i forgot i deleted my bio.. so i think i got blocked while reading someones nsfw smau masterlist in jjk.. IM 19 PLEASE UNBLOCK ME 😭😭😭 UR WRITINGS R SO GOOD HUHHH
[ SYNOPSIS ] — Haunted by past rejection, you deliberately allow yourself to get hurt on missions because Megumi’s gentle care during your recoveries is the only time you feel safe receiving physical affection, it goes on for a while before megumi eventually figures it out. w.c: 4.7k
[ PAIRING ] — bf!megumi fushiguro x touch starved!reader
[ TAGS ] — gn!reader, established relationship, canon compliant, lots of injuries (descriptions aren't too heavy), blood, hurt/comfort, lmk if I missed anything. art by: @/sa2men THIS FIC IS A REQUEST!
The fabric of Megumi’s uniform sleeve was just inches away, it was right there.
Walking side by side down the stone steps of Jujutsu High, the evening air carrying the distinct chill of late autumn, the distance between you felt both negligible and insurmountable. As you moved, the backs of your hands brushed. Once. Twice.
An old, familiar instinct surged up from your chest, traveling down your arm. Your fingers twitched, curling inward. You wanted to hook your pinky around his. You wanted to slide your arm through his, to lean your shoulder against his side and let yourself rest against him after a grueling three-hour debriefing so badly.
Your hand lifted. Your fingers brushed the dark fabric of his sleeve.
“Can you just sit on your own side of the couch? You’re always attached to me. Give me some space.”
The memory flared, sharp and sudden, accompanied by the phantom sting of a hand swatting yours away. The echo of a past sigh—the heavy, exasperated sound of someone entirely drained by your presence. Clingy. Smothering. Too much.
You yanked your hand back as if Megumi’s jacket had burned you, immediately stuffing both hands deep into your pockets. You shifted your weight, putting an extra few inches of distance between the two of you, and stared rigidly ahead at the gravel path.
Megumi paused mid-step. He glanced sideways, his dark eyes tracking the sudden, sharp movement of your retreat. He looked at your face, noting the rigid set of your jaw and the way your shoulders had hiked up to your ears. He lingered there for a moment, the quiet rustle of the wind through the trees filling the silence. He didn’t ask. He just adjusted the strap of his weapons bag and continued walking, though his pace had noticeably slowed to match yours.
This was how it always went.
You had spent the last three years systematically dismantling your own nature. You were someone who spoke in the language of touch. In your mind, love and care were communicated through pressed shoulders, tangled fingers, and casual proximity. But the world had loudly and repeatedly taught you that your language was a burden: After the third time a partner had looked at you with a mixture of pity and irritation because you had reached for their hand in public, you had sworn off the instinct entirely. You learned to sit on your hands. You learned to map out the exact dimensions of a room and ensure you were occupying the least amount of space possible.
With Megumi, trying to behave yourself was agonizing. He was entirely safe, he never yelled. He never made you feel small. But that only made the fear worse. If you let yourself slip—if you grabbed his arm, or buried your face in his shoulder after a bloody mission, or sat too close to him—he might realize how suffocating you truly were. You would see that familiar, devastating flash of annoyance in his eyes. He would pull away.
So, you always pulled away first.
When you sat together in the dining hall, you instinctively leaned toward his warmth, only to catch yourself mid-motion and jerk your spine straight, scooting your chair a fraction to the left.
Every single time he caught up to you in the hallways, your left arm would instinctively begin to lift, your hand forming a loose hook meant to loop around his elbow or grab a handful of his sleeve.
And every single time, your brain would catch the movement before it completed. Your hand would drop back to your side, your fingers brushing against your own thigh instead, pretending you had just been adjusting your uniform.
Once, after a long tactical brief with Gojo that left everyone thoroughly tired, you walked out into the courtyard together. The air was thick with the scent of upcoming rain. You were exhausted, your mind buzzing, and without thinking, you stepped closer to Megumi, your shoulder lightly bumping his.
He stopped walking immediately.
The sudden halt made you freeze. You looked at him, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. "Sorry," you said quickly, the word dry and defensive before he could even speak. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was stepping."
Megumi looked at you, his expression unreadable. He looked at the distance between your shoulder and his—now a deliberate, forced six inches. "You don't need to apologize," he said softly. "The path is wide enough."
"Right. Yeah." You forced a small laugh, tucking your hands deep into your pockets where they couldn’t make any more mistakes. "Just lost in thought."
He didn't look entirely convinced, but he didn't press. He never pressed. He just continued walking, his steps slightly slower now, as if waiting for you to close the gap again. But you didn't.
He observed the tension in your frame, the way you seemed to constantly hold your breath around him.
He didn't understand it. He thought, perhaps, he made you uncomfortable. He wondered if his cursed energy was too heavy, or if his natural quietness came off as unapproachable. Megumi was not prone to overstepping boundaries, so he gave you the space you seemed to be demanding, even as his brow furrowed every time you backed away.
The hesitation followed you on the field.
It was a standard search-and-destroy mission in a derelict hospital on the outskirts of town. The curse was a Grade 2, nothing the two of you couldn’t handle. But the structure of the building was compromised, the floors rotted through from years of water damage.
During the fight, the curse slammed a heavy, mutated appendage into the support pillar near you. The ceiling buckled. You managed to exorcise the curse with a concentrated blast of cursed energy, but you couldn't dodge the falling debris in time. A heavy slab of plaster and rebar caught your shoulder, knocking you hard to the ground and sending a sickening scrape of pain down your arm.
Megumi was there instantly. His hands were on your shoulders, pulling you out from under the rubble before the dust had even settled.
“Can you walk?” His face was pale, his eyes scanning the tear in your sleeve and the blood welling from the gash on your shoulder.
“Yeah,” you groaned, letting him haul you to your feet. “I’m okay. Just a scrape.”
He didn’t let go of you. He kept one arm firmly wrapped around your waist, taking half your weight as he guided you out of the crumbling building. You expected him to drop his hold once you reached the fresh air, but he kept you close all the way to Ijichi’s waiting car.
Back at Jujutsu High, Shoko was out on an emergency call with Yaga. The infirmary was empty.
“Sit,” Megumi instructed, pointing to the edge of the examination bed. He walked over to the metal cabinets, pulling out a first-aid kit, antiseptic, and gauze.
You sat, gripping the edge of the mattress. Your shoulder throbbed, but the physical pain was entirely secondary to the proximity of your boyfriend.
He stepped between your knees. The air caught in your throat. He was so close you could smell the faint smell of his shampoo. He carefully peeled the ruined fabric of your shirt away from the wound. His knuckles brushed your collarbone, and you shivered.
“Cold?” he asked quietly.
“No.”
Megumi poured antiseptic onto a cotton pad. “This is going to sting.”
He was gentle. Impossibly gentle. His left hand rested on your uninjured shoulder, his thumb stroking a slow, absentminded line against your neck to keep you steady while he cleaned the blood away with his right hand. The touch was entirely casual, completely necessary, you thought, and it short-circuited every defensive wall in your brain.
You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to handle the overwhelming flood of warmth. You realized, with a startling clarity, that you were allowed to be touched right now. You were injured. You were a patient. He had a reason to have his hands on you.
Megumi tossed the ruined cotton pad into the bin and began taping gauze over the cut. When he finished, he didn’t step back. He stayed between your knees, his hands resting lightly on your waist. He looked at your face, his expression unreadable.
Without thinking, you leaned forward. You rested your forehead against the center of his chest.
Every muscle in your body tensed immediately after you did it, waiting for the reprimand. You waited for the shift in his stance, the awkward clearing of the throat, the subtle step backward that signaled you had crossed the line.
Instead, Megumi sighed. Not of annoyance, but just a way to release tension. He lifted a hand and rested it on the back of your head. His fingers tangled loosely in your hair. He just stood there, letting you lean your entire weight against him, his heartbeat steady against your forehead.
“You did good today,” he murmured into the quiet room.
You gripped the fabric of his shirt, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You stayed like that for a long time. For the first time in months, you didn't pull away.
That was the mistake. That was the moment the wire tripped in your mind.
Your shoulder healed within a week, thanks to a belated visit from Shoko. And with the healed skin came the return of your good old ways. The next time you sat beside Megumi on the couch, the invisible barrier was back. He was reading, you were hyper-aware of your own limbs, and the quiet domesticity felt miles out of your reach.
You missed the weight of his hand in your hair. You missed the way he looked at you when he was making sure you were okay.
The subconscious mind is a dangerous, desperate thing. It bypasses logic to find the quickest route to survival, and your mind had equated Megumi’s touch with survival.
Two weeks later, on a mission in Kyoto, you were fighting a cursed spirit that moved entirely in straight, predictable lines. You had its pattern figured out in three minutes. You stepped to the left, raising your weapon to strike. You saw the curse's tail swinging around for a wide arc. You had plenty of time to duck.
You didn't.
You hesitated for a fraction of a second. You let your guard drop just an inch. The tail clipped your side, sending you tumbling across the grass. You finished the curse off from the ground, breathing heavily.
Megumi ran over, dropping to his knees beside you. He pulled you into a sitting position, his hands checking your ribs, his fingers pressing into your sides. “Where did it hit you? Are you bleeding?”
“I’m fine, just bruised,” you gasped, looking up at his face. The worry in his eyes was obvious. He kept his hands on you. He helped you walk back. On the train ride home, he let you sleep with your head on his shoulder, his arm resting securely across your back.
The guilt tasted like ash in your mouth, but the comfort was a drug.
It became a pattern. It wasn't planned, and it wasn't malicious. In the heat of battle, your instincts as a sorcerer would war with the deep, hollow starvation in your chest. When a hit was fatal, you dodged. But when a hit was survivable? When it meant a cut, a bruise, a sprained ankle? Your body simply stopped trying to avoid it.
Shoko was beginning to look at you with a strange squint every time you were brought into her office, but she didn't say anything—she just handed Megumi the supplies whenever he showed up to take care of you.
And Megumi always took care of you.
A grazed cheek meant Megumi cupping your face in the bathroom, carefully applying a bandage, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.
A deep cut on your forearm meant sitting on the edge of his bed while he wrapped it, his head bowed, his dark hair brushing your arm.
A twisted knee meant Megumi carrying you on his back, his hands firm beneath your thighs, while you buried your face in his shoulder inhaling the scent of him, ignoring the shameful, desperate sense of gratitude for the injured bone.
You hated yourself for it. You lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, disgusted by your own manipulation.
You knew it was sick. You knew it was pathetic But the loneliness that had accumulated over years of being pushed away, of being told your love was too heavy to carry, had turned into a starvation so deep you would gladly bleed for a handful of crumbs.
When you were healthy, you were the perfect distant partner. You kept your hands in your pockets. You sat two feet away. You smiled and said you were fine.
But when you were bleeding, you got to hold his hand. You got to feel his fingers in your hair. You got to be held.
The thought of going back to the vast, empty spaces between you and Megumi, the terror of initiating touch and being rejected, paralyzed you.
You decided you would rather bleed than be alone.
And tonight, it was supposed to be a long, jagged scratch across your abdomen, so you could have the chance to feel his fingertips against you.
It was a cluster of Grade 3 curses. They were weak, disorganized, and pathetic. You and Megumi were clearing them out methodically. You were taking care of the eastern wall, your cursed energy humming smoothly through your body.
The last curse was backed into a corner. It lunged forward in a desperate, telegraphed attack. Its claws were aimed directly for your torso.
Megumi was standing twenty feet away, his Divine Dog at his side. He watched you. He watched your eyes track the attack. He watched your feet stay planted. He watched you brace your core to take the impact instead of shifting your weight to evade.
The claws tore through your jacket and sliced into your abdomen. You grunted, stumbling back, and exorcised the curse with a swift strike to its head. The curse dissolved into ash.
You dropped to your knees, pressing a hand to your stomach. Blood welled up between your fingers. It wasn't deep enough to be life-threatening, but it hurt. You closed your eyes, waiting for the familiar sound of his footsteps, the rush of his presence, the protective heat of his hands.
The footsteps came, but they were slow. Heavy.
You opened your eyes. Megumi was standing over you. His face was a mask of cold fury. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. He wasn't reaching for you.
“Megumi?” you asked, your voice trembling.
“Get up,” he said. The tone was absolute ice.
A spike of pure terror shot through your chest. You scrambled to your feet, keeping your hand pressed to your bleeding stomach. “I... I’m sorry, I didn’t see it coming.”
“Do not lie to me.” His voice echoed in the empty concrete garage. He stepped closer, and you instinctively flinched back. He noticed the flinch, and a muscle in his jaw feathered, but his anger didn't waver. “I watched you. You tracked the movement. You braced for it. You let it hit you.”
“No, I—”
“Why?” he demanded, cutting you off. “What are you doing? For the last month, you’ve been taking hits like a novice. You’re letting yourself get torn apart. Why?”
You couldn't speak. Your throat tightened so severely you thought you might choke. The shame was absolute. He knew. He saw right through your pathetic and desperate wishes. You dropped your gaze to the blood on your shoes, unable to look at him.
“Answer me.”
“Let’s just go back,” you whispered, tears spilling over your lashes. “Please, Megumi. Let’s just go back.”
He stared at you. The fury in his eyes began to fracture, replaced by unsettled confusion. He saw the tears. He saw the way you were folding in on yourself, trembling violently. He didn't say another word. He turned on his heel and walked toward the exit. He didn't offer his arm. He didn't touch you.
The ride back was torturous. The silence in the back seat was suffocating. You stared out the window, pressing a wad of gauze against your stomach, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You had ruined it. You had finally pushed him away, not by being clingy, but by being insane.
When you arrived at Jujutsu High, Shoko was waiting. She took one look at the tension between you and Megumi and wisely kept her comments to herself. She healed your stomach in five minutes, leaving only smooth skin behind.
You’re good to go,” Shoko said, wiping her hands. She gave Megumi a pointed look. “I'll leave you to it.” She walked out, shutting the door behind her.
You sat on the edge of the examination bed, your feet dangling. Megumi stood by the window, staring out at the dark campus. The distance between you felt like an ocean.
“Megumi,” you started, your voice barely a rasp.
He turned around. The anger was gone, but the intensity remained. “Explain it to me. Make me understand why you are letting curses mutilate you.”
"Megumi, I just misjud-"
He stepped closer to the bed, looking down at you, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. “I’ve been watching you for months. You think I don't know the difference between a misjudgement and a choice? Are you fucking with me?”
You looked away, staring at the white blanket, your heart beginning to race with a familiar, sickening dread. He knows. He thinks you're crazy, and it's entirely your fault.
“You shifted your weight into the acid,” Megumi continued, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides. “Two weeks ago, you didn't parry that curse's blade when your guard was perfectly set. A month ago, you stepped into a collapsing wall. You’re throwing yourself into attacks.”
He leaned down, his hands slamming onto the mattress on either side of your hips, forcing you to look at him. His face was twisted in a mixture of profound anger and deep, agonizing pain.
“Why?” he demanded, his voice trembling. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? If you want to leave Jujutsu High, if you’re tired of fighting, just tell me. But don't do this. Don't make me watch you kill yourself.”
The sheer anguish in his voice broke something inside you.
“I wasn't trying to die,” you sobbed, a hot tear spilling over your cheek, cutting through the lingering numbness of the medication.
“Then why?” Megumi pleaded, his forehead dropping down to rest against the edge of your mattress, just inches from your hand. “Tell me. Please.”
"Let it go, Megumi. Please"
"No." His left hand turning into a fist, slightly trembling "I'm not it letting go. You're going to tell me what's happening. Because if you don't, I'm going to tell Gojo-sensei to pull you from active duty tomorrow."
"Don't do that!" You grabbed his wrists, your fingers digging into his skin, intending to push him away—but the feel of his solid, warm bones beneath your hands triggered that old, desperate hunger. Instead of pushing, your fingers curled tight, clinging to him like a drowning person. "Please don't do that. I just... I just wanted..."
"What?" he pressed, his eyes looking directly into yours now. "What do you want that's worth letting yourself get torn apart for?"
The shame was rising up your throat, choking you, burning your eyes. You wanted the floor to open and swallow you whole. You had been caught. The pathetic, needy, suffocating core of you was laid bare under his intense gaze.
You looked down at your hands, holding his wrists and pressing crescents onto him. A tear broke free, then another, until you openly sobbed in the infirmary.
"I just wanted you to hold me," you whispered.
Megumi went entirely still.
You couldn't stop the words once the dam cracked. The years of suppression, the locked-away fears, spilled out into the space between you.
"Before I came to here... before all of this. The people I cared about... they couldn't stand me." You kept your eyes low, unable to bear looking at him. "I always wanted to be close. I wanted to hold hands, I wanted to lean on them, I wanted to be touched. And they hated it. They told me I was suffocating. They told me I was annoying, that I was too needy. That I couldn't survive on my own."
You swallowed hard, dragging in a shaking breath. "I learned how to stop. I learned how to keep my hands to myself. But with you..." You squeezed your eyes shut. "With you, it's so hard. I want to touch you all the time. I want to hold onto your sleeve when we walk. I want to hug you when we get back from a mission. I didn’t... I didn’t mean for it to become a habit. I just...”
You gasped for air, the words tumbling over each other. “When... when the building collapsed. And you held me. You touched my hair, and you let me lean on you, and you didn't pull away. You touched me because I was injures. So I... I just wanted to feel that again. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
You sobbed into your hands, bracing for the sound of his footsteps walking out the door. You braced for the disgust.
Instead, you heard the rustle of fabric.
Suddenly, hands were on your wrists. Gentle, firm hands pulling your fingers away from your tear-soaked face. You opened your eyes. Megumi was kneeling on the floor between your legs, looking up at you.
His expression wrecked you. His eyes were wide, glassy, and filled with a sorrow so profound it stole the breath from your lungs.
“Did you...” His voice cracked. He stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Did you seriously think you had to harm yourself to be touched?”
You gave a jerky, pathetic nod, fresh tears falling down your cheeks.
Megumi let out a sound that was half-breath, half-sob. He let go of your wrists and moved his hands to your waist, gripping you tight. He pulled himself up, pressing his face into your uninjured shoulder. He wrapped his arms around your back, crushing you against his chest.
“What the fuck,” he whispered fiercely into your neck. “What the actual fuck.”
You froze, your hands hovering uselessly in the air. “Megumi—”
“Put your arms around me,” he commanded, his voice muffled by your shirt.
You hesitated for a fraction of a second, the old fears rearing their heads.
“Do it.”
You slowly lowered your arms, wrapping them around his shoulders. You buried your fingers in the dark, spiky hair at the nape of his neck. The moment your weight settled against him, Megumi pulled you even tighter, lifting you slightly off the mattress to eliminate any remaining space between your bodies.
“My boundaries do not apply to you,” Megumi said, his voice rough.
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. He brought a hand up, his thumb wiping a tear from your cheek. His touch was deliberate, grounding. “I thought you didn’t want me crowding you. You always pulled away. On the couch, in the halls. You flinched when I got too close. I thought I was making you uncomfortable.”
The realization hit you like a physical blow. The tragedy of your mutual misunderstanding was so absurd it almost made you laugh through the tears. “I pulled away because I thought I was bothering you.”
Megumi rested his forehead against yours. He let out a long, shaky exhale. “Who told you that you were suffocating?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“It matters to me,” he said quietly. “Because they broke you so badly you decided a curse tearing your stomach open was better than asking me for a hug. That stops today. Do you hear me?”
You nodded, your throat tight.
“If you want to hold my hand, take it. If you want to lean on me, lean on me. If you wake up in the middle of the night and just want to know I’m there, wake me up.” Megumi pulled back and looked at your face, his eyes searching yours for any lingering doubt. “I want you right here. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” you whispered.
He didn’t let go of you for a long time. He stayed in the infirmary, holding your hands, running his thumbs over your knuckles until your breathing evened out and the exhaustion of the adrenaline crash set in.
Adjusting to change is not instantaneous, and trauma does not vanish with a single conversation.
The instinct to suppress your affection was deeply ingrained, a reflex honed over years of rejection. But the environment had changed. Megumi actively waged war on your hesitation.
The next day, as you were walking to class, you felt the familiar urge to reach for his sleeve. You stopped yourself, your fingers curling inward. Before you could even drop your hand, Megumi reached out and took it completely, weaving his fingers through yours and pulling your palm flush against his. He didn’t say a word. He just kept walking, his grip firm and warm.
When you sat in the lounge later that week, you intentionally sat a foot away from him. Megumi looked at you, sighed, put his book down, and slid across the leather couch until his thigh was pressed against yours. He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulled you flush against his side, picked up his book, and went back to reading.
You sat rigidly for five minutes. Slowly, inch by inch, your muscles relaxed. You let your head drop onto his shoulder. You let out a quiet sigh.
Megumi shifted, pressing a soft, barely-there kiss to the top of your head before turning the page.
Weeks turned into months. The injuries stopped. Your agility in combat returned to peak performance, no longer hindered by a subconscious death wish. You fought with a clear mind, knowing that the comfort waiting for you at home was unconditional, the only condition was you coming home alive.
It was a rainy Tuesday evening in late September. The rain lashed against the windows of Megumi’s dorm room in heavy sheets. The room was dark, lit only by the warm glow of a small desk lamp.
Megumi was lying on his back on his bed, staring at his phone, scrolling through mission reports.
You walked into the room, wearing a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. You stopped at the edge of the bed. You looked at him. The urge to touch him flared in your chest. The ghost of the anxiety whispered in the back of your mind—he's busy, you're bothering him.
You took a breath. You remembered the look in his eyes in the infirmary.
You climbed onto the bed. You crawled over his legs, shifting your weight until you were straddling his hips. You lay forward, resting your chest directly against his. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms securely around his torso.
Megumi didn’t flinch. He didn’t push you off. He let out a soft huff of amusement. He locked his phone, tossed it onto the nightstand, and wrapped both of his arms around you. One hand settled flat against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. The other hand buried itself in your hair, his fingers gently massaging your scalp.
“Tired?” he murmured, his voice rumbling pleasantly in his chest.
“Yeah,” you whispered against his collarbone. “Cold.”
Megumi shifted, pulling the thick comforter up over both of you. He kissed the side of your head, settling his cheek against your hair. He held you with an effortless familiarity, a complete acceptance of your weight, your presence, and your need.
“Go to sleep, I've got you,” he said softly, his thumb tracing a slow line up your spine. “You're doing so well, I'm really proud of you, you know?”
You let out a shaky breath, burrowing your face deeper into the warm, grounding scent of him, and weakly curled your fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt in silent gratitude. He didn't press you for a response, simply continuing that soothing, rhythmic motion against your spine while his heartbeat drummed a steady lullaby beneath your cheek. Surrounded by the absolute safety of his embrace, the weight of the world finally faded into the background, pulling you gently down into a deep slumber.
[ SYNOPSIS ] — You try to be the "perfect" partner to Megumi by hiding your own needs and pain so you wouldn’t be a nuisance. This habit becomes dangerous when you get badly hurt on a mission and lie about it, leading to a tearful confrontation when he finds you bleeding in secret. w.c: 4.8k
[ PAIRING ] — megumi fushiguro x people pleaser!reader
[ TAGS ] — gn!reader, established relationship, canon compliant (?), hidden injury, blood, reassurance, hurt/comfort, use of [Name] once, megumi is a sweetheart as usual. Lmk if I missed anything!
"You wouldn't mind taking care of these mission reports for me, would you? You're a lifesaver!"
Satoru Gojo didn't even pause to wait for an answer, dropping a stack of heavily redacted, coffee-stained files onto your already cluttered desk. His iconic blindfold was pushed up, a devastatingly charming smile plastered across his face—the kind of smile that made it entirely impossible for anyone to refuse him.
Your head was pounding. A dull, rhythmic thud echoed right behind your eyes, a souvenir from a consecutive string of sleepless nights. You had your own reports to file, a history exam to help Yuji study for, and Nobara had explicitly told you to be ready in twenty minutes to carry her bags through Shibuya. Your throat tightened, the word no forming perfectly on your tongue.
It was right there. All you had to do was push it past your teeth.
"Of course, Sensei," you heard yourself say, the voice sounding entirely detached from your own body. "I'll have them on Principal Yaga's desk by three."
"Knew I could count on you!" He gave you a cheerful salute and vanished in a blur of limitless space, leaving you staring at the mountain of paperwork. You swallowed the sigh building in your chest, picked up your pen, and started writing.
This was simply how you survived. You made yourself a skeleton key, filing down your own edges, your own needs, and your own exhaustion until you perfectly fit the lock of whatever anyone else required. If you were useful, if you were accommodating, if you smoothed out the friction in the lives of the people around you, they would never look at you and decide you were too much trouble to keep around, that's how it should be, right?
But nowhere was this exhausting performance more prevalent than in your relationship with Megumi Fushiguro.
Megumi with his quiet nature, Megumi with his storm-clouded eyes, Megumi who shouldered so much— with Tsumiki's curse, with the expectations of having a powerful cursed technique, Megumi who you were so so so afraid of losing.
You still have a hard time believing you two are dating. The way it happened was so casual it almost felt unreal.
It wasn’t a grand confession, just a quiet surrender to everything that made you fall for him. The hallway was still buzzing with leftover energy from Yuji’s and Nobara’s laughter, but at your door, the silence felt heavy. Megumi lingered, hands shoved in his pockets, before his fingers grazed your wrist as you were about open the door. When he leaned in, it was with the soft gentleness of someone who had finally found a place to let his guard down. The kiss was brief, but you both knew exactly where you stood in each other's lives.
Yet, being his partner did not cure your affliction; it magnified it even further. You treated your relationship like fragile glass sculpture you had to constantly balance on your fingertips. You altered your entire existence to fit the mold of what you assumed was his ideal, low-maintenance partner.
You drank your tea unsweetened because he preferred bitter things, forcing the astringent liquid down your throat every morning while secretly craving sugar. You slept rigidly on the absolute edge of his mattress, your muscles cramping by dawn, just to ensure he had the lion’s share of the blankets. When he was exhausted from a mission, you swallowed your own awful, lingering trauma from the day, hiding your bruises beneath long sleeves and painting a bright, serene smile on your face so you wouldn’t add to his mental load.
And Megumi knew.
He was incredibly perceptive, and the forced perfection of your behavior was beginning to wear on him like coarse grit against his skin. He saw the way your hands shook when you agreed to take a double patrol shift. He noticed the barely perceptible flinch when he absentmindedly turned the television to a channel you secretly hated, only for you to vehemently agree that it was a great program to watch. It frustrated him.
Megumi loved you, he loved you so much it pained him, but he felt like he was dating a shadow, only moving when he did. And he did not know how to bring it up without fearing for what you would do.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The mission was supposed to be a standard Grade 2 curse eradication in an abandoned subway terminal. It was a joint assignment for the two of you, a rare opportunity to work together. But the intelligence from the auxiliary managers was flawed, as it so often was. The curse was a Grade 1, a massive, grotesque amalgamation of rusted metal and rotting flesh that moved with terrifying speed.
The battle was chaotic in the claustrophobic underground tunnels. Dust choked the air, illuminated only by the flickering, dying fluorescent lights overhead. Megumi had summoned Nue to provide aerial attacks, the electrical discharge illuminating the grim determination on his face. You were covering his blind spots, your own cursed energy manifesting in sharp and precise strikes.
It happened in a fraction of a second. The curse, recognizing Megumi as the greater threat, lunged toward him with a massive, scythe-like appendage. Megumi was mid-incantation, his hands clasped together, momentarily vulnerable.
Your body moved before your conscious mind could register the decision. The ingrained instinct to protect, to serve, to sacrifice, propelled you forward. You shoved Megumi hard, knocking him out of the trajectory of the blade.
The impact was deafening. The rusted metal sliced through the air and tore into your left side, ripping through your uniform and biting deep into the flesh of your waist. The agony was instantaneous, a blinding flare of white-hot pain that stole the oxygen from your lungs. You hit the concrete floor hard, the taste of copper flooding your mouth.
"Nue!" Megumi roared, his voice cracking with a rare, raw panic. The shikigami descended in a blinding flash of lightning, obliterating the curse in a concussive shockwave of cursed energy.
The dust settled, heavy and silent.
Megumi was beside you in an instant, his breathing ragged, his hands hovering over you as if afraid that touching you would shatter you completely. "Are you alright? Where did it hit you?" His eyes were wide, the usual cold indifference entirely stripped away, revealing the terrified boy underneath.
The pain in your side was excruciating, a throbbing, burning sensation that suggested the curse’s rusted blade had been laced with some kind of venomous energy. Blood was already soaking the fabric of your shirt, hot and sticky against your skin. You needed Shoko. You needed a stretcher.
But as you looked up into Megumi’s panic-stricken eyes, the old, familiar terror clawed at your throat. You caused this panic. You are making him worry. You ruined the mission. You are a burden.
The people pleaser within you seized the reins of your vocal cords.
You forced the agony down, burying it beneath a mountain of sheer, desperate willpower. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, twisting your torso to hide the worst of the bleeding from his line of sight. You plastered on a smile that felt like it might crack your face in two.
"I'm fine," you lied, your voice painfully steady. "It just grazed me. I knocked the wind out of myself when I fell."
Megumi frowned, his dark brows knitting together in suspicion. He reached out to inspect your side, but you swiftly shifted away, standing up on shaking legs. The world tilted dangerously, black spots dancing in your peripheral vision, but you dug your nails into your palms to ground yourself.
"I swear, Megumi. I'm okay. Let's just report and go home. I'm exhausted." You kept your tone light, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry I got in your way. I should have been more careful."
The apology tasted vile. You had saved his life, yet you were apologizing for being in the way.
Megumi stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. The tension radiating from him was evident, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. He knew you were hiding something. He could smell the blood. But your adamant refusal to acknowledge the danger built a wall between you that he didn't know how to breach, yet he trusted your judgment, he trusted that you would tell him if the injury was serious.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave, thick with frustration and repressed anxiety. He recalled his shikigami, the shadows swallowing Nue whole. "Let's go."
The car ride back to the college was nothing less than silent torture. You sat pressed against the passenger door, your arms wrapped tightly around your waist, secretly applying pressure to the wound that was continuously oozing blood. Every bump in the road sent a jolt of agony up your spine, but you bit the inside of your cheek until it bled rather than make a single sound. Ijichi drove in stony silence, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, every now and then apologising for the mistake in the mission logs, and then expressing his relief at your well-being.
By the time you reached the dormitories, you were running purely on adrenaline and the need to lock yourself in your bathroom before you collapsed.
"I'm going to take a shower!" you announced the moment you stepped into his room, your voice breathy and strained. You didn't wait for a response, practically fleeing into the adjoining bathroom and closing the door behind you.
The moment it was locked, the facade crumbled. Your knees gave out, and you slumped against the cold tile door, an agonizing gasp escaping your lips. You peeled off your ruined jacket and the blood-soaked shirt beneath it. The wound was horrific. An angry tear across your oblique, the edges blackened with residual cursed energy. It was deep, bleeding sluggishly but persistently.
Tears of pain and exhaustion finally spilled over your eyelashes, tracing hot paths down your dust-streaked cheeks. You had to clean it. You had to wrap it. You couldn't bother Shoko this late; she had been pulling all-nighters all week. You couldn't bother Megumi; he was already mad at you.
You dragged yourself to the sink, turning on the faucet. You grabbed a washcloth, soaked it in hot water, and pressed it against the wound.
A choked, pathetic sob tore from your throat. The pain was blinding, a sickening wave of nausea crashing over you. You squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body trembling violently as you tried to scrub away the blackened, infected tissue.
Click.
You froze. The sound of the lock turning from the outside. You had forgotten Megumi kept a spare key on the upper frame of the door for emergencies.
The door swung open, revealing Megumi standing in the threshold. He had changed out of his uniform, wearing only a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked exhausted.
But whatever exhaustion he felt vanished the instant his eyes landed on you.
He took in the scene in a fraction of a second: your pale, shivering form hunched over the sink, the blood-soaked washcloth in your trembling hand, and the gruesome, gaping wound on your side that was currently dripping crimson onto the pristine white tiles.
The air in the bathroom seemed to drop ten degrees. The shadows in the corners of the room physically writhed, reacting to the sudden, violent spike in his cursed energy.
"What," Megumi breathed, his voice barely a whisper, yet it resonated with the force of an earthquake, "is that."
Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your veins. You scrambled to cover the wound with your arm, backing away from him like a cornered animal, your eyes wide and terrified.
"It's nothing!" you stammered, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a desperate rush. "I was just cleaning it. It looks worse than it is, Megumi, I promise. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make a mess. I'll clean the floor, just—"
"Stop."
The command cracked through the air like a whip. Megumi stepped into the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind him. His face was a mask of cold fury, but his eyes—his deep, beautiful, stormy eyes—were wide with an emotion that looked terrifyingly like devastation.
He crossed the small space in two strides, grabbing your wrists. His grip was firm, inescapable, but agonizingly gentle as he pulled your hands away from your side. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as he finally got a clear look at the injury.
"You call this a graze?" he demanded, his voice shaking with a terrifying, suppressed rage. "It's entirely infected with cursed energy. You need reverse cursed technique, immediately. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say anything in the tunnel?"
Your chest heaved as you struggled to pull oxygen into your lungs. The panic was taking over, suffocating you. You were trapped. You had failed. You had made him angry. You had become the burden you fought so hard not to be.
"I—I didn't want to worry you," you choked out, fresh tears welling in your eyes. "You were already stressed about the mission being a Grade 1. I didn't want to slow us down. I'm sorry, Megumi. I'm so, so sorry. Please don't be mad. I can fix it, I'll go to Shoko right now, you don't have to deal with this—"
"Stop apologizing!" Megumi yelled.
You flinched violently, your shoulders instantly hiking up to your ears, your head bowing in an automatic posture of submission. The silence that followed his shout was deafening, broken only by your ragged, hyperventilating breaths and the steady drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the floor.
Megumi stared at your cowering form, the anger draining out of him in a rush, leaving behind a profound, hollow ache in his chest. He realized, with a horrifying clarity, that you were not flinching because of the pain of your wound. You were flinching because of him.
He dropped your wrists as if they burned him, taking a step back, his hands taking place behind his neck.
"Why do you do this?" he asked, his voice cracking, the anger replaced by a desperate, agonizing confusion. "Why do you lie to me? Why do you let yourself bleed out in a bathroom rather than ask me for help? Am I that unapproachable? Am I that terrible of a boyfriend that you think I would be annoyed by you almost dying?"
"No!" you cried, your voice breaking, the absolute terror of him thinking he was at fault tearing at your heart. "No, Megumi, you're perfect. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. It's not you, it's me. I'm just… I'm just trying to be good. I'm trying to be easy. I don't want to be difficult."
"Easy?" Megumi repeated, the word sounding foreign and ugly in his mouth. He stepped forward again, crowding you against the edge of the sink, his hands gripping the porcelain on either side of your waist, trapping you in. He didn't touch you, but his presence was demanding your full attention.
"You think I want you to be 'easy'?" he pressed, his eyes searching yours frantically, demanding an honesty you didn't know how to give. "I want you to be honest! I want you to tell me when you are hurt so I can take care of you!"
You shook your head furiously, the tears flowing freely now, hot and unrelenting. Your entire body was trembling, your heart hammering against your ribs, threatening to break. You were breaking apart, the foundation of your entire coping mechanism crumbling beneath his gaze.
"You say that now," you sobbed, the ugly, deeply buried truth finally clawing its way up your throat, bitter and raw. "You say that now, but you don't know. You already have so much on your plate, I don't want to make it worse. If I don't do it, you will hate me, I don't want you to hate me."
The confession hung in the humid air of the bathroom, heavy and devastating.
You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the blow. Waiting for the agreement. Waiting for him to step back, to look at you with cold realization, and walk out the door. You had finally revealed the ugly, pathetic core of your soul. You were a coward, terrified of abandonment, buying love with servitude.
But the silence stretched. And then, you felt it.
The gentle, hesitant brush of his knuckles against your tear-soaked cheek.
Your eyes flew open. Megumi was looking at you with an expression that shattered your heart into a million irreparable pieces. It wasn't pity. It wasn't disgust, but heartbreak. His eyes were glassy, his lips parted as he struggled to find words that could possibly combat the magnitude of your self-hatred.
Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wild, frightened animal, Megumi reached out. He didn't grab your wrists this time. He slid his arms around your waist, mindful of the gaping wound on your side, and pulled you flush against his chest.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin.
"You are so stupid," he whispered, the words muffled against your skin, devoid of any malice, dripping only with a desperate, heavy sorrow. "You are an incredible person, so beautiful, so incredible, but stupid."
You stiffened, your hands hovering uselessly in the air, terrified to touch him, terrified to ruin this moment. But Megumi just held you tighter, his strong arms wrapping around you like a shield against the very demons inside your own head.
"Listen to me," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. He pulled back just enough to force you to look him in the eye. The intensity of his gaze pinned you in place."Stop acting like your existence doesn't matter, it matters to me. You don't get to decide that you're expendable."
You let out a choked gasp, your hands finally, tentatively coming to rest against his chest, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt like your life depended on it.
"I care about you, so much," Megumi continued, his voice dropping into that serious, unwavering tone he used when making vows. "I care about protecting the people who matter to me. And you… you are at the very top of that list. If you are hurt, my world stops. If you are in pain, I am in pain. Hiding your suffering from me doesn't protect me; it destroys me."
He raised a hand, his thumb gently wiping away the steady stream of tears falling from your eyes. His touch was warm, grounding.
"You are not a burden," he said, enunciating each word with fierce, desperate clarity. "And I am begging you, please… let me take care of you. Let me be the one who carries the weight for a while. You don't have to earn your place beside me by bleeding in silence. In fact, you don't have to do anything but be here."
The dam broke.
You collapsed against him, your legs finally giving out, and he caught you effortlessly, sinking to the bathroom floor with you held securely in his arms.
You wept. You wailed. It was an ugly, guttural, heart-wrenching sound that tore from the very depths of your soul. You buried your face in his chest, clutching at him desperately, crying for the pain in your side, crying for the exhaustion in your bones, crying for the terrified little child inside you who had spent their whole life terrified of being left behind.
Megumi didn't shush you. He didn't tell you to calm down. He sat on the cold tile floor amidst the blood and the discarded bandages, holding you. He rocked you slowly, one hand gently stroking your hair, the other resting firmly against your back. He let you fall apart completely, creating a safe, impenetrable fortress within his arms where you were finally allowed to be shattered, loud, and inconvenient.
Hours seemed to pass before the sobs finally subsided into heavy, exhausted hiccups. Your throat was raw, your eyes swollen and burning. The adrenaline had completely left your system, leaving you weak and painfully aware of the throbbing agony in your side.
You shifted slightly in his lap, sniffing pathetically. Megumi immediately loosened his grip, looking down at you with a softness that made your chest ache.
"Are you done?" he asked quietly, a tiny, sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
You nodded numbly, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "I ruined your shirt," you rasped, noticing the dark stains of your tears and blood on the grey fabric.
"I don't care about the shirt," Megumi said softly. He gently shifted you off his lap, standing up and reaching down to help you to your feet. You swayed dangerously, the blood loss finally catching up to you. He caught you around the waist, easily supporting your weight.
"Come on," he murmured, his voice gentle but brook-no-argument firm. "We are going to Shoko. Right now."
The instinct to protest flared up instantly. It's 3 AM. She's sleeping. I can just bandage it tight. But as you looked up at Megumi, at the deep circles under his eyes and the lingering terror in his posture, the words died in your throat.
You swallowed hard, the word feeling foreign and incredibly heavy on your tongue.
"Okay."
Megumi let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. He didn't say anything, but the relief in his eyes was blinding. He practically carried you down the silent, moonlit hallways to the infirmary.
Shoko was awake, smoking a cigarette out the window when Megumi kicked the infirmary door open. She took one look at Megumi’s pale face and the blood soaking your side and immediately crushed the cigarette, immediately tending to you.
The process of healing was agonizing. Shoko’s reverse cursed technique was a miracle, but extracting the foreign cursed energy from the wound before healing the flesh was a torturous sensation. You lay on the sterile white cot, your teeth gritted, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead.
Through it all, Megumi sat beside the bed. He held your hand in both of his, his grip tight enough to bruise, grounding you in reality while the pain threatened to pull you under. He didn't look away, even when the wound looked its most gruesome. He stayed exactly where he promised he would be.
When it was finally over, and the flesh was knit cleanly together leaving only an angry pink scar, exhaustion hit you like a physical blow. Shoko handed you a clean t-shirt and kicked you both out, muttering something about needing sleep.
The walk back to Megumi’s dorm was slow. You leaned heavily against him, your body utterly drained. You felt hollowed out, incredibly fragile, like a glass blown too thin.
When you reached his room, he didn't turn on the overhead lights. He guided you gently to the bed, pulling back the heavy comforter. You crawled in automatically, immediately scooting to the absolute edge of the mattress, curling into a tight ball. It was muscle memory at this point.
Megumi stood at the edge of the bed, watching you in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds. He sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound. He kicked off his shoes, discarded his ruined shirt, and climbed into the bed.
But he didn't lie down on his side.
Instead, he moved to the center of the mattress. He reached out, grabbing you gently by the hips, and physically dragged you away from the edge, pulling you across the sheets until you were flush against him in the very middle of the bed.
You gasped softly in surprise, stiffening. "Megumi—"
"Stop," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your hair. He tangled his legs with yours, pinning you to him, ensuring there was no physical way for you to retreat to the cold periphery. "You are exactly where you belong. Take up the whole bed if you want. Kick me out if you want. But stop going all the way there."
You lay rigid in his arms for a long moment, your brain struggling to process the sensation of being held so securely, of being allowed to take up space without apologizing for it. The warmth of his body seeped into your cold skin. His heartbeat thudded steadily against your back, a rhythmic, grounding lullaby.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, you forced your muscles to uncoil. You let out a long, shaky breath, letting your weight sink fully into his embrace. You closed your eyes, his scent surrounding you, pulling you down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The next morning, you woke to the smell of brewing coffee and the sound of birds chirping outside the window. The sunlight streaming into the room felt unnervingly bright.
You sat up slowly, testing the newly healed skin on your side. It twinged slightly, a dull ache, but the agonizing burn was gone. You looked around the room. You were alone in the bed, the covers tangled around your waist. You were dead center in the mattress.
The door to the small kitchenette opened, and Megumi stepped in, carrying two mugs. He looked rested, his dark hair a chaotic mess, his eyes softer than you had seen them in months.
He walked over to the bed and handed you a mug.
"Morning," he mumbled quietly, sitting on the edge of the mattress near your feet.
"Morning," you replied softly, your voice still gravelly from crying the night before. You wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic mug, seeking comfort in the heat. You brought it to your lips, taking a tentative sip.
You immediately paused, your brow furrowing in confusion.
It wasn't black coffee. It wasn't the bitter, acidic brew he drank every morning. It was warm milk, steeped heavily with a sweet, floral chamomile tea, and generously laced with honey. It was incredibly sweet. It was exactly what you actually liked.
You lowered the mug, staring at the golden liquid, a sudden lump forming in your throat. You looked up at Megumi. He was watching you carefully, his dark eyes analyzing your reaction.
"You didn't make coffee," you whispered, stating the obvious.
Megumi looked down at his own mug, taking a sip of the black sludge he preferred. "I know you hate it," he said simply, not meeting your eyes. A faint, barely perceptible pink dusted the tips of his ears. "I noticed a while ago. You always grimace when you take the first sip. And you always buy that sweet stuff when we go to the convenience store, but you never drink it around me."
Your breath hitched. He had noticed. He had known, and he had been waiting for you to say something.
He reached out, his long fingers gently wrapping around your ankle over the blankets.
"I'm not asking you to change everything in one day," Megumi continued, his voice quiet, steady, and infinitely patient. "I know it's a habit. I know you're terrified. But I am asking you to try. With me. Just with me."
He paused, a tiny, teasing glint momentarily breaking through his stoic demeanor. "For example. I was thinking of making eggs for breakfast. But I know you like pancakes, even though you always say eggs are fine. So. What do you want for breakfast?"
It was a test. A small, seemingly insignificant question, but between the two of you, it carried the weight of the world.
The instinct rose up instantly. Eggs are easier for him to make. He likes eggs. Tell him eggs. The familiar panic fluttered in your chest, the fear of demanding too much, of being an inconvenience.
You opened your mouth, the word 'eggs' forming on your lips.
But you stopped. You looked down at the sweet, warm tea in your hands, the tea he had made specifically for you, acknowledging your preferences, honoring your comfort. You looked at the hand resting gently on your ankle, grounding you, keeping you safe. You remembered the desperate way he had held you on the bloody bathroom floor, demanding that you exist loudly.
You closed your mouth. You took a deep breath, fighting the tremor in your voice. You forced yourself to meet his gaze directly.
"I…" you started, your voice barely above a whisper. You cleared your throat, trying again. "I would really like pancakes, Megumi. If that's okay?"
The silence in the room stretched for a single, terrifying second. You braced yourself for a sigh, a roll of the eyes, a sign of annoyance that you had requested the more difficult option.
Instead, Megumi’s face broke into a smile. It wasn't his usual smirk, or a polite curve of the lips. It was a genuine, breathtakingly soft smile that reached his eyes, illuminating his features and making your heart stutter in your chest.
He stood up, taking his mug of bitter coffee with him.
"Pancakes it is," he said softly, turning back toward the kitchen. He paused at the door, looking over his shoulder at you, his eyes filled with a certain amount of serenity that was so rare for megumi.
"And [Name]?"
You looked up, your hands gripping the mug tightly. "Yeah?"
⤷ Megumi Fushiguro was never that good with words, especially when it came to his only weakness. You.
𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒/𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒:
📁 IS THIS ABOUT THAT [H/C] GIRL WHOSE PICTURE YOU KEEP IN YOUR WALLET?
⤷ fushiguro may or may not be whipped for one of his dear best friends. he shouldn’t have expected it to be a secret thing, cause Nobara and Yuji find out everything
📁 BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSIDE!
⤷ megumi fushiguro HATES the cold. too bad he has a soft spot for girlfriend, so he ends up being forced out into the snow a blizzard anyways
📁 DO YOU SWEAR YOU’LL STAY FOREVER, EVEN IF HER FACE DON’T STAY TOGETHER?
⤷ (tw: bulimic!reader, eating disorder) you think nobody sees you, nobody ever has. maybe, with the sole exception of megumi fushiguro
📁 ACADEMIC RIVAL!MEGUMI GETTING JEALOUS WHEN PEOPLE PLAN TO HIT ON YOU
⤷ he hated you, and you hated him, right? so why was he getting all worked up when his friends were simply messing with him?
📁 ACADEMIC RIVAL!MEGUMI COMFORTING YOU
⤷ he’ll mess with you in public, but in private, it’s actually quite the opposite. maybe his brains ARE useful…
📁 MAYBE WE’LL GET MARRIED ONE DAY, BUT WHO KNOWS?
⤷ (my apology for angst) megumi hated every single person that roamed the earth. fuck you, cause you were the only one who he tolerated
📁 I ALWAYS KINDA KNEW YOU’D BE THE DEATH OF ME
⤷ your love for him would end up killing you, cause you would do anything for him. and when you say everything, you meant… everything
📁 I KNEW YOU IN ANOTHER LIFE, YOU HAD THAT SAME LOOK IN YOUR EYES
⤷ the red string theory. the core belief is that the string never breaks, meaning that even if people are separated or take different paths, they are meant to cross paths eventually, even across different lifetimes.
📁 I WILL DIE YOUR DAUGHTER
⤷ your cursed spirit was the only thing you had left of your parental figure, of course it’s gonna hurt when someone asks about it. good thing you have your crush best friend to comfort you. he’s the one who’s been there for all of it after all.
📁 I’M NOT THE ONE YOU WANT BABE, I’M NOT THE ONE YOU NEED - wip..
⤷ you were the literal definition of people pleaser. you couldn’t even argue back when you were in the right. you couldn’t even change that fact against your own boyfriend…
📁 THE WINNER TAKES IT ALL - wip..
⤷ when the only one who comforted you when you were off the podium, was the one you should’ve hated since childhood. unfortunately for you, you were the one who stuck by his side when he needed it the most.
𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐔:
📁 MEGUMI X IMPLIED SPECIAL GRADE!READER
⤷ megumi pretends and fails to be nonchalant around his one and only girlfriend.
📁 그제서야 보이는 나의 영원
⤷ random bf!megumi tweets.. ft. jjk friend grp..
📁 MY BAD, I GUESS
⤷ you mistake Megumi to be Yuji’s boyfriend
📁 LIKE FATHER, LIKE DAUGHTER
⤷ you may or may not be Gojo’s favourite..
📁 GET OFF YOUR DAMN PHONE!
⤷ text between the first years and unhinged reader
📁 I WANNA BE YOUR BUBBLEGUM BITCH!
⤷ can you count you and Megumi’s relationship as a situationship?
𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒:
📁 WHIPPED BEST FRIEND!MEGUMI HEADCANONS - pt.2
⤷ Megumi slowly realizing he has a crush on you
𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒:
📁 (1K FOLLOWERS SPECIAL) THE WINTER OF YOUR VOICE - good ending | bad ending
⤷ you had always been “the prodigy” and “the good one”, what was left for him? but all and all, you were still his one and only best friend, you would go through everything together, that’s what you promised, right? you’d be together forever — in childhood, and in death.
𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:
📁 VIDEO GAME LOVER!! pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.3 - pt.4 - pt.5
⤷ streamer!yuji tries (and succeeds) to force his best friend, streamer!megumi, to reveal who his girlfriend is. Too bad he isn’t too happy with the outcome..
📁 LOSING STREAK
⤷ getting through high school (or life in general) was one thing, but saving you from yourself would always be more important to MEGUMI FUSHIGURO
⤷ best friend!megumi always thought you were annoying, in the entertaining way of course. he thought you’d always be there every time he called, and you promised you would be, but your mental instability might just stop you..
📁 YOUNG LOVIN’
⤷ your twin brother’s best friend seems to have a teensy weensy tiny miniature crush on you…
📁 PRIMADONNA GIRL!! pt.1 - pt.2
⤷ Megumi Fushiguro had been your co-star in endless projects, the first one being when you were seven. guess feelings really do develop over time..
📁 FRANCIS FOREVER !! pt.1 - pt.2
⤷ yuji never dealt with nightmares well. good thing he had an older sister to comfort him. oh, and also keep him entertained with questions abt her relationship.
📁 HATE ME, HATE ME !! pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4
⤷ if you could use one word to describe Megumi, it’d be cute. Haha, no- just playing with you. You most definitely would’ve said adorable six months ago, but no, he was more of ‘a super fucking annoying bitch’ to you now ([name]’s words, not mine)
Want to write a Zuko x reader fic but have no idea what to write? Heres ideas:
Proposing them because I can't write. Pls tag me to zuko fics whatever it may be
(some may be OOC, and i apologize in advance.)
Short fluff:
• Reader glazes the shit out of Zuko, like, "wow, youre so handsome im so lucky to have you. How did I even bag you?" -> and it can be vice versa too.
• Accidentally being too lovey dovey in public,
-> Accidentally got caught, too embarrased
-> They can't do anything cause it's Firelord Zuko
• Sharing a bed (pre relationship)
• Gaang sets you up for Zuko (or vice versa)
Hurt/Comfort:
• Zuko almost dies in one of his missions
• Zuko DIDN'T tell reader he was going to missions which got reader worried
• Arranged Marriage, where reader loves Zuko, but wonders if Zuko even loves them. — Zuko could be talking to another woman which will get reader worried and jealous
• Reader is the wife of Zuko, but a lot doesn't approve of it, and Zuko tries to lift up your feelings.
• An Arguement
Angst
•Literally, one of them dies.
• Divorce/Breakup
these are so basic, ik, i just don't like angst
Smut (18+):
• Baby fever
• Zuko got jealous of reader talking to another man
• Reader just looks so edible
• A demand for an heir??
• Truth or Dare (better if both likes each other but doesn't know)
note: It's currently 3AM, so my ideas are really dumb, corny, and just for fun. They're also pretty basic in my opinion... But I really want someone to do a detailed fic about the hurt/comfort.
Reader in this post was implied as a woman, but feel free to make it gender neutral or mlm.
I plan on adding more once I go to sleep and dream about plots. Yes. Most of the ideas I got are from my dream.
These may also sound familiar to fics that already exist, so just credit to them!! (idk how this works, mb)
honestly, most of these can be implied to other characters too! feel free to use, and feel free to credit (i really dont mind if you credit me or not, i would be happy if you do though)
APPARENTLY he loses fabric as the movie progresses, like at the first half he'll be fully clothed with traditional wear as firelord, and then like, you'll see him shirtless. LITERALLY.
dailybridgerton
titsay
annaxmalina
kaledo-art
stormborns
izzy806
ellievsbear
