"can i see?"
he'd silently slide his notebook toward you.
"your handwriting is nice."
"...thanks."
"mine looks like a doctor's prescription."
he looked down at your page.
it did.
he almost smiled.
almost.
---
it became routine in ways neither of you acknowledged.
you'd arrive carrying two coffees sometimes.
"they accidentally made an extra."
they definitely hadn't.
you'd place one beside him anyway.
he never argued.
when the classroom got cold, you'd complain under your breath.
"why does every lecture hall feel like a hospital?"
megumi would shrug off his hoodie without looking at you.
"here."
"...won't you get cold?"
"i'm fine."
you always gave it back folded.
washed.
once, it even smelled faintly like vanilla.
he wore it the next day anyway.
---
the conversations grew in inches instead of miles.
"did you understand the reading?"
"kind of."
"liar."
"...not really."
you laughed.
he liked making you laugh.
not because he was funny.
because it sounded different when it wasn't meant for everyone else.
---
you started saving him seats in the library.
he started walking a little slower after class because somehow you always ended up beside him anyway.
you talked enough for both of you.
he listened enough for both of you.
it worked.
---
his friends noticed before he did.
"you're waiting."
megumi looked up from his phone.
"for who?"
yuji followed his gaze toward the philosophy building entrance.
"your philosophy girl."
"...i'm not."
"then why haven't you gone inside?"
"...class starts in two minutes."
"exactly."
megumi frowned.
"...shut up."
yuji grinned.
"you like her."
he didn't answer.
because saying no would've been lying.
---
monday arrived.
megumi took his usual seat.
10:27.
10:28.
students wandered in.
10:29.
the chair beside him stayed empty.
10:30.
the professor started speaking.
you weren't there.
he told himself you'd overslept.
---
wednesday.
empty.
---
the monday after that.
still empty.
---
"mind if i sit here?"
megumi looked up.
some guy stood beside your chair.
"...yeah."
the guy blinked.
"...yeah i can?"
"...it's taken."
he heard himself say it before he could stop.
the guy glanced at the empty seat.
"...by who?"
megumi stared at his notebook.
"...someone."
the guy awkwardly walked away.
your chair stayed empty.
---
he caught himself looking toward the door every few minutes.
every time it opened, his heart made the same stupid mistake.
not you.
not you.
not you.
---
after the fourth class, he finally asked.
your name felt unfamiliar in his mouth.
"have you..."
he cleared his throat.
"seen her?"
the professor looked up from organizing papers.
"oh."
his expression softened.
"she withdrew from the course."
megumi's chest tightened.
"...what?"
"schedule conflicts, i think."
that's all he knew.
that was all anyone knew.
---
withdrawn.
like you'd simply erased two mornings every week from existence.
megumi fushiguro x reader, college au, angst, longing
megumi fushiguro had always been good at staying invisible.
it was a skill he'd honed early in his youth.
he knew how to sit in the back of lecture halls, hood pulled over his head, earbuds in, deftones playing on his ipod. he knew how to walk across campus without making eye contact. he knew how to become a shadow in a crowd of people who wanted nothing more than to be seen.
and then there was you.
you were everything he wasn’t.
you were the girl everyone knew.
the one who walked into a party and somehow made the entire room shift toward you. the one professors remembered because you were charming and smart and somehow always looked put together, even at eight in the morning when everyone else looked like they had been dragged out of bed.
you showed up with your hair pulled back in that clean-girl slick back everyone on pinterest tried to recreate but somehow never got quite right. lululemon hugged your figure, a coach bag hung effortlessly from your shoulder, gold jewelry dangled, and that effortless confidence that made it impossible not to look twice. you weren’t trying to stand out, you just naturally did.
you laughed loudly. you made friends everywhere you went.
you were sunlight. absolute sunlight.
megumi was the 2 a.m. streetlight flickering outside his dorm window.
and he hated how much he wanted to be near you.
the first time you really talked to him was because you needed a partner for a project.
he remembered that day embarrassingly well.
you dropped into the empty seat beside him in the library, smelling like vanilla perfume and the subtle sweetness of whatever lotion you always wore.
“hey,” you said.
megumi looked up.
actually looked up.
because you were talking to him.
“hey.”
“you’re megumi, right?”
he nodded. tongue tied.
“you’re in my sociology class?” you said with a giggle, the awkwardness from him pouring onto you.
“yeah.”
you smiled and all the air seemed to leave his lungs.
“i was hoping you’d say yes.”
that sentence stayed in his head for weeks.
because why would you hope for him?
there were guys who lined up to talk to you. guys who brought you coffee, saved seats for you in class, carried your books.
and somehow, you picked him.
the quiet guy who wore black every day.
the guy who looked annoyed even when he wasn’t.
the guy who had absolutely no idea what to do with someone like you.
the problem was that you made it easy.
you started sitting next to him in class.
you started texting him random thoughts at midnight.
you started sending him pictures of things that reminded you of him.
a black cat sitting outside your dorm.
a song you thought he would like.
a picture of a rainy window with the caption:
what's missing from this picture? you lol
oh?
he replied.
yes, just thought you'd appreciate the rain.
and he did.
he also appreciated you. everything you did for him.
every tiny piece of you that you handed him.
he just never knew how to tell you.
megumi wasn’t good at big gestures.
he wasn’t the type to show up outside your dorm with flowers. or write some dramatic confession.
he loved quietly.
painfully quietly.
the kind of love that sat in his chest like a bruise.
you didn’t notice the way he looked at you.
at least, that’s what he told himself.
you didn’t notice how he memorized your coffee order, or what days you wore which purse.
you didn’t notice how he stayed awake when you texted him that you were walking home alone, or how every time you smiled at him, it ruined his entire week because suddenly he had something to look forward to.
but you did notice.
you noticed everything.
especially the way megumi looked at you like you were something fragile.
like you were a song he didn’t want to end.
“why do you always act like i'm about to disappear?”
you asked him that one night.
the two of you were sitting on the roof of his apartment building, sharing a cheap bottle of convenience store soda.
the city was loud below you.
cars passing.
music from someone’s open window.
people laughing somewhere far away.
megumi stared ahead.
“what?”
“you heard me.”
he glanced at you.
you were looking at him.
rreally looking.
and that was always his weakness.
“you’re always here,” you continued softly. “but somehow you’re never really here. you never say hi unless i say it first. i'm always the one asking to hangout."
megumi swallowed.
“you think too much.”
you laughed quietly.
“maybe.”
a pause.
then-
“i think you don’t let anyone know you.”
his jaw tightened.
“that’s not true.”
“it is," you hummed. then turned toward him.
“megumi.”
he never got tired of hearing you say his name. never.
“you know everything about everyone else. you know when your friends are upset. you know when i’m pretending i’m okay.”
your voice softened.
“but you never let anyone do the same for you.”
for once, he had no response.
because you were right.
you were always right.
the thing about wanting someone like you was that eventually reality caught up.
eventually, he had to remember who you were.
and who he was.
you were the girl people wrote poems about.
he was the guy people forgot was in the room.
you belonged at crowded parties with music shaking the walls.
he belonged on his balcony at midnight, watching the city breathe.
so when he saw you laughing with someone else outside the student union, he convinced himself it didn’t hurt.
even when it did.
even when he saw the guy touch your arm.
even when you smiled.
even when you looked happy.
megumi told himself he had no right to be upset.
because you were never his.
that was the worst part.
he had spent months falling for you, and he had never once given you a reason to fall back.
“you’re avoiding me.”
your voice stopped him outside his dorm.
megumi froze.
“i’m not.”
you crossed your arms.
“you are.”
he looked away. you kept your gaze on him.
“why?”
he hated that you sounded hurt.
“i’ve just been busy.”
“ugh, you’re a terrible liar.”
a small, humorless smile crossed his face.
“you noticed?”
“i notice everything about you.”
that made him look at you.
and for a second, neither of you spoke.
the air between you felt heavy.
like there was something sitting there.
something neither of you wanted to name.
“you’re impossible,” you whispered.
megumi looked down.
“i know.”
“no.”
you stepped closer.
“that’s the problem. you think you’re impossible to love.”
his expression changed.
just slightly.
but you saw it.
because you always saw him.
“megumi…”
he shook his head.
“don’t.”
“why?”
“because if you say something nice to me, I’m going to believe you.”
your heart hurt.
because there it was.
the truth he tried so hard to hide.
the reason he pushed everyone away.
the reason he kept himself distant.
he didn’t think he deserved to be chosen.
“i love you.”
the words left your mouth before you could stop them.
megumi went completely still.
“w-what?”
“i love you," you spoke more firmly this time. your eyes glistening with emotion.
his eyes searched yours.
like he was waiting for the punchline.
the joke.
the part where you laughed and told him you were kidding.
but you didn’t.
“you’re serious?”
you giggled and shoved him.
and for the first time since you met him, megumi looked scared.
not angry.
not annoyed.
scared.
because wanting you from a distance was easy.
having you close?
that was terrifying.
“what if I’m not what you think I am?”
your voice softened.
“then let me find out.”
the silence stretched.
then slowly
carefully
like he was afraid you would disappear if he moved too quickly
megumi's lips found yours. gentle. slow. full of longing. love. lust.
megumi never became the loudest person in the room.
he never became someone else.
but he started letting you see him.
the messy parts.
the quiet parts.
the parts he thought no one would stay for.
and maybe that was the hardest thing about love.
not finding someone who wanted you.
but believing them when they said they did.
because you were always the girl everyone wanted.
but somehow
you stayed.
and for the first time in his life,
megumi fushiguro stopped waiting for something good to disappear.
content. college au, drug usage, alcohol consumption, smut, fluff, angst
synopsis.
megumi couldn’t wrap his mind around why.
why you were here, in his dorm room, in his bed, on his lap.
he never would’ve imagined the night turning out like this. you, the girl he’s been obsessed with since freshman year, walking back with him after a house party.
and now, you were on him—fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer. his hands gripping your waist, guiding your body against his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
authors note: sorry for the wait! i had a million ideas for the next part of this series and i couldn’t decide on one, so i wrote a prequel instead lolol. this is the night of the party.
the house was packed. wall to wall, window to window, every inch pulsing with life. bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, laughter rising above the bass that thumped through the floorboards like a second heartbeat. the lights were low—just neon glows and the occasional flash of someone’s phone camera lighting up sweat-slicked faces and red solo cups mid-cheers.
drinks were flowing like a broken faucet. someone had turned the kitchen into a makeshift bar, bottles lined up across the counters, sticky with spilled liquor and soda. music pounded through the walls, the kind that made your ribs rattle and your brain buzz. a remix of something familiar echoed from a speaker in the corner, drowned out by shouts and students singing along.
people danced in clusters—some swaying lazily, some grinding like the world was ending. a couple made out on the staircase, half in shadow, half in view, while others maneuvered through the chaos looking for their friends, their crushes, or just their next drink.
in the center of it all, the air was thick with heat, perfume, weed, and the kind of tension only found in nights like these—where anything could happen, and probably would.
megumi stood in the corner of the house, half-shadowed by the dim lighting, a red cup dangling loosely from his fingers. his back was pressed against the wall, close enough to feel the thump of the bass vibrating through the plaster, but far enough to stay out of the swirl of bodies that moved like a single chaotic organism in the center of the room.
he watched it all with that unreadable expression of his—cool, detached, and just a little amused. someone stumbled past him laughing, nearly sloshing their drink on his shoes, but he barely flinched. his eyes flicked across the crowd—yuji somewhere in the mess, probably trying to dance, probably dragging nobara into it too.
megumi didn’t do parties. not really. too loud. too many people. too much of everything.
and yet, here he was. because yuji had begged. because he said it wouldn’t kill him to have a little fun. because megumi, for all his grumbling, was weak to the way his friend looked at him when he asked for something.
still, he wasn’t miserable. the music wasn’t bad. the drink in his hand was strong enough to numb the edge of the noise. and watching the chaos unfold around him, he felt oddly content. detached. like he was witnessing a movie he had no intention of starring in.
he sipped from his cup, eyes scanning the crowd again—until they paused.
and his gaze landed on you.
you were in the middle of the room, surrounded by your friends, laughing at something one of them whispered in your ear. the music shifted to something slower, heavier, and your hips rolled with the beat like you didn’t even notice how many eyes were on you—or maybe you just didn’t care.
megumi watched as guys tried to inch closer, shoulder their way into your circle, offering drinks and compliments you barely acknowledged. you just smiled politely, shook your head, and turned back to your friends—untouchable. effortless. completely uninterested in anything that wasn’t already in front of you.
and that only made him more infatuated with you.
there was something about the way you moved. not to impress, not to flirt—just to feel the music. just to exist. confident. alive. like this party was yours and everyone else was just lucky to be invited.
yuji’s voice cut into his thoughts, suddenly appearing at his side, flushed and out of breath. “dude! you still brooding over here?”
megumi didn’t answer, just took another sip of his drink, his eyes not leaving you.
yuji followed his gaze. “ah…makes sense.”
megumi scoffed, but didn’t deny it.
“go talk to her,” yuji nudged him.
“what? no.”
“why not?”
“she’s busy.”
yuji cackled. “so you’re just gonna stare at her forever?”
megumi didn’t respond. but when the next song started and your friends cheered, spinning you around under the low lights, he realized he hadn’t looked away once.
you threw your head back, eyes closed, hair catching the glow of the string lights above. carefree. untouched. completely out of reach.
“guess so,” megumi muttered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.
yuji just laughed harder. “have fun with that,” he called, already being swept away by another friend pulling him back into the crowd.
megumi sighed, dragging a hand through his hair and tipping back the last of his drink.
yuji was right. he couldn’t just stand here all night, stealing glances and hiding behind shadows. it was pathetic. creepy, even. but the idea of walking up to you—of actually talking to you—felt impossible.
you weren’t cold. you weren’t mean. in fact, you were infuriatingly kind, even when turning someone down. he’d seen you reject confessions from guys more impressive than he’d ever be—captains of teams, honors students, poets with ink-stained fingers and hearts on their sleeves. you always let them down gently, with a soft smile and a simple “i’m not interested, thank you though.”
so what chance did he have?
he wasn’t a golden boy. wasn’t smooth or bold. he didn’t have charming words or a well-rehearsed smile. he was just…megumi. quiet. withdrawn. more comfortable in the background.
you’d never notice him.
after realizing that, he decided he needed another drink and began pushing his way through the crowd toward the kitchen.
the further he moved from the pulsing bass of the living room, the more the music dulled into background noise, replaced by the clink of bottles and the chatter of half-drunk conversations. the kitchen was no less crowded, but it was a different kind of chaos—less dancing, more scheming. people leaned against counters, backs to cupboards, giggling into red cups and whispering secrets that would be forgotten by morning.
the countertop was a mess. half-empty liquor bottles lined up like a twisted shrine—tito’s, patron, fireball, hennessy. sticky puddles glistened beneath them, evidence of spilled shots and poor decisions. someone was shouting “cheers!” as a small group threw back tequila and grimaced in unison. a couple stood in the corner, not-so-subtly arguing, while another guy tried to impress a girl by pretending to know how to mix a drink.
megumi ignored it all, eyes locking on the hennessy bottle like it owed him something. he grabbed a clean-ish cup, poured a few fingers’ worth, then topped it with coke from a two-liter that had gone flat about ten people ago. the drink fizzed half-heartedly. he didn’t care.
he took a small sip, just to taste the ratio, then turned to head back—
—and collided with someone.
hard.
a cold splash soaked through the front of his hoodie, sharp and sticky. his breath caught as he instinctively stepped back, looking down at the dark stain spreading across the fabric.
“shit, i’m so sorry—!”
his eyes snapped up at the sound of your voice.
it was you.
you were reaching for him—well, for his hoodie—clumsily trying to blot the spill with the sleeve of your top. the fabric only smeared the liquid deeper into the cotton, but you kept at it, lips parted in a little frown of concentration. it was a weak attempt, one megumi would’ve scoffed at if it wasn’t you.
watching you sway on unsteady feet, brows furrowed and breath warm with alcohol, he realized—you were drunk.
very drunk.
“i’m—god, i’m so sorry,” you hiccuped, blinking up at him with wide, glassy eyes. “i didn’t see you. you kinda came out of nowhere.”
megumi didn’t respond. couldn’t. he was frozen, stiff as a board, unsure if it was the cold of the drink seeping into his chest or the fact that you were touching him. looking at him. talking to him like he existed.
“i can, um—let me get napkins,” you said, pulling away too quickly and nearly stumbling back into someone else.
megumi snapped out of it, steadying you by the arm before you could fall. “it’s fine,” he said, voice low but steady. “don’t worry about it.”
“are you sure? i feel horrible.” you groaned. “i ruined your—hey…”
“oh my god, i love them!” you blurted, pointing at the logo on his hoodie with genuine excitement.
megumi blinked, caught off guard. of all things, he hadn’t expected that.
the hoodie had been a gift from a friend—some campus band a few seniors were trying to get off the ground. they weren’t mainstream by any means, but their sound was gritty and good, and megumi had gone to a show on a whim. one performance and he was hooked. it wasn’t the kind of music he’d expect someone like you to be into.
“you do?” he asked, a flicker of surprise warming his usually neutral voice.
“yes! i saw them at some little basement gig in the arts building last semester.” you grimaced, glancing down at the dark stain across their logo. “and now i feel even worse.”
you buried your face in your hands again with a dramatic groan. megumi almost smiled.
“it’s fine,” he said gently, “seriously.”
without thinking, his hands reached up—light, tentative—and pulled yours away from your face.
that’s when it happened.
your eyes met his. and for a second, the party around you both faded into a distant blur.
he’d seen your eyes before, of course. in passing. across classrooms. laughing with friends. but never like this. never up close, soft and hazy from alcohol, shining beneath the kitchen light.
you stared back, just as still.
“…have we met before?” you asked, brows drawing in slightly.
megumi swallowed. “yeah. no. uh, kinda. we’ve had classes together.”
you tilted your head, taking him in. “huh. weird. i’ve never noticed you.”
that hit harder than it should’ve.
megumi looked away for a second, chuckling under his breath. “i don’t really stand out.”
you smiled at that. “yes,” you said, “you do.”
he looked back at you, and something shifted.
the corner of your mouth curved, just enough to spark something playful in your expression. “sooo… are you gonna tell me your name, or should i keep calling you ‘hoodie guy’ in my head?”
megumi blinked, then huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s megumi.”
you leaned in a little, like you were committing it to memory. “megumi,” you repeated slowly, like the taste of his name mattered. “pretty name. kinda doesn’t match the whole broody vibe you’ve got going on though.”
his brows lifted. “broody?”
you shrugged, swaying a little on your feet, your grin lazy and tipsy and dangerously charming. “mhm. you give off serious ‘mysterious loner who only shows up when the plot needs him’ energy.”
megumi rolled his eyes, but his smirk betrayed him. “you’ve been watching too much anime.”
you gasped, feigning offense. “excuse you. i’ll have you know i only watch the best.”
“oh yeah?” he challenged, voice lower now, amused.
you took a step closer, pretending to squint at him. “yup. and now i’m thinking you’re also the tragic backstory type.”
megumi let out a soft scoff, shaking his head, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. you’d cracked something open in him—he didn’t even realize he could sound so light.
he couldn’t quite wrap his head around what was happening. you were talking to him. not just in passing, not out of obligation—but actually talking. laughing. leaning in closer like you wanted to hear every word he said. and you were responding. genuinely. like you gave a damn about what he had to say.
the conversation rolled forward before he could even register what he’d said last.
you asked how he found the band, and that led to him mentioning the show the band played last semester, and you lit up, realizing you’d both been there at the same time.
from there it was concert stories—crowd-surfing gone wrong, someone throwing a bra onstage, a spontaneous mosh pit that got someone’s nose broken. you were both laughing now, loose and easy, trading favorite artists and arguing over genres. megumi admitted he had a soft spot for alt-rock with sad lyrics; you confessed your guilty pleasure was early 2000s pop-punk.
then came the question: “what’s one concert you’d drop everything to go to?”
megumi barely thought before answering. you raised your brows, impressed.
“you’ve got taste,” you said, and this time when you smiled, it felt softer. more real.
and the craziest part?
it wasn’t awkward. not once. it didn’t feel forced, or like he was performing, or scrambling to keep up. the words came naturally, like he wasn’t trying so hard to be someone interesting—because you already seemed to think he was.
and that was insane.
because megumi had imagined this moment a hundred times over the past year and a half. in passing glances, in quiet hallways, in late nights lying awake and wondering what he’d say if he ever got the chance.
and now that he had it… all he had to do was be himself.
in the middle of a heated debate over which live album hit harder—the raw, stripped-down acoustic set or the chaotic, reverb-drenched arena recording—you were interrupted.
one of your friends appeared beside you, tugging gently at your arm and leaning in to whisper something. behind her stood a tall brunette, his arms crossed, eyeing megumi quizzically. as if wondering who let him in here.
“leaving already?” you asked your friend, raising a brow.
megumi’s ears perked up.
leaving? his stomach sank. of course. just when things had started to click. just when he let himself think this could turn into something more than a lucky, drunken moment.
“i have work in the morning, remember?” she murmured, her grip on your arm tightening. “come on, we’ll drop you off.”
you hesitated, glancing back at megumi. there was something in your eyes now—hesitation, reluctance. like you weren’t ready to let go of whatever this was.
as if sensing it, megumi gave you an easy out. “i should head out too,” he said, nodding to the hoodie. “gotta put some stain remover on this before it sets.”
and before your brain could stop your mouth, you turned to your friend and said, “i’m gonna walk back with megumi.”
megumi froze.
your friend blinked. “who?”
she looked around, clearly confused—scanning the room like you couldn’t possibly be referring to him. her eyes flitted past megumi once, then again, skipping over him entirely like he was part of the wallpaper.
you sighed, slipped your arm from her grip, and reached back to tug megumi forward by the sleeve of his hoodie.
“this is megumi,” you said, voice steady, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
megumi’s face flushed on instinct, but he masked it with a small cough and shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pocket, trying not to fidget.
your friend stared between the two of you, brows arching in disbelief. “megumi?” she echoed, as if saying it aloud might help her understand.
you nodded, firm.
then the guy behind her stepped closer, sizing megumi up like he was some sort of threat. “you sure?”
megumi’s jaw tensed, but he kept his expression neutral. trying not to get offended.
“yes, i’m sure.” you said pointedly, rolling your eyes as if the whole conversation bored you. and just like that, pride surged in megumi’s chest. you chose him.
after a few more seconds of skeptical staring, your friend finally threw up her hands in defeat. “fine. don’t get kidnapped,” she muttered.
you just shook your head and turned away as she disappeared into the crowd, her ride (also her ex) following her, leaving you and megumi alone again.
“ugh—sorry about that,” you murmured. “she’s just… protective. she’ll get over it. come on.”
you laced your fingers through his like it was second nature and pulled him expertly through the crowd.
megumi didn’t notice the stares you drew—people glancing, whispering, gaping. he barely registered the jealousy in their expressions, the shock in their eyes.
because all he could see—all he could feel—was your hand in his.
warm. steady. real.
it was grounding and electric all at once, sending a pulse through him strong enough to drown out the music, the noise, the nerves.
his heart raced.
and still, somehow, his grip never loosened.
as the two of you stepped out into the crisp night air, the sound of the party dulled behind you, replaced by the hum of streetlights and the rhythm of your footsteps syncing down the sidewalk.
the night wrapped around you both like a gentle hush. the sidewalk was cracked in places, uneven and glittered with stray leaves, but neither of you stumbled. your hands stayed laced, fingers curled like they belonged there.
the cool breeze swept through the quiet streets, brushing strands of your hair across your cheek. you tucked them away with a soft laugh, your eyes lifting to the sky like you were admiring the stars—but there were none. just streetlights, blinking gently above you, casting a golden halo around your head.
and megumi couldn’t stop staring.
it hit him all at once—how unreal you looked in this light. ethereal, almost. like something out of a dream he’d had one too many times but never dared to believe could come true. your hair fluttered in the breeze, catching the glow in soft waves. your eyes, bright and unguarded, sparkled like you knew the moon personally. and your smile—god, your smile—it cracked something open in him every time it appeared. like it was contagious. like it belonged to him, even if just for this moment.
you glanced over and caught him staring, his eyes soft, distant—like he wasn’t really here, but somewhere far away where only you existed.
“hey!” you laughed, nudging his side gently. “are you even listening?”
he blinked, the spell breaking, and looked at you like he’d just been pulled back from a dream. “yes,” he said, maybe a little too quickly.
you raised an eyebrow, lips tugging into a knowing smirk. “then what did i just say?”
megumi opened his mouth, stalled, then exhaled a breathy laugh. “um—something about…sasuke’s villain arc is justified?”
“no!” you nudged his arm, scolding him. “the opposite! he was so selfish. chose war and violence instead of letting his friends help him heal from his past.”
he clutched his chest. “what? no—no way. he’s the only hero turned villain arc that’s completely justified.”
“i guess we’ll have to agree to disagree,” you said, squeezing his hand.
for a few seconds, the silence that followed was the kind that wrapped around you gently. the wind stirred again, tugging at your sleeves and brushing more hair across your cheek. megumi reached out without thinking, tucking the stray strand behind your ear.
you looked up at him, eyes locking.
that close, under the streetlight’s soft glow, he could see every detail—the little flecks in your irises, the slight part of your lips, the warmth rising in your cheeks.
“what?” you whispered, voice almost lost to the wind.
megumi looked away for a second, a breath leaving him before he could stop it. “nothing,” he murmured. then, quieter: “just… you look nice.”
you tilted your head at him, still walking, your grip on his hand tightening just a little. “nice?”
he gave a sheepish smile, eyes flickering back to you. “stunning,” he corrected, barely above a whisper. “you look… absolutely stunning.”
the smile that bloomed on your face nearly knocked the wind out of him.
and for once, megumi didn’t overthink it. didn’t question why the air between you felt charged and still all at once. didn’t try to bury the warmth blooming in his chest, or the way his heart felt too big for his ribcage.
“thank you,” you said, soft and sincere. there was no polite edge, no practiced deflection in your tone—none of that careful distance he’d heard you use with the guys at the party. the ones who tried too hard. the ones you gently brushed off.
with him, your voice was different. honest. like his words didn’t just land—they stayed. like they meant something. like he meant something.
the rest of the walk was normal in the best way—comfortable, unrushed. like time had slowed just for the two of you. the conversation flowed, easy and natural, drifting from topic to topic like soft currents pulling you both along.
from anime—your shared, passionate hatred for filler episodes—to music, where you argued over the superior studio ghibli soundtrack, to books you loved growing up and the ones that changed you as you got older.
megumi talked more than he ever expected to. and you listened—really listened. laughing at his sarcasm, nodding thoughtfully when he spoke about a novel he’d read last summer, eyes lighting up when you discovered you both had a soft spot for tragic endings.
you walked side by side, hands still connected. sometimes one of you would shift a little closer, like the silence between topics was too fragile to bear space. but it never felt awkward—it felt… intimate. like you were discovering new sides of each other that no one else had bothered to look for.
eventually, the two of you reached his dorm building, tucked just off the main campus road, its brick walls washed in moonlight and quiet. megumi didn’t say much as you approached, his nerves coming back, but he held every door open for you—first the building entrance, then the stairwell door, then, with a soft thud of his keycard, his dorm room.
it was quiet inside. still. the kind of space that felt lived in, but carefully guarded.
his room wasn’t messy, but it wasn’t spotless either. books stacked unevenly on the desk, a black hoodie tossed carelessly over the back of the chair. a worn futon sat against the far wall, covered in a dark grey blanket and a single pillow. his desk lamp cast a soft glow, warm and golden, illuminating a few framed photos and a cracked open book beside his laptop. the faint scent of cedar and laundry detergent lingered in the air—clean, grounding, distinctly him.
one wall was covered with a corkboard littered in notes, pinned with class reminders, ticket stubs, and a few band flyers, including one from the basement show you’d both mentioned earlier.
you stepped in quietly, eyes scanning his world.
megumi closed the door gently behind you, the soft click echoing in the quiet room. “do you stay in the dorms too?” he asked, voice a little rough around the edges, still catching up to the fact that you were actually here.
“west side,” you said simply, turning to glance around his room.
“oh… nice.” he nodded, like he wasn’t exactly sure what else to say. his fingers fidgeted at the hem of his hoodie, unsure of what to do with themselves. also unsure why he’s feeling nervous again all of the sudden.
you took a slow step further in, eyes drifting to the corkboard on his wall, “your room,” you added, turning to flash him a small smile. “its so… you.”
megumi blinked. “me?”
“yea. quiet. a little messy. full of things you like,” you said, tilting your head as your gaze flicked over his books and guitar pick resting by his desk lamp. “you can tell you spend a lot of time in here.”
“i do,” he said, almost apologetically. “it’s definitely my getaway.”
you hummed, stepping closer. “getaway. i like that. i don’t spend enough time in my room. always somewhere doing something.”
there was a beat of silence between you—comfortable, laced with something gentle.
then, your eyes flicked down to his chest, to the faint remnants of the stain from earlier.
“wanna see how bad the damage is?” you asked, lifting a brow.
megumi let out a small breath of laughter and reached for the hem of his hoodie. “might as well,” he murmured, tugging it off in one fluid motion.
he was left in a plain black t-shirt, sleeves snug around his arms, collar slightly stretched. his hair stuck up in a few places from static, and he raked a hand through it, clearly not thinking twice—though you did. you definitely noticed.
he tossed the hoodie onto his bed, the faint splash of dried liquor still visible across the chest.
you stepped closer, brushing your fingers over the fabric. “damn,” you said softly. “that’s a real shame.”
he gave a quiet huff of laughter beside you. “yea. tragic.”
when you looked up at him, he was already watching you—close, quiet, the golden lamp light casting soft shadows across his face.
for a moment, neither of you spoke.
the air between you changed—slowly, but unmistakably. the kind of shift you don’t notice until it’s all around you. until it’s humming beneath your skin. his hand was still in his hair, but it lowered slightly, like he was trying to ground himself. your eyes flicked from his to his lips, then back again.
“you’ve got that look again,” you whispered.
“what look?”
“like I’m not real.”
he swallowed hard, then took a step closer. just enough to blur the space between you.
“you don’t feel real,” he said.
and then you kissed him.
soft at first. careful. testing the waters.
but when you sighed against his mouth, he leaned in—really leaned in—fingers sliding up to the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw. his hand found your waist, tugging you closer, anchoring you like he couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping away.
the kiss deepened, warm and slow and filled with everything unsaid.
by the time you pulled back, breathless, his hands still holding your face.
you both stood there for a beat, breath mingling, hearts racing in sync. and then it just… happened.
your lips met again, more urgent this time, a little clumsy with want. megumi stepped back, pulling you with him, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. you both toppled gently onto the mattress in a tangle of laughter, limbs, and warmth.
the room was quiet except for your soft breaths and the rustle of sheets. the hoodie lay forgotten at your feet, and the party, the street, the whole world outside might as well not have existed.
your dorm was quiet, save for the low hum of R&B drifting from your laptop speakers—soft, slow, the kind of music that filled the silence without crowding it. the only light came from the gentle glow of your desk lamp and the faint, silvery spill of streetlight seeping through the blinds. the air carried a hint of vanilla, subtle and sweet, mixed with something warmer—something unmistakably you.
megumi sat cross-legged on your bed, textbook balanced on his thigh, trying to focus on the words in front of him. you were beside him, lying on your stomach, feet swaying lazily behind you as you flipped through your notes.
on the surface, it looked like you were studying. technically, you were. there were highlighters. post-its. a psych quiz in the near future.
but the real test?
keeping his eyes on the page and not on the way your shirt slipped off your shoulder when you shifted. or the way you chewed on your pen cap when you were concentrating. or the occasional brush of your hand against his that sent lightning up his spine.
he’d been in your room for maybe fifteen minutes, and already his nerves were coiling tighter by the second. not because you were doing anything wrong—you were relaxed, casual, completely at ease. like this was just another night. like this was normal.
but nothing about this felt normal to him.
your presence was a constant pull—your soft laughter when you mispronounced a vocab term, the way your leg brushed his now and then, deliberate or not. and the scent of you, clinging to the sheets and the air, was making it hard to breathe.
“so, this part of the chapter is about electromagnetic induction,” megumi said, tapping the page with his pen like it could ground him. like it could calm his racing heart. “super easy.”
shifting into a sitting position beside him, your lips tugged into a smirk. “says the walking textbook.”
he gave a small shrug. “it’s not that hard once you break it down. faraday’s law—basically, a change in magnetic field causes a current.”
he pointed to the vocab word in the textbook lying open in front of you, trying to keep his voice steady. but when he glanced over to see if you were following along, his breath hitched.
you weren’t looking at the book. you were looking at him.
your lips slightly parted, eyes fixed on his face with a softness that made his chest tighten. it wasn’t just curiosity—it was focus, interest, intention.
megumi immediately looked away, the tips of his ears turning red.
you looked too damn enticing.
the way your eyes lingered on him like he was the most interesting thing in the room, it was enough to short-circuit his brain. he could talk all day about physics, about laws and fields and forces, but right now, the only current he could feel was the one sparking between the two of you.
and it was getting harder and harder to ignore.
he tried to focus—really, he did. cleared his throat, forced his eyes back to the page, even muttered something under his breath about “lenz’s law”—but the words blurred.
“megumi,” you said, voice soft, almost coaxing.
he glanced at you again, hesitantly this time—and you were still watching him. like you knew. like you’d caught on to every subtle flick of his gaze, every stiff inhale, every time his voice wavered.
“yeah?” he asked, trying—and failing—to sound casual.
you tilted your head, eyes flicking from his lips back to his eyes. “you’re kinda bad at pretending you’re okay.”
he let out a breath of a laugh, low and tight. “am I that obvious?”
you smiled, scooting just a little closer. “a little.”
silence settled between you for a moment—thick and charged. his fingers twitched beside yours, aching to close the distance. and when your leg pressed more firmly against his, megumi finally looked up to look at you.
really look at you.
“look, I don’t know what this is,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “but I don’t want to mess it up.”
your gaze fell to his lips.
“you won’t,” you mumbled as you leaned in and connected your lips to his.
and it was like everything in the room faded—the hum of the music, the open textbook, the faint city sounds drifting in through the window. all of it blurred at the edges, swallowed by the feeling of you. the warmth of your mouth, the way your fingers curled gently around his wrist, grounding him.
he kissed you back slowly, almost reverently, like he was still trying to convince himself this was real. that you wanted this. that you wanted him.
and you did.
he could feel it in the way your body leaned into his, in the way you deepened the kiss, like you couldn’t help it. like you’d been waiting, too.
you gently pushed the textbook off the bed, letting it thud softly onto the floor, then shifted forward—slow and deliberate—as you crawled into his lap, straddling him.
megumi’s hands instinctively found your hips, his grip tightening as you settled onto him. his breath hitched—sharp and audible—like your weight alone was enough to unravel him.
your own hands slid up his chest, fingers bunching slightly in the fabric of his hoodie as you pulled him closer.
and he kissed you back like he’d been starving for it, like he finally let go of whatever was holding him back. his hands roamed up your sides, feeling the warmth of you through your clothes, anchoring himself in the rhythm of your body moving against his.
when your hips shifted just slightly, a quiet groan rumbled from his throat, his forehead dropping to yours as he tried to catch his breath.
you smiled against his lips. “that’s not the plan.”
but the way you rolled your hips again, slow and purposeful?
it sure felt like one.
your name left his lips in a whine, soft and desperate—his voice cracking under the weight of it.
his hands gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging in as if he could anchor you in place, stop you from driving him any closer to the edge. but even as he tried to still your movements, his body betrayed him—hips twitching upward, chasing the friction you were giving him.
“please,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours, eyes shut tight. “if you keep doing that —”
he didn’t finish the sentence. couldn’t let you find out how pathetically close he was to busting in his pants. just from dry humping you.
then, as if the universe had decided to show him mercy, you slid off his lap.
he exhaled sharply, body still trembling, grateful for the space—for the moment to collect himself.
but that relief was short-lived.
because you didn’t move away.
you kept sliding—down, between his legs. your hands running lightly along his thighs as you settled on your knees in front of him. and the moment your eyes lifted to meet his, wide and purposeful and so damn sure, his jaw fell open.
“wait—what are you…?” his voice came out strangled, barely a whisper.
but he already knew what you were doing.
and the realization alone nearly undid him all over again.
your fingers toyed with the hem of his hoodie, dragging it up just enough to expose the band of his sweats. megumi’s breath hitched, his entire body going still—like if he moved, he might shatter.
he stared down at you, wide-eyed, lips parted, completely speechless as your hands slipped beneath the fabric. the heat of your touch against his skin made his stomach tense, made his thighs twitch under your grip.
“y-you sure?” he breathed, though the words barely held weight—his voice weak, shaking, like he already knew he wouldn’t stop you if you kept going.
you looked up at him, a gentle smile tugging at your lips, and gave a quiet nod. then, leaning in, you kissed him once more—slow and lingering—before trailing lower, your mouth brushing against the sharp line of his hip.
megumi’s head fell back with a low groan, one hand flying up to grip the edge of your comforter, the other carding through your hair.
he was screwed. completely, totally, hopelessly screwed.
and god, he never wanted anything more.
your kisses trailed lower, slow and deliberate, like you were savoring every inch of him—every twitch of muscle, every shaky breath. megumi’s hands fisted the comforter tighter, knuckles white, his chest rising and falling in quick, uneven rhythm.
when your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his sweats, his hips jolted slightly—his breath caught in his throat.
“shit,” he whispered, voice raw, eyes squeezing shut.
you only smiled, dragging the fabric down just enough to free him—his breath catching in a strangled gasp as cool air hit overly sensitive skin.
he looked down at you again, eyes dark and full of disbelief, desire, and something softer—like awe. like he couldn’t believe you were real.
and then your mouth was on him.
the first touch of your lips made his whole body tense, a guttural moan ripping from deep in his chest. his hand flew to your shoulder, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
“f-fuck, please—” he stammered, the sound of your name barely making it out of his mouth.
it was too much. too good. too you.
and he knew, without a doubt, he wasn’t going to last.
the way your lips wrapped around him slowly, deliberately, like you had all the time in the world—made megumi feel like his sanity might start to slip.
his thighs tensed beneath you, breath staggering as he tried to hold on to something, anything. but your mouth was warm and wet and perfect, and every flick of your tongue, every slow pull, dragged a sound from him he didn’t even know he could make.
he looked down at you through hooded eyes, completely undone by the sight—your lashes lowered, cheeks hollowing just slightly, your hands steady on his hips as you took him deeper. you looked so focused, so intent on him, like you wanted to memorize every reaction, every shiver, every curse that tumbled from his lips.
“god,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “you—fuck, you feel so good.”
he tried to hold back. tried not to fall apart too fast, but the pressure was unbearable, his muscles straining as pleasure twisted tight in his core.
your name left his lips again, barely more than a whisper.
“I’m not gonna last,” he warned, voice breaking.
but even as he said it, his hips bucked once, shallow and shaky, and his other hand slid from the bed to your hair, not to guide—just to feel. to anchor himself in the reality of you.
because if this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.
but with both hands in your hair now, you took that as a sign he wanted control. so you gave it to him. peering up into his eyes, you let your hands fall behind your back.
he didn’t know how to react at first, but his body took over. his hips rolled forward in slow, tentative thrusts, careful, almost shy. not wanting to hurt you.
then you let out a muffled moan—and he broke.
a curse slipped past his lips as his grip in your hair tightened. his pace shifted, thrusts deeper, more desperate, using your mouth to chase his own pleasure.
megumi was unraveling.
his head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to hold on for just another second, another breath—but you made it impossible. every swirl of your tongue, every soft sound you made around him, pushed him further, faster, to the edge.
“shit, I’m gonna—” he gasped, body tensing beneath your touch, but it was too late.
his hips stuttered, a broken moan catching in his throat as he came, full and hard, his entire body locking up beneath you.
the pleasure hit him like a wave—sharp, dizzying, too much and not enough all at once. his chest heaved, heart racing as his hand slid from your hair to his side, suddenly too weak to hold onto anything at all.
you slowed, gentle now, letting him ride it out until his body relaxed completely, slumping back against the side of the bed like every bone in him had melted.
he looked down at you, eyes hazy but full of adoration. for you.
“…c’mere,” he murmured, voice rough, still breathless.
he caught your wrist gently and tugged you toward him, guiding you both from the floor onto the bed and pulling you into his lap. his arms wrapped around your waist as you settled over him.
that look came over him again—that soft, stunned expression like he couldn’t quite believe this was real. like he didn’t know what he did to deserve this moment, to deserve you.
“what did I say about staring?” you huffed.
a sheepish grin tugged at his lips, but his eyes never left yours. “can’t help it,” he murmured, voice low and honest. “you’re breathtaking.”
your breath hitched, the sincerity in his gaze making your heart stutter. so instead of answering, you leaned forward and kissed him—slow and sweet. his hands gripped your waist a little tighter, anchoring himself to you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
when you pulled back just enough to speak, your noses still brushed. “you’re such a sap.”
“only for you.”
and when he kissed you again, it was deeper. warmer. like a promise—one he didn’t know how to say yet, but was desperate to show.
his hands slid from your waist to your ass, gripping tight as he began to move you against him—slow, deliberate, chasing friction that quickly turned into frustration.
because nothing was happening.
he stilled, breath catching in his throat. shit.
too sensitive. too spent. his body was still reeling from earlier, and no matter how much he wanted you—and he wanted you, badly—his dick wasn’t cooperating.
panic flickered behind his eyes, but he masked it quickly, shifting gears before the moment could break. because even if he couldn’t fuck you properly, he was still going to give you everything.
“lay down,” he murmured against your lips, voice low, commanding.
your breath hitched, a bright flush blooming across your cheeks. “I — look, I…”
you stumbled over the words, lips parted, eyes now avoiding his.
the sudden shift in your energy caught him off guard, and he stilled immediately. his hands loosened their grip as he searched your face, but the way your eyes darted away from his made it hard to read you.
so gently, he raised a hand to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your face toward his—giving you no choice but to meet his gaze.
“what’s wrong?” he asked, voice soft but steady, concern laced through every word.
you hesitated, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “I don’t know,” you said quietly. “I just—I—you make me feel really good, megumi. and I guess… I can’t help but feel like I don’t make you feel the same. kind of feel like I’m not good enough, not gonna lie.”
he stared at you, stunned—jaw slack, breath caught in his throat.
what?
the words hit him like a punch to the chest, knocking the wind right out of him. you—you—thought you weren’t good enough?
before he could protest, you continued.
“I just — I was so drunk last time and I feel like I made such an idiot of myself - “
“are you serious?” he finally breathed, eyes wide with disbelief. “you have no idea what you do to me.” he shook his head, still reeling. “you’re everything.”
a blush bloomed across your cheeks as you dropped your gaze, quickly hiding your face in your hands.
megumi didn’t let you stay hidden for long though.
he reached for you, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrists and peeling your hands away from your eyes. his touch was soft, patient, like he was handling something fragile.
“last time was perfect,” he murmured, voice low and full of conviction. “you were perfect.”
your eyes met his again, wide and unsure, but the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—made something inside you unravel.
your lips connected to his. there was no urgency, no expectation. just warmth, steady and consuming, the kind that wrapped around your ribs and settled deep in your chest.
when he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his thumbs brushed along your cheeks. “tell me what you need,” he whispered.
your breath hitched, and your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “I need you.”
a wave of emotion passed over him—sharp and sudden, like it caught him off guard.
it wasn’t lust, not entirely. it was deeper. he felt it in his chest, in the tightness in his throat, in the way his grip on you softened like he was holding something precious. because he was.
you needed him.
not just his touch. Him.
he guided you back gently, laying you down against the pillows, his body following yours, settling beside you rather than over you—no pressure, no weight, just presence. his hand traced soft lines along your stomach while his mouth explored yours. learning you all over again.
you exhaled, a sound that was part relief, part want.
he dipped his head to your neck, pressing slow kisses there, savoring every reaction he pulled from you. every sigh, every quiet inhale, every push, every pull.
megumi’s lips ghosted over yours again, slower this time—less about hunger, more about connection. his hands moved with the same careful intent, gliding over your sides, your waist, learning every curve like he was mapping sacred ground.
your body reacted to him like it had been waiting—arching into every touch, chasing his warmth, clinging to the steadiness of him. and he gave it all freely. not just his body, but every unspoken word, every ounce of tenderness he’d never known how to express until now.
he kissed your shoulder, then your collarbone, dragging his mouth lower with reverence. when his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your sweats, he paused, eyes flicking up to yours, silently asking.
you nodded, breath trembling.
then his hand slid between your thighs—slow, deliberate—like he was savoring the moment as much as you were. his fingers moved over the thin fabric of your underwear, gentle at first, just enough to tease, to coax a soft sound from your lips.
megumi watched you closely, eyes fixed on your face, soaking in every shift of your expression. the way your brows pinched. the way your lips parted. the way your hips arched ever so slightly into his hand.
“shit, baby, you’re so wet,” he murmured, awe laced into every word. “just for me?”
you nodded, unable to find your voice through the heat blooming in your chest, your stomach, your core.
his fingers slid beneath the fabric, brushing against your warmth—bare and slick and ready. you gasped, and his name spilled from your mouth like instinct.
he groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as he kissed your chest, your sternum, the space between your ribs—every inch.
and then he started moving his fingers.
curling them upward into you.
your body reacted before you could even think—hips rolling into his touch, breath coming faster, hands fisting in the sheets.
“so pretty,” he whispered, mouth grazing your skin.
and with the way he touched you—how patient, how sure, how devoted he felt—you knew you weren’t going to last long.
each stroke of his fingers was measured, purposeful—like he was learning you second by second, and loving every moment of it.
your head fell back, a soft moan slipping from your lips as his thumb found your clit, circling slow and steady. he watched you like he was mesmerized, every twitch of your body, every rise and fall of your chest.
“that’s it,” he murmured, kissing the edge of your jaw.
the pressure built with every breath, every whispered word, every flick of his fingers. your thighs began to tremble, your hips losing rhythm as the pleasure overwhelmed you.
“megumi—” you gasped, voice breaking.
“i got you, baby,” he replied, firm and quiet.
and you came—hard, breath catching in your throat, back arching as everything else faded away. all that remained was him—his name on your lips, his hands on your skin, his eyes staring at you in awe.
you clung to him through it, fingers digging into his shoulder as wave after wave crashed through you—hot and overwhelming and impossibly good. your breath came in shaky gasps, your whole body trembling beneath his touch.
megumi held you through it all, never letting go. his hand slowed, gentled his movements as you started to come down, his mouth brushing soft kisses along your cheek, your jaw, your temple.
but just as your heartbeat started to steady, he moved again—his fingers plunging back inside you, slow and purposeful. your breath hitched violently, stolen right from your lungs as your body seized all over again.
your hips jolted, a sharp gasp escaping you as your body, still sensitive and undone, tried to process the onslaught of sensation.
“megumi—” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, laced with both need and disbelief.
he didn’t stop. his eyes never left yours, dark and focused, like he was memorizing every flicker of pleasure that crossed your face. “one more,” he murmured, voice low and rough at the edges.
the way he touched you now—slower, deeper—had your legs shaking. you could barely think, couldn’t do anything but feel. the pressure was building all over again, even stronger this time, stoked by the way his thumb pressed against your clit in lazy, perfect circles.
your head fell back against the pillows, a broken moan slipping from your lips.
“so pretty, baby,” megumi breathed, the words slipping out before he could stop them—raw, reverent. and the way your body responded, clenching tight around his fingers, grinding down against his palm—it drove him wild.
“you need more?” he murmured, voice thick with need.
“what do you need?” he asked, quieter this time. his fingers maintaining their pace.
your hand rose to his face, trembling fingers brushing along his jaw before trailing to his lips. you didn’t speak—but you didn’t need to. the look in your eyes, the soft stroke of your fingers, told him everything.
a slow smirk curled on his mouth. he knew exactly what you were asking for.
and he didn’t make you wait.
he pulled his fingers from you with a deliberate slowness, the wet sound making your breath hitch. then he was shifting downward, settling between your thighs like he belonged there. his hands gripped your hips, steadying you as he kissed the inside of your thigh—then the other. each press of his lips was maddeningly slow, worshipful.
when his mouth finally found you, your whole body jolted.
a cry tore from your throat as his tongue slid through your folds, soft at first, then firmer, more focused. he groaned against you, like the taste alone was enough to ruin him. his hands pinned your thighs apart, keeping you open for him as he lost himself in you—devouring you with slow, devastating precision.
“megumi,” you gasped, hands flying to his hair, anchoring yourself to him.
he didn’t answer—not with words. just with the roll of his tongue, the way he sucked and licked until your legs were shaking again, until your cries turned into pleas, until you were right on the edge. until your grip in his hair tightened, fingers trembling as another wave built deep in your core—hotter, higher, impossibly intense.
and he still didn’t let up, tongue moving in steady, precise circles, as if he wanted to unravel every last piece of you.
“please,” you whimpered, the word barely audible between your gasps. it wasn’t even clear what you were begging for—release, relief, more of him. all of him.
megumi groaned against you, the vibration shooting straight through your body. one hand slid up, splaying across your stomach, grounding you as your hips bucked beneath his touch.
“you gonna come, pretty girl?” he murmured between kisses, his voice low and hoarse.
you nodded frantically, unable to speak, every part of you strung tight.
and then he pushed two fingers back inside you—deep and slow—curling them just right while his tongue focused on your clit, relentless and perfect. your back arched off the bed, a cry ripping from your throat.
that was it.
you broke with a sob, coming hard against his mouth, your whole body trembling as the pleasure crashed through you—white-hot and endless. megumi held you through every second, never backing down, mouth and fingers working you through it, coaxing every last tremor from your body.
by the time he finally pulled back, your chest was heaving, your limbs weak and boneless, your skin covered in a sheen of sweat.
he crawled back up your body, eyes on your face now, pupils blown and mouth glistening with you.
“you with me?” he asked softly, fingers brushing your damp hair back from your face.
you gave the faintest nod, still breathless, lips parted as you struggled to steady your heartbeat. your body felt weightless, like you’d drifted somewhere far away and were only just beginning to return.
megumi didn’t expect it when, with a burst of fading strength, you tugged him down into the pillows with you. he followed easily, letting himself be pulled into your warmth, settling beside you as if this was where he belonged.
you draped a leg over his waist, your bare skin brushing his, and his hands instinctively found your body again—one arm wrapping around your waist, the other splaying over the curve of your lower back, pulling you flush against him.
the low hum of the music wrapped around you both like a second blanket, soft and slow, matching the rhythm of your breathing as it calmed. megumi’s fingers traced idle circles on your lower back, his touch gentle now—so different from before, like he was memorizing the shape of you in silence.
your hands threaded through his hair, playing absentmindedly with the strands, tugging just enough to make him hum in response. his eyes were half-lidded, drowsy but locked on you, drinking you in like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real. that this moment was real.
“nice playlist,” he murmured, his voice raspy, content.
you smiled lazily. “made it for you.”
that turned his cheeks pink. “careful,” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours. “you keep doing things like that and I’ll start thinking I matter to you.”
your breath hitched—not because of what he said, but because of the way he said it. light, teasing. but there was a weight behind it, a question tucked between the syllables.
you pulled back just enough to look at him, your thumb stroking across his cheekbone.
“you do,” you said, simply.
he stilled beneath you.
his jaw flexed, like he was trying to hold something back—an emotion too heavy to name. his hand at your back tightened, just slightly, anchoring himself to you like he needed the contact to believe you.
“yea?” he murmured.
“mhm,” was your simple reply. simple, but held weight.
simple, but it was everything. it sank into him, filled all the hollow spaces he’d tried so hard to ignore. made him feel like he could finally exhale.
“never thought i’d get to have this,” he admitted, eyes dropping to your lips. “you.”
your heart thudded against your ribs, aching at the vulnerability in his voice. you leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “well you do. you have me.”
he kissed you then—slow and deep, full of everything he hadn’t said out loud.
when he finally pulled away, it wasn’t by much. he just held you there, breathing you in like he could tether himself to you that way.
then he shifted slightly, tucking you closer against his chest. his arms wrapped around you tighter, strong and sure, his hand sliding up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes. you could feel his heart beating beneath your ear, steady and reassuring, lulling you deeper into the warmth of him.
and he stayed like that, rubbing gentle circles against your spine, even as your breathing grew heavier, slower.
even as your body melted completely into his.
even as sleep finally pulled you under—safe, protected, and loved, right there in his arms.
“dude. you’re glowing.”
megumi didn’t look up from his coffee.
yuji leaned across the table, eyes narrowed, arms braced like he was preparing for interrogation.
nobara sat beside him, picking at her croissant with barely contained glee. “he came in wearing the same clothes from yesterday. and he’s in a good mood. that never happens. like—ever.”
“I’m always in a good mood,” megumi said flatly, sipping from his mug.
“you’re usually in a tolerable mood,” nobara corrected. “but today? you smiled at the barista. smiled, megumi.”
the raven haired boy rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t quite suppress the upward twitch of his lips. “you two are being way too extra about this.”
yuji let out a loud, exaggerated gasp. “so something did happen!”
megumi sighed and leaned back in his chair, letting the coffee cup rest between his hands. his gaze flicked toward the window—calm, unreadable. “nothing you need to know about.”
nobara raised a brow. “that’s not a no.”
“it’s also not a yes.”
yuji thumped his fist lightly on the table. “c’mon, bro, just spill. you finally get with her and now you don’t have anything to say?”
megumi gave him a look that could have frozen lava.
“okay, backing off.” yuji raised both hands in surrender but couldn’t hide his grin.
nobora leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “you know we’re just happy for you, right?”
megumi’s expression softened—barely. “I know.”
“then why not tell us?” yuji butted in.
megumi’s gaze dropped to the table.
because it’s mine. and i’m not ready to share it yet.
as if nobara read what he was thinking, she told yuji to back off.
and he listened. didn’t push after that.
eventually, the pink haired boy launched into a story about a broken vending machine near the auditorium that stole his last $5, and nobara explained how she was going to murder her econ professor. but megumi sat quietly, the edge of a smile still lingering on his face.
a certain memory from last night flickered in his mind—your hands in his hair, your breath against his skin, the way you’d whispered that he had you.
megumi was in class, technically. pen in hand, notebook open, eyes on the whiteboard. but he wasn’t in class, mentally.
the professor’s voice was a muffled drone in the background, completely drowned out by the mess of thoughts circling in his head.
thoughts of you.
the way you’d looked at him that night, lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes full of something that still made his chest ache. the way you’d whispered his name like it belonged to you. he’d never forget it—didn’t want to. it was burned into him now, seared into the backs of his eyelids every time he blinked.
his gaze flicked across the room, like it had a mind of its own—and there you were. sitting two rows ahead, chin propped in your hand, laughing at something your friend had said. casual. effortless. like nothing had changed.
but for megumi, everything had.
so how could you look so unphased?
his jaw tightened as he watched you casually twirl your pen between your fingers, that same easy smile tugging at your lips. like you hadn’t just torn down every wall he’d carefully built around himself. like you hadn’t fallen apart in his arms, whispered his name like a secret, kissed him like he meant something.
and maybe that’s what messed with him the most—he meant something.
at least, it had felt that way. but now? sitting here, watching you act like nothing happened, he couldn’t help but wonder if it had only meant something to him.
he glanced back down at his notebook. blank. useless.
she probably regrets it, the thought whispered, unwelcome but persistent. probably already decided to pretend it didn’t happen.
the idea sat heavy in his chest, made it hard to breathe.
but then—like you felt his eyes on you—you glanced over your shoulder. just for a second. just long enough to meet his gaze.
and you smiled. small. soft. real.
it made his heart stutter, made a reluctant smile tug at the corner of his own lips before he could stop it.
but what really got to him was your little wave.
just a flick of your fingers—quick, almost shy. but it hit him like a punch to the gut. because it wasn’t for anyone else. just him. like you were letting him in on some secret. like that night did mean something, and this was your quiet way of saying I haven’t forgotten either.
megumi looked down, trying to hide the full-blown grin threatening to take over his face. god, he probably looked ridiculous. he didn’t care.
because suddenly, the knot of doubt in his chest loosened. maybe you weren’t pretending. maybe you were just as unsure as he was—just better at hiding it.
he tapped his pen against his notebook, finally ready to write something down. but it wasn’t the lecture.
it was your name.
he caught himself midway through the first letter, pausing with the tip of the pen hovering just above the paper.
pathetic, he thought—but he didn’t scratch it out.
instead, he stared at it for a beat too long, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned back in his chair. his fingers drummed lightly against the desk, but his mind was nowhere near the lecture.
it was back in his dorm. back under dim lights and soft sheets and the way your voice trembled when you said his name.
yea, he thought. i’m screwed.
because this wasn’t just a hookup. this wasn’t a blur of pleasure he could forget by morning. you were in his class. in his head. and now, you were under his skin.
he glanced at you again—just a quick look.
you were still facing forward, scribbling something in your notebook, but there was a faint curve to your lips. like you knew he was watching. like you wanted him to.
and that… yeah, that was going to drive him insane.
the lecture ended too soon.
and as students rustled around him, gathering their things and shuffling toward the doors, megumi stayed still for a moment. watching you. wondering if you’d wait.
wondering if you wanted him to.
he hesitated, watching as students filed out in a blur of backpacks and half-finished conversations. you stood with them, tucking your notebook into your bag with practiced ease, brushing your hair out of your face like it hadn’t just been pressed into his pillow hours ago.
and then—just like that—you were gone.
no glance back. no second wave.
his stomach dropped.
so that’s it? he thought. just a smile and a wave? that’s all I get?
the weight of it sat heavy in his chest as he slowly packed up his things, quieter now, more careful. every movement was deliberate, like rushing would only make it worse. like if he gave himself enough time, maybe it wouldn’t sting so much.
he slung his bag over his shoulder, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and pushed open the classroom door.
and then he saw you.
leaning against the wall just outside. waiting.
you weren’t scrolling through your phone or pretending to be busy—you were just standing there, arms crossed, eyes flicking up the second he stepped out.
megumi froze.
you smiled. “hey.”
“hi,” he replied—too fast, too eager—and instantly bit his tongue. smooth, he scolded himself, but it was too late. his voice had already cracked slightly, betraying just how hard his heart was pounding in his chest.
still, he couldn’t stop the rush of relief that washed over him. like a wave crashing through his ribs and clearing out every ounce of doubt he’d been drowning in since you walked out that door. you had waited for him.
you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, your gaze dipping shyly before returning to his. “walk me to class?”
he nodded without hesitation, even though he had a study group in ten minutes. screw it. they’d understand. or they wouldn’t. either way, he didn’t care.
you smiled, and he swore the hallway got a little brighter. you turned, and he fell into step beside you, your arms brushing occasionally as you walked.
“so I wanted to—”
“so what class do you—”
you both spoke at the same time, words tangling midair before falling into an awkward silence. a beat passed and a blush lit both of your faces.
you let out a soft laugh, ducking your head slightly. “go ahead.”
megumi shook his head, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “no, no—you go ahead. I was just gonna ask what class you have.”
you looked up at him then, eyes warm. “well… I was gonna ask about the other night.”
that stopped him cold. his heart gave a sharp, startled jump in his chest.
but before he could respond, you continued, your voice light, teasing. “but I’d rather talk about class.”
“I don’t,” he said too quickly once again, and immediately regretted how breathless it sounded.
you both paused mid-step, turning to face each other fully now in the middle of the empty hallway.
“you wanna talk about the other night?” you asked, brows slightly lifted, eyes locking onto his with something unreadable—curious, maybe nervous, definitely intense.
megumi swallowed hard, your gaze pulling images to the surface he’d been trying to push down all morning—your voice in his ear, your hands in his hair, the way you’d looked at him right before you said his name.
“yes,” he breathed.
“i’m surprised,” you mumbled, voice soft and uncertain. “considering the fact you never texted me.”
your words trailed off as your gaze dropped to your feet, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of your notebook. the teasing edge was gone now—replaced with something quieter, something a little vulnerable.
megumi blinked, caught off guard.
“I never…” he started, brow furrowing as he scrambled to make sense of it. his heart was racing, but now it was for a different reason—panic, maybe. guilt.
was he supposed to text you first? was that what people did after a night like that? he hadn’t known what the rules were. hell, he didn’t even know if there were rules.
he just… froze. overthought. waited. and now here you were, standing in front of him, thinking he didn’t care.
his mouth opened, then closed again. useless.
“I’ve never really…” he rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated with himself. “I didn’t know if I should. or if you wanted me to. I thought maybe—”
he stopped, taking a breath, organizing his words, then looked at you directly.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you. just wanted to give you space.”
you looked up at him, your expression unreadable for a second—then softened, just a little.
“I thought you regretted it,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
megumi took a step closer.
“no, never—I haven’t stopped thinking about it. or you.”
a smile lit your face, warm and a little shy, before you gave him a playful shove to the chest. it didn’t move him much, but it made his heart lurch anyway.
“idiot,” you muttered, trying to hide how much his words meant to you—but the blush blooming on your cheeks betrayed you.
megumi chuckled under his breath, finally feeling like he could breathe again.
you looked at him, and for a moment, you didn’t say anything. just stood there, watching him like he was something delicate. important.
then you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers without a word.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you either,” you confessed.
and with that, you turned, tugging him forward by the hand. and he followed without hesitation, already forgetting where you were headed—only knowing he didn’t want to be anywhere else.
the conversation on the way to the science building was easy, light—like slipping into something familiar.
you told him about how furious your roommates were that you’d ditched them that night, exaggerating their dramatic texts and eye rolls. and megumi watched with hearts in his eyes. he could listen to you yap all day if you’d let him.
his responses were dorky but endearing, laced with just enough sarcasm to keep you laughing. he wasn’t trying to be funny—he just was.
and there was something about him that felt different.
while other guys tried too hard to impress you, megumi just was.
he didn’t just feel like a breath of fresh air.
he felt like the first real inhale after holding your breath for too long.
and once you made it to the front doors of your elements of physics class, you didn’t want to leave him.
“so,” you said, tugging him gently to the side of the doors, stalling just before you had to go in. “what are you up to later?”
your heart thudded against your ribs as you waited—but you didn’t have to wait long.
“nothing,” he answered.
you bit back a smile, eyes dropping for just a second before you looked up at him again. “would you mind helping me study for the psych quiz next week? I missed a few days, and none of my friends took decent notes.”
“oh—yeah, no problem,” he said, nodding. “uh… when?”
“text me,” you said with a grin, giving him a playful wink. “i’ll let you know.”
his eyes widened slightly. “oh, right!“
you let go of his hand, fingers slipping from his like a quiet promise, and spun on your heel to head into class—leaving him standing there, still smiling like an idiot.
“you’re going over there to study?” yuji asked, one eyebrow raised, voice dripping with suspicion—and not the subtle kind.
the trio sat at their usual table in the back of the library. books and notes scattered across the table between them.
megumi didn’t even glance up from his notebook as he replied. “yes.”
yuji snorted. “you know what that means, right?”
“yes,” Megumi grumbled. “means she’s gonna see my notes and my handwriting is trash. so please stop distracting me so I can rewrite — ”
“dude,” yuji cackled, nearly choking on his laughter. “she’s not gonna see your notes.”
that response made yuji lose it—he doubled over, slapping the table as he howled. “oh my god, dumbass,” he wheezed between laughs, “no one goes over to ‘study’ and actually studies!”
nobara, who’d been silently sipping her coffee until now, finally chimed in with a smirk. “honestly, it’s kind of cute how clueless you are, fushiguro.”
“i’m not clueless,” megumi muttered, clearly flustered. “she asked to study.”
“yeah,” nobara said, setting her cup down. “and I ask for one fry and then take the whole basket. doesn’t mean I wanted one fry.”
yuji was crying now. “bro, she’s not inviting you over for your flashcards.”
megumi stared at them, cheeks tinged pink, unsure if he wanted to argue—or listen to their advice.
“you two are the worst.” he grumbled, abandoning his notes and crossing his arms across his chest.
“no,” nobara grinned, propping her chin on her hand. “we’re just not tragically oblivious.”
yuji wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still recovering. “I just love that your biggest worry was your handwriting.”
“it is bad,” megumi mumbled. yuji doubled over again.
“look,” nobara jumped in again, saving megumi from yuji’s teasing. “she probably just wants to talk in private. probably pick up where you left off.”
“I don’t even know where we left off though.“
nobara rolled her eyes. “so ask her. ask her what she wants. what’s the worst that can happen, she confesses her love for you?”
“that’s the best case,” yuji pointed out.
“exactly,” she said with a shrug. “and if she doesn’t, then at least you know where you stand. but something tells me she’s not gonna reject you.”
megumi went quiet, chewing on the inside of his cheek, fingers tapping against his notebook. he hated to admit it, but they were right.
“i’ll talk to her,” he finally muttered.
yuji grinned. “before or after she jumps you again?”
megumi threw a crumpled piece of paper at him. “get a life.”
the rest of the day dragged torturously slow for megumi. every class felt longer than the last, every lecture a blur of words he couldn’t focus on. he checked his phone every two minutes—sometimes even less—because he wasn’t sure when exactly to text you. and he hoped you’d text him first.
you didn’t.
so after his last class of the day, he took out his phone and typed out three different versions of “hey,” but deleted them all. then he typed out:
“what time works for you?”
short. safe. not overly eager… he hoped.
when you replied a minute later with:
“come over around 7?”
—his stomach flipped.
seven.
so late, megumi thought, staring blankly at the time on his phone.
maybe… maybe this wasn’t about studying. maybe yuji was right.
the thought made his heart pound in his ears.
its not that he’d mind. god, no. he’d love another night with you—to touch you, to pull those pretty sounds from your lips again, to make you fall apart underneath him.
but the idea of it actually happening again? terrifying.
what if he wasn’t as good this time? what if, without the haze of alcohol dulling his nerves, he froze under the pressure? what if his brain short-circuited the moment you touched him and he completely forgot how to function?
oh god. what if he couldn’t make you come?
last time—it had been perfect. effortless and electric. but what if it only felt that way because of the drinks? because of the spontaneity? what if you were expecting that same heat again and all he could give you now was awkward silence and shaky hands?
megumi ran a hand through his hair for the hundredth time.
get it together, he told himself.
but the fear lingered, clinging to his ribs like static.
then, his phone buzzed.
you had dropped a pin to your location.
simple. innocent. but it might as well have been a starting gun to his racing heart.
he stared at the screen for a second too long before locking it, shoving the device into his pocket like it burned.
this was happening.
with a shaky breath, he pulled his hoodie over his head, and stepped out into the hall—anxious, uncertain, and already halfway lost in the thought of you.
why you were here, in his dorm room, in his bed, on his lap.
he never would’ve imagined the night turning out like this. you, the girl from his intro to psych class, walking back with him after a house party.
and now, you were on him—fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer. his hands gripped your waist, guiding your body against his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
he swore he was dreaming.
but he could feel every soft inch of you and that’s how he knew he wasn’t.
your parted lips released soft breaths as his brushed your neck, just below your jaw. you made the prettiest sounds and he never wanted them to stop. but it was hard to focus when your fingers tightened in his hair like you needed him closer, like the space between you wasn’t small enough.
megumi’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. he wasn’t used to this—wasn’t used to wanting like this. every shift of your hips made it harder to think, and thinking was already near impossible with the way you were looking at him, like he was the only thing that mattered.
was this really happening?
were you, the girl he’d been obsessed with since freshman year, really staring at him like he was the only guy in the world?
he couldn’t wrap his mind around it.
but one thing was crystal clear—he couldn’t fuck this up.
and if this was all he’d get—just tonight, with you—he was going to give you everything.
his mouth met yours in a heated kiss, all urgency and need, like he’d been holding back for years—and maybe he had. his hands roamed your body like he was trying to memorize every inch, every curve, every tremble you gave him in return.
your legs were straddling his waist, thighs snug against his hips, so when he shifted—spreading his legs slightly for better balance—yours parted with them, effortlessly, instinctively. the motion was subtle, but the tension it created crackled in the air between you.
he paused for a second, pulling back just enough to look at you—really look. your lips were kiss-swollen, parted just slightly, chest rising and falling a little too fast. but it was your eyes that got him—pupils blown wide, almost swallowing the color of your irises. hungry. dazed. needy.
yea, that told him everything.
you were probably soaked already, and the thought alone had his fingers twitching at your waist, craving more contact, more of you.
then he kissed you again, deeper this time—like he was trying to say what his heart had been screaming for years, every quiet feeling that had built up, all poured into the press of his mouth against yours.
and while you were caught in it—lost in the heat of him, in the way his lips moved with yours—his hands drifted lower. slow, careful, like he didn’t want to startle you. until finally, they slipped between your thighs.
your breath hitched—you gasped, body tensing for a split second.
but megumi didn’t let you pull away. he swallowed the sound, kissed you through it, deepening the moment with a hunger that left no room for hesitation. like if he kissed you hard enough, maybe he could keep you a little longer. maybe you’d stay.
his hands gripped you beneath your short black skirt, fingers splayed wide as if trying to hold on to every inch of you. his palms were warm, grounding, almost completely covering your waist like he was made to fit you there. one thumb rested just above your pubic bone, teasingly close—close enough to make your breath catch.
just the smallest shift of his hand, the faintest pressure of his thumb, and you were unraveling in his lap. your body trembled, heartbeat thudding so loud it drowned out everything else. your fingers, still tangled in his hair, began to shake, struggling to hold on—not just to him, but to the moment, to your own slipping composure.
megumi felt it—all of it. the way your body responded, the way you melted into his touch like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.
“sensitive, huh?” he whispered against your lips, the corner of his mouth twitching with something between awe and smug satisfaction. “I barely touched you.”
“shut up,” you huffed, pushing him away playfully. but despite your teasing demeanor, the way you looked—eyes half-lidded, breath coming in soft, shallow gasps—it was driving him insane. he wanted more. needed more. and judging by the way you rolled your hips against him in response, so did you.
and if you wanted something, he’d give it to you. he’d give you everything.
his eyes never left your face, locked onto every shift in your expression as his thumb drifted lower—slow, deliberate—until it was pressing gentle, teasing circles over the fabric covering that sensitive spot between your legs.
he watched, completely entranced, as your eyes fluttered shut and your teeth sank into your lower lip, trying—and failing—to hold back a moan.
megumi refused to blink. he wasn’t about to miss a second of this—of you—your gorgeous face twisting in pure, unfiltered pleasure, all because of him.
his thumb moved in slow, steady circles, applying just enough pressure to drive you insane but not enough to give you relief. he could feel the way your thighs trembled, the way your hips shifted instinctively toward his hand, chasing more.
“you like that,” he murmured, almost to himself, voice low and reverent. “I can feel it.”
“megumi,” you whined, your voice thick with need, every syllable soaked in desire.
“please,” you breathed out, barely more than a whisper—but it was enough. enough to make his control slip, to make his pulse spike, to make him ache.
hearing you beg—for him—nearly undid him.
his jaw clenched, muscles tensing as he fought the urge to just take. you had no idea what you were doing to him—how your voice alone had him harder than he’d ever been, straining against the fabric of his sweats like it physically hurt.
“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, hand flexing at your waist. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”
but the look in your eyes told him maybe you did. maybe you knew everything. everything he felt about you.
but before he could get caught up in his own thoughts, your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. that desperate little sound you made—it was doing something to him, unraveling every thread of restraint he had left.
megumi’s gaze darkened, something primal flickering in his eyes.
“let me show you,” he said, voice low and rough, like a promise.
he shifted beneath you, one hand moving to grip the back of your thigh as he leaned in to kiss you again—slow this time, deliberate, as if he was savoring the taste of you. his other hand kept working slow circles against you, pressure building, teasing you right at the edge.
you whimpered into his mouth, the sound so soft, so wrecked, it made his hips buck up into yours before he could stop himself.
“feel that?” he murmured against your lips, breathing ragged. you nodded, eyes glazed, mouth parted as you struggled to catch a breath. your whole body was trembling, caught somewhere between desperation and disbelief. he knew exactly where to touch you—how much pressure to apply, how slow to move. and it was maddening.
you were already so close, too close, and all he’d used was one hand.
“megumi,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your hips bucked into his palm, chasing friction, chasing that release he was expertly keeping just out of reach.
his eyes were locked on your face like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. his thumb circled tighter, lower, and your back arched. a sharp cry left your throat, muffled as he caught your lips in another searing kiss, swallowing every sound you made.
“let go,” he murmured against your mouth, thumb never faltering. “come on, baby. i’ve got you.”
your fingers clenched around the fabric of his shirt, nails digging into his shoulders as the tension coiled tighter and tighter inside you, ready to snap. his voice—low, coaxing, almost reverent—pushed you closer to the edge with every word.
and then it hit you all at once—a wave of heat and pleasure crashing over your body so hard it stole the breath from your lungs. you gasped, cried out his name, your whole body going rigid before melting into him. your thighs trembled around his waist, your grip in his hair loosening as your head dropped to his shoulder, overwhelmed.
megumi held you through it, his hand gentling but never fully stopping, dragging out every last ripple of your high. he pressed soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.
“atta girl,” he murmured, voice thick, almost in awe.
you could barely respond—your body still twitching with aftershocks, chest heaving against his. but still, you lifted your head, eyes meeting his, and leaned in.
the kiss you gave him was soft—unrushed and tender. a quiet confession. your lips moved with his in a way that felt intimate, like you were letting him in deeper than before.
you hadn’t meant for it to turn him on.
but oh it did.
the moment your mouth brushed his, megumi’s blood surged, pulse roaring back to life. your kiss might have been sweet, but to him, it was addictive. dangerous. the kind of kiss that made him want to lose himself in you all over again.
his hands gripped your hips tighter, thumbs digging in slightly as he shifted beneath you, the pressure between you both undeniable now.
he surged forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was nothing like the last. this one was hungry, urgent, all sharp edges and raw need. he pushed until he was above you now. his hands slid up your back, under your shirt, desperate to feel your skin again—like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t have enough of you.
you gasped into his mouth as he rolled his hips into yours, the friction sparking heat straight through your core, even after everything he’d already given you. it made your nails dig into his shoulders, your thighs tightening around his waist.
“take this off,” he said against your mouth, tugging gently at the hem of your shirt. his voice was low, wrecked, filled with a kind of reverence that made your heart stutter.
you nodded, breathless, pulling the shirt over your head and tossing it aside without a second thought. the second it was gone, his hands were on you again, roaming your sides, your back, cupping your chest like he was trying to memorize the feel of you.
“fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, each word pressed into your skin as his lips trailed down your jaw to your neck, then lower. every kiss burned. each one a silent confession—I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted you.
and he didn’t stop there.
his mouth moved lower, slow and intentional—over your collarbones, across the swell of your chest, down the soft curve of your stomach—leaving goosebumps in his wake.
“wait,” you panted, fingers gripping his shirt in an attempt to stop him, but he intertwined your fingers and pinned your hands to the bed instead.
then he continued his path downward, until he was there, kneeling between your thighs, his hands letting yours go to grip gently but firmly, spreading you open for him.
his eyes flicked up, meeting yours—dark, focused, filled with something close to worship.
“still with me?” he asked, voice husky, thumb brushing circles into your inner thigh.
you nodded, lips parted, breath coming quick and shallow. “yes.”
“good,” he said, more to himself than to you, and then he lowered his head, mouth meeting you over your soaked underwear.
the groan that rumbled from his chest vibrated against you, and you gasped, back arching slightly.
“taste even better than I imagined,” he muttered, and before you could even process the words, he was pulling the fabric to the side, tongue sliding over you slow and sure—like he had all the time in the world to ruin you.
and to him, he did. he would worship you for the rest of his life if you let him.
the first slow drag of his tongue had your breath catching in your throat, hips twitching beneath his grip. megumi held you steady, thumbs pressing gently into your thighs, grounding you as he worked—patient, precise, like he was learning you by taste alone.
he groaned again, deeper this time, like he couldn’t believe this was real. like you were real.
“fuck,” he breathed against you, lips brushing your skin. “you’re so wet for me.”
you whimpered, fingers threading through his hair, tugging instinctively. he took it as encouragement, diving back in with more pressure, more purpose. his tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, circling your clit before flicking lightly, then repeating the motion, building you up piece by piece.
your thighs threatened to close around his head, but he just tightened his grip, keeping you open for him, keeping you his.
he glanced up at you, eyes hooded, mouth glistening. “you gonna come for me again, pretty girl?”
you couldn’t even form words—just a shaky nod and a breathless moan as he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling over it like he was already addicted to the way you tasted, the way you reacted.
and he didn’t let up. not even as your body started to tremble, your moans getting higher, breath getting shorter.
“come on,” he murmured, voice dark and low, lips brushing your soaked skin. “fall apart for me. I need to feel you lose it again.”
and with the next swirl of his tongue, you did—your whole body arching, a cry ripping from your throat as the pleasure crashed over you, raw and consuming.
your back arched off the bed, fingers clutching at megumi’s hair like it was the only thing tethering you to earth. his name spilled from your lips in broken gasps, over and over, as your body shook beneath the weight of it all.
and megumi didn’t stop.
even as you trembled, even as your legs tried to close around him again, he held you open—his mouth relentless, greedy, pulling every last wave of pleasure from you like he couldn’t get enough. like the sound of you falling apart was his new favorite song.
only when your body sagged back into the mattress, chest rising and falling in uneven, ragged breaths, did he finally lift his head. his lips were slick, chin glistening, eyes dark and half-lidded as he looked up at you.
“look at you,” he whispered, breathless. “still so fucking beautiful when you come.”
you tried to speak, to say something, but all that came out was a quiet, shaky laugh—completely wrecked, completely blissed out.
megumi crawled back up your body, kissing his way up your stomach, your chest, your neck. he hovered over you now, but his eyes didn’t meet yours. almost like he was turning shy again.
“i’ve never wanted anyone like this,” he murmured, voice raw. “not like I want you.”
oh.
his confession made you finally find your voice. soft and hoarse, you whispered back, “then have me.”
that pulled his gaze back to you, eyes locking with yours as a bright, almost boyish smile tugged at his lips. your cheeks flushed under the intensity of it, warmth blooming across your face as his eyes drank you in like you were the most stunning thing he’d ever seen.
which you were.
your blush deepened under the weight of it, and megumi couldn’t tear his eyes away.
he couldn’t believe this—you. you, lying in his bed, looking at him like he was something special. like he was wanted. chosen. it didn’t make sense in his mind. you were out of his league in every way—so far out he’d never even let himself fantasize about this, not really.
you were the kind of girl people noticed when you walked into a room. confident. gorgeous. charismatic. funny. the kind of girl who had options—so many options—and somehow, you were here, looking at him like he was the only one that existed.
“quit looking at me like that.” you whispered, voice soft, playful.
he leaned down, brushing his nose against yours, lips ghosting over your own but not connecting. “I like looking at you.”
you scoffed, giving his chest a playful shove.
“yeah, you look,” you said with a teasing smirk, “but you never say anything.”
his brows shot up, clearly caught off guard. he blinked, lips parting like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite figure out how.
you noticed?
had he really been that obvious?
sure, maybe he stared a little too long in class, maybe his eyes found you at every party, maybe he lingered in conversation just to hear your laugh—but he didn’t think it showed.
but apparently , it did.
megumi ran a hand through his hair, suddenly a little flustered.
“I didn’t think it was that obvious,” he muttered, half to himself.
you laughed softly, the sound making his heart stutter. he groaned, hiding his face in your neck for a moment, his cheeks burning.
you grinned, fingers playing with the ends of his hair. “no. it was kind of cute, actually.”
that made him lift his head, eyes narrowing playfully. “cute?”
“mhm,” you said with a smirk. “like you were crushing. hard.”
he rolled his eyes, but the small smile on his face gave him away. “yea, well… maybe I was.”
“was?” you echoed, arching a brow.
his smile turned softer, more serious. “still am.”
and something about the way he said it—quiet, certain—hit you right in the chest.
suddenly, all the teasing faded, replaced by something warmer. something foreign to you.
sure, you’d had plenty of guys confess their feelings before—sweet words, nervous smiles, hopeful eyes. And you’d always let them down gently, kindly, because it never felt right.
but megumi… this was different.
this feeling was new—deeper, quieter, heavier in your chest. Like it had been building for a while, waiting for the right moment to make itself known.
And now that it was here, you weren’t sure you ever wanted it to leave.
he wasn’t just a fling. not just a night. he felt like more.
you didn’t say anything right away—just looked at him, really looked at him, and let the weight of his words settle between you.
still am.
your fingers traced a slow line down his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. it was calm now, no longer frantic, but steady—strong. just like him.
you leaned in and kissed him gently. it was sweet, passionate. no longer fueled by lust.
his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close until there was no space left to fill. and as sleep crept in, your bodies tangled together under the sheets, he let himself believe—maybe just for tonight—that this was the start of something real. that you’d still be here in the morning.
His voice cut through the thick silence of the forest, reverberating between the towering trees. The flickering campfire cast long shadows between you, the scent of burning pine filling your lungs. You could feel his gaze on you, heavy and expectant, but you refused to meet it.
The question hung in the air, unanswered. Only the crackling flames and the rustling of the wind through the branches dared to break the quiet. It could have been a peaceful evening.
Could have been.
If not for the dark red stains soaking your uniform. If not for the hollow ache settling deep in your stomach.
You kept your eyes locked on the fire, unwilling to look at him, unwilling to speak. He didn’t need to know the last time you ate was eleven hours ago—under the morning sun, surrounded by the voices of your comrades. Comrades who were gone now. Gone because you failed them just three hours prior.
A sigh escaped him, quiet but weighted. His gaze lingered a moment longer before he turned away.
From the corner of your eye, you watched him rise and stride toward the horses. He disappeared behind them, the sound of rummaging breaking the uneasy stillness. When he returned, he carried a handful of supplies. You didn’t pay attention. Your mind was elsewhere, replaying the horrors of the day.
It had been a simple mission—routine, predictable. Your squad had cleared that perimeter dozens of times before. So why had this time been different? Where had the Titans come from? Why were they so aggressive?
“Stop thinking about it.”
His voice pulled you back. This time, you were grateful for the interruption. You wanted to say something—anything—to acknowledge it. To thank him. But the words never came.
Failure had followed you all day. It still clung to you now.
Instead, you forced yourself to look at him. For the first time that night, your eyes met his. There was no reprimand in his gaze, no expectation. Just quiet understanding.
He didn’t need you to say anything.
Wordlessly, he turned back to the cooking pot, stirring its contents with a slow, deliberate motion.
Your thoughts drifted again, but this time, they led somewhere less cruel. Back to him. Back to the moment he saved you. The moment he tore you from the jaws of a fifteen-meter Titan before it could crush the life from you. He hadn’t hesitated. He’d risked himself to save you.
Why?
He was humanity’s strongest soldier. His life meant more than yours ever could. You weren’t even the strongest in your squad. Others had fallen that day—soldiers who were more skilled, more deserving. So why you?
“Here.”
His voice snapped you back to the present once more.
This time, he stood directly in front of you, hands outstretched, a steaming bowl of stew nestled in his grip. The rich aroma hit you instantly, and your stomach twisted in response.
You reached for it, trying to remain composed, but your hunger betrayed you. You nearly snatched it from his hands, fingers tightening around the warmth.
You expected him to return to his spot across the fire.
You didn’t expect him to sit beside you.
For a moment, you didn’t move.
The fire crackled between you, its light dancing across his face, casting sharp shadows that softened just enough around the edges. He wasn’t looking at you anymore. Instead, his attention was on his own bowl, fingers curled loosely around the rim, spoon resting inside.
You hesitated.
It wasn’t unusual for your captain to be near. He had always been a presence—watchful, commanding, never too far out of reach. But this? Sitting beside you instead of across the fire? It was different. Unfamiliar.
And yet, you didn’t question it.
Not when exhaustion weighed down your limbs. Not when the scent of the stew in your hands made your stomach twist painfully.
You lifted the spoon to your lips, the warmth of the broth hitting your tongue, and for the first time that night, the tension in your chest loosened. The meal was simple—thick with chunks of potato and meat, seasoned just enough to make it feel like more than just rations. Under any other circumstances, you might have eaten slowly, savoring each bite.
Tonight, you had no such patience.
You ate with quiet desperation, barely pausing between bites, ignoring the way your hands shook slightly with each movement. Hunger made the world narrow—made the throbbing in your skull dull, made the ache in your chest momentarily tolerable.
He didn’t say anything.
Not about the way you devoured the food. Not about the exhaustion clinging to your every movement. He just ate in silence beside you, his presence steady, grounding.
Minutes passed.
The tension in your body gradually eased.
For the first time since the mission fell apart, since you lost your squad, you felt something other than grief. It wasn’t comfort, not exactly, but it was something close.
Warmth.
Not just from the fire.
Not just from the food.
From him.
From the way he sat beside you, close enough that the edges of your cloaks brushed, close enough that if you turned your head just slightly, you’d see the way his eyes flickered in the firelight.
Your spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl before you realized you had finished. The heat in your hands vanished too quickly, leaving them feeling empty.
You exhaled.
A long, slow breath.
The first real one you’d taken all night.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The fire crackled, the wind rustled through the trees, the night stretched on.
Then—
“You should get some rest.”
It was a quiet command, one that left no room for argument. Not that you had the strength to argue anyway.
You glanced at him.
He had already set his bowl aside, his gaze once again locked on the flames. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way he said it. Something that wasn’t just an order from a captain to a soldier.
Something that felt like concern.
You swallowed.
Nodded.
He didn’t move when you shifted, pulling your cloak tighter around yourself, adjusting until the fire’s heat was at your back. He didn’t move when you let your eyes slip shut, exhaustion finally catching up to you.
But you felt it—
The weight of his presence.
A silent assurance.
A reminder that, for tonight at least, you weren’t alone.
Sleep did not come easily.
Despite the warmth of the fire, despite the heavy exhaustion pressing into your bones, your mind refused to quiet. Images of the battle bled into the darkness behind your eyes—flashes of red, the sound of bones crunching, the screams. You saw them fall again and again, the weight of your failure curling in your chest like a vice.
Your breath hitched.
You turned onto your side, pulling your cloak tighter, hoping the fabric would be enough to keep the memories at bay. It wasn’t.
A shift beside you.
You barely noticed it at first, too lost in your own thoughts. But then, a presence—closer than before. A subtle weight draped over you, rough fabric brushing your cheek.
Your captain’s cloak.
You blinked, the reality of the moment grounding you. The fire had burned lower, its embers glowing faintly, casting a softer light around the camp. He hadn’t moved far—just enough to drape the extra layer over you.
Your fingers curled into the thick material. It was warm. Carried his scent—faint traces of leather and steel and something else you couldn’t quite place.
You swallowed hard.
He hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t even acknowledged what he had done. But when you turned your head just slightly, your eyes found his—open, alert, watching the perimeter. Always watching.
Guarding.
Not just the camp.
You.
The realization settled deep, replacing some of the cold inside you with something quieter. Something steadier.
You should say something. Thank him. Acknowledge the gesture. But your throat felt tight, your voice useless, and all you could manage was the smallest movement—your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the cloak.
Morning came, quiet and subdued, slipping through the cracks between the trees without color or warmth. You didn’t notice it at first—not through the thick branches overhead or the haze of half-sleep clouding your thoughts.
It was the shift of your own body, the subtle ache in your limbs as you adjusted your position, that brought you back to full awareness. That—and the presence beside you.
You turned your head slowly.
Levi.
He was right there, just inches away, his posture uncharacteristically relaxed, shoulders no longer rigid with tension. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and even, the faint rise and fall of his chest the only movement in the stillness of the forest.
He was asleep.
Truly asleep.
It struck you how strange that was. You had fought beside him long enough to know he never really let his guard down, never rested unless absolutely forced to. And yet here he was—silent, still, undisturbed by the sounds of the forest waking around you.
Peaceful.
The word echoed softly in your mind, and it felt almost foreign when attached to him. But it was the only one that fit. Without the weight of command furrowing his brow, without the sharp focus that always narrowed his eyes in battle, Levi looked almost…
Human.
You swallowed the lump that rose in your throat.
You didn’t move, didn’t dare shift any closer or further away. You knew if you made even the slightest sound, he’d snap awake—alert, distant, buried behind that wall he always kept between himself and everyone else.
He deserved this.
After what he endured yesterday—after watching his squad mates be torn apart or eaten. After fighting tooth and nail to survive, and then risking his life to save you.
He deserved this moment of stillness.
You looked away, your gaze drifting back to the dying embers of the campfire. The cloak he’d draped over you was still there, wrapped tight around your shoulders. It carried his warmth. His scent. A quiet comfort that steadied the thoughts trying to unravel in your head.
You exhaled, slow and silent.
No nightmares had come for you in the end. Not while he sat beside you. Not with him keeping watch long after his own body should have collapsed.
Maybe you could do the same now.
Just for a little while.
So you stayed still, letting the morning pass unnoticed above you, letting the silence stretch as long as it needed. For him. For both of you.
The sun had climbed high—nearing its peak—by the time Levi stirred.
You felt it before you saw it: the subtle shift in his body, the way his muscles tensed all at once, like a coiled spring ready to snap. Instinct, no doubt. The product of years spent on battlefields where waking meant survival, and sleep was a luxury rarely afforded.
Reflexes honed by a lifetime of war.
His hand twitched slightly, almost reaching for the blade that wasn’t strapped to his side. Old habits—etched deep into muscle memory. You didn’t move, just watched quietly as his eyes blinked open, sharp and alert despite the rest he’d just had.
For a moment, he didn’t speak. His gaze swept the forest with that same cold precision you’d seen a hundred times before—scanning for threats, calculating exits, noting every sound. It was as if sleep had never touched him.
Then his eyes flicked to you.
Whatever tension still lingered in his shoulders seemed to ease—just slightly—when he saw you awake, unharmed, still wrapped in his cloak.
“You’re still breathing,” he said flatly, voice gravelly with sleep.
It was the closest thing to a good morning you’d ever get from him.
You offered a faint nod, unsure if your voice was ready yet. He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair, and then reached for the empty pot beside the fire. Cold now.
“We’ll need to move soon,” he said, as if the moment of quiet had never happened. His tone was back to its usual clipped command, but there was something softer beneath it. Barely there, like an echo.
You weren’t sure if he was speaking as your captain. Or as something else.
But either way, you sat up too. The silence between you was no longer heavy. Just quiet. Familiar.
And somehow, that made it easier to face the day.
Not a word passed between you as the two of you broke down camp. The fire was stomped out, supplies packed with practiced efficiency. When it was time to move, Levi mounted his horse without hesitation, taking the lead as he always did.
You followed behind, the quiet rhythm of hooves against earth doing little to settle the storm in your head.
It felt like your skull might split open.
Too much had happened. Too fast.
The loss of your squad still clung to you like a second skin. The image of your bunkmate—your best friend—falling, screaming, disappearing beneath a titan’s hand played on repeat behind your eyes.
And then there was Levi.
Pulling you from the jaws of death.
Watching over you while you fell apart.
Taking care of you when you couldn’t take care of yourself.
The weight of it all pressed in on your temples, sharp and relentless. You lowered your head, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, trying to will the pain away.
But it stayed.
A dull, throbbing reminder that no matter how far you rode, you couldn’t outrun yesterday.
And as if the universe hadn’t done enough, the stench hit you like a punch to the face.
The thick, metallic scent of blood and rotting flesh invaded your senses, turning your stomach and nearly knocking you off balance. You instinctively raised a hand to your mouth, but it did nothing to block it out.
Then you saw it.
“Shit…” Levi’s voice was low, sharp with frustration. You barely heard it over the blood pounding in your ears. He pulled hard on his reins, wheeling his horse around to face you.
“Don’t look.”
But it was already too late.
The scene sprawled out just ahead—no more than fifteen feet away. Limbs strewn like discarded toys, torsos torn open and unrecognizable. Blood painted everything.
Leaves soaked red. Branches slick. Even the trunks of trees were streaked with it.
Your eyes flew open, wide, and you knew instantly—your expression was a dead giveaway. Every emotion you’d fought to suppress came crashing to the surface: shock, revulsion, grief. It was all scrawled plainly across your face, unfiltered and raw.
You didn’t need to look at your reflection to know.
Levi’s reaction confirmed it.
He had gone rigid in the saddle, his eyes narrowing in regret. His expression—usually unreadable, cold even—had softened into something different: guilt. A deep, gnawing guilt that sat heavy in his voice as he muttered, “I’m sorry.”
“We’ll go around.”
He was already beginning to shift, to steer his horse toward a detour—trying to spare you the sight, the smell, the memory. A protective reflex, honed not just by instinct but by a growing awareness of your limits.
But you didn’t let him.
“No.”
Your voice cut through the space between you like a drawn blade—firm, immediate, leaving no room for interpretation.
“Going around just makes the trip longer,” you said quietly. “We’ll head back the way we came.”
You knew exactly what that meant.
Retracing your path meant riding straight through the aftermath of yesterday. The broken trees, the shattered gear, the mangled bodies.
But somehow, avoiding it felt worse.
Like pretending it never happened. Like erasing them.
You couldn’t do that.
You owed them this. One last visit. One final goodbye.
“Y/N…” Levi’s voice was low, but there was a weight behind it. He shook his head, eyes locking with yours.
“We’ll go around,” he said, firmer this time. No room for debate.
But you weren’t so sure you could let it go. Not yet.
Your grip on the reins tightened.
He meant well. You knew that. This was his way of protecting you—from the trauma, from the guilt, maybe even from yourself. But shielding you from it wouldn’t change what happened. Wouldn’t bring them back.
Wouldn’t make the silence that followed their screams any less deafening.
“They deserve more than that,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “More than being left behind like… like they were nothing.”
Levi’s jaw tensed. His eyes flicked away for the briefest second, and in that instant, you saw it—beneath the calm, beneath the command: the grief he hadn’t voiced.
“They weren’t nothing,” he said, quiet but sharp.
“Then let me see them one last time.”
Your words hung heavy in the air, unshaken by the breeze or the morning birdsong. You didn’t expect him to say yes. You just needed him to understand.
Levi exhaled through his nose, gaze dropping to the forest floor before rising to meet yours again. His eyes—so often cold—held something softer now. Something tired.
He didn’t argue this time.
He just gave a single, reluctant nod.
And without another word, you nudged your horse forward—toward the blood-soaked trees, the shattered ground, and the ghosts you weren’t ready to let go of just yet.
Levi followed. Not leading, not ordering. Just riding quietly behind.
The closer you got, the harder it became to breathe.
The forest felt different now—hollow, haunted. The birds had stopped singing, the air was still, and every step your horse took sounded too loud, like it was disturbing something sacred.
And maybe it was.
The path ahead, once familiar and routine, now looked like a graveyard. Scattered gear lay half-buried in the dirt, cloaks torn and fluttering weakly in the breeze. The trees bore the marks of chaos—deep gouges, broken limbs, blood smeared like war paint.
Your eyes caught something billowing in the wind. And you slid off your horse without thinking. Your legs felt numb, like they didn’t quite belong to you anymore, but they carried you forward.
“Y/N…” Levi warned.
You didn’t reply. Your gaze focused ahead.
A scarf. No, not any scarf. The scarf your bunkmate always wore, now hanging from a low branch like it had been gently placed there.
Your throat tightened.
Reaching out, your hands untangled the fabric from the tree and held it close to your chest.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
The words trembled on your lips, but they were all you had. You didn’t have the strength to say more.
Behind you, Levi stood silently. He hadn’t dismounted, hadn’t said a word since you entered the clearing. But you felt him there. Watching. Guarding. Grieving, in his own quiet way.
You wondered if he was seeing the faces too.
The ones you both failed to bring home.
After a while, the silence didn’t feel as suffocating. It was still heavy, still cruel—but there was something grounding about it. Like the forest itself was mourning with you.
You wrapped the scarf carefully around your neck, the fabric coarse but achingly familiar. As the scent rose—faint, but unmistakably hers—it hit you like a blow to the chest.
She was gone, but the smell still lingered. Like she was just out of reach. Like if you turned around fast enough, you’d see her smiling. Laughing. Alive.
Your throat tightened, and before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.
“I want to take her back.”
Your gaze swept over the clearing, scanning every inch, desperate for a glimpse—of her gear, her body, anything that was hers.
But before your foot even took a step, Levi was there. He slid off his horse in one smooth motion and stepped in front of you, blocking your path.
“You can’t,” he said firmly.
Your eyes met his, sharp and burning, your grief barely held behind them.
Something in your stare must’ve struck him—your pain, your resolve, your refusal to let go. But he didn’t flinch. His expression was calm, unreadable.
And unmovable.
It was a silent battle.
You attempted to push past him, but his hands shot out, firm and unyielding, gripping your shoulders.
“Don’t,” he said, voice low but commanding.
You froze, breath catching.
“I can’t just leave her here,” you rasped.
His grip didn’t loosen, but something in his eyes shifted. The steel in them wavered, just enough for you to see the weight he carried on his own shoulders.
“You have to.” He said, softer now. “We don’t have the cargo space.”
The words hit you harder than expected.
“She was my best friend, Levi.”
“Listen,” he said gently, his hands sliding from your shoulders down to your arms—just enough to soften his hold. It wasn’t restraint anymore. It was something closer to an embrace.
“What’s left of her…” he paused, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “It’s not something you need to see.”
There was no coldness in his tone. No command.
Only care. And grief he was too used to carrying.
You looked away, jaw clenched, a fresh ache blooming in your chest. You felt the tears sting your eyes.
“I promised I’d bring her home.”
You shrugged out of his hold, the warmth of his touch slipping away as you pushed past him and stepped into the wreckage.
Your boots crunched over debris—broken blades, shredded gear, shattered bones. You dropped to your knees, shoving aside branches, lifting scraps of bloodstained fabric, scanning every face, every ruin of what once was.
It was chaos. A silent, desperate kind. You were a blur of motion in the middle of devastation, clinging to hope like it was the only thing keeping you breathing.
Levi stood a few paces behind, jaw tight, shoulders rigid. Your defiance grated at him—sharp, impulsive, dangerous.
But he understood.
He knew grief like this. Knew what it did to people.
Still, he couldn’t let you spiral. Not after everything. Not after risking his life to pull you from the jaws of death. He hadn’t fought that hard to keep you alive just to watch you fall apart in the aftermath.
“Y/N,” he called out, voice low but edged. “That’s enough.”
But you kept going. Searching. Hoping. Breaking.
Your fingers were numb—whether from the cold or from the shock, you couldn’t tell. Dirt caked under your nails as you clawed through the remains, lifting pieces of gear that no longer had names, faces, or stories attached.
Just fragments.
Bloodstained fabric. A torn jacket. A boot with the laces still knotted the way she always did them.
You froze.
The breath caught in your throat as you reached down, fingers trembling. It was hers. You knew it in an instant. The color, the stitching—too specific to belong to anyone else.
Your knees gave out and you sank to the ground, cradling the piece of her like it was all that remained of your world.
Behind you, Levi finally moved. You heard his footsteps crunch across the wreckage, slow and deliberate, before he crouched beside you.
“Y/N,” Levi said your name softly—softer than you’d ever heard it.
Not as your captain. As something else.
You didn’t turn to him. Couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Why me?”
The words barely left your lips, so fragile they almost disappeared into the air. Almost. But not for him. Levi could’ve heard your voice through a battlefield.
Still, he said nothing. He waited.
Because he knew there was more.
But he wasn’t ready for what came next.
“Why me?” you repeated, but this time it cracked—splintered into a sob, raw and jagged. Your fists clenched around the torn fabric in your hands.
“You could’ve saved anyone!” you choked. “Could’ve saved her.”
Your voice broke completely now, trembling with fury and heartbreak.
“She should be here. Not me. Why me?”
Levi looked at you then, eyes shadowed with something unspoken—grief, guilt, or something deeper.
But instead of answering, he turned his back to you.
“We should get moving,” he said flatly. “You saw what you came to see. Now let’s go home.”
Typical. So Levi. Shut it down. Move forward. Pretend like feelings didn’t exist if they couldn’t be used on the battlefield.
But not this time.
“No,” you snapped, rising quickly to your feet, voice sharp and clear. “You owe me an answer.”
He kept walking.
Then you closed the space between you in a few strides.
“Hey!”
You grabbed his shoulder, yanking him to face you.
He turned fast—faster than you expected—and his hands caught your arms before you could shove him. Held you in place. Kept you from falling apart in the way you were begging to.
His grip was tight, unyielding. His eyes locked on yours.
“You want to know why?” he growled, voice low and raw.
There was something different in his tone now—something cracked, like the control he always held so tightly was starting to fray at the edges. You could only manage a nod.
He swallowed hard, eyes locked on yours, his hands still gripping your arms like letting go might break the both of you.
He knew.
He knew exactly why he’d saved you—why, in the middle of chaos and blood and screaming, it was your name he moved toward.
But this wasn’t the moment to say it.
Hell, he wasn’t sure there would ever be a right moment.
So he held it. Buried it.
Just another weight to carry. Another secret he’d take with him to the grave.
Levi didn’t say a word—but he didn’t need to.
His eyes said everything his mouth couldn’t.
There was something there—quiet, unspoken, raw. A softness buried beneath the hardened soldier, just visible enough to make your breath catch.
And in that moment, with him holding you like he wasn’t ready to let go, you couldn’t help but replay the last 24 hours.
It started the moment he yanked you from the titan’s mouth.
Even then, through the haze of panic and pain, you noticed it—something off. He wasn’t his usual composed, razor-focused self. He looked flustered, more tense than you’d ever seen him in combat. His movements were sharp, but scattered. Controlled chaos instead of the usual precision.
And once he’d gotten you to safety, he didn’t immediately charge back into the fight like he always did.
He stayed.
His eyes had scanned you, fast but thorough, hands checking for wounds like he needed to know you were still in one piece.
“Stay here,” he’d said—voice low, leaving no room for protest.
And then he was gone, disappearing into the chaos again. But not before you saw it in his eyes.
Worry.
Real, visible worry.
For you.
Oh.
In that moment, your mouth parted slightly—speechless.
It was like a fog had lifted, and for the first time, the bigger picture came into focus.
All the pieces you hadn’t been able to fit together before now slid perfectly into place. The way he looked at you. The way he held you together. The way he stayed.
It had always been there.
You just hadn’t seen it—
Until now.
As if he could read your thoughts—knew exactly what you’d just realized—Levi let his hands drop from your arms, the space between you settling into silence once more.
Without a word, he turned and climbed back onto his horse, movements sharp and practiced, like slipping back into the version of himself that didn’t let things show.
He met your gaze one last time, expression unreadable.
“Let’s go,” he said simply and flicked his reigns so the horse stepped off.
You scrambled onto your horse, hands still trembling as you gripped the reins.
Without a word, you fell in behind him, the silence stretching between you once more—familiar, but changed.
You didn’t speak. Neither did he.
But as you followed your captain through the trees, something unspoken passed between you.
he was meant to kill you. to sever your head from your shoulders and return it to the scouts as proof of his victory.
you had slaughtered his squad—crushed them beneath your feet, between your fingers, torn them apart with your teeth. your betrayal had ignited a fury within the scouts, but no one burned with it more than levi ackerman.
he demanded to be the one to hunt you down. and after days without rest, after sacrificing half his squad, after enduring the agony of broken ribs, he finally had you cornered.
you had nothing left—no stamina to flee, no refuge to disappear into, no strength to shift. your back pressed against the rough bark of a tree, the towering forest swallowing you both in shadow.
levi stood before you, breath uneven, blades trembling in his grip. his bloodshot eyes, raw from exhaustion and rage, bore into yours with the promise of retribution.
but the moment his gaze locked with yours, his mind was ambushed—not with strategy, not with the cold certainty of execution, but with something far worse.
memories. of you.
memories of you laughing, your voice carrying through the barracks like a melody he once found comforting. memories of you fighting beside him, your movements fluid, calculated—perfectly in sync with his. memories of late nights tending to wounds, of whispered conversations, of trust that once felt unshakable.
but that trust had shattered the moment you turned against them. against him.
his grip tightened on the hilts of his blades, but his body refused to move. his instincts screamed at him—kill her, finish this—but the hesitation crept in, sinking into his bones like poison.
you, slumped against the tree, weren’t the same person who had stormed through the battlefield, tearing through his squad with inhuman strength. the fire in your eyes had dimmed. your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, your limbs limp with exhaustion. you were defeated.
and yet, you didn’t beg. didn’t plead. you just stared at him, as if daring him to do what he swore he would.
“do it,” you rasped, voice hoarse from exertion. “isn’t this what you wanted?”
levi’s jaw clenched. he should’ve answered with steel, should’ve ended this with one swift motion—but the weight of the past anchored him to the spot.
he had lost so much already. his squad, his comrades, his faith in you. but standing there, blades trembling in his grasp, he couldn’t shake the terrible, suffocating thought:
if he killed you, what would be left of him?
it was a sickening feeling—this surge of emotion toward a cold-blooded killer.
levi had spent every waking moment fueling his hatred for you, sharpening it like the very blades in his hands. it was the only way he could justify what had to be done. but now, standing here, face-to-face with the person who had once fought beside him, laughed beside him, bled beside him, he felt something he couldn’t afford to.
hesitation.
his grip on his swords tightened, knuckles turning white. he should’ve driven them through your throat the moment he saw you—should have—but instead, he stood frozen, drowning in memories that refused to stay buried.
the way you used to smirk at him after a sparring match. your smile across a campfire. your contagious laugh. the way your voice, firm and unwavering, had once declared you’d never betray the scouts. never betray him.
but you had. and he had watched you kill his comrades—his family—without remorse.
so why was it so hard to end this?
you let out a ragged breath, watching him with something unreadable in your eyes. not fear. not defiance. something worse.
adoration.
tsk.
“do it.” you murmured. “or are you just as weak as i am?”
the words stung more than they should have.
his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his heartbeat a war drum in his ears. he could kill you. he should kill you.
and yet—levi ackerman had never known fear. not in the face of titans, not in the heat of battle.
but right now, as he stood before you, blades poised to end it all, he realized the truth.
he was terrified to kill you.
it made his stomach churn, made his self-hatred burn hotter than the fury he had carried all this time.
he had promised himself there was nothing left between you. that whatever bond you once had had been severed the moment you betrayed them. the moment you became this.
and yet, his hands shook.
you watched him with tired eyes, your chest barely rising and falling. no fight left. no pleading. just resignation.
“you can’t do it, can you?” your voice was barely above a whisper.
levi’s jaw clenched. he wanted to deny it. wanted to silence you, to shut out the weight of your words before they could sink too deep.
“you deserve to die,” he said instead, voice sharp, but not as steady as he wanted it to be.
“I know.”
that should’ve made it easier. it didnt.
the forest was suffocating in its silence, the only sound between you the ragged breaths you both took. the ache in his ribs reminded him why he was here. the blood on his hands—his squad’s blood, your doing—reminded him of what had to be done.
and still, he didn’t move.
you let out a weak, bitter laugh. “if you’re not going to kill me, levi, then what the hell are you waiting for?”
his grip on the blades faltered for a fraction of a second. it was all the opening you needed.
with what little strength you had left, you lunged. not to attack. not to escape.
but to force his hand.
and as his instincts took over, as his blade finally met flesh, he realized—too late—that you had made the choice for him.
a sharp scream tore from your throat as the blade sank into your abdomen, dangerously close to your heart—definitely puncturing a lung.
levi caught you before you crumpled, steady hands lowering you against the rough bark of the tree. but he didn’t let go. he held you there, gripping you like he wasn’t sure if he was keeping you upright or keeping himself from falling apart.
“why?” his voice was steady, unreadable.
you exhaled a shuddering breath, blood bubbling at the corners of your lips. “why what?” you rasped.
his jaw clenched.
“why this?” you nodded toward the blade still embedded in your body, your fingers weakly clutching at its hilt.
“or why this?” your hand trembled as you gestured toward the lifeless forms scattered around you, the bodies you had piled one by one.
levi swallowed hard. his grip on you tightened, his knuckles turning white. “everything,” he bit out, his voice strained, raw.
your eyes found his, and despite the agony wracking your body, despite the blood loss dragging you closer to the abyss, you still looked at him the same way you always had.
like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.
levi’s breath hitched—so slight, so fleeting that anyone else would’ve missed it. but not you. never you.
his grip on you was firm, grounding, even as you felt the strength slowly drain from your limbs. his hands—rough, bloodstained, calloused from a lifetime of war—were still gentle where they held you. and that was the cruelest part of all.
“do you know my family, Levi?”
the question caught him off guard. his brows furrowed as he shook his head.
“no, you never met them.” you continued.
your gaze drifted away from him, up toward the vast expanse of the night sky. “they live across the water,” you murmured. “back home. where I was born.”
levi’s mind reeled. across the water? the words gnawed at him, stirring unease deep in his gut. what did that mean? where had you really come from?
“my mother,” you continued, voice soft, distant. “she was the kindest person in our town. she loved everyone.”
something in your tone made Levi’s chest tighten. he could hear the love in your voice, see it in your eyes—the kind of love that felt too big for this cruel world.
it reminded him of his mother.
“and everyone loved her,” you went on, a faint, wistful smile ghosting over your lips. “but not as much as my father did.”
your gaze snapped back to his, holding him captive.
“I would do anything to see them again,” you whispered. “Please—please understand—”
a violent cough wracked your body, cutting your words short. blood spilled from your lips, staining your chin, and your breath turned shallow—ragged, wheezing.
panic gripped Levi like a vice.
your body trembled in his arms, cold seeping into your skin. every breath you took sounded like it could be your last.
and for the first time in years—maybe ever—levi ackerman felt helpless.
your body convulsed against his, another violent cough tearing through you. more blood dribbled from your lips, staining his hands, his uniform—another mark, another loss carved into him.
levi held you tighter, but it wasn’t enough. it was never enough.
you smiled, weak, tired. “levi…”
your fingers twitched, barely brushing against his sleeve before falling limp.
“you were always so stubborn,” you whispered. your voice was so faint now, barely a breath, barely there. “but so was I…”
your eyelids fluttered, the light in your eyes dimming like a dying ember.
levi shook you.
but you weren’t here anymore.
a final, shallow breath left your lips. your body slackened in his arms.
and then—nothing.
levi didn’t move. he didn’t breathe.
the night stretched on, silent, unforgiving. the weight in his arms grew heavier, sinking deep into his bones.
for a long moment, he just stared. at your face, at the peaceful stillness that had taken over. at the blood—your blood—soaking the ground beneath you.
his chest ached. not with anger, not with fury.
with grief.
slowly, with more care than he even knew he possessed, levi reached up and brushed a bloodstained hand over your face, closing your eyes for the last time.
his head bowed, shoulders trembling just once before he swallowed everything down, burying it deep where no one could reach it.
where you could no longer reach it.
for a long time, levi ackerman sat there, holding you.
and when he finally rose, he did so with your weight still pressed into him, a ghost that would never leave.
geto’s mind had been restless since that morning, thoughts tangled in a ceaseless loop. the only solace he found was within the pages of his book, the familiar words offering a fleeting escape. but even then, no matter how hard he tried to focus, you still slipped through the cracks—like ink bleeding into the margins, impossible to ignore.
the weight of your presence pressed against his thoughts, unshakable, like a whisper caught in the wind—there but never quite tangible. he sighed, dragging his fingers through his hair as his eyes skimmed the same line for the third time.
it was useless.
every turn of the page felt like a battle lost, every word a ghost of something else—something he didn’t want to name. he shut the book with a quiet thud, resting it on his lap as he leaned back, letting his gaze drift to the ceiling. the room was calm, the air humming with a gentle lo-fi melody drifting from the laptop on his desk. but even that wasn’t enough to drown out the echoes of you in his head.
had you always occupied this much space in his mind? or had it only become unbearable now, with the distance growing between you? he wasn’t sure. all he knew was that no matter how many distractions he chased, how many justifications he offered himself, the truth remained the same:
you were always there. and the thought of losing that—of losing you—unsettled him more than he was willing to admit.
but he also knew another thing —he could never have you.
he wouldn’t allow himself to. no matter how much he wanted to reach out, to hold onto even the smallest piece of you, he knew he wasn’t enough. not for you. not for the kind of aura you carried so effortlessly.
so he’d have to keep his distance, lock every unspoken word behind clenched teeth, convince himself it’s better this way. that wanting you in silence is safer than ruining you with his touch.
but the thought of that settled deep in his chest, heavy and unmoving, like a stone sinking to the bottom of a river. it was a truth he refused to challenge, a reality he had accepted long before he even let himself acknowledge what he truly felt.
because wanting you was one thing. but having you? letting himself reach out, close the space, and hold something so delicate in his hands—it was dangerous. selfish. and he had never been the kind to take what wasn’t meant for him.
so he’ll keep his distance, convince himself it’s better this way. that staying just far enough away, bury every longing glance and swallow every unsaid word, maybe—just maybe—you’ll never realize how much he wished things were different.
geto picked up his book again, eyes scanning the pages in a futile attempt to focus. but once more, his thoughts drifted—to you.
only this time, it wasn’t just his mind betraying him. it was you. your presence.
he felt it before you even stepped foot into the building, an unmistakable shift in the air, like a ripple disturbing the stillness. your essence lingered, threading through the space between him and the door, wrapping around him like something inevitable.
he could sense you anywhere.
he knew you’d show up eventually. although he wasnt expecting it for another 20 minutes or so.
he didnt think gojo would fumble you this quickly.
his door swung open, and there you were, standing in the doorway. your expression was sharp, eyes burning with a frustration he could feel from across the room. you were pissed—there was no mistaking it.
“suguru…”
his name left your lips, laced with unmistakable attitude.
his eyes traced over you, following the familiar details he had memorized long ago. the softness of your hair, the wide, expressive eyes that always held more than you let on, the full lips now drawn into a stubborn pout. even like this—frustrated, standing before him with that undeniable fire in your gaze—you were captivating.
but his gaze didn’t stop there. it drifted lower, following the curve of your frame, the way your hips jutted out with attitude, a silent challenge. every part of you demanded his attention, and god, did you have it.
he had to look away, had to put distance between you before he slipped back into old habits—before he gave in and pulled you into the mess of tangled sheets, where reason always seemed to disappear.
“i’m busy right now, y/n,” he sighed. it was a pathetic attempt to push you away.
“no - bullshit.” you spat.
his lips curled into a smirk. your stubbornness always got him riled up.
“you owe me an explanation.”
“for?”
“you gave gojo my number.” your voice was steady, but the way your arms wrapped around yourself told a different story. you looked hurt—deeply, unmistakably so—and it made his chest tighten.
he made you feel this way. and whats worse is it’s not his first time doing so.
on those nights when he seeks you out for comfort, when you spend hours wrapped in each other’s arms—not just lost in fleeting moments of passion, but exchanging fragments of your lives, baring the parts of yourselves no one else gets to see. on those nights he never stays.
and he knows it hurts you. it’s written all over your face—the pout of your lips, the way your eyes glisten, threatening to spill over. you don’t have to say a word; he can see it.
but it’s not like he wants to leave - if he could, he’d stay the whole night, let himself sink into you, forget the world outside. but he can’t. he won’t.
he’s already let himself get too close, already crossed too many lines, broken down too many walls just for you. any more, and he might not find his way back.
“i did.” was his response.
geto watched as a storm of emotions flickered across your face, each one passing as quickly as it came. and if he had to guess, a thousand thoughts were racing through your mind just as fast.
then, without warning, you spun on your heel and headed for the door. he hadn’t expected it—hadn’t prepared for the sudden distance.
“stop,” he grunted, his arm instinctively reaching out as if the gesture alone could hold you in place.
then, softer this time, almost a plea—“c’mere.”
thankfully, you stopped. a few moments of silence hung between you before you finally turned back around, hesitating only for a second before stepping closer.
the moment your hand slipped into his, he didn’t waste another breath. he pulled you in, guiding you until you were straddling him, your body settling against him like you belonged there.
“i understand why your mad.” he murmured, his gaze locked onto yours.
a mistake.
because the moment your wide eyes met his, he was caught—trapped in something far stronger than he was willing to admit. you were just so captivating, so effortlessly magnetic.
how was he ever supposed to let you go?
“do you?” your voice was soft, almost fragile, but the way your fingers tightened around his shirt betrayed you. you were nervous, and he could feel it in the tension that hummed between you.
“yes,” he replied, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the soft pout of your lips, trapped in a silent battle over where to linger.
the moment seemed to overwhelm you, your gaze faltering as you dropped your eyes. but geto didn’t hesitate. without missing a beat, his fingers threaded through your hair—gentle yet firm—as he tilted your face back toward him, guiding your eyes to meet his once more.
“but i’ll never be who you want me to be.” he confessed.
but he knew you saw right through him. you always could.
no matter how carefully he constructed his walls, how effortlessly he masked his emotions, you had a way of unraveling him with just a look. and now, with your wide eyes locked onto his, he could feel it happening all over again.
his fingers remained tangled in your hair, his grip firm yet hesitant—like he was torn between pulling you closer and letting you go. but as the silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and lingering tension, he realized something:
you weren’t pulling away.
and god help him, but he didn’t think he could either.
“i don’t want you to be anyone - “
he cuts you off with a kiss, desperate and deliberate, because he knows exactly where this conversation is going—and he can’t bear to hear it.
he also just needs to kiss you—right now. you’ve been on his mind all damn day, lingering in every thought, every breath. and now you’re here, in his room, on his lap.
what else is he supposed to do?
his lips move against yours with a hunger that’s been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. his fingers tighten in your hair, the other hand finding its place at your waist, gripping you like he’s afraid you might slip away.
because maybe you will. maybe after this, after whatever this moment turns into, you’ll realize who he really is. a monster.
and that thought alone makes him pull you closer, makes him deepen the kiss as if he can keep you here through sheer will alone.
the air between you is heavy, charged, each breath shared in the space where your mouths part only to meet again. his restraint is slipping, unraveling thread by thread, because god, you feel good—too good. and he’s spent so long trying to convince himself he can live without this, without you. but right now, with your hands gripping his shirt, your body pressing flush against his, he’s not sure he ever believed that lie in the first place.
he needs you—more than he’s ever needed anything.
but wanting you is one thing. having you is another.
his fingers twitch against your waist, torn between pulling you closer and forcing himself to let go. every rational thought screams at him to stop this before it’s too late, before he drags you any deeper into the chaos that follows him like a shadow. but then your fingers tighten in his shirt, your lips moving against his, and suddenly, logic means nothing.
because you’re here. warm, real, wanting.
and for just a little longer, he allows himself to be selfish. to hold you, to kiss you, to pretend—just for a moment—that you could be his.
geto knows what comes next though.
he’ll let you go. step aside, push you toward the one who truly deserves you— gojo.
because gojo, with his endless light and unwavering confidence, can give you the kind of love that isn’t tainted by shadows.
you’re both so much alike, radiant and full of life, the kind of warmth that people are drawn to without even realizing it.
geto? he’s always been something else entirely. a storm, a fleeting shadow, a man who loves in ways that only lead to ruin.
but just for tonight, he’ll let himself be selfish—let himself drown in the warmth of your touch, the way your body fits so perfectly against his. he’ll commit every moment to memory, every sigh, every whispered name, knowing it’s the last time he’ll ever hear it like this.
the sun was dipping below the horizon, casting everything in an orange hue. the window was cracked, allowing a fresh breeze to fill the space. the air carries the faint scent of coffee and freshly laundered sheets, mixing with the occasional trace of vanilla from a scented candle burning (even though they aren’t technically allowed). the soft hum of lo-fi music drifts from the laptop on the desk.
but the moment shattered as the door flew open, slamming hard against the wall with a jarring thud.
geto was sat on his bed, back resting against the headboard, a book loosely held in his hand. he didn’t flinch. as if he had anticipated the intrusion, his eyes lazily lifted, meeting the gaze of the disheveled figure standing in his doorway.
your jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack, nostrils flaring with each sharp breath. your eyes, dark and burning, locked onto their target with an intensity that could set the air on fire. shoulders stiff, fists curled so tight your knuckles turned white, every muscle in your body vibrated with barely contained fury, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. when you finally spoke, your voice was low and razor-sharp, the word dripping with restrained rage.
“suguru…”
the sorcerer, moving at an infuriating slow pace, closed his chapter book and set it on the nightstand near him.
his voice was low as he spoke.
“i’m busy right now, y/n.”
he leaned back against the headboard, his arms folded behind his head now. not a look of worry on his face at all.
you entered the room now, slamming the door closed behind you.
“no - bullshit.” you spat, crossing your arms across your chest. “you owe me an explanation.”
“for..?”
you rolled your eyes and menacingly took a step closer to the dark haired boy.
“you gave gojo my number.”
“i did.”
his response seized your heart and it pounded in your chest, a slow burn of anger and betrayal rising.
your mind raced.
how could he?
why would he?
geto - the only man you ever let yourself develop feelings for - had handed you over. to his best friend of all people.
your stomach twisted, a sickening mix of anger and hurt churning inside. did he even think about how you would feel? the idea of him sitting there, casually sharing your number like it was some kind of party favor, made your chest tighten. you wanted to scream, to demand an explanation, to make him see what he had done. but beneath the fury, something else lurked—something quieter, more painful. did you ever mean as much to him as he meant to you? the thought gnawed at you.
despite the storm of emotions in your heart, you weren’t ready to confess your feelings yet. so you spun on your heel, your hand gripping the door knob but before you could yank it open, geto’s voice stopped you.
“stop. c’mere.”
his voice was quiet, his tone gentle.
and when you turned back around, you found his hand outstretched toward you.
you stood frozen in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, torn between the door and geto. your fingers hovered on the doorknob, but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn it. leaving felt like the logical choice—safe, simple, easy—but the man calling out for you pulled you back, an unspoken invitation wrapped in the quiet of the room. would it be wrong to stay? to slip beneath the covers and let yourself sink into the comfort of his presence like you always do? your heart wavered, tangled in hesitation, caught between what you wanted and what you should do.
but you knew you could never stay away from geto. this man had your entire heart and he didnt even know it. or maybe he did and he just didnt care.
with a sigh, you took geto’s hand and he pulled you until you were straddling him. his hands on your hips, yours on his chest.
it wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to hold each other like this. you often seeked each other out on the nights you both were home. there was something unspoken between you—an understanding, a quiet need for warmth that neither of you ever put into words. the weight of the day always seemed lighter when you curled into each other, tangled in shared breaths and soft murmurs that never required explanation. it was never just about comfort, though that was the excuse you both clung to. there was something more in the way his fingers brushed your skin absentmindedly, in the way your heart stuttered when his breath ghosted against your neck. but neither of you ever acknowledged it. instead, you let the silence stretch between you, heavy with everything unsaid.
geto’s voice ripped you from your thoughts.
“i understand why your mad.”
your eyes connected. his hands gave your hips a reassuring squeeze. and your grip on his shirt tightened.
“do you?”
his gaze flickered between your eyes and lips, lingering just long enough to send a shiver down your spine. without realizing it, you held your breath, anticipation tightening in your chest.
“yes.”
the single word left his lips, quiet but certain. yet, in his eyes, there was more—an unspoken confession, a thousand emotions woven into the silence between you.
your heart pounded so loudly it threatened to drown out everything else, and you dropped your gaze, seeking refuge from the intensity in his eyes. but his fingers found their way into your hair, gentle yet firm, tilting your face back toward him—silently demanding your attention, refusing to let you look away.
“but…” he continued. “i’ll never be who you want me to be.”
his voice was low. soft. masking an emotion you couldn’t decipher.
“i dont want you to be anyone - “
he cut you off with a kiss. his grip on your hair tightening, causing your mouth to slip open and his tongue to slither inside.
the kiss was wet, all-consuming, a collision of breath and longing that ignited every nerve in your body.
it was hungry and desperate. hands grasp, pulling each other closer, fingers threading through hair, gripping fabric, refusing to let go. the warmth spreads, deep and intoxicating, as mouths move in perfect sync, tasting, exploring, savoring. there’s an urgency, a silent plea in every touch, every stolen breath, as if the world beyond this moment ceases to exist. time slows, hearts race, and when you finally break apart, gasping for air, the only thing left between you is the undeniable electricity of everything unspoken.
and it shattered your heart.
how unlucky were you to finally find a man worth loving—and he thinks he’s unlovable.
carrying his wounds like armor, convinced that every sharp edge of himself is too jagged for you to hold. you see the way he hesitates, the way he swallows down the words he wants to say, afraid that if he lets you too close, you’ll see what he sees—a man undeserving of the love you so freely offer. but he doesn’t understand. he doesn’t see himself the way you do. every scar, every guarded glance, every broken piece—none of it scared you. but how do you convince someone that they’re worthy of a love they refuse to believe in?
simple: you can’t.
geto will always be the one thing you will never have.
but should that stop you from trying?
it surely doesn’t stop you from reaching for him on those late nights, or from offering pieces of yourself in hopes that he’ll take them.
but love isn’t something you can force into someone’s hands. no matter how much you want to.
so maybe this is how things are meant to play out. maybe your lover will always be the one thing you will never have. not because you aren’t enough, but because he has already decided that he can’t be saved.
you felt your heart drop into your stomach and your breath catch in your throat, a strangled gasp escaping your lips as your mind raced to comprehend what he had just said. you two had grown distant ever since that awkward moment a couple weeks back when he had gotten injured and you had confessed your feelings for him in a moment of despair. things had grown uncomfortable between the two of you after that.
your hands trembled at your sides, and you felt a cold sweat break out across your brow. time seemed to stretch, each second feeling like an eternity as you searched his face for answers.
“megumi…” your voice came out a soft whisper, afraid to speak too loudly and shatter the moment.
he took a step forward, but you instinctively recoiled, the magnitude of the moment overwhelming your senses. the familiar warmth of his presence felt foreign, like a distant memory wrapped in layers of grief. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, not from joy nor, but from anger.
was this a joke? had itadori set him up to this? no. although megumi could be cold, he’d never purposefully trick you.
as he reached out to you again, you felt the ground beneath your feet shift, your reality spinning in a dizzying whirl. The room grew silent, the world outside fading into oblivion as shock enveloped you like a heavy fog. you stood frozen as megumi pressed his lips to yours.
time seemed to slow as his lips moved against yours and his hands found your face. he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. the world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you suspended in that moment.
“y/n…” he murmured, his voice low. you met his gaze, your pulse quickening as you felt the weight of his stare. it was as if you two were the only people in existence.
without fully thinking the consequences through, you leaned in, your heart pounding in your chest, and connected your lips again. a tentative brush of your tongues sent a jolt of electricity coursing through you. it was sweet and innocent and for a heartbeat, the world melted away, and every worry, every doubt vanished into the ether.
as you pulled back, both breathless and wide-eyed, you couldn’t help but smile, your cheeks flushed with a mix of joy and disbelief. there was a hint of mischief in megumi’s eyes as his hands lowered to your waist, pulling you into his chest.
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