megumi gets himself sick so you'll pay more attention to him.
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yandere reader x megumi
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A year is more than enough time for a house to become a universe.
For megumi, the world had shrunk to four locked walls, reinforced windows, and the precise, heavy rhythm of your footsteps. He didn’t know about the hidden cameras seamlessly integrated into the molding, feeding live footage straight to an app on your phone. He didn’t need to.
He already felt your eyes on him every second of the day, even when you weren't there. It was a suffocating, intoxicating weight that he had learned to crave with a desperation that terrified what little was left of his old self.
He was twenty now. In the twelve months you had kept him hidden away, his frame had stretched, his shoulders broadening just enough to make the clothes you bought him last summer look absurd. The hems of his pants rode up his ankles, the shoulders of his shirts pulled taut against his back.
He had grown taller than you, a fact that filled him with a quiet, possessive thrill, even if he was still entirely at your mercy.
Lately, though, the universe had gone quiet.
You were busy. A grueling project at work had turned you into a ghost in your own home, plagued by sleepless nights and endless paperwork. You still locked the doors, you still checked the perimeter, but the attention had waned. You weren't looking at him. You were looking at screens. You hadn't brushed his hair in four days. You hadn't sat and watched him eat.
Megumi couldn't handle fifteen minutes of silence before the intrusive thoughts began to claw at his skull, whispering that you were bored of him, that you were going to leave the door unlocked on purpose just to rid yourself of the burden.
So, he planned. He didn’t say a word, Megumi was never one for loud complaints, but his mind worked with a sharp toxicity that perfectly mirrored your own.
If he couldn't have your love through your spare time, he would steal it through your panic.
For three days, he executed his script. When you left for your office in the mornings, he went into the bathroom and turned the shower knob completely to the right, standing under the freezing, icy deluge until his skin turned blue and his teeth rattled against his jaw. When you left meals for him in the fridge, he didn't microwave them. He ate the dense, cold rice and stiff proteins straight from the tupperware, washing it down with glasses of tap water chilled with handfuls of ice.
By the fourth morning, his body gave in.
The heavy click of the front door unlocking signaled your return. You stumbled into the hallway, bags under your eyes, exhausted to the bone. Your routine was mechanical, check the phone app to ensure the camera feeds were stable, then check on your prize.
But when you pushed open the bedroom door, the usual sight of Megumi sitting quietly on the bed was gone. Instead, he was curled into a tight, shivering ball on the floor, buried beneath a thin blanket that did nothing to stop his violent tremors.
"megumi?"
Your voice cracked, the exhaustion vanishing instantly, replaced by a sharp, jagged spike of adrenaline.
He didn't answer. He couldn't. His skin was flushed a deep, feverish crimson across his nose and cheekbones, contrasting sharply with the deathly pale tint of his lips. When you dropped to your knees and pressed your palm to his forehead, the heat radiating off him felt like a furnace.
103, easily.
A low, pathetic whine left his throat at the touch of your cool hand. He leaned his face heavily into your palm, his long, dark lashes fluttering open to reveal glazed, unfocused eyes. He looked up at you as if you were the only solid thing left in a dissolving world.
"Look at you" you breathed, a toxic mix of furious panic and distorted adoration swelling in your chest. You grabbed his chin, tilting his face up. "What did you do to yourself, sweetheart? Why are you burning up like this?"
Megumi didn’t say anything outright. He didn’t confess to the cold showers or the deliberate neglect of his own health. He merely let his head drop against your shoulder, his heavy, hot breath puffing against your neck. It worked, his mind hummed through the fog of the fever. She’s looking at me. She’s touching me.
"Come here. Up."
You hoisted him up, gritting your teeth as you realized just how much heavier he had gotten. His long legs dragged slightly as you guided him into the bathroom. You stripped him of his damp, sweat-soaked clothes, your eyes narrowing as you noticed how short the shirt had become on him, exposing his lower stomach. You’d have to order him new things tonight. A whole new wardrobe for your growing boy.
You filled the bathtub with lukewarm water, testing it carefully before helping him sink into it.
The moment his skin hit the water, Megumi gasped, his hands instantly flying out to grip your wrists with a startling, iron-tight strength. His knuckles were white.
"Shh, I've got you. It's just to lower the fever, Megumi. Let go," you cooed, your voice dropping into that sweet, psychotic tone you only used when he was entirely compliant.
He didn't let go. His eyes widened, dark and wild with a sudden, violent flash of separation anxiety. To Megumi, the world was ending because your hands weren't directly on him. He didn't want the water, he wanted you.
He lunged forward again when you swat off his hands gently, trying to scramble backward out of the tub, his long legs kicking up a harsh, frantic spray of water that instantly soaked the front of your clothes. But he was too weak, his muscles shaking violently from the fever.
he grabbed you. His fingers, wet and trembling, locked around your wrists with a terrifying, crushing desperation. His nails dug into your skin, leaving deep, crescent marks that would undoubtedly turn to bruises.
"I've got you, gumi, shh... look at me, I'm right here" you cooed. You leaned over the edge of the tub, using your weight to gently press his broad, shivering shoulders back down into the water. "It’s just water, sweetheart. It’s going to make you feel better. Let me take care of you."
But his mind was fracturing under the heat.
When he looked up through his blurred, tear-pricked vision, he didn't just see you kneeling beside the tub.
He saw another you, in the tub with him, sitting opposite to him, staring at him with those wide, unblinking eyes. you were everywhere. You were the walls, you were the water, you were the air he couldn't breathe. He was completely lost, not just in the house, but inside the very concept of you.
"Don't look away" he choked out, his eyes darting frantically between the real you kneeling by his side and the phantom version of you his mind had conjured.
"Please... don't go. Don't leave me"
"I'm right here, sweets. I'm not going away" you murmured, entirely captivated by his utter ruin.
You took a soft washcloth, soaking it in the water, and began to run it down his chest and arms. Megumi flinched at the initial contact, a whimper tearing from his throat, but as you continued to stroke his skin, cooing praises and sweet nonsense into his ear, his resistance melted into a pathetic, desperate compliance.
He leaned his heavy, burning, soaking wet head against your shoulder, his face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sharp scent of your perfume and the underlying tang of your sweat from your sleepless nights, biting and kissing sloppily. He was soaking your clothes, ruining your posture, but you didn't care. You loved him too much. You loved how ruined he was for you.
With one hand, you worked a bottle of shampoo into his dark, spiked hair, massaging his scalp with long, firm strokes. Megumi let out a low, shuddering sigh, his eyes closing, though his hand never once loosened its iron grip on your wrist.
Even submerged in the water, he kept you anchored to him. If you tried to pull away even an inch to reach for a towel, his grip would instantly tighten, his knuckles turning stark white, a panicked, warning hiss leaving his lips.
"So clingy today" you whispered, kissing his wet, burning temple, your lips lingering on his flush skin. "You really can't exist without me, can you?"
Yes. Believe I'm weak so you never take your eyes off me again.
Never, his mind echoed through the fog of sickness, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Never again.
He didn't care about himself. He cared about the fact that your sleepless nights were now dedicated to him, not your laptop. He cared that your hands were trembling with worry for him.
When you finally turned off the water and pulled the plug, he was practically a dead weight. You had to drape his long, damp arms around your neck, hoisting his altered, taller frame out of the tub. His wet skin slid against yours, a suffocating heat that bonded you together in the quiet bathroom.
You dried him off with slow, thorough strokes of the towel, marking every inch of the body that belonged entirely to you, before dragging him back to the safety of the bedroom.
𓂃 ⭒ Megumi wants to wait until you are both adults
“Not even a blowjob?” you pout, leaning into his shoulder.
Megumi sighs, the kind of long, resigned sound that says he’s already been through this conversation in his head a hundred times before.
“Yes… even that.”
You groan dramatically, throwing your head back against the couch. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m responsible,” he corrects, deadpan, but there’s a flicker of a smile tugging at his mouth. He doesn’t look at you right away, eyes fixed on the muted TV light flickering across the room. “We’re not old enough for that kind of stuff. It’s—” he pauses, brow tightening, “—inappropriate.”
His voice carries that quiet seriousness that’s so him. The same tone he uses when explaining a curse technique or when he thinks you’re about to do something reckless. You can tell he’s set on this—not out of coldness, but because he really believes it’s the right thing to do.
You nudge his arm with your knee, half teasing, half earnest. “What about kisses?”
That gets his attention. His eyes finally meet yours, dark and steady. Then, almost imperceptibly, his shoulders soften. “I guess those are fine,” he mutters.
You grin, already scooting closer. “Fine enough for one right now?”
Megumi lets out another sigh—this one softer, almost fond—and leans down just enough so your lips meet. It’s slow and warm and cautious, everything unspoken hanging between you.
“See?” you whisper, smiling. “Nothing inappropriate about that.”
He brushes his thumb against your cheek, eyes half-lidded. “Let’s just keep it that way,” he says quietly. But the way his lips linger near yours…
Over the next few years, it turned out to be a lot harder for Megumi than he expected.
You really had believed him back then every word about waiting, about being “responsible,” about things being inappropriate for your age. You’d agreed, because it made sense, because you loved how seriously he took things.
But what Megumi didn’t account for was how that trust, that comfort of knowing he’d never cross a line, made you feel safe enough to get comfortable… maybe a little too comfortable.
The shorts got shorter. The sleepovers started happening more often. Sometimes you’d climb into his bed without thinking, hair messy, wearing an oversized shirt and little else, stretching out beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it was until he’d catch your thigh brushing his or notice the steady rise and fall of your breathing, and suddenly all that quiet composure would start to crack.
He told himself it was fine. You weren’t doing anything wrong. You still had those same soft, innocent smiles, still fell asleep tangled in the blankets before midnight. It was just that he wasn’t as unaffected as he used to be.
He’d thought you’d be the one struggling with waiting. Turns out, it’s Megumi who lies awake longer these nights trying to remember why “inappropriate” had ever sounded so simple.
It wasn’t just about rules anymore. Somewhere along the way, things began to change quietly, naturally, almost without either of you noticing.
Megumi started to feel it in the smallest of moments: the way your voice softened when you said his name, or how your hand lingered on his arm just a moment too long. Sometimes, when you leaned in close enough that your breath brushed his neck, he’d forget how to breathe entirely.
You never did anything overtly bold, but you didn’t have to. The warmth of your skin when your legs touched beneath the blankets, the soft scent of your shampoo, the way your shirt would slip off one shoulder while you read beside him.
it all piled up, until every inch of space between you felt alive with something unsaid.
He still told himself that waiting was the right thing. That it mattered. But lately, it wasn’t easy to rest his hand beside yours without his pulse quickening, or to look at you too long without his thoughts wandering somewhere he shouldn’t let them go.
You could tell he was fraying at the edges, even if he’d never admit it. When you caught his eyes lingering, you almost asked him if he still thought it was “inappropriate.” But you didn’t. You just smiled, leaned a little closer, and let the silence balance between you
His eighteenth birthday came quietly, just like him. A small dinner with Yuji, Nobara, and you, nothing elaborate, just laughter, a cake Nobara nearly dropped, and the warmth of being surrounded by people who had grown up together through too much.
But all night, Megumi couldn’t stop looking at you.
You’d done nothing different—just worn that soft sweater he always liked, hair tied up loosely—but it was enough to undo him in small ways he tried not to show. Every time you smiled across the table, every time your knee brushed his under it, something tightened in his chest.
Later, when everyone had gone to bed or disappeared into separate rooms, you were lying on your stomach, scrolling on your phone. He walked in quietly, the floor creaking just enough to catch your attention. Before you could say anything, he lay down on top of you, his weight warm against your back.
“Megumi—” you started, laughing when his breath brushed your neck.
Then he kissed you there—just a soft press, almost shy—and you froze for a second before your laughter melted into something quieter.
He lifted himself just enough to turn you onto your back, his eyes searching yours before his lips met yours again. This time it wasn’t gentle. It was deeper… slower… certain. You felt his heartbeat racing, his hand trembling slightly against your waist.
It wasn’t unusual for him to react like that—he’d always been affectionate in his own careful way—but what was unusual was that he didn’t stop right away. For a moment, he allowed himself to stay there, breathing you in, caught between control and something new.
Then, that familiar pull of restraint hit him like a wave. With a low sound—half frustration, half discipline—he pulled back completely, pressing his forehead to yours for a heartbeat, then standing up. No words. Just the sound of his footsteps leaving the room.
You didn’t go after him; you both knew he wouldn’t want to talk about it. And somehow, that silence said everything.
Then came your eighteenth birthday.
Your eighteenth birthday came on a quiet night too, though everything felt different this time. Maybe it was the way Megumi couldn’t seem to relax, even when Yuji and Nobara were teasing you both about being “the old ones now.” Maybe it was the way his hand lingered against the small of your back when he passed behind you, how his eyes kept finding yours and then darting away like he was afraid to get caught.
By the time everyone had gone home, the air between you two felt thick with something neither of you could name.
You were sitting on the edge of his bed when he came in, hair still a little mussed from the shower, shirt loose at the collar. He stopped in front of you, looking down with that same mix of calm and uncertainty that always seemed to exist in him at once.
“Happy birthday,” he said softly.
You smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
He hesitated for a moment, like he wanted to say more but couldn’t trust himself to. His fingers twitched at his sides before he finally gave in to impulse and reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair off your face.
“Did you make a wish?” he asked.
You nodded, smiling faintly. “Maybe.”
“What was it?”
You tipped your head, pretending to think, even though you both knew you wouldn’t tell him. “If I say it, it won’t come true.”
He huffed a soft laugh, the kind that barely made it past his throat. Then he sat beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight, your knees almost touching.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The clock on the nightstand ticked quietly. His eyes flicked to your lips, once, then away again and your pulse jumped.
“Megumi,” you said, barely above a whisper.
He looked at you then, really looked. Like he was searching for a sign, a word, anything to justify the way his hand slid to rest against your thigh, tentative but steady.
“It doesn’t feel wrong anymore… I hope,” you murmured.
He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding that breath for years. “No,” he said, voice rough, quiet, “It doesn’t.”
When he kissed you this time, there was no hesitation
His mouth moved against yours slow, like he was memorizing the shape of it all over again.
One of his hands stayed on your thigh, thumb brushing lazy half circles over the inside seam of your shorts, warm through the thin cotton.
The other came up to cradle the side of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, holding you.
You shifted closer without really meaning to, knee sliding against his, and he made a low sound in the back of his throat—barely there, but enough to send heat curling low in your stomach.
When you finally parted—just enough to breathe—he didn’t go far. Forehead resting against yours, eyes half-lidded and dark.
“You’re shaking,” he said quietly, not mocking. Just noticing.
You let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “So are you.”
He didn’t deny it. Instead he kissed you again, softer this time, lips catching yours in little pulls and releases until your mouth parted on its own.
His tongue brushed yours, tentative at first, then deeper when you sighed into it, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.
The hand on your thigh slid higher, slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted. You didn’t. Your legs parted just a fraction and his palm settled fully against the warmth there, not pressing, just resting, like he was giving you time to feel how badly he wanted to touch more.
You broke the kiss to catch your breath, foreheads still touching. “Megumi…”
He hummed, low, waiting.
“Take them off,” you whispered.
His fingers paused, then hooked under the waistband of your shorts. He tugged gently, waiting for you to lift your hips before he slid them down your thighs, past your knees, letting them drop to the floor.
Cool air hit your skin and you shivered; his hand immediately returned, warmer now, cupping you through your underwear.
You reached for the hem of his shirt next, tugging it up. He helped you pull it off, muscles shifting under your palms as you ran your hands over his chest, his sides, feeling the way his breath hitched when your nails grazed lightly down his stomach.
When your fingers found the strings of his joggers he caught your wrist, not stopping you, just holding for a second. His eyes searched yours again, quieter this time.
“You sure?” he asked, voice rougher than before.
You nodded, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I’ve been sure for a long time.”
He exhaled through his nose, something almost like relief, then let go of your wrist. You worked the ties, and he lifted his hips so you could push the joggers and boxers down far enough. He kicked them off the rest of the way himself.
Then it was just his skin against your skin.
He pulled you into his lap carefully, your knees bracketing his hips, and for a long moment neither of you moved…just breathing, foreheads pressed together, feeling each other.
His cock rested warm and heavy against your inner thigh; you could feel how hard he was, how much he was trying not to rush.
His hands settled on your waist, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just under your ribs.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured.
You kissed him instead of answering and rocked your hips once, just enough to slide against him. He groaned softly into your mouth, fingers tightening on your waist.
You did it again, slower this time, dragging yourself along his length until the head nudged your clit through the damp cotton still between you. His head dropped to your shoulder, breath ragged against your neck.
“Fuck,” he whispered, almost to himself.
You smiled against his hair, reached down between you, and tugged your underwear to the side.
When you sank down onto him it was careful—despite the pain—until he was buried deep and you both went still, breathing hard.
He pressed a shaky kiss to your throat. “You okay?”
You nodded, fingers threading through his dark hair. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.”
He did. Just held you close, one arm wrapped around your lower back, the other hand cradling your face so he could kiss you again
When you finally rolled your hips, testing, he groaned low in his chest and matched your small, shallow thrusts that made your breath catch every time he bottomed out.
It stayed slow like that for a long while with no rush.
The pace stayed gentle for a while longer with your slow rolls of your hips meeting his careful upward thrusts.
The room was quiet except for your shared breathing and the soft, wet sounds your bodies made each time you sank down onto him fully
little noises that filled the space between you every time you lifted and slid back down.
His eyes flicked down between you, watching where you took him in, then back up to your face. The sight seemed to pull another low groan from him, and he pressed his thumb firm against your clit, circling in time with the slow grind.
You whimpered softly at the added pressure, and the next roll of your hips drew out an especially wet, filthy squelch that made you both freeze for half a second. His grip on your waist tightened, fingers digging in just enough to leave the faintest sting.
His hands roamed now: one splayed wide across your lower back, guiding without forcing, the other sliding up to cup your breast through the thin fabric of your bra. His thumb brushed over the peak of your nipple once, twice, until your breath hitched and you arched into his touch.
You tugged the bar down your chest yourself, impatient suddenly, and let it sit on your rib cage.
The second his mouth found your collarbone you felt the shift in him—still careful, but hungrier. kisses trailed lower, pausing to suck softly at the swell of your breast before he closed his lips around your nipple. The wet heat of his tongue made you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair.
“Megumi—” It came out like a half-plea
He hummed against your skin, the vibration pulling another shiver out of you, then switched to the other side while his finger still played with your clit
You rocked harder without meaning to, and he groaned low against your chest
“Lie back,” you whispered.
He blinked up at you, dark lashes heavy, then nodded once.
You lifted off him carefully—both of you making small, involuntary sounds at the loss—and he let you guide him down until his shoulders hit the pillows.
The sight of him like that—hair messy across his forehead, lips swollen from kissing, chest rising and falling fast—made your stomach flip.
You straddled him again, this time facing him fully, and sank back down in one smooth glide. Deeper this time. His head tipped back, throat working on a quiet curse.
You set the pace now with slow lifts and drags that let you feel every inch of him.
His hands found your hips, just holding on like he needed the anchor. His thumbs pressed into the soft skin above your hipbones.
When your pace stuttered, he sat up suddenly, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you against him.
The new angle made him hit something inside you that turned your next breath into a broken moan.
“There?” he murmured against your lips.
You could only nod, forehead pressed tight to his, noses brushing, breaths coming out hot and ragged against each other’s mouths.
Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close, dragging him in that last little bit until there was no space left between you.
Your bare chest rubbed against his with every move, nipples scraping over his skin, the friction sharp and hot, making you shiver each time your bodies slid together.
You moved with him, keeping him buried so deep that the base of his cock pressed against you every time you rolled forward.
You felt the warm, soft weight of his balls settle right up against your skin with each grind, shifting slightly, adding that extra press of fullness that made your stomach flutter low and hard.
Your thighs trembled around his hips, muscles jumping every time you rocked down. Your feet dug into the mattress, toes curling in the sheets as you tried to pull yourself even closer, chasing every bit of contact you could get.
His hands slid down from your waist, palms rough and warm as they cupped your ass, fingers spreading wide, digging in just enough to make you gasp softly.
Then he pulled you forward, harder, guiding your hips down deeper onto him with a firm, steady push.
The motion sank him even further inside, stretching you fuller, the thick base grinding right against your entrance while his balls pressed warmer, snugger against you.
Every time he tugged you in like that, the angle shifted just right, hitting deeper, making your walls flutter around him without warning.
You whimpered into his mouth, the sound swallowed as he rocked up to meet the next pull of the short, deep thrusts that never let him slip out far, just kept grinding him in tight circles inside you.
Your fingers curled at the back of his neck, nails scratching lightly into his skin as you clung to him.
His grip on your ass stayed strong, fingers kneading the soft flesh, spreading you open a little more with each push so you took every inch without resistance. The wet sounds between you grew louder with filthy squelches every time he forced your hips down and your bodies met completely.
“Megumi,” you managed, voice cracking, nails biting into his shoulders now.
He swallowed hard, eyes half‑shut, breath stuttering. “Yeah?” he rasped, voice low and rough. “I—mhh—feel good”
He just kept pulling you deeper with those firm hands on your ass, rocking his hips up in time so the head of him dragged over that spot inside again and again.
Your chest slid against his with every movement, nipples catching and scraping over his skin, the raw friction making your breath hitch, your thighs shaking harder as everything narrowed to the stretch of him filling you, the way his palms squeezed and guided you down harder, your feet pressing into the bed like you could force him even deeper, the slick heat where you were joined so completely.
Then it broke.
You came hard, a choked moan muffled into his neck as your walls clamped down around him in pulsing waves, squeezing him tight.
He groaned low, hips jerking once—twice—his fingers digging deeper into your ass as he pushed you down one last time and spilled inside you, arms locking tight around your back like he needed to hold on just as much as you did.
For a long minute after, neither of you moved. Just clung. Breathing hard against each other’s skin. Your arms stayed around his neck, holding him close, your chest still pressed to his as you tried to catch your breath. His hands stayed on your ass, softer now, thumbs stroking slow circles over the marks he’d left.
Eventually he pressed a slow, open kiss to the side of your neck.
“When did you become such a pro” he whispered, voice hoarse.
You smiled into his hair, fingers tracing lazy patterns down his spine.
“Don’t get mad ” you said despite still trying to catch your breath . “But those fanfics you told me to stop reading helped ”
Megumi missed you a little too much when you went out for the day
cw: softdom!megumi :: overly freaked out :: very suggestive (no smut) :: clingy!megumi :: pinning down :: aged up au
a/n: finally wrote the overly freaked out oneshot i promised i would do. i hope you guys enjoy. as always, MDNI or do…i cant rlly tell yall what to do
inspired by freaked out megumi pinning kirara down
Megumi was always distant. He hated physical touch, and even at the beginning of your relationship, he barely tolerated it. Every now and then, you’d play-fight just to fill the space between you, and he always let you win.
Which is why it completely caught you off guard when he lunged at you the moment you got home. You crashed to the floor with a loud thud, his legs pinning yours as he straddled your back.
“Um… hello to you too?” you murmured, face pressed against the cold wooden floor.
Your hands clawed at the ground, trying to push up, but he stopped you effortlessly.
“Oh no,” he said, grabbing your wrists and pinning them behind you. “I like you right here.”
You groaned.
“This isn’t fair. I wasn’t even ready.”
He chuckled softly, tightening his legs around you as he leaned forward. His free hand traced up your back, rough fingers brushing over your skin until they reached the nape of your neck. He gripped it, forcing your head to turn.
You glared at him sideways.
“What are you do—”
He cut you off, sliding two fingers into your mouth.
Your eyes went wide. Megumi Fushiguro—the same guy who used to blush at the simplest kiss—was straddling your back, fingers in your mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He shushed you as you tried to speak, muffled sounds escaping.
“I just missed you, baby,” he murmured. “You were gone so long.”
You’d only been gone three hours.
Three hours.
That was it.
You wriggled, trying to free your wrists, but he only tightened his grip. He tilted his head, watching you clench your jaw with a quiet smirk.
“Try biting me,” he said calmly, wiggling his fingers.
Heat crawled up your neck as you glared at him. He looked way too pleased with himself.
“What?” he whispered, leaning closer, warm breath brushing your ear. “I’m just curious.”
His chest pressed fully against your back, one hand holding your wrists, the other still in your mouth. Your jaw tensed, and he chuckled softly.
“Come on, I know you have it in you.”
You try to push him off with your elbows. For a moment, it almost worked—until he pressed his chest harder against you.
“Don’t go pushing me—”
You bit his fingers lightly.
He froze.
Seizing the moment, you flipped the two of you over and landed on top.
Megumi blinked, mouth opening and closing in shock. He had let go of your wrists in his stunned state.
“Curiosity satisfied?” you sneered.
For the first time that evening, he looked genuinely surprised.
“…You’re brave,” he said, eyes narrowing.
“Or maybe,” you grinned, “you’re just slow.”
Your hands rest on his shoulders as he stares at you like a deer in headlights. You lean closer and kiss the corner of his mouth, then trail kisses along his jaw and down his neck.
"What? Cat got your tongue now?" you tease, teeth grazing his skin.
He inhales a sharp breath, hands trembling slightly as he grabs your waist.
"Y/N," he whispers, voice hoarse and shaky.
"Mm?" you mutter against his collarbone.
He shivers, chest rising and falling faster now.
"What, Megumi?"
A beat passed.
Then suddenly, he moved, rolling you over so fast the room spun.
He was above you again—but this time, not on your back.
His hands braced beside your head, hair falling over his forehead. Your hands rested on his chest, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.
“You just made this worse for yourself,” he muttered. "fucking around with me like that."
You rolled your eyes. “Yeah?”
He leaned back, grabbing your thighs and guiding your legs around his waist.
“Yeah.”
Your breath hitched despite yourself as he settled between them, making it impossible to pretend you were still in control.
Your hands flattened instinctively against his chest.
Of course he noticed.
His eyes flicked down briefly to where your fingers pressed into his shirt, then back to your face. A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
“Problem?” he asked.
You scoffed. “You tackled me, remember?”
“Mm,” he hummed, gaze lingering on you. “And you bit me.”
“You told me to,” you said stubbornly.
He hummed quietly, clearly unbothered.
For a moment, neither of you moved. You shifted slightly, testing his hold. His hands tightened just enough to keep you exactly where you were.
“Are you just going to keep me here all night?”
“Maybe.”
You shifted again. He sucked in a breath, looking down. Your hips were pressed directly against his.
He leaned closer, breath ghosting over yours. Your breath caught as his hand left your thigh, trailing slowly to your waist. You shivered.
“You’re acting weird,” you said, trying to keep some normalcy.
He brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, letting his hand linger on your cheek.
“You disappeared for hours,” he whispered.
“I have a life.”
“I know.”
His voice softened, vulnerable.
“I just wasn’t part of it today.”
Something in his tone made your rationality falter. Your fingers curled at the fabric of his shirt.
“You could’ve just said you missed me,” you teased, pulling him into a kiss.
He kissed you gently, thumb brushing your jaw, then pulled back slowly, studying you.
“I did,” he said.
“Tackling me doesn’t count,” you murmured.
He tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“It doesn’t?”
Before you could answer, he kissed you again—rougher this time. His lips crashed into yours, and for a moment, it felt like time stopped. Your hands flew to his hair, tugging slightly, swallowing his muffled groans. He pulled back just enough to keep control.
“Megumi,” you whispered, voice hoarse.
“What, baby? Tell me what you want,” he whispered, trailing kisses along your jaw.
“If you’re going to do something, just do it already.”
A small, dangerous smile appeared.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
a/n: what do we think guys…was it worth the wait or should i js quit writing rn😹
bsf!megumi fic where: a misunderstanding leads to tension between reader and megs
warnings: smut, slight angst, happy ending, soft dom megumi, toge is gay in this
ps: not to be a larper but ik toges words do have specific canon meanings, however I did not know them when making this so when toge speaks (only once) he just says salmon so disregard that if the meaning doesn’t fit/ pretend it does
The late afternoon sun filtered through the high windows of the Jujutsu High training hall, casting long, golden blocks of light across the wooden floor. You wiped a bead of sweat from your forehead, catching your breath as Toge Inumaki easily deflected your last strike, offering you a small, encouraging nod.
"Salmon" he murmured softly, holding out a hand to help you up.
You took it with a laugh, leaning into him briefly as you recovered your footing. To anyone looking from the outside, the easy affection, the shared smiles, and the comfortable physical closeness might look like a budding romance. But you knew the truth—Toge had confided in you months ago about his absolute, unwavering attraction to men. He was your best friend, a safe haven in a world full of curses, and your favorite training partner.
But Megumi Fushiguro didn’t know that.
Standing in the shadow of the doorway, Megumi felt a cold, sharp knot tighten in his chest. He had come to ask you if you wanted to grab dinner, but the sight of you laughing, flushed and happy, with your hands wrapped around Toge’s arm made him freeze. A bitter, foreign taste rose in his throat. Jealousy. It was an emotion he prided himself on avoiding, yet watching Toge gently tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear made Megumi’s fists clench in his pockets.
Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked away into the darkening corridor.
The shift in Megumi's demeanor was instantaneous, and it lasted the rest of the day. During Gojo’s evening lecture, Megumi sat as far away from you as possible. When you tried to catch his eye, he looked out the window. When you passed him a note scribbled on a piece of scrap paper, he left it unopened on his desk.
By the time classes were dismissed, you had reached your limit. You caught up to him in the courtyard, grabbing his uniform sleeve. "Megumi, wait. What is wrong with you today? You’ve been acting like I don’t exist."
He didn't look at you, keeping his gaze fixed on the gravel path. "Nothing is wrong. I’m just tired."
"You're a terrible liar," you said softly, stepping in front of him to force him to look at you. His dark eyes were guarded, holding a strange, bruised look that made your heart ache. "Come over to my dorm tonight. We’ll watch a movie, order some food, and just relax. Please? To clear the air."
Megumi sighed, a long, weary sound. He wanted to refuse. He wanted to go back to his room and wallow in the irritating realization that he had fallen deeply in love with his best friend. But looking at your earnest expression, he couldn't bring himself to say no.
"Fine," he muttered, deflating. "I'll be there in an hour."
An hour later, Megumi walked down the quiet hallway of the second-year dorms. His mind was still a chaotic mess of jealousy and longing. When he reached your door, he didn't knock—you two had an open-door policy that had lasted for months. He turned the knob and stepped inside.
"Hey," he called out softly, but the main room was empty. The TV was on, casting a blue glow over the bed, but you weren't there.
Hearing a faint rustle from the bathroom, Megumi assumed you were brushing your teeth or washing your face. Wanting to get the confrontation over with, he walked over and pushed the unlocked door open. "Are you almost—"
The words died in his throat.
You were standing in the center of the bathroom, completely naked, holding a oversized t-shirt in your hands, just about to pull it over your head. The warm light of the bathroom bathed your skin in a soft, cream-colored glow. Megumi’s breath hitched. Time seemed to stop as his eyes swept over the curve of your waist, the soft slope of your hips, and the flush rising rapidly on your chest.
"Megumi!" you gasped, dropping the shirt to cover yourself.
His face flushed a violent, burning crimson. "I-sorry-I didn't-" He slammed the door shut, leaning his forehead against the cool wood of the hallway wall, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
He closed his eyes, but the image of your bare body was burned into his retinas. A sudden, heavy heat pooled low in his stomach. By the time the bathroom door clicked open a few minutes later, Megumi was desperately trying to adjust his posture, shifting his weight to hide the prominent, undeniable ridge pressing against his trousers.
You stepped out, dressed in the oversized shirt and soft shorts, your cheeks still pink. "I'm sorry, I should have locked it."
"No, it's my fault. I should have knocked," Megumi said, his voice a gravelly octave lower than usual. He crossed his arms tightly over his lap as he sat down on the edge of your bed, desperately trying to conceal his erection.
You sat down next to him, noticing the rigid tension in his shoulders. "Megumi... please tell me what’s going on. You’ve been distant all day. Is it something I did?"
Megumi looked away, his jaw tight. "It’s nothing. You didn't do anything."
"Is it about Toge?" you asked gently, a sudden lightbulb going off in your head. "I saw you watching us at the training field."
Megumi stiffened. The jealousy reared its head again, ugly and sharp. "I don't care who you train with. Or who you hang out with. It's none of my business."
"Megumi," you said, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a soothing whisper. "Toge is gay. He’s been out to me for months. We’re just friends. Best friends, like you and me. Well... maybe a little different than you and me."
Megumi froze. The heavy, suffocating knot in his chest suddenly unraveled, leaving him feeling completely foolish but intensely relieved. "He's... what?"
"Gay," you repeated, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. "So, were you jealous?"
"No," Megumi lied immediately, though the bright red tint returning to his ears betrayed him completely. "I wasn't. I don't get jealous."
You let out a soft laugh, deciding to let him keep his pride for now. "Okay. If you say so."
You pulled the blankets back, inviting him to crawl in beside you. Megumi hesitated, then slid beneath the covers, lying on his back while you propped yourself up on your side. The movie started playing on the screen, but neither of you was watching it.
Megumi’s eyes kept darting to you. Now that the anger was gone, the raw, lingering desire from seeing you naked was all that remained. In the dim light of the TV, your skin looked incredibly soft. The oversized shirt had slipped slightly off one of your shoulders, exposing your collarbone. His throat felt dry. He wanted to touch you so badly it physically ached.
You turned your head, catching him staring.
The air between you grew thick, charged with an undeniable, heavy romantic tension. The ambient sound of the movie faded into the background. Megumi didn't look away this time. His dark eyes searched yours, filled with a quiet, burning intensity that made your breath catch.
Slowly, as if asking for permission, Megumi reached out. His knuckles brushed against your cheek, his touch so light and gentle it felt like a whisper. You leaned into his palm, closing your eyes for a brief second before looking back at him.
"Megumi..." you whispered.
He didn't answer with words. He leaned in, closing the distance between you.
The first kiss was agonizingly soft. His lips hovered over yours, testing, tasting, a gentle press of warmth that made you sigh against his mouth. But as you reached up to cup the back of his neck, pulling him closer, the restraint he had been holding onto all day finally snapped.
The kiss deepened. Megumi’s tongue parted your lips, sliding inside with a possessive, heavy stroke that made a soft whimper escape your throat. He groaned, shifting his body until he was hovering over you, his weight pressing you down into the mattress. His hands slid down to your waist, gripping your hips through your shorts, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the hard, rigid length of him pressing against your thigh, confirming what he had tried to hide earlier.
Megumi broke the kiss, trailing his lips down your jawline to the sensitive skin of your neck. He sucked gently, leaving a faint mark, making you arch into his touch.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and laced with uncharacteristic reverence. "So beautiful, regular words don't even make sense. I’ve wanted this for so long."
He took his time, completely unhurried. He worshipped your body with his hands and lips, sliding your shirt up to expose your skin to the cool air of the room, only to heat it back up with his mouth. Every touch was deliberate, soft but firm, ensuring you felt entirely cherished.
When he finally rid both of you of your clothes, the sight of you beneath him made his breath hitch all over again. He settled between your thighs, his chest pressing against yours. He was trembling slightly, overwhelmed by the sheer intimacy of the moment.
"Look at me," he whispered, his fingers tangling with yours, pinning your hands gently to the mattress beside your head.
You opened your eyes, looking up into his dark, blown-out pupils.
"You're doing so well for me," he praised softly, kissing your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. "Just relax. I'm going to take care of you."
He guided himself to your center, entering you with a slow, agonizingly gentle push. You gasped, your hips rolling up to meet him instinctively. Megumi paused, letting you adjust to his size, his thumb wiping away a stray tear of pure sensation from your cheek.
"Good girl," he whispered, his voice a deep, gravelly purr that sent shivers down your spine. "You're so tight around me. You feel perfect."
As he began to move, the pace remained slow and deeply intimate. Every thrust was deep and deliberate, accompanied by a steady stream of soft, breathless praise.
"Look at how well you take me. That’s it, love. Right there?" He groaned as you tightened around him, his pace quickening just a fraction, losing himself in the warmth of your body. "You're amazing. Everything about you is perfect."
The friction and the intensity built, a sweet, heavy ache coiling tight in your lower stomach. You cried out his name, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back as your climax crashed over you. Watching your face contort with pleasure was the final thread for Megumi. With a low, guttural groan, he buried himself deep inside you one last time, spilling himself into you as his own release tore through him.
Megumi collapsed gently beside you, careful not to put his full weight on you. His chest was heaving, his skin slick with a light sweat. Almost immediately, he pulled the blankets over both of you, shielding you from the cool air.
He didn't pull away. Instead, he gathered you into his arms, tucking your head securely beneath his chin. His hand stroked your back in long, soothing circles, his touch incredibly tender.
"Are you okay?" he murmured, kissing the top of your head. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," you breathed, wrapping your arms around his torso, feeling completely safe and warm. "It was perfect."
"You were perfect," he corrected softly, his voice full of an immense, profound affection. "I love you. I'm sorry I was such an idiot today."
"I love you too, Megumi," you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest.
He pulled you even closer, his fingers gently tangling in your hair as your breathing synced up in the quiet room, the jealousy of the afternoon completely forgotten, replaced entirely by the soft, enduring warmth of his love
hope u enjoyed, send in any reqs + follow if u want
This was requested from my Wattpad! My requests are open so please do send in any ideas you have! I would love to write them!!
I'm a huge sucker for soft Megumi so I hope you enjoy bubs!
~Mwah
“Meggie come on!” The (H/C) little girl giggles as she tugs the non-cholent male along.
He just rolls his eyes and lets the girl have her fun. “I thought I told you not to call me that.”
The two had meet when they were little, Gojo had stumbled across little (Y/N) trying to help a confused small, harmless, cursed spirit. She could see them, that’s where her sorcery stops though. She can’t fight or use any cursed techniques, she’s just a normal girl who can see spirits.
Still, Gojo introduced her to Megumi to try and get the small boy more sociable. It didn’t work, much to no-ones surprise, but the head of the Zenin clan did make a connection to (Y/N). They were almost inseparable, Megumi ripping away from his clan and school to hang out at her house and go on little friend “dates”. Even when Megumi went through his “tough, delinquent” guy phase, (Y/N) was right there to tend to his wounds (while scolding him) and lessen the amount of beating he dished out.
And how could the female not gush over his wolves, they were so cute! Acting as guard dogs to everyone else but little pups to her. There were even a few times where they would snap at Megumi for taking all of (Y/N)’s attention.
Everyone is shocked when they see how softly he treats (Y/N), sure he may pick and prod and be an absolute ass, but you could see how his body would relax once he felt her presence.
So then why did this happen?
A sob racks through (Y/N)’s body as her hands come up to push feebly at Megumi’s shoulders, she kicks her legs out to try and strike anything she can, but he just pins them down with his own.
“(Y/N) stop struggling, you’re only going to hurt yourself.” He tries to keep his voice calm, but annoyance grips his mind as he struggles to keep her down.
A small cry escapes her chapped lips as she manages to elbow his cheek, it doesn’t hurt him, but it does manage to make him snap. One of Megumi’s hands come to swipe both of her wrists whilst the other pushes her body down by her torso making (Y/N) grimace as she feels his hand press against her rolls.
“Enough.” He says through grit teeth.
Though he can’t stay angry once he sees her face, flushed and eyes puffy with tears streaming down her face along with snot. Betrayal clear in her eyes and he has to keep himself from wincing.
“I’m not trying to hurt you and I’m not going to hurt you” The tone of his voice is soft, and in normal circumstances it would calm her down, but this isn’t a normal circumstance. “Can’t you see my love? If you marry me, I can keep you safe 24/7 and I can shower you with everything you need, everything you want, everything you deserve. So why are you still fighting me? Didn’t you say you loved me?”
The female under him sniffles and tries tugging her wrists to no avail. “You can’t force me Megumi! I loved you as a brother, as my best friend! How could you do this to me! You wouldn’t do this if you really lo-”
His hand that was pressed against her stomach comes to slap over her mouth. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” She winces at the action, but his voice isn’t angry, it’s sad.
A soft kiss is pressed to her right cheek, then her left, the middle of her forehead and then last to the tip of her nose. He nuzzles his face into the crook of (Y/N)’s neck and she swears she can feel the way his eyelashes flutter against her skin and he closes them.
“I don’t care if you love me romantically or not.” He inhales deeply, loving the unique smell of her. Not her perfume, her body wash or sweat, just the scent of her that lingers on everything she owns. “You love me, it doesn’t matter if it’s brotherly or not and that’s enough for me. I love you. So, so, so much that it hurts to see you unhappy, to see you get hurt repeatedly because your just so fucking nice to everyone.”
Megumi moves his head back so he can stare into her eyes, (Y/N) turns her head to look away so she doesn’t get trapped in his dark blue pools, but his fingers just delicately move her chin to look back to him.
“I know I’m selfish my darling, but I know that I can look after you better than anyone else can, better than you can yourself.”
She tries to say something but the hand on her mouth doesn’t budge.
He sighs before rolling his neck, groaning when he hears that satisfying pop before letting his hand move away from her mouth to back to her soft stomach. In this angle, with the moonlight shining onto his pale face and his black hair soaking up the rays, he kind of looks angelic. Like her Meggie, the one who wouldn’t do this, who wouldn’t do anything of this. Who wouldn’t force the idea of marrying him onto her, who wouldn’t have hands pinning her down as he rambles on how he would lock her away from everyone. But when he tilts his head back down and the shadows come back to his face, she sees a stranger, HER Meggie no-where to be found leaving only Megumi.
“Sweetheart I promise that I won’t force anything else onto you, but I have to do this.” He brings her hands to his mouth, his lips gazing over her knuckles. The feeling making the female whine and wriggle underneath him. Moving her hands from his mouth to the side of his face, he nuzzles into her palms and almost purrs at the familiar warmth. “Let me be your Meggie, please?”
(Y/N) breathes deeply to try and ground herself, but the scent of Megumi fills her brain. He smells like ocean breeze bodywash with a hint of woody cologne, it’s not remarkable and definitely not noteworthy but he smells like home. Like comfort. Like a warm safe blanket and it makes her head spin.
She opens her mouth but her eyes glaze over and a soft chuckle escapes Megumi’s lips as he looks down adoringly at (Y/N). At his (Y/N).
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.
︵ ೀ mdni. getting snowed in with your forever crush megumi isn’t that bad
the snow started falling during the afternoon, soft at first, then thick and heavy. by evening the dorm was buried, windows frosted over, doors impossible to open. everyone else had left for winter break days ago—yuji dragging nobara to some family thing, gojo off on a mission that conveniently kept him away.
just you and megumi, stuck in the old jujutsu high dorms with one thin blanket between you and the cold. power flickers once, twice, then dies completely. the heater clicks off. the room drops fast.
megumi curses under his breath, rummaging through drawers for candles he knows aren’t there. you’re already shivering on the couch, knees pulled to your chest. he glances over, dark hair falling into his eyes, expression unreadable as always.
“come here,” he says finally, voice low. he’s on the floor in front of the low table, the only blanket spread out like a bed. his dorm room is tiny—just a single futon, a desk, and shelves of books. no space for two people to stay warm separately.
you hesitate, then crawl over. the blanket is barely big enough. he lifts one side, and you slip underneath, pressed close. your back to his chest, his arm draped over your waist like it’s the most natural thing. he’s warm—always runs hot, even in weather like this. you feel it immediately, the solid heat of him seeping through your thin sweater.
minutes pass in silence. the snow taps against the window. your shivering slows, but awareness creeps in—his breath on your neck, the way his hips shift slightly when you move. you try to ignore it. this is megumi. quiet, reserved megumi who barely speaks unless necessary. who’s never touched you beyond a hand on your shoulder during training.
but the blanket traps everything. your ass brushes his lap when you adjust, and you feel him—half-hard already, thickening against you. he stiffens, arm tightening.
“sorry,” you whisper.
“it’s fine.” his voice is rougher than usual.
another shift. this time deliberate. you tell yourself it’s just for warmth, but when you press back, grinding slow, he exhales sharply against your hair.
“don’t,” he mutters, but his hand slides lower, fingers curling over your hip like he’s stopping you—or holding you there.
you do it again. the friction is perfect, your thin leggings and his sweatpants doing nothing to hide how hard he’s getting. he’s thick, long, pressing against your ass.
“megumi…”
he groans quietly. “we shouldn’t.”
but he doesn’t pull away. instead his hand slips under your sweater, palm flat against your stomach, pulling you tighter. you arch into him, grinding harder, and he matches the rhythm—slow, deliberate rolls that drag his cock along your ass.
the blanket traps the heat, the sounds—your soft gasps, his ragged breathing. his mouth finds your neck, lips brushing skin, then teeth grazing. not kissing, not yet. just tasting.
“you’re warm,” he says against your pulse, like that explains everything.
you turn in his arms, facing him now. the blanket tangles around your legs. his eyes are dark, pupils blown, cheeks flushed from more than cold. you kiss him first—tentative, testing. he freezes for half a second, then surges forward, mouth hot and desperate, tongue sliding against yours like he’s been holding back for years.
your hands find his shoulders, his slide up your back under the sweater, palms flat and trembling against bare skin. the grinding starts slow—hesitant rolls of your hips as you shift closer, testing how far this will go. he matches you carefully, breath hitching every time you press down.
“wait,” he murmurs against your lips. “are you sure? we don’t have to—”
“i want to,” you whisper, cutting him off with another soft kiss. “do you?”
“yeah. god, yeah.” his hands settle on your waist, thumbs brushing the skin just above your leggings. “get on top of me.” he says and you do.
you straddle his lap, knees bracketing his hips, blanket falling half off. his hands grip your ass, guiding you as you rock against the hard line of his cock. the layers between you are torture—thin cotton and fabric doing nothing to dull the heat, the shape of him dragging perfectly along your slit with every roll of your hips.
you’ve never done this before. never even come close. you’re friends—have been for years. you’ve seen him shirtless after training, watched sweat trace the sharp lines of his collarbones, and told yourself the flutter in your stomach was nothing. he’s always been careful, distant, those dark eyes giving away nothing even when his gaze lingered a second too long.
but tonight the air is different. you feel it in the way his fingers dig into your skin—claiming. like he’s been holding back for months, years, and the cold finally snapped something inside him. you’ve wanted this too—wanted to know what his hands would feel like on your skin, what sounds he’d make when he let go. you’ve caught yourself staring at his mouth during briefings, wondering how it would taste. wondered if he ever thought the same about you.
now you know.
every grind pulls a low, involuntary noise from his throat—rough, surprised, like he didn’t expect himself to sound so needy. you roll your hips harder, dragging your soaked core along his length through the clothes, clit catching on the ridge of his head. the friction is maddening. you’re both breathing too fast.
“fuck,” he mutters. his grip tightens, spreading you wider so you feel him even more. “never—never thought we’d—”
“me neither,” you whisper, cutting him off with another slow grind.
his hips buck up to meet yours, chasing the pressure. the rhythm turns desperate—messy circles, sharp thrusts, fabric growing damp where you leak against him. you can feel how hard he is, how much he wants inside, and it makes you dizzy. your hands slide under his hoodie, nails raking down his chest, and he shudders.
“want you,” he rasps. “wanted this for so long—didn’t think you—”
you silence him with a kiss, deep and hungry, swallowing the rest. because you did. you do.
“off,” he mutters, tugging at your sweater. you yank it over your head, bra following. he stares—openly, hungrily—at your bare chest, then buries his face between your breasts, breath hot against your skin, lips brushing the soft swell before his mouth is on one nipple.
you moan, fingers threading through his hair, holding him there as he sucks hard—slow, deliberate pulls that make your back arch into him. his tongue circles your nipple, flicking teasingly, then flattening to lap broad strokes that send sparks straight to your core.
“so perfect,” he murmurs, then he switches sides, lavishing the same attention on the other—sucking harder, tongue swirling faster, like he’s memorizing every gasp you make. his free hand cups the abandoned breast, thumb rolling the slick nipple in tight circles, pinching lightly when you whimper.
your hips don’t stop. you reach between you, shoving his sweatpants down just enough to free him. he’s thick, flushed dark, tip already slick with precum that beads and drips under the dim light. you wrap your hand around him—barely fitting—and stroke once, slow from base to crown, making him moan against your chest.
his head falls back against the futon, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open. he’s always so controlled, so restrained, but the second your skin touches his cock, that mask shatters. his hips chase your hand desperately, thrusting up again, needy and unashamed, like he’s starving for every bit of friction you’ll give him.
“fuck—please.” his hands claw at your thighs, pulling you closer like he can’t stand even an inch of space between you. another stroke and he whimpers—actually whimpers—precum smearing over your palm, making each glide slicker, easier.
“don’t stop—god, your hand feels perfect—better than i imagined—”
he’s trembling now, abs flexing with every ragged breath, dark eyes locked on your hand. he’s never been this needy, this open, and the sight of megumi—quiet, stoic megumi—being so undone from just your hand on his cock makes heat flood every inch of you.
“i need—” he gasps, but you’re already pushing your leggings down. naked now, both of you. skin on skin.
the futon is too small. you end up half on the floor, half on the mattress as he rolls you beneath him. his mouth never leaves your skin—kissing down your throat, your collarbone, sucking marks that’ll bruise tomorrow. when he reaches your thighs he spreads them wide, settling between like he belongs there.
he doesn’t tease. just lines up and pushes in—slow, relentless. the stretch burns beautifully. you’re wet enough that he slides deep on the first thrust, bottoming out with a groan that vibrates through your chest.
megumi’s arms tremble on either side of you, muscles locked tight. his breath comes in ragged pants against your forehead, eyes squeezed shut like he’s fighting for control. “fuck,” he breathes, voice shaking, forehead pressed hard to yours. “so tight—god, you’re so tight.”
for a moment neither of you move. you feel every throb of him inside you, the way he twitches against your walls, the heat of him searing you from within. you wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, urging him to move.
but the second you shift—barely a roll of your hips—megumi’s whole body shudders. a choked sound escapes him, half-moan, half-whimper, and his hands fly to your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. he holds you still.
“don’t,” he gasps. “don’t move—just—fuck, i’ll come if you move. i’m already—”
another shiver wracks him, his cock pulsing inside you, dangerously close. you can feel it—the way he’s right on the edge. he’s never felt anything like this, never been inside anyone, and the heat of you, the slick grip of your virgin pussy around him, is unraveling him completely.
“megumi,” you whisper, breathless, clenching deliberately around him just to see him break further. his reaction is immediate—a strangled groan. “stop—please. i don’t want to come yet. want to feel you longer—want to make it good for you—”
“it’s already good,” you say, kissing him softly. he whimpers into your mouth—quiet, desperate—and buries his face in your neck, breathing you in as he fights to steady himself. his whole body is shaking with the effort not to thrust, not to lose it inside you right then and there.
finally, the trembling eases—just enough. he draws back slowly, barely an inch, then sinks in again, a careful, experimental grind that makes you both gasp. his thickness stretching you with every gentle roll of his hips. he keeps it tender at first, shallow thrusts that tease rather than take, forehead still pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut in concentration.
“okay?” he whispers, voice strained, checking in like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you. you nod, moaning softly, and he exhales shakily, repeating the motion—deeper this time, grinding against that spot inside that makes your toes curl. each thrust is deliberate, hips circling at the end to rub his pelvis against your clit, drawing soft cries from your lips. but the restraint doesn’t last.
the next thrust comes harder, sharper, bottoming out with a wet slap that jolts you up the futon. another thrust—harder still, pace quickening from careful to claiming. “fuck,” he growls. “you feel too good—can’t—” he cuts off with a brutal snap of his hips, driving into you so deep the futon slams against the wall.
the tenderness is gone; he’s mean with it now, fucking you harder than you ever imagined quiet megumi capable of. he pins both wrists above your head with one hand, the other digging bruises into your thigh as he spreads you wider, angling to hit deeper. snow muffles everything outside, but in here it’s just wet, and moans, the wet sound of him fucking into you raw.
“mine,” he says. “no one else—never anyone else.” you clench around him at the words, orgasm building fast. “megumi—”
“say it,” he demands, thrusting harder, the head of his cock hitting that spot that makes you see stars. “tell me.”
“yours,” you gasp. “only yours—fuck, megumi, please—”
he loses it. pace turning brutal. you come first, crying out as pleasure crashes over you, walls fluttering around him. he follows seconds later—burying deep with a choked groan, spilling inside you hot and thick. you feel every pulse, the way he grinds to push it deeper, like he wants it to stay.
he doesn’t pull out. just collapses half on top of you, face buried in your neck, breath ragged. minutes pass like that, hearts slowing, sweat cooling on your skin. the blanket is somewhere on the floor. snow keeps falling outside.
finally, he shifts—just a little, starting to pull back. the moment he does, his cum gushes out, warm and thick, spilling from where you’re joined and trickling down your thighs, pooling on the futon beneath you.
he kisses your shoulder, soft, then your neck. “never want anyone else to touch you,” he mutters again, quieter now, almost vulnerable.
you thread fingers through his hair, holding him close. “they won’t.”
can i request a megumi x reader- big argument that leads to sex?😭
Pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x Female Reader
Content: Smut, Oral (F-receiving), creampie, no beta we die like men, aged up a year or two.
Word Count: 3.1k
Megumi looks out to the training field. Goosebumps are starting to line his arm the longer he stands out in the cool night air, but it’s little compared to the coldness of the stare and the deep scowl on his normally indifferent face as he watches you prattle on with one of the new first years.
This is the last thing he wants to see upon his return from an easy yet particularly annoying mission.
In retrospect, he doesn’t know exactly what the two of you are talking about as he’s too far away to catch anything of your conversation, but he doesn’t like the way he sees you squeeze the other boy’s shoulder causing a blush. You’re being way too touchy, a little extra friendly than normal even if the other is your underclassman, and he finds himself growing increasingly agitated.
Finally, you turn your head and catch his figure in the near distance. You wave off the first year and walk towards Megumi, a smile on your face as you greet him with a pat to his cheek and head back to your dorms together.
The aura radiating off the two of you is completely polar as you hum a pleasant tune, and he glowers until he finally can’t take the irritation scratching at a delicate corner of his mind.
“Whatever you’re doing, you need to stop it.”
Your humming comes to an immediate halt, and he notices the way your pupils shift to the corner of your eyes to look at him then straight ahead again. “What do you mean?”
“So, it’s going to be that way,” he thinks.
“You’re leading him on. I don’t know if you’re doing it so he’ll do you favors or if you’re doing it to piss me off, either way, you need to stop it.”
“I’m not leading him on. What kind of person do you take me for?”
“Oh, so you’re saying you’re being genuine when you’re all over him?” he questions, and maybe the rolling of his eyes and the sarcasm in his voice could have been chosen at a better time but he was already tired of tiptoeing around the subject.
All it draws is your ire.
“First of all,” you sneer, stopping in the middle of the hall to face him. “I’m not all over him. Second, jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Megumi, so you need to back off.”
“I’m not supposed to be jealous when my girlfriend spends all her time flirting with another guy in front of me? Do you hear yourself?”
“It isn’t flirting.”
“He bought you candy last week.”
“It was vending machine chocolate, not a damn heart-shaped box.”
“It’d be easier if you just say you think I’m an idiot.”
Huffing, you cross your arms and tilt your head away from him, refusing to answer any further to his accusations. Megumi scoffs. “Fine, if you want to date him, be my guest, see if I care.”
Megumi knows it’s a bluff before it even leaves him. He’d care, more than anything, but he couldn’t deal with the way you were acting right now. Leaving you in the middle of the hall, he walks on with no intentions of continuing this discussion for tonight until he hears you sniffle.
“You don’t ever do stuff like that for me…even though we’re supposed to be dating,” you mumble under your breath. It causes him to falter, and he looks back to find you nervously clenching at your coat. “You act like you’re embarrassed of being with me.”
“I don’t.”
“Megumi, last time you introduced me to someone as your friend! And it took over two months for our friends to think we were dating, and lately I can’t even tell if we still are. If I flirted it’s only because I wanted,” Megumi hears you sniffle again; and this time when you look at him, your eyes are stained red, “I wanted to feel like somebody wanted me around for a little bit. That’s all.”
Exhaling softly, Megumi feels his anger loosening if only because there’s some truth to what you said. It’s his and your first time navigating a serious relationship, and maybe he hasn’t been as affectionate with you as he should’ve been due to his own introversion and busy schedule. He swallows down the irritation that you had sought that sort of attention from elsewhere and beckons you over.
“Come here.”
Shaking your head, you don’t budge from your spot, too embarrassed to come closer. Megumi sighs as he realizes he’s going to have to come to you instead. He walks back up to you and cups your face to force your attention on him.
You groan and poke out your lips in a huffy pout as his hands squish your soft cheeks. Despite your watery expression and the situation, he can’t help but think you look so cute, all sulky under him. Thinking you’re really going to be the death of him, he crashes his lips against yours. You taste good, like strawberry. Probably lip balm, and though it should cause him to feel jealous, it only makes him kiss you harder to gather more of your flavor, and Megumi can’t think how long it’s been since he’s last kissed you. You must have been thinking the same because you open your mouth so pliantly to the prodding of his tongue going inside to slide along the top of yours.
When he breaks away, he leaves his lips barely brushing against yours as he talks, “I’m sorry if it seemed like I didn’t care about you. I promise I still want to be together. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t get worried about these sorts of things.”
“I know,” you whimper against him, “I was just a little lonely.”
“That’s the thing,” he lightly places another series of kisses on your lips, stopping and breaking apart barely enough to talk, “If you’re lonely, tell me next time. Don’t go getting attention like that from someone else, understand?”
The corners of your lips tug into a frown, and he can hear the regret in your voice as you softly moan against his lips. “Mm…’m sorry, gumi.”
He chuckles at how dazed you look from his kisses. “Are you?”
You exhale softly and drag your hands up his chest. “Yeah, v-very,” you mumble.
“Alright only because it’s kinda my fault too, but I won’t forgive you so easily if you do something like that again,” he scolds and pinches your cheeks harder, making you whine. Smirking, he starts to trail kisses up the side of your jaw to your earlobe to lick it. “Guess the only thing left is to figure out what to do with all this pent-up energy.”
“Like what?”
Megumi grips at your hips, dragging you against him as he growls in your ear. “Room.”
Fushiguro brings you to his room and pulls you to sit down on top of him. His mouth never leaves your own as he excitedly plays with your breasts, fondling them in his large hands. You moan into his mouth, desperate, wanting, and more than a little needy as you rock against his lap.
He breaks away from your mouth and presses his lips, wet with your own saliva, on the center of your throat, sucking harshly at the delicate skin at the base until it begins to bruise. His hands climb up your back, fingers singularly inching up bit by bit until he can finally rest his palms flat between your shoulder blades.
His hold sparks something in you, makes your throat vibrate with the beginnings of a moan as your body starts to crave more.
Megumi can feel your soft groaning rumbling against his lips, and he suddenly feels foolish to have gone so long without having you against him.
Peppering your skin with kisses, Megumi clenches your zipper, undoing your coat as his lips drag against more and more of your chest. Once your coat is off, you can finally wrap your hands around his broad shoulders, hooking your arms up so you can grip at dark messy hair.
“I’ve missed you.”
The confession makes you grasp around him, and you hug him to your chest. He groans softly as your scent hits his nose and your hips jerk against him.
Megumi chuckles, taking that to mean you must’ve missed him too before you manage to whimper out a strained, “Missed you,” you gulp and release a shaky breath as he pinpoints your nipple through your shirt and circles it, “so much.”
You push on him more, angling him further and further to the bed until his back is flat to the mattress. The first rut of your hips gains a lustful moan from the both of you.
Gripping onto your sides, he pushes up your shirt, revealing more velvety skin. He props himself up on his elbows, tugging your clothes higher and higher until he can finally brush his warm tongue over your nipple before closing his lips around the sensitive point.
Hips stuttering, your thrusting becomes a deliberately slow grinding. He raises one hand to swoop over the curve of your ass while keeping your stiff nipple pulled between his teeth. He pulls you a little higher, forcing you on that perfect spot to roll your hips down against his hardening cock.
Little by little, he takes more control, twisting to reverse your position and pin you back. He boxes you in, both his hands over your shoulders and his knees squeezing at the side of your thighs as he peers down at you, your skin marked with his teeth and your eyes hazy and dusky with lust.
Your fingers go for his shirt and snag it up his torso. When it’s finally gone, you palm his stomach, lightly dragging the edge of your nails along his abdomen before tracing his pelvic lines with the pad of your thumbs.
When you hook your fingers in his waistband and tug aggressively, making his hips curve towards yours, he can’t resist giving a short laugh at your eagerness.
“You want them off?”
You pout as he teases you with the obvious. He pulls at your wrists, and you’re hoping he’s moving them out the way to strip but instead he pins them above your head.
“Not yet, angel.”
“Gumi!” you huff, your head tilting back in frustration.
“So impatient.” Megumi kisses your jaw to bring your attention back. “I’ll make it worth it, promise.” He makes a trail of heavy kisses between your breasts, his tongue darting out to lick your body, cooling the heat radiating from you while busying his hands with the rest of your clothes.
The next time you roll your head back it’s because his kisses go from your belly button to the inside of your thighs and finally your wet lower lips. His tongue delves against your center, licking the slick rim of your entrance before thrusting inside of you. Pressing his palm to your mound, he grinds over your clit.
The breath you suck in is so deep that it almost hurts filling your lungs before it comes out in the sound of his name. He’s going to make it very worth it as he swirls his tongue inside you, pushing as deep as it can go so he can lap your clenching inner walls.
His free hand goes inside his pants, squeezing around his desperately aching cock for some friction as it throbs at your growing moans.
You cup the back of his head, pushing him forward, and your eyes practically roll back into your skull. “Right there, Megumi, baby, right there-ah,” you slur.
He rips his tongue from out of you, earning an angry growl that quickly turns into a sharp, high-pitched gasp when he places that attention on your clit, pulling back the hood to torture the tiny bead bare. He slides his fingers inside your tightening ring, and he can only think about how tight you’d be around his cock and clenches his fist around himself to match your pussy’s grip as you cum on his pretty fingers. Megumi keeps pushing them in and out of you, collecting more of your cum as you ride out your orgasm with a cry of his name and the rough gripping of the sheets at your head.
When he finally pulls away, his tongue swirling around his sticky lips, he gives you a second to breathe as he strips himself of his pants, the fabric pulling lightly over the dripping, pink glands before he finally frees himself with a lewd bob resulting. He brings the hand that was once inside you around his cock to coat it with your remaining juices while your eyes watch the sliding of his hand along his throbbing length.
Spurred on by your shameless stare, he almost groans at his own hypocrisy as he speedily lines himself up with you, just as eager as you were to take his pants off. He pushes into you slow, and you grip his arms as you become re-acquainted with the pressure his thick cock builds inside you.
You buck back up into him, and the two of you quickly start to become lost to the pleasurable rhythm you build together. Every meeting of your hips makes your eyes flutter and your insides twitch. You’re so repressed from the last few weeks, you’re not sure how much you can reasonably take of Megumi pounding into you harder and harder.
When he sharply thrusts upwards, slamming against you with his head, you come undone with a broken cry. Megumi is thankful because he isn’t sure how much more of you he can take before completely losing himself inside of your heat. He slows his thrusts slightly, pumping with purpose to help you reach the highest point possible.
Megumi closes his eyes, scrunching his eyebrows closer as you grip onto him like a vice. “S-So tight,” he grunts. He should probably pull out soon, and he is almost about to do that when you tug clumsily at the back ends of his hair.
Your eyes are completely locked onto his, pleadingly.
“Don’t pull out yet,” you strain out and tighten your legs around him to prove your desperateness for it.
Megumi growls behind pursed lips, feeling your walls still squeezing around him from your latest high. He grips onto your thighs, shimmying his hands to the back of your knee, pushing your legs up to your chest to relieve some of the tension before you make him cum right there.
All it does for you is let you feel Megumi deeper, at the way each thrust against your cervix makes it feel like he’ll bulge to your stomach. Tears begin to pull at your eyes, and Megumi bows forward to press kisses against your lips, and your pitiful pleas drown out against his supple skin.
“Gumi,” you whine as he buries you in kisses, but it isn’t distracting from how sensitive you still are and how you don’t think you could be satisfied until you feel his heat filling you to the brim. “Please, need to feel ah-all of you, need to feel your cum.”
Megumi gasps, pulling away to bury his head against your chest, more so to hide his reddening face. “Fuck, alright, alright,” he hisses out, as it starts playing again in his mind that you really are going to be the death of him, “hah, you’re gonna kill me.”
Megumi rolls his hips into yours hard, grips your legs harder until you feel little stings of pain from his nails digging in to stop his trembling, but it only heightens your yearning as he softly puffs out your name. With each snap of his hips, he nears closer and closer to his end.
It’s sudden when he releases, the white fluid overflowing you in seconds as he thrusts until every drop is spent inside of you. Megumi releases your legs and presses his head to your forehead as his tensing muscles finally give out, and he carefully falls against you, his cock still buried inside.
Full and satisfied, you mewl lightly at the remaining warmth inside of you and adjust your legs slightly to get into a more comfortable angle to hold him inside you.
Megumi kisses you softly, quieting his voice against you. “I love you,” he whispers. “I’ll try to say it more.”
Heart pounding, you smile gently against his lips, “I love you, too.”
---
You groan softly to yourself as your underclassman stands in front of you, his face red as he tries to stutter through the words necessary to ask you if you’d like to go on a date with him.
Having not thought your interactions with him through beforehand, you’re not quite sure what to say to let him down gently and to ease the bit of guilt you have built in your chest for dragging him into your relationship issues.
“Well, the thing is…you’re nice and all but the truth is—”
Then, you feel an arm coming around your waist tugging you to the side. You look to the side to find Megumi standing there, an unreadable expression on his face as he pretends not to have noticed your other guest.
“(Name), if you don’t hurry, we’re going to miss our reservation.”
It takes you a few seconds to understand what he means, and it sinks in when you feel his arm tighten ever so slightly.
“Oh, right! I almost forgot. I’m sorry, I have to go,” you tell your underclassman, and you think he most likely picks up the fact you’re taken as he frowns in Megumi’s direction. That look doesn’t last long when Megumi gives his own glare back. Despite the tension as he pulls you away, you couldn’t help but think he looked oddly handsome being possessive.
“You know…I could’ve handled it myself,” you gently tell him.
“He would’ve never gotten the hint at the rate you were going, and I didn’t like the way his eyes kept going down,” he claims as his anger subsides to slight embarrassment.
You bust out laughing.
You understood his jealousy from the day before but this time he was getting upset while you were in the middle of breaking some poor boy’s heart. Laughing at his confession and his darkening face, you lean into him. “I think I was wrong before. Jealousy is a pretty good look on you, Gumi.”
He scoffs at you and pushes his chin down into his collar to hide his pink dusted cheeks. “Shut up.”
You didn't sleep. Well...you slept. Technically. But every time you closed your eyes, your mind replayed the same moment. Megumi turning his head. His face suddenly inches from yours. The way neither of you had moved. The way his breath had fanned softly across your lips. His quiet smile before he left.
You buried your face into your pillow with a muffled groan. "...stop thinking about it."
You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling. Nothing happened. Nothing. So why couldn't you stop thinking about it? By the time morning arrived, you'd given up on sleeping altogether. You stood in front of your bathroom mirror, blinking at your own reflection.
"...Yikes."
There were faint shadows beneath your eyes. You looked exactly like someone who had spent the entire night overthinking a kiss that never actually happened.
"Fantastic."
Thankfully it was Friday. Normally, you dreaded Fridays. Today, they felt like a blessing. No psychology lecture which meant no sitting shoulder to shoulder with Megumi for nearly two hours. No awkward silence while pretending yesterday hadn't happened.
You silently thanked whatever higher power was listening. At least you'd have until the afternoon before you had to see him again. Unfortunately, the afternoon came much faster than you would've liked.
The studio was already empty when you arrived. The afternoon sunlight spilled across the wooden floors in long golden rectangles. Megumi wasn't there yet. Great. You preferred getting there early anyway. It gave you time to settle your nerves or at least try to.
You set up your materials meticulously, trying to pass time or to ease your nerves. Your eyes drifted toward the studio door.
"...He's still not here yet." So why was your heart already beating this fast?
As if on cue, the door slid open. Megumi stepped inside. Just like yesterday, he was dressed in a simple black T-shirt, one hand hooked around the strap of his bag. Your heartbeat betrayed you immediately.
Don't stare.
"...Morning." He walked over, stopping beside your easel.
"M-Morning."
His brows knitted together slightly. "...You okay?"
"Hm?"
"You look tired."
Your stomach dropped. "I do?"
"...A little."
You laughed, hoping it sounded convincing. "I had to pull an all nighter."
"For class?"
"Mhm." You nodded a little too quickly. "Another project."
He gives you a small soft smile. "...Sounds rough."
"It was." You feel a bit of warmth creep up on your cheeks.
Technically...lying awake until four in the morning replaying the memory of almost kissing your model was a project. Just not one your instructors had assigned.
Megumi gave a small nod. "You should've gotten more sleep."
"I know."
"You've got shadows under your eyes."
You instinctively reached up to touch beneath them. "...They're that obvious?"
He nods. You looked away before he could notice the heat rising to your face. If only he knew why you hadn't slept. If only he knew that every time you'd started drifting off, your mind had replayed the exact moment he'd turned his head. The exact way he'd looked at you. The exact way your heart had forgotten how to beat.
"...You?" You cleared your throat. "Did you sleep okay?"
There was the briefest pause. "...Yeah." He answered almost too casually.
You decided not to dwell on it. Maybe you were just imagining the hesitation. Maybe you were looking for signs that yesterday had affected him as much as it had affected you. You quickly shook the thought away. There wasn't time to overthink.
Without another word, Megumi turned toward the stool in front of the window, just like yesterday. He reached for the hem of his shirt. The familiar rustle of fabric made your heartbeat quicken despite yourself. You immediately busied yourself arranging your pencils.
Professional. Focus on the assignment.
By the time you looked up again, he was already seated.
"...Ready?" he asked.
You nodded. "Yeah, this time..." You dragged your stool a little closer to your easel before sitting down. "I'll sit a bit closer so I don't have to lean over you every five minutes."
Megumi glanced over his shoulder. "...Probably safer."
Your face warmed. "...Yeah."
He turned back around. You lifted your pencil and disappeared into your work. The broad shapes were already finished from yesterday. Now came your favorite part. The details. Tiny changes in light. The subtle shifts in form. Soft transitions between shadow and highlight.
The world around you gradually disappeared. You no longer heard the ceiling fan or the conversations drifting in from outside the window or even the sound of your own breathing. You only saw graphite, and paper.
Completely absorbed in your work, you failed to notice Megumi turning his head ever so slightly. He wasn't looking out the window anymore. He was watching you. The way your brows pinched together whenever you concentrated. The faint graphite smudge that had somehow found its way onto your cheek. The way your tongue peeked out just a little whenever you shaded particularly delicate areas.
He had noticed you doing that weeks ago. You still had no idea. The corners of his mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. He turned forward again before you could catch him. Nearly forty minutes slipped by and finally, you leaned back with a satisfied sigh.
"Done!" A grin spread across your face as you admired the finished study. "I actually..." You looked between the page and Megumi. "...I actually like this one."
"Can I see?"
"Yeah, just let me—" Before you could finish the sentence, Megumi stood.
He stepped beside your stool and leaned over your shoulder to look at the sketchbook. You froze. His shoulder brushed lightly against the side of your head. Bare skin against your ear. It was such a fleeting contact that it could have been accidental. Yet it sent a jolt through you all the same. You couldn't breathe for a moment. You turned your head instinctively.
His face was already close. Close enough to see the way his long lashes cast tiny shadows beneath his eyes. Close enough that your hands suddenly forgot how to stay steady. Your pencil trembled between your fingers. Your heartbeat thundered so loudly you were convinced he could hear it.
Megumi's gaze lingered on the drawing for another second before drifting toward you. Your eyes met. Neither of you spoke. Then, his eyes flickered downward, towards your hands. Only for a heartbeat, before returning to yours again. A quiet breath escaped through his nose.
Almost...A laugh. Not teasing. Not mocking. Just impossibly soft. The smallest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Without saying anything, he lifted one hand. Slowly enough that you had every chance to pull away. His fingertips gently brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. His hand lingered for only a moment before falling back to his side.
"...You always end up with your hair in your face."
Your lips parted. "...Oh."
"I figured it would've bothered you while you were drawing."
You stared at him. Unable to think of a single coherent response.
Megumi glanced back down at the sketch. "It turned out really well."
You finally looked at the page again. "...Thanks."
A comfortable silence settled between you. This one felt different. Less awkward. Megumi reached for his shirt, pulling it back over his shoulders before slinging his bag over one shoulder. He paused beside the door.
"I'll see you next week."
You looked up. "...Yeah."
He rested a hand against the doorframe. "Tell me when you get the next assignment." He glanced back over his shoulder, the faintest smile crossing his face. "...Assuming your professor doesn't make things even weirder."
The door clicked shut behind him. You sat there for another minute, staring at the finished drawing. Your fingertips slowly drifted toward the strand of hair he'd tucked behind your ear. You could still remember exactly how gentle he'd been. With a quiet smile, you closed your sketchbook against your chest. There was absolutely no way you were getting any sleep this weekend.
By some miracle, your professor finally decided to have mercy. You didn't realize it until halfway through class. Your professor was pacing at the front of the room, flipping through a stack of papers while everyone half-listened, half-dozed.
"And for your midterm"
That got your attention. You straightened in your seat.
"we'll be shifting focus."
A few students perked up. Your professor set the papers down and wrote across the board in large, deliberate letters.
Midterm Assignment: Portrait Study
You blinked. Then blinked again. "...A portrait?"
That was it. No hands. No muscles. No anatomy. No increasingly specific requests that made asking Megumi for help feel like negotiating a hostage situation. A portrait.
You let out the biggest sigh of relief you'd breathed all week. "Thank goodness."
Tuesday meant psychology. For the first time in what felt like forever, you walked into the lecture hall without feeling like your heart was trying to escape your chest. Megumi was already in his usual seat.
He glanced up as you sat down. "...You're in a good mood."
You looked over. "Hm?"
"You've been smiling."
"...Have I?"
"Mhm." He closed the book he'd been reading. He tilted his head slightly. "You got a good grade?"
"What?"
"On the muscle study."
"Oh." You laughed. "No. They haven't been graded yet."
"Then why are you happy?"
You couldn't stop the grin spreading across your face. "This next assignment isn't weird."
Megumi looked mildly confused.
"It's just a portrait."
"...That's normal."
"Exactly." You clasped your hands together dramatically. "No strange anatomy studies. No awkward posing. No spending an hour trying not to make eye contact."
The words left your mouth before you realized what you'd admitted. You coughed into your fist. "I mean..."
Megumi looked away first. "...Yeah." The corner of his mouth twitched. A beat of silence passed before he spoke again.
"...Do you still need me?"
You looked at him. "For the portrait?"
"Mhm."
"You don't mind?"
He gave a small shrug. "It's only a portrait."
You smiled. "...Thanks."
After class, the two of you followed your now familiar route toward the tables behind the humanities building. From a distance, your heart sank. Every table was occupied. Students were buried beneath textbooks, laptops, and half-empty coffee cups.
"...Seriously?" You looked around hopefully. Not a single seat.
Megumi slipped his hands into his pockets. "The library?"
"Oh."
"Good idea."
It wasn't. The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by the low murmur of dozens of conversations. Every study table was full. Groups of students surrounded whiteboards covered in equations. Someone had claimed an entire booth with nothing but anatomy flashcards.
You sighed. "I forgot it's midterms."
Megumi glanced around. "Everyone's cramming."
You leaned against one of the bookshelves. "The studios are probably just as bad. The painting students, sculpture students, ceramics students...they're all probably fighting over workspace right now."
You rubbed your temple. "So much for finding somewhere quiet."
You stood there for another moment, mentally crossing locations off your list. You let out another defeated sigh. "...I have no idea where else to go."
Megumi was quiet for a second. "...We could go to my apartment."
You looked at him. "...Your apartment?"
He nods.
"You have an apartment?"
"I rent one."
Your surprise must have shown because he added,
"My stepdad pays for it."
"Oh."
"The dorms weren't..." He searched for the right word. "...great."
You laughed. "I live in one. They're tiny."
"I agree."
You hesitated. His apartment. Just the two of you. Your brain immediately began imagining every possible reason this was a terrible idea. At the same time, it was probably the only quiet place left on campus.
"...Are you sure?"
"Yeah, it's only about a ten minute walk."
You looked at the crowded library one last time before nodding. "...Okay."
It turned out to be even closer than he'd said. Eight minutes. Not that you were counting. Each step somehow made you more aware of where you were going. You'd never been inside another man's apartment before. Not alone. Not like this.
You tried convincing yourself it wasn't a big deal. You were there to draw. Nothing else. But still, your stomach fluttered with every block you passed. Megumi, meanwhile, walked beside you as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world. He pointed toward a brick apartment building tucked just beyond campus.
"There."
"...That's close. Must be nice."
"It beats sharing a room."
"...Don't remind me."
He almost smiled. The hallway was quiet. Megumi unlocked the door with practiced ease before stepping aside.
"Come in."
You hesitated for the briefest moment. "...Thanks."
You slipped off your shoes and stepped inside. The first thing you noticed wasn't the furniture or the layout. It was how unmistakably...Megumi the apartment felt. Neat without being spotless, books stacked in careful piles instead of shoved onto shelves. A pair of dumbbells tucked neatly beside the couch, a small cactus sitting on the windowsill that looked surprisingly healthy, a black mug left beside the sink.
Everything had its place. It wasn't large but it was warm, comfortable, lived in. You turned slowly, taking it all in before your eyes landed on the framed photograph sitting atop a low bookshelf.
It was Megumi standing between a tall man with white hair and a young dark haired woman with a soft smile.
You caught yourself staring. "...Is that your family?"
Megumi followed your gaze. "...Yeah." His voice softened almost imperceptibly. "My step dad and my older sister."
You smiled. "You look happy."
He looked at the photo for a quiet moment before nodding. "...Yeah."
For some reason, that tiny glimpse into his life made the apartment feel less like a place you'd been invited into...and more like somewhere he'd quietly decided to share with you.
The living room was quiet. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting soft rectangles of light across the hardwood floor. You glanced around, mentally mapping out the best lighting.
"...The couch should work."
Megumi nodded once before setting his bag by the front door. He sat down, resting one arm along the back of the couch as naturally as if he'd done this a hundred times.
"What do you want me to do?"
You looked up from your sketchbook. "...Just sit there and look pretty." The words left your mouth before your brain had the chance to stop them.
Your eyes widened. Megumi blinked once.
"...I mean—" You covered your face with one hand. "I meant... just... look this way. Oh my god. I didn't mean—I mean, you are—"
You stopped yourself with a groan. "I'm going to pretend I didn't say any of that."
A moment of silence passed.
"...Okay," Megumi replied simply.
He didn't tease you. Didn't laugh. He just adjusted his posture slightly, as though you'd only asked him to look toward the window. You let out a slow breath.
He ignored it. Thank goodness.
What you didn't notice was the faint warmth creeping into the tips of his ears.You busied yourself setting up your things instead. Anything to avoid looking at him. You carried a chair to the opposite side of the room before finally sitting down. Far away. Much farther than you normally would. You flipped open your sketchbook.
"...Why are you sitting all the way over there?"
You looked up. "Huh?"
Megumi was watching you with quiet confusion. "You're pretty far."
You laughed nervously. "Am I?"
"Yeah."
"...I thought it'd be fine."
He looked between you and the sketchbook. "...Can you even see me properly?"
"...Not really." You sighed dramatically before standing again. "Fine." You dragged the chair closer. Not too close. Just...closer.
Megumi looked at you for a second. "...That's still kind of far."
You stared at him. You narrowed your eyes before looking at your sketchbook, then back at him.
"Come here."
Before you could ask what he meant, he patted the empty space beside him on the couch.
Your entire body froze. "...There?"
"You'll be able to see better."
"...Megumi."
"What?"
"That's..." You couldn't even finish the sentence.
He looked genuinely puzzled. "It's closer."
"I know it's closer."
"You said you couldn't see."
"...I did."
"So..." He gave the cushion another light pat. "...Sit here."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. He had a point. A perfectly logical point. Which somehow made it worse. You walked over as calmly as your trembling legs would allow. The couch dipped slightly beneath your weight as you sat down, leaving what you hoped was a respectable amount of space between the two of you.
It wasn't much. Close enough that, if either of you shifted too far, your shoulders would brush. You kept your eyes firmly on your sketchbook.
"Is... this okay?"
Megumi turned toward you. Not just his head but his whole body. One leg folded slightly toward you as he settled into a comfortable pose. You looked up. Then immediately wished you hadn't. He was close. Much closer than he'd ever been before.
The afternoon light spilling through the window softened the sharp lines of his face, catching in the loose strands of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead. You could make out tiny details you'd never noticed from across a table, how long and pretty his eyelashes were, the barely there crease that appeared between his brows when he concentrated, the way his irises were this pretty shade of green that you have never seen before. Your fingers tightened around your pencil.
"...Too close?" Megumi asked.
"N-no." Your answer came much too quickly.
He tilted his head. "...You sound nervous."
"I'm not."
"You've been holding your pencil upside down."
You looked down. You had. Without another word, you quietly flipped it around. Megumi's lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. You took one slow breath. Then another.
You're an artist. It's just a portrait. It's just Megumi.
Somehow, that last thought made it even harder to steady your hands. You lowered your pencil to the paper. The familiar scratch of graphite finally settled your breathing.
"...Do I just... stay like this?" Megumi asked quietly.
You looked up. "...Yeah."
His eyes met yours again. You immediately looked back down at the page.
"Just... don't move too much."
Silence settled over the apartment. Unlike the studio, there were no distant conversations or footsteps in the hallway. Just the quiet hum of the refrigerator somewhere in the kitchen and the occasional rustle of leaves outside the window. You'd never realized how loud silence could be. Your eyes flickered back to Megumi. This time, you weren't studying muscles or the shape of his hands.
You were drawing him. The slight curve of his eyebrows. The way his bangs fell unevenly across his forehead. The tiny crease that appeared between his brows whenever he focused on staying still. You lightly sketched the outline of his face.
You paused and erased something.
"...Something wrong?"
"Hm?"
"You erased it."
"Oh." You laughed awkwardly. "I do that a lot."
"I've noticed."
"...It's not because of you."
"I didn't think it was."
"It's because..." You frowned at your sketchbook. "...Faces are hard."
Megumi tilted his head just slightly. "I thought hands were harder."
"They are."
"So?"
You looked at him for a long moment before answering. "...Hands don't look back at me."
His expression froze for just a fraction of a second. "...Oh."
Realizing what you'd said, your eyes widened. "I mean..."
"You don't have to explain."
"I wasn't trying to make it weird."
"I know."
"...It's just different," you admitted quietly.
Megumi nodded once. "...Yeah."
For reasons you couldn't explain, that simple agreement made your shoulders relax. Another fifteen minutes passed. This time, your pencil moved with much more confidence. Every so often, you'd glance up. Study his face for a few seconds. Then quickly look back down to sketch what you'd seen. Megumi noticed the pattern.
"You never look for very long."
"Huh?"
"You look." He pointed lightly toward his own face. "Then you look away."
You blinked. "...Do I?"
"Mhm."
"...Artists do that."
"...Do they?"
"Yes...mostly."
The corner of his mouth lifted. "I think you're making that up."
"I absolutely am."
That earned the quietest laugh from him. Barely more than an exhale. Still, it made your own smile appear without permission.
"You smiled." Your pencil stopped.
"...What?"
"You smiled."
You looked down at your page.
"...Did I?"
"Mhm."
"When?"
"Just now."
"I wasn't smiling."
"You were."
"...You're imagining things."
"I'm not."
You narrowed your eyes at him. "...You moved."
"I smiled." He lightly argued.
"Exactly."
"So that's your fault."
"My fault?" Your eyebrows shot to the sky.
"You told me not to move."
"I didn't think smiling counted."
"It uses muscles."
You stared at him. "...You cannot be serious."
His face remained perfectly straight. "...I am."
You laughed. A real laugh this time. The kind that made your shoulders shake. Megumi watched you quietly. For a moment, he forgot he was supposed to be holding still.
"I figured out why portraits are harder."
You tilted your head. "Why?"
His gaze lingered on yours for a second before drifting toward the half finished sketch resting on your lap.
"...People change."
You looked down at the drawing. The version of Megumi on your page wore the same calm expression he'd started with but sometime during the last half hour, he'd smiled. Twice. The crease between his brows had disappeared. His eyes had softened. Without realizing it, you'd been drawing the person he'd become while sitting with you not the one he'd been when the session started.
You looked back up. "...Stay like that."
"Hm?"
"Don't smile."
"...Why?"
"Because now I have to redraw half your face." You say with a cheeky smile.
For the first time all afternoon, Megumi smiled without trying to hide it. "...Sorry."
You groaned dramatically, already reaching for your eraser. "I liked the first version better."
"You mean the one that looked grumpy?"
"It was easier to draw."
"...That's kind of mean."
"It wasn't supposed to be a compliment."
"...I know." His smile lingered anyway.
Your pencil finally found its rhythm. Every few seconds, your eyes lifted to study him before dropping back to the page. Megumi stayed still. At least, he tried to.
"...Am I doing it wrong?"
You blinked. "Huh?"
"You've erased the same eye three times."
You looked down. "...Have I?...That's not because of you." You laughed quietly. "I can't decide where the light should go."
He glanced toward the window. "It hasn't changed."
"I know."
"...Then what changed?"
Your pencil paused. You looked up. He was already looking at you.
"...Nothing."
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he held your gaze for another second before speaking.
"...You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"You look at me and then you immediately look away."
Heat crept into your cheeks. "I have to."
"Why?"
"Because if I keep looking..." You stopped yourself.
Megumi waited.
"...I lose my train of thought."
"...Oh."
Silence settled between you again. The apartment suddenly felt very small. You forced yourself to keep drawing and glance upward again. Only this time, Megumi wasn't looking at the sketchbook anymore. He was watching you.
"...You're supposed to look over here," you mumbled, gesturing vaguely toward the wall behind you.
"I am."
"No..." You tried not to smile. "I mean somewhere over my shoulder."
"...Right." He obediently shifted his gaze toward the window. "...Better?"
"Mhm." You exhaled softly. "Thanks."
Another few minutes passed. The portrait was nearly finished. Only the eyes remained. They were always the hardest part.
"...Megumi."
"Hm?"
"I need you to look at me now."
He turned his head.
"Not just your head."
"...?"
"Your eyes."
He met your gaze fully this time. You swallowed. Your pencil hovered above the paper. Nothing happened. It refused to move.
"...You're not drawing."
"I know."
"Did I move?"
"No."
"...Then?"
You laughed nervously. "I forgot how to draw."
"The portrait's almost finished."
"I know."
There was a moment of silence.
"...It's the eyes."
"They're difficult?"
You nodded. "They're important."
He was quiet for a moment. "...Why?"
"Because..." You looked at him again. "...If the eyes are wrong..." You smiled sheepishly. "...It won't feel like you."
Something softened in Megumi's expression. Not dramatically. Just enough that the serious line of his mouth relaxed.
"...Take your time."
You nodded. "...Okay."
You leaned in just a little. Only enough to study the details you couldn't quite make out from where you sat. The faint ring of green around his irises. The way the afternoon light reflected in them. The tiny scar hidden beneath his bangs near his temple. You were so focused that you didn't realize how close you'd become. Neither did he.
"...You have graphite." His voice came quietly.
"What?"
"Here."
Without thinking, he reached up. His fingertips brushed lightly against your cheek. A tiny streak of gray transferred onto the pad of his thumb. The touch lasted barely a second and neither of you moved. His hand lingered on your cheek.
Your breath stilled. You slowly looked from his eyes to his lips. When you looked back up, he was already looking at yours. The room was silent. No ticking clock, no voices from the hallway. Only the sound of your own heartbeat.
"...Can I..." Megumi's voice was almost a whisper.
He didn't finish the question. He didn't need to. You answered by closing the last inch between you.
The kiss started hesitant, soft, almost careful but the moment your lips fully met, something in Megumi shifted. His hand went to back of your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened fast. He kissed you with quiet intensity, tongue sliding against yours, slow and deliberate at first, then growing bolder. You melted into it immediately, hands fisting in his shirt as he pulled you closer, half into his lap.
What began as a single kiss quickly turned into something more intense. Megumi angled his head, kissing you harder, deeper, like all the weeks of restraint were finally spilling over. His tongue explored your mouth with focused hunger, stroking and teasing in ways that made heat flood through you. One of his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, pressing your body flush against his chest while his other hand stayed buried in your hair. He tasted like the faint sweetness of tea and something distinctly him, and every slow, heated glide of his tongue left you dizzy.
You kissed him back just as eagerly, fingers threading through his dark hair and tugging lightly. He responded with a low, barely audible sound that vibrated against your lips, encouraging you. The kiss grew messier. Megumi’s hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, palm warm against your lower back as he held you possessively closer. He tilted his head the other way, capturing your mouth again in a deep, consuming kiss that made your thoughts scatter completely.
After several long, heated minutes, you finally broke apart just enough to breathe. Your foreheads stayed pressed together, lips still brushing.
"...I don't think that was part of the assignment," you murmured, voice shaky with a mix of nerves and lingering heat.
The corner of Megumi's mouth lifted into the smallest smile. "...Probably not."
The brief moment of lightness didn’t last. His dark eyes flicked back to your lips, and the hunger returned. He leaned in again, kissing you deeply, tongue immediately seeking yours with renewed intensity. This time his hand slid further up your back, pulling you tighter against him while his mouth moved with slow, deliberate passion.
Megumi trailed hot kisses from your lips to your jaw, then down the side of your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses against your skin before returning to your mouth. He was breathing hard, cheeks faintly flushed, and hair disheveled from your fingers, but he didn’t stop.
When the intensity finally eased into something slower, Megumi rested his forehead fully against yours, eyes half-closed. His arms remained wrapped around you, holding you close as if he had no intention of letting go anytime soon. The sketchbook lay forgotten on the floor, the portrait completely abandoned but almost finished.
“I mean it,” he said quietly, voice rough from the kisses, lips brushing yours with every word. “I wouldn’t have kept helping with your assignments if I didn’t like you this much. I don’t do any of this… unless it’s you.”
He pressed one last, lingering kiss to your swollen lips, then another, softer but still deep. The room had grown dimmer with the fading sunlight, but neither of you moved. Megumi simply held you there, occasionally brushing his lips against yours in lazy, contented kisses, content to stay tangled up together for as long as the moment would allow.
“You’ll be drawing twenty hand studies for next week.”
The collective groan that echoed through the studio was almost loud enough to drown out your professor’s next sentence.
“Hands are one of the most expressive parts of the human body, which is exactly why they’re so difficult. Different angles, different gestures, different people. Observe before you draw.”
Your head fell onto your sketchbook with a dramatic thud. Twenty. Twenty hands. You could barely draw one.
Three days later, your bedroom floor had become a graveyard of crumpled paper. You held your left hand out in front of you, fingers spread awkwardly. It looked simple enough. Five fingers, a palm, some knuckles. Easy.
You looked down at your sketch. “…Why do you look like a bunch of sausages?”
You erased, redrew, erased again. The thumb was too long. Now the index finger looked broken. The wrist somehow disappeared entirely. With an exhausted sigh, you reached for your phone and searched for reference photos.
Perfectly lit stock images filled the screen. They were helpful but they also felt… lifeless. You wanted something real. Unfortunately, asking strangers to let you stare at their hands sounded like an excellent way to get pepper sprayed.
Thursday morning arrived far too quickly. Your general education psychology lecture was thankfully much less demanding than your studio classes, making it the perfect place to mentally recover. You slipped into your usual seat near the middle of the lecture hall.
Only one seat remained empty. Right beside you. Almost on cue, someone slid into it just before class began.
“…Morning.”
It was Megumi Fushiguro.
You smiled. “Morning.”
That was usually the extent of your conversations before class. You weren’t exactly close. Just… seatmates. Somewhere along the semester, sitting together had become an unspoken routine. Neither of you questioned it anymore. The professor began speaking as Megumi quietly opened his notebook.
His handwriting was ridiculously neat. Straight lines, consistent spacing. It somehow matched him perfectly. You tried listening to the lecture. Really, you did for about five minutes.
Then your eyes wandered. Megumi rested his elbow on the desk, absentmindedly twirling a mechanical pencil between his fingers while reading the lecture slides. Your gaze lingered. Long fingers, defined knuckles, slim wrists disappearing beneath the cuff of his hoodie. The tendons shifted beneath his skin every time he adjusted his grip.
Oh. Those were…really nice hands. Artistically speaking. You continued staring without realizing how obvious you were being.
“…What?” His voice snapped you out of your thoughts.
“Huh?”
Megumi glanced sideways without lifting his head completely.
“You’ve been looking at my hand.”
Heat immediately rushed to your face. “I—I wasn’t—”
“You were.”
“…Okay.” You covered your face with your hands in embarrassment. “...I was.”
He waited before finally asking. “…Why?”
You considered lying. Instead, you sighed. “I’m an art major.”
“…I know.”
“My professor assigned twenty hand studies.” You finally rested your hands back on the table, trying to seem calm. “I’ve been struggling all week.”
He looked down at his own hand before looking back at you. “So…”
You swallowed. “…you have really nice hands.”
“…Thanks?”
“No, wait! I don’t mean it like that!”
Your words came tumbling out faster than your brain could stop them.
“I mean they’re proportional! Your fingers are long and your knuckles are really defined and artists like drawing interesting hands and yours just happen to be—”
You took a deep breath. You wanted the earth to swallow you whole.
“…Would it be weird if…I asked if I could draw your hands?”
Megumi blinked once. “…That’s all?”
“…Yeah.”
“I thought something was wrong.”
“…Why would something be wrong?”
“You kept staring.”
You couldn't help but avert your eyes after the statement. He looked down at his hand again, flexing his fingers once.
“…Sure.”
“…Really?” You turn back to look at him again. His face seeming unbothered. He gave a small shrug.
“If it helps.”
The smile that spread across your face was immediate. “It helps a lot.”
After class, the two of you wandered to a quiet courtyard tucked behind the humanities building. Students passed by every so often, but it was peaceful enough that you could hear birds chirping somewhere overhead. You settled onto one side of a wooden bench while Megumi sat across from you.
He rested one hand on the table between you. “…Like this?”
You looked up from your sketchbook. Then laughed. “You’re so stiff.”
“I’ve never done this before.”
“Done what?”
“…Whatever this is.”
“You make it sound like I’m conducting an experiment.”
“You kind of are.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Just relax.”
He loosened his fingers slightly.
“There, better.”
You began sketching. The first few lines came easily. His fingers were long, making the proportions much easier to understand than your own. Every tendon became visible whenever he shifted ever so slightly. The tiny wrinkles around his knuckles gave your pencil something interesting to follow. For several minutes, neither of you spoke. Only the scratching of graphite against paper filled the quiet.
“…Does it normally take this long?”
You looked up. “What?”
“Drawing.”
“I’m trying not to mess it up.” You look back at your sketchbook with a small smile.
“…You haven’t looked at me for like… five minutes.”
The corner of your lips twitch a little. “I am looking at you.”
“My hand.”
“…Your hand is attached to you.”
“…Fair enough.”
You laughed. “So impatient.”
“I’ve been holding the same pose.”
“It’s been eight minutes.”
Megumi tilts his head. “…Has it?”
You playfully roll your eyes. “You sound like an old man.”
Megumi leans over the table and rests his head on his other palm. “…I don’t know how to respond to that.”
Your eraser slipped from your fingers and bounced onto the ground. “Oh.”
Before you could bend down, Megumi reached for it. His hand curled naturally around the small white block. The angle made the tendons along the back of his hand stand out. Your eyes lit up.
“Don’t move.”
He paused mid-motion. “…What?”
“That’s a really nice pose.”
He remained frozen, eraser still in his hand. “…Seriously?”
“Mhm.” You hurriedly flipped to a fresh page. “Just… stay exactly like that.”
He sighed. “…Again?”
“I promise this one’s the last one.”
“…You said that ten minutes ago.”
“I know…Please?”
After a brief pause, he nodded once.
“…Okay.”
By the time you finally closed your sketchbook, six pages had been filled. You stretched your arms above your head with a satisfied sigh.
“I think I can actually finish the assignment now.”
Megumi leaned forward slightly. “…Can I see?”
You hesitated before turning the sketchbook around. His eyes quietly scanned each page. Different angles, different poses. Every crease and shadow carefully rendered in graphite. He stopped on one drawing.
“…You noticed that?”
“The scar?”
He looked at the faint line across one of his knuckles. “…Yeah.”
You nodded. “It catches the light. I thought it looked nice.”
Megumi stared at his own hand. “…I forgot I even had that.”
You smiled as you packed away your pencils. At the last second, you looked up again.
“…Can I ask you another time?”
He met your eyes. “For class?”
“Mhm.”
He thought for a moment before giving a small nod. “…Sure.”
Relief washed over you. “Thanks, Megumi.”
“…No problem.”
"This week's assignment," your professor announced, writing Body Studies across the whiteboard, "is about understanding form."
A few students immediately perked up. You, however, felt a headache coming on.
"I don't want polished illustrations," your professor continued. "I want observation. Study the way clothing folds over the body. Learn to see the figure and the way it shapes the fabric."
She smiled. "Ten studies."
A chorus of groans echoed through the studio.
"You all survived hands."
Barely, you thought. That afternoon, you sat beneath a tree outside the library with your sketchbook open. Students walked across campus in every direction. You tried sketching strangers. Someone moved before you could finish the shoulders. Another adjusted their backpack. One person sat down for exactly thirty seconds before getting up again.
You sighed. "...How is everyone so... busy?"
Your pencil hovered over another unfinished page. You needed someone who could stay still. Someone patient. Someone...
"...Megumi."
Your psychology lecture had barely ended when you started gathering your things. Megumi zipped up his backpack beside you.
"You leaving?" You asked quickly.
"Mhm."
"...Can I ask you something?"
He paused. "What is it?"
You suddenly became very interested in adjusting your pencil case. "So..."
"...Another assignment?"
You looked up. "...How did you know?"
"You've got that look."
"What look?" You tilted your head.
"The one you had before you asked to draw my hands."
"...I have a look?"
He nodded once.
"...Oh." You laughed awkwardly. "Well...This week's assignment is body studies."
He waited for you to continue.
"...Would you maybe...be willing to help again?"
"What do I have to do?"
"Mostly just... sit there."
"...Again?"
"Again."
He considered it for all of two seconds. "...Okay."
"You didn't even ask for details."
"You'll tell me anyway."
"...That's true." You give him a grateful smile.
The two of you found an empty corner of the student union. Megumi set his backpack beside his chair.
"What do you want me to do?"
You looked around thoughtfully. "Hmm..."
He watched as you tilted your head.
"I don't know."
He gives you a skeptical look.
"...Can you... lean back a little?"
He did.
"A little more."
He leaned farther into the chair.
"Perfect."
You immediately began sketching. Unlike his hands, drawing his posture felt...different. You found yourself studying the slope of his shoulders. The loose folds of his black hoodie. The way one sleeve bunched around his wrist. How his legs stretched comfortably beneath the table. Every time he shifted his weight, new folds appeared in the fabric.
"...Am I moving too much?"
"No." Your pencil continued gliding across the paper. "It makes the folds on your clothes look more prominent."
"...Is that good?"
"Mhm."
"It looks more alive."
He nodded quietly, as if he understood.
Several minutes passed. "You can blink, you know." He says, trying to break the silence.
"I wasn't trying not to."
"You've been staring at the same page for a while."
Megumi looked down at himself. "I've never thought about it."
"I can tell."
"What does that mean?"
You just grinned in response. After nearly half an hour, your wrist started to ache. You stretched your fingers before looking over your work.
"...I think I got it."
Megumi stood and walked around the table. His eyes drifted over the page. It wasn't a portrait. There was no face. Just the gentle curve of a relaxed posture. The weight of someone settling into a chair after a long day. The soft folds of a hoodie gathered around bent elbows.
"...That's me?"
"Mhm."
"It doesn't even have my face."
"You don't need one." You tapped the page. "I can tell it's you because of how you sit."
He looked at the sketch again. "...You can tell that?"
"You always lean a little to your left."
"I do?" He raised an eyebrow.
"You also cross your ankles instead of your knees."
He instinctively glanced down. He was. "...Huh."
"You rest your shoulders lower whenever you're comfortable and you tug on your sleeves whenever you're thinking."
He unconsciously released the sleeve he'd been fiddling with. A quiet silence settled between you. Finally, he asked,
"...You notice all that?"
You blinked. "...Artists notice weird things."
For a brief moment, Megumi didn't answer. He simply looked at the sketch again before quietly saying,
"...I think that's kind of nice."
Your heart skipped for reasons you chose not to examine too closely. Instead, you closed your sketchbook with a smile.
"So..." You slung your bag over your shoulder.
"Same thing next assignment?"
The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. "...Yeah."
He wasn't sure when helping with your homework had become something he looked forward to but as the two of you walked across campus together, he found himself hoping your professors would keep giving you impossible assignments.
"I'm proud of your progress."
The studio fell suspiciously quiet. Whenever your Professor sounded pleased, it usually meant she was about to make everyone's lives significantly harder. She smiled.
"I think you're all ready."
A few hopeful murmurs spread across the room.
"Ready for muscles."
The room collectively deflated. She uncapped a marker and began sketching a simplified arm on the whiteboard.
"Don't worry," she said with a laugh. "I'm not asking for medical illustrations. I want you to observe how muscles affect the body's surface. Where does the triceps create volume? How does the shoulder change when the arm is lifted? How does the back move when you stretch?
She underlined three words.
Arms and Back
You stared at your notebook. Then at the board. Then back at your notebook.
"...I'm cooked."
The student beside you nodded solemnly. "So cooked."
It was one of the hottest days of the semester. Even before your afternoon lecture, the campus seemed to shimmer beneath the sun. Students had abandoned hoodies in favor of T-shirts. Windows were propped open despite doing very little to help. You stepped into the lecture hall, grateful for the faint breeze from the ceiling fans.
A familiar voice came from beside you. "...Hey."
You smiled. "Hi."
Megumi dropped into the seat next to yours. For a second, your brain stopped working. He's wearing short sleeves. It wasn't a dramatic change. Just a plain black T-shirt instead of the oversized hoodies he usually lived in. But now his forearms were exposed.
His elbows...the line of muscle that shifted whenever he reached into his backpack. You immediately looked away.
Be professional. You're observing anatomy. Nothing weird about anatomy.
"...You okay?"
"Hm?"
"You've been staring."
"I have not...Maybe a little."
The lecture dragged on and unfortunately for you, Megumi took notes diligently. Every movement of his hand made the muscles in his forearm flex beneath his skin. You tried to focus on the professor. You lasted maybe three minutes. Your eyes wandered again.
The muscles tightened as he wrote. His wrist rolled slightly whenever he turned the page. Your artist brain lit up like a Christmas tree.
Those shadows...That tendon...
"...What?"
You blinked. "...Sorry."
"My arm?"
"...Your arm."
He glanced down at it. "...What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing!" You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck.
"My assignment this week is muscles."
"...Ah." He nodded once. "...Makes sense."
After class, the two of you walked toward the student union together.
"So..." Megumi said. "This week's homework?"
You sighed dramatically. "I swear my professor is trying to make my life difficult."
"What is it?"
You opened your sketchbook and handed him the assignment sheet. He scanned it quietly.
Observe major muscle groups without the cover of fabric this time. Include arms and back for anatomical variety. Focus on surface anatomy and the way individual muscles connect and overlap.
"...Without the cover of fabric," he read aloud.
"...Yeah." You let your head fall onto the table. "I was hoping I'd be able to get away with drawing over hoodies."
"I guess not." Megumi read the note scribbled beneath the assignment.
Use a live reference if possible.
"...That's pretty specific."
"I know." You sighed again. "I've been trying to figure out who to ask all day."
He looked up from the paper. "...Do you need help?"
You hesitated. "...Maybe."
He waited patiently.
"It's just..." You scratched the back of your neck. "...This assignment is a little more awkward."
"Because of the shirt?"
You nodded. "I can't exactly ask someone, 'Hey, can you take your shirt off so I can draw your back? That sounds insane."
"You weren't going to ask me."
"I absolutely wasn't."
He looked back down at the assignment for another moment. "...If that's what the assignment requires..." He handed the sketchbook back. "...I don't mind."
You blinked. "...Megumi."
"What?"
"I wasn't fishing for that answer."
"I know."
"I would've found someone else."
He shrugged lightly. "You already know how I sit still."
"...That's your reasoning?"
"It worked the last two assignments."
You couldn't help but laugh. "You're way too calm about this."
"I don't really see the problem."
"You don't?"
"It's for class."
He met your eyes with the same straightforward expression he always wore. "...You're not looking at me. You're studying anatomy."
For some reason, hearing him say it so matter of factly only made your face feel warmer. The Fine Arts building was unusually quiet by the time the two of you arrived.
Most of the studios had emptied out for the evening, leaving only the faint smell of graphite, acrylic paint, and drying clay lingering in the halls.
You peeked into one of the classrooms. "Looks empty."
Megumi glanced inside before nodding. "This works."
You set your sketchbook, pencils, and kneaded eraser across one of the large wooden tables. For some reason...your heart refused to slow down. It wasn't as if this was the first time he'd helped you. He'd sat for your hand studies. Your posture studies.
This wasn't any different...Right?
"Where do you want me?"
His voice pulled you back to reality. "Huh?"
"You look like you're thinking."
"Oh." You laughed nervously. "Sorry."
You looked him over for a moment before pointing toward one of the stools near the windows.
"Could you sit there?"
He did without question. The afternoon sun spilled through the tall windows, outlining one side of his figure in warm light. Your artist brain immediately approved.
"Can you... roll your sleeve up a little?"
He folded the sleeve of his T-shirt once.
"A little higher?"
He rolled it again until it rested near the top of his upper arm. "There?"
You nodded. "Perfect."
He rested one arm across the back of the stool. "Like this?"
"Mhm." You opened your sketchbook.
The moment your pencil touched the paper, everything else disappeared. The nervousness. The awkwardness. Even Megumi sitting a few feet away. Your focus narrowed to lines, shapes, and shadows. The gentle curve of his shoulder. The subtle definition where muscle shifted beneath his skin whenever he adjusted his fingers. The way the light caught along his forearm. Every few minutes, you'd mumble something almost absentmindedly.
Megumi quietly followed every instruction. Neither of you noticed how much time had passed. Only when your wrist began to ache did you finally lean back.
"I think..." You flexed your fingers. "...I got it." You turned the sketchbook toward him. "What do you think?"
Megumi leaned closer. His eyes lingered on the page longer than you expected. "...Huh."
You shifted nervously. "Good 'huh' or bad 'huh'?"
He looked down at his own arm before returning to the drawing. "...I didn't know my arm looked like that."
You laughed. "What does that mean?"
He looked from the drawing to his own arm. "I don't know." He flexed it experimentally before glancing back at the sketch.
"I'm not exactly..." He searched for the word. "...Built."
"You don't have to be." You tapped the page. "I'm not drawing how strong someone is I'm drawing how everything fits together. The shape, the light, the way your muscles move when you're holding yourself up."
Megumi looked back at the drawing. "...It's kind of cool."
A smile spread across your face. "I'm glad you think so."
You flipped to a fresh page. Then your smile slowly faded. "...Right."
"What?"
"...The next study."
He glanced at the page in your hands.
Upper back.
Another beat of silence passed.
"Oh."
"...Yeah."
You laughed once, the sound thin with nerves. "This is where it gets awkward." You rubbed the back of your neck. "I can always ask someone else if you're uncomfortable."
He shook his head almost immediately. "I'm not."
"You don't have to say yes just because we've been doing these assignments together."
"I know...I still don't mind."
Your fingers tightened around the edge of your sketchbook. "I appreciate it."
He glanced around the empty studio. "I'll turn around."
"Hm?"
"So you don't have to look at me while I'm..." He gestured vaguely toward himself. "...doing this."
Your eyes widened. "Oh."
"You looked like you were trying to figure out how to ask."
"...Was it that obvious?"
"A little."
Despite yourself, you laughed. "...Sorry."
"No need."
He picked up the stool and carried it toward the center of the room before turning it to face the tall windows.
"There." He looked back over his shoulder. "Better?"
"...Yeah."
He smiled, a small, almost imperceptible curve at the corner of his mouth. "Good."
With his back to you, he reached for the hem of his shirt. Your gaze immediately darted toward the floor. The wooden floorboards suddenly became incredibly interesting. You heard the soft rustle of fabric. Then silence.
"...Okay." His voice was calm. "I'm ready."
You inhaled slowly before forcing yourself to look up. For a split second, your thoughts scattered. Not because there was anything dramatic in front of you. Just because the situation suddenly felt very real. You had spent weeks studying his hands, his posture, the way he carried himself.
The sight of his bare back in the warm afternoon light made your pulse stutter. The clean, strong lines of his shoulders, the subtle curve of his spine, the way shadows pooled along his muscles, it was exactly what the assignment needed, but being this close felt dangerously intimate.
Your artist's instincts and your self consciousness collided all at once. You forgot to breathe and several seconds passed.
"...You still with me?" His voice carried a hint of amusement.
You blinked rapidly. "O-oh." You cleared your throat. "Yeah." You pause. "Sorry."
"For what?"
"I think my brain stopped working."
A quiet chuckle escaped him. "I noticed."
You covered your face for a second with one hand. "This is so embarrassing."
"Why?"
"Because I'm trying very hard to be professional."
"And?"
"...It's not going great."
Megumi's smile widened just enough that you could hear it in his voice. "I think you're doing fine."
You let out one slow breath, lifted your pencil, and finally allowed your eyes to settle, not on the awkwardness of the moment, but on the shapes, the planes, and the light that every artist learns to see. The graphite touched the page and little by little, your heartbeat found its rhythm again.
You sketched for a while, but the lighting on his upper back still wasn’t quite right. You stood up and moved closer, leaning carefully over his right shoulder from behind to get a better view of the shadows.
Your face hovered just inches from the side of his. You could feel the warmth of his skin, smell the faint scent of his shampoo, and hear the steady rhythm of his breathing.
"Don’t move," you whispered, voice barely audible.
Megumi stayed perfectly still but then slowly turned his head toward you, just enough to check if the pose was okay.
Your faces were suddenly dangerously close.
His dark eyes met yours. Time seemed to slow. Neither of you pulled away. The tip of his nose nearly brushed yours. Your gaze dropped involuntarily to his lips, then back up. His breath ghosted across your mouth.
The air between you crackled. For one heart stopping moment, it felt like the smallest movement from either of you would close the gap completely. Your could hear your heart thumping in your ears. Megumi’s eyes darkened slightly, his lips parting just a fraction. You were so close.
Then your phone alarm blared from the desk.
You both startled apart. You stepped back quickly, face burning. Megumi faced forward again, the back of his neck visibly flushed. The charged silence lingered for another second.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked, voice a little rougher than usual as he reached for his shirt and pulled it on.
You nodded, still trying to steady your breathing. "For the assignment."
Megumi paused at the door and glanced back at you. That small, shy smile returned to his lips, softer this time.
"Try not to lean in so close next time," he murmured, almost teasing, but his eyes were warm.
Then he slipped out, leaving you staring at the half finished drawing of his back with flushed cheeks and a racing, giddy heart.
But I'm gonna be honest. We need a story where neglected reader is adopted by Talia and Ra’s al Ghul. Like, how funny would it be if, after Damian comes to the mansion, Talia shows up for a mother and son date, but her little gremlin totally stands her up.
She isn’t mad, just disappointed that her son is buying into Bruce’s dramatics. She respects that he can’t kill criminals, but he completely loses his mind because her family does. She should have known he was like all Americans... preaching respect until it doesn’t fit his standards.
She’s about to leave when she sees Bruce’s daughter—the civilian one, the one her beloved left outside his inner circle.
Her reserve is for two people, and two people will go.
"Child, come. We are going to have dinner."
"What?"
"And then we are going to the opera to see Madame Butterfly."
"I’m sold."
Reader had asked for tickets, but Bruce forgot.
Talia was ready to be tolerant, but she ends up setting another date and calling her beloved’s daughter almost every week.
She loves Damian, but she finds herself enjoying being a mom’s girl very much. Damian’s sister has a sensitivity her son lacks.
Some of Talia’s old clothes end up in her dresser. When summer comes, Talia invites her to Nepal; her beloved thinks she’s going to a summer camp, but Talia starts training their daughter. She can bear that she’s a civilian, but not that she’s defenseless.
Still, they take time to do a mini tour all around Asia, tasting local cuisine and shopping for clothes that actually fit her daughter.
Ra’s is curious but not really interested at first.
"So you are the detective’s runt."
"Unwanted, you mean."
"And that doesn’t bother you?" he asks, intrigued.
"I’ve decided my best vengeance is being unbothered by it."
He smiles briefly.
"What would the detective say if he knew you lingered with my daughter?"
"Sir, if you want a video reaction when he finds out, just pay me."
He sends her $10,000 when she ends up sending him high-resolution footage.
To everyone’s confusion—except Talia—Ra’s al Ghul acts like a normal grandpa when he’s around reader.
When Damian finds out, he accuses her of trying to steal his position as heir (he knows he’s already lost it, but he’s jealous). She looks at him like he’s dumb.
"Why would I be the heir when I’m the favorite grandchild?" she asks. "The heir thing is just some game gramps plays for fun. Why would he need one when he’s basically immortal with no plans of dying?"
That pretty much silences Damian for a long time.
No one understands their relationship. She’s welcome to join the League of Assassins, but it’s okay if she doesn’t, they still want her around.
And you know how messed up it is that Ra’s knows more about Bruce’s daughter than the detective himself? Ra’s al Ghul enjoys very much throwing it in his face.
summary - during one of Caine's horror adventures, you get violent and Jax says something that no one expected from him
warnings - violence
You were pretty sure everyone had voted against this adventure.
But of course, Caine never listened to anyone and now you were all stumbling through a pitch-black circus, with untold dangers lurking in the darkness around you.
"OW! Hey!"
"My bad..."
"Watch where you're going, ribbons!"
You sighed when you heard Jax and Gangle a few feet away, after they had apparently collided. You took careful, measured steps, arms stretched out in front of you.
"OW!"
Jax swore again, but this time because you'd hit him in the face.
"Sorry!" You apologised.
"Do that again, (Name)," Jax sounded amused. "I like this violent side of you."
"I didn't-!"
"Yeah, do it again, (Name), but harder," Zooble's voice came from somewhere behind you.
Jax was about to say something else, when a low groan came from somewhere nearby. The kind of groan you only heard in horror movies, just before a creature from hell was revealed.
"...What the [bleep] was that?" Zooble asked.
The lights flickered on for a moment, just long enough to reveal the gaunt face of a zombie.
No, wait, a few zombies.
"Oh hell no," Zooble mumbled.
The sound of everyone scattering met your ears, and you turned in a random direction and ran right into someone. They grunted as you both fell over, your body on top of theirs.
"Now's not the time, (Name)," a familiar cocky voice filled your ears. "I know I'm irresistible, but we should really focus on-"
You cut him off by getting to your feet and rushing off.
"That's cold, (Name)!" He called after you. "Didn't know you had it in you!"
You didn't even know where you were going. For all you knew, you could be running right to the zombies. But anywhere was better than staying still and waiting for them to come to you.
"So, where are we going?" Jax suddenly spoke from beside you.
You screeched, turning and smacking him again, "Jax! Don't do that!"
"I think this borders on abuse, sweetheart."
"Shut up."
It seemed like everyone else had paired up as well, because you heard Kinger and Pomni up ahead talking in hushed whispers.
"Boo," Jax said.
They both screamed.
You smacked what you hoped was his arm, "Jax!"
He cackled, "They're just too easy!" Then he stopped abruptly, and his tone grew serious, "Okay but seriously, whoever's touching my foot like that, stop."
"Uh, Jax?" You slowly backed up. "None of us are doing that."
The lights came on, and you all looked down to see a zombie gripping Jax's leg, ready to take a bite out of him. Your eyes widened, and before anyone else could react, you kicked it in the face.
And then proceeded to beat it violently.
Kinger covered Pomni's eyes.
Jax stood there, arms crossed, his grin wide, "I'm going to marry that girl someday."
"WHAT?!"
Zooble, Gangle and Ragatha appeared behind you, arriving on the scene just as those words left the rabbit's mouth. Kinger and Pomni stared at him, blinking like they were trying to register what he'd just said.
"Nah, he's joking," Zooble finally decided.
"I'm serious," Jax glared at them.
"Good one, Jax," Ragatha laughed, though a bit nervously.
"I'm not-! I wasn't-! Forget it," he looked away.
"Forget about what?" You finally let go of the zombie, getting up again. Dusting your hands on your pants even though there was nothing on them.
Jax's glare from behind you was enough to scare all of them out of telling you what he'd said.
Except for Zooble, "Jax wants to-"
Immediately, and out of desperation, the rabbit stuck two of his fingers in your ears to block out the rest of their sentence. You blinked, then turned to look at him when he pulled his fingers out.
"What?"
"Nothing," he grinned, then glared at Zooble again, "Right, Zoobie?" His tone had a hint of a threat behind it.
"...Right," they reluctantly agreed.
Jax's grin widened, and he feigned innocence as he led you away from the group before anyone else was emboldened to tell you the truth.
