cheek kisses . toji x f!reader : toji never gives you kisses on your cheeks
"why do you always kiss my lips?" you asked toji softly. you were fixing your hair when he came in and stole a kiss from your lips.
"hm?" he hummed.
"why do you always kiss my lips?" you asked again, turning to face him.
toji blinked. he was confused. you never brought up any complaints before. did you not like his kisses?
"do you not like when i kiss your lips?" he asked hesitantly. his hands found your hands and he pulled you closer. "i can stop if you don't."
you shook your head. "its not that. its just i kind of want you to kiss my cheek sometimes or my forehead. you always just dive right for my lips."
toji sighed. "are you complaining?" his grip on your waist tightened slightly.
you shook your head quickly. you pulled him closer and looked at him with panic. "no! im not. i love your kisses, dont ever stop, please. forget i said anything."
toji laughed at your panicked state. he brought his hands to your cheeks and squished them together till your lips formed a pout.
he pressed his lips to your pout and then let go of your cheeks.
"and what do i get if i start kissing your cheeks?" he asked with a smirk on his lips.
you glared at him and punched his chest. "why do you always need something in return? can't a girl just want her boyfriend to kiss her cheek?"
toji smiled. "nope. i'll always kiss your lips. cheek kisses are for teenage boys. im a man, doll."
you rolled your eyes and pushed him away. if he wanted to play like that then you would too.
"fine, i'll just ask gojo-"
lips landed on your cheek instantly. toji's arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him. he pressed kiss after kiss on your cheek before moving to the other one and doing the same thing.
a laugh escaped your lips and you pulled away from him.
"i thought cheek kisses were for teenage boys."
toji looked at you with feigned confusion. "who said that?"
How to apologise to your wife in 3 easy steps, a guide by Toji Fushiguro!
Is your wife upset with you? Is she giving you the old silent treatment and making you sleep on the couch? Well, you're in luck! Toji Fushiguro is here to help you fellas out with his easy three-step guide on how to apologise to your wife.
Step 1 — Poke and prod until you find the reason. (May backfire)
You had been giving Toji the cold shoulder since last night and frankly, he was getting tired of it. You turned away every time he came within two feet of you and pushed him away when he tried to trap you in a bear hug. Toji had had enough.
He decided to make his move when you least expected it, creeping up on you as you scrolled on your phone in the living room. “Come on, doll, haven't you had enough of sleeping alone? Don't you miss a pair of big, strong arms holding you close?” His scar stretched across his mouth as he grinned, plopping himself down beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder before you could wiggle away.
You scoffed, eyes never leaving your phone, “No actually, it's nice when im not being squished between your man boobs.” Toji’s face contorted into one of utter betrayal, “I thought you liked them…”
Silence engulfed the room as you continued to scroll on your phone while Toji fumbled for what to say next. He wracked his brain for what to say to get you to admit why you were upset with him.
Was he snoring too loudly? Did he spend too much on lottery tickets again? Maybe he stayed out too late with Shiu again?
“What's going on with you, huh? What did I do wrong this time?” He squeezed your shoulder, eyes fixated on yours which still refused to meet his, “You know what you did, Toji. Don't play dumb with me,” You turned to face him, a pout evident on your lips.
Toji’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, what on earth did he do this time?
“Just tell me so we can get this over with,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “No Toji! Figure it out yourself you bum. Do I have to spell everything out for you?”
Step 2 — Spend your last ¥1,100 on a somewhat nice bouquet of flowers.
Toji sighed to himself as he dug through his beat-up wallet, the piece of crap might as well have moths flying out every time he opened it.
His eyes scanned the numerous floral arrangements, each a combination of different colours, some pale and some so vibrant they hurt his eyes. The shop smelled sickeningly like pollen, his nose tickled with every inhale. “Ah shit — why is it all so expensive? Who’s buying roses for ¥5,000?” He kissed his teeth, searching for an affordable bouquet to bring home to you.
Finally, his eyes landed on a small bouquet, two tulips of your favourite colour surrounded by baby's breath. “Hmph, just in my budget.”
The door slammed shut with a bang! Toji’s booming voice followed, “I have a surprise for you, doll.”
He appeared in the doorway of the living room, flowers in hand — granted they were slightly beaten up by the wind on the walk home and from how hard he was gripping them. Your eyes stayed glued to the TV, face remaining unbothered. “Oh come on, just look at what I bought for you.”
He strode over, shoving the bouquet into your face and blocking your view of the TV screen. “Toji! Go away you oaf,” you shoved at his chest with your foot, turning away from him with a pout, but he didn't miss the way your frown faltered as you eyed the flowers. “I got them for you, don't you want to see them?”
You huffed, snatching the flowers from him and examining them. Toji wore a proud smirk, finally thinking he had won back your affection. “¥1,100? Seriously? Am I not worth more than pocket change?”
Ah shit, he forgot to remove the price tag.
Step 3 — If all else fails, admit defeat.
Toji Fushiguro was a man of many talents, however, apologising was not one of them. But desperate times call for desperate measures.
All other attempts at gaining forgiveness without actually apologising for something he didn't even remember led to dead ends, so now Toji’s only option was to verbally apologise. Now if this isn't your strong suit — similar to Toji — you may want to prepare and practice beforehand.
Something that Toji did not do.
“Look, I don't know what's gotten into you or er — what I could've possibly done but can you just please forgive me already?” You sat on the other end of the kitchen table, stone-faced as ever. “You can't apologise for something you don't know about, it's not an apology.” Toji groaned, calloused fingers coming to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Just tell me what I did, dammit!”
You scowled at him in return, slamming your hands on the table, “You ate the last mochi! That's what. I was saving those, Fushiguro! We both know it!” As if a lightbulb suddenly went off in his head Toji’s expression morphed into a softer one, “Ah — I did, didn't I?”
You got up from the table but Toji grabbed your wrist, “Look, I’m sorry, I didn't know it was a big deal. I shouldn't have eaten your food without asking.” you looked him in the eye for what felt like the first time in weeks — although it had really only been one day — and for once your husband seemed to be showing genuine remorse.
Your scowl faltered, lips twitching up into a smile, “Now I feel bad for making a big deal, you've got those cute puppy dog eyes.” He chuckled, standing up to pull you into a hug, “What can I say? It's my speciality.”
You rolled your eyes, melting into his embrace.
He knew you were never really mad at him, he noticed how the flowers had been put into your favourite vase.
Maybe he'll buy you more mochi just to eat it and watch you pout again.
syp: you're scared of megumi's demon dogs, they adore you
“megumi, i swear to god—” you cut yourself off with a small shriek as shiro curiously padded closer to you two. currently, you were frozen in place behind megumi, fingers curled into his sleeve as you shot a deadly glare into the back of his skull. he stood unshaken, simply trying to ward the large wolf breed back into some far corner of his dorm so you wouldn't lose your shit.
originally, you avoided megumi's dorm like the plague, knowing of the two hounds he kept. you never had a good relationship with dogs, especially big ones that could bite a chunk out of you for sunday brunch. therefore, you kept your distance. any lazy hangouts were kept in your own dorm and you seldom visited megumi's unless the circumstances were pressing. unfortunately, that restraint crumbled when megumi told you he needed some help returning a couple cursed tools to gojo after a training attempt to broaden his horizon in weaponry. you asked if there was no one else that could help him, and the answer was no: yuuji was training with nanami, nobara was doing ‘girl stuff’ with maki, and inumaki and panda were idiots (his words, not yours)— making you the only viable option. now, you were barely two meters past the doorway and quivering in fear as shiro and kuro swarmed megumi's legs upon his arrival. “it's fine, they always do this when i get home.” he remarked nonchalantly, as if that helped.
kuro was the one that sought interest in you first, moving to sniff at your ankle. instinctively, you stepped back, letting go of megumi's sleeve. kuro stepped closer. megumi noticed the sheer look of distress on your face and called for kuro, but the large pup was way more interested in you and shiro soon began following in his brother's footsteps. megumi reached out, pulling at shiro's collar to prevent him from getting any closer to you while simultaneously reaching for kuro's collar, dragging the hound away from you just enough for you to free yourself from the wall you backed into.
“they don't bite until they're commanded to, you're good,” megumi insisted despite the pups now straining against the hold he had on them. megumi grumbled something under his breath before yanking them back with a sharp huff.
“then why are they.. doing that?” you pressed, practically halfway out the door by now as megumi rallied the dogs into submission. you knew (prayed) that he wouldn't let anything happen to you. “they don't know you, they're trying to get your scent.” megumi explained as he secured the nearest leash onto shiro and kuro. “look,”
megumi said as he stepped closer to you, just enough for the demon dogs to get close enough to get another whiff of your shoe, then your sock. cold noses pressed against your calf and even though your face contorted, your body was frozen still by fear, arms pinned to your sides. kuro's tail wagged wildly while shiro seemed more relaxed, tail flicking once or twice before trotting back over to megumi's side. kuro, seemingly having other plans, leapt up, paws clawing at your uniform as his tongue lolled out of his mouth. you let out yet another shriek, stumbling back, practically squirming away from the fur baby. it was a wonder you were still standing. megumi let out a small snort, tugging at kuro's leash for him to return to his side. “sorry, he's really friendly. he always does that..”
“shut up, just bring those stupid cursed tools outside yourself. i'll help you lug them back to gojo.” you bit out, definitely a little more snappy than usual due to the adrenaline coursing through your veins (because apparently a wolfdog licking your shin was the same as running four miles) as you dusted off your uniform frantically with a scowl. when you looked up, you realised megumi was sporting an unfamiliar shit-eating grin that seemed more like it belonged on gojo's face than his own. maybe gojo's soul heard the chaos ensuing and possessed megumi's body to see for itself, you wouldn't doubt the guy. “you think this is fucking funny?—”
before you could curse out his entire bloodline, megumi was ushering his dogs back inside with raised brows. “geez, geez my bad. i'll be out soon.”
an: im lowk sick of seeing fics where reader loves megumi's demon dogs i would be shaking in my boots
toji is a man of few affections. he's not the bouquet at the drop of a hat type, or the fancy restaurant every weekend type. he loves you more than you could ever imagine, there are just very few ways he lets himself show it in his day-to-day.
but when the sun goes down and the bedroom door shuts, and you feel his massive frame settle behind you on the bed, you swear you're the most loved you've ever been.
"my pretty girl."
the way he whispers those three words to you are awe inspired. light and airy like a child witnessing fireworks for the first time. he speaks to you with nothing but quiet adoration. you can just barely make out the shape of his eyes in the darkness. flashes of green take in every inch of your face like he's trying to burn your features into memory. like he can't even fathom that you're his, cradling your cheeks in both palms with enough tenderness to bring tears to your eyes.
"how'd I get you, hm?" he asks in that soft tone reserved only for nights like these. when the room is so dark you can barely tell where your body ends and his begins, the plush embrace of your shared comforter draped up to your necks. it's silly really, how the intimacy of it all tints your cheeks pink. how the man in front of you now is that much different from the stoic version of himself the world knows.
toji grows quiet after a while, heartbeat steadying to a dull thrum as sleep threatens to overtake him. he fights the dreariness despite your protests, thumb running over the jut of your hip in little circles.
"sleep, toji." you tell him gently, shifting to tuck yourself closer to his impossibly warm chest. you hadn't realized how tired you were until now, eyes growing heavier by the second.
you hear him grumble something, nearly missing it with how quiet he's grown.
"I love you so much, pretty girl." he tells you, pulling you tighter to him before drifting off for the night.
Toji hates coming home late. He can't stand seeing his two children already in bed, asleep. Not to mention those colleagues who brag about their children's small achievements.
Toji hates the thought of not being there for his son's first day of primary school or when his daughter decides to take her first steps.
He comes home and, no matter how tiring the day has been, he is never too exhausted to give his five-year-old son a piggyback ride or his eight-month-old daughter a tour of their little apartment in his arms while they are chased by Megumi.
He is never too tired to give you some affectionate attention, a quick kiss on the lips or on the temple.
Toji feels lucky and, above all, loved: every time he sees you or your children. Every time one of them calls him “Daddy!” enthusiastically or sulks because you scolded them.
The little girl crawls towards her father, who is sitting on the floor busy putting the pieces of a car together. Next to him, sitting intently, is Megumi, who lets out a whinge when he sees his little sister coming closer. “Dad, she'll break everything!” he complains to his father, who quickly puts his leg between his daughter and the toy parts.
Her little hands rest on his knee, covered by his trousers, and in a moment she clenches the fabric in her fists and stands up, or at least tries, as if she wants to remove that obstacle.
“me!” she manages to say with one hand open and extended towards the two males, but receives only a stern ‘no’ from her brother.
The little girl sits down and tries to crawl under her father's leg, seeing the space that has been created, but Toji is quick and lowers it, preventing her from reaching the almost finished toy.
Her big green eyes fill with tears, her lower lip pouts, and soon crying can be heard in the Fushiguro living room.
Toji sighs softly and finishes the toy car, giving it to Megumi, who thanks him and immediately runs away, afraid that his sister might take it.
“Come here.” Toji says softly as his large hands go under her arms and he picks her up; the little girl instinctively moves closer to him, her chubby cheek pressed against his chest, sobs continuing to escape and crocodile tears continuing to fall.
Toji runs his hand through her black hair, the braids made hours ago now almost undone and the hair clips barely holding her unruly fringe in place.
“Next time I'll be on your side, okay?” he whispers, smiling, aware that the little girl is not yet able to fully grasp his words.
“Stop moving!” You say sternly, squinting as you lean in to your boyfriend’s face. “And stop looking so miserable, Megs, try looking like you want to be here.”
You’re sat cross-legged, across from each other on the comfy sheets of your dorm bed. The pillows sink into the duvet like they’re melting, the plushness of your blankets enveloping Megumi’s feet as he shuffles around aimlessly.
“I don’t.” He deadpans, warily eyeing up the silvery metallic of the eyelash curler in your palm. “This is-“ he sighs, “-so stupid.”
“It’s not!” You huff, pressing a hand down onto his shoulder to keep him in place. The shirt creases under your grip as the curler squeaks in your other set of fingers. “You just have such pretty eyelashes- I mean seriously, some girls would kill for a set like yours.”
You'd really noticed how gorgeous his eyelashes were a few days ago, when you'd been watching something stupid on his laptop late at night. Curled up besides him, the half-light illuminated his face- and the long, dark lashes spanning his waterline. You'd almost gasped- they were perfect.
Megumi stares at you as you brush a few dark strands of hair away from his eyes. “Right. And what does that do?”
“It curls them- like, upwards. You’ll look nice, I promise.”
Megumi looks from the eyelash curler balanced in your hand to your face, and his heart betrays him. He knows you’re only joking, but you look so genuinely sad it makes him give in, cursing himself internally for being so utterly swayed to your every whim.
“…okay.”
You grin happily, and it makes his lips twitch into a small smile. “Yay! Okay, just- just sit there…” you trail off, brows furrowing a little in concentration as you near his right eye.
The curler clips around his already long eyelashes, the metal pushing the little lines of black up and up until they’re perfectly aligned. Megumi’s eyes water, unused to the sensation, but he pushes through it for your silly enjoyment.
“Why-“ you say quietly, hand still brushing his hair back, “-are you looking at me like that.”
His face scrunches instinctually as you withdraw the curler, eyes glimmering not with water but with something oddly soft that makes your stomach flutter. “Like what?”
You stare at him, just a little flustered as you raise the curler to his left eye. “…nothing.”
When it’s done, you finally sit back to admire your handiwork, and almost gasp. “They’re perfect!” You squeal jealously, “I can’t believe this. They’re better than mine.”
Two identically curved lines of eyelashes border your boyfriend’s eyes, flicking poised and dark, positioned like they’re used to the shaping. He looks pretty; a slight dusting of rosiness across his usually pale face, released hair falling across his forehead.
A hand reaches out to cup your cheek, thumbing just underneath your eye. The romance of it all almost throws you off balance, blinking owlishly at him as he brushes hair from your face.
“I think yours are very pretty, too.” He mutters. It’s awkward, but for Megumi it’s true- he does think your eyelashes are nice, he likes the way they flutter when you curl up next to him and the way they cast tiny shadows on your face. Megumi notices more and more little things like that about your face the longer you date, he realises; picking up on the tilt of your lips when you're trying not to laugh and the way your nose scrunches sometimes when you're concentrating.
“I’m wearing mascara, Megs.” You say, leaning into his gentle touch. “Yours are just naturally nice.”
He shrugs, face warming. “I don’t care. They- you- look nice without it, too.”
You blink. “Well, in that case… can I?” Your hand is already reaching towards your vanity, fingers curling around a patterned tube.
𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ after years of being best friends, you and megumi finally stop dancing around your feelings and share your first kiss on a quiet autumn evening.
✿ ◞◟) fushiguro megumi 𝓍 gn!reader
𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 fluff, childhood best friends to lovers, megumi is just a cute little guy, mutual pining, first kiss, yearning (?), soft domestic intimacy, multiple little kisses, hand holding.
the late afternoon light was doing that thing again — spilling through the gaps in the trees like honey, turning the familiar path home into something almost dreamlike.
you and megumi had walked this route a thousand times, and maybe more. since you were both small enough that your school bags looked comically oversized on your backs, since you’d learned to ride bikes on this very stretch of sidewalk, since you’d scraped your knees and he’d silently handed you a bandage from his pocket without being asked.
today wasn’t any different.
the two of you were still in your school uniforms, megumi’s tie loosened just a little because he always tugged at it after the final bell, and your shoes were scuffed from kicking at loose gravel on the way. the air smelled like fallen leaves and someone’s distant laundry, that particular softness of a friday evening when there was nowhere urgent to be.
megumi walked beside you the way he always did; close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed with every other step, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his soft gaze fixed somewhere ahead but not really looking at anything in particular. you’d learned to read megumi’s silences years ago, and this silence was the comfortable kind, the kind that meant megumi was just existing next to you without needing to fill the space with unnecessary words.
“you’re doing that thing again,” you said, bumping your elbow against his arm.
megumi glanced over, one dark eyebrow lifting just slightly.
“what thing?”
“that thing where you pretend you’re not hungry but you’ve been staring at the convenience store for the last two blocks.”
the corner of his mouth twitched. he looked away, but you caught the faint color that crept up the side of his neck.
“i wasn’t staring.”
“oh, you were. your 'i want a melon pan' esface is very distinctive, gumi.”
megumi didn’t deny it.
instead, he stopped walking, and you stopped too because that was just how it worked between you — you moved together like you’d been choreographed, even when there was no music. megumi turned toward you, and the late sun caught the side of his pretty face, lighting up the sharp line of his jaw and the softness of his mouth. megumi was completely looking at you now and there was something about the way he did that —like you were the only thing in his line of sight that actually mattered.
“maybe i was looking at the convenience store,” megumi admitted, his voice low and a little rougher than usual, the way it got when he was tired or comfortable or both. “but not because i’m hungry.”
you waited, but megumi didn’t elaborate, he just kept looking at you, and the silence stretched out, not awkward but heavy in a way that made your stomach do something strange; like a slow flip, like your insides were remembering something your brain hadn’t caught up to yet.
“then why?” you asked, softer than you meant to.
megumi shrugged, one shoulder lifting and falling.
“you like the strawberry milk from there. the brand with the cow on the carton.”
oh.
that was it. that was the whole thing.
megumi hadn’t been thinking about himself at all. he’d been thinking about you, about the way you always grabbed that particular strawberry milk when you were both too lazy to go straight home, about the fact that you hadn’t had one in a while because your last few walks had been rushed.
your chest ached. not in a bad way, in the way that happened when you remembered, suddenly and completely, that this boy had known you longer than anyone else in the world and still, somehow, paid attention to the smallest things.
“megumi,” you said, and your voice came out a little weird, a little cracked.
he noticed, of course he noticed, megumi’s eyebrows drew together, just barely, the way they did when he was trying to figure out if something was wrong.
“what?”
you shook your head, smiling before you could stop yourself.
“nothing. come on, let’s go get milk.”
megumi nodded, and you started walking again, but something had shifted; the air felt different now, or maybe it was just you, hyperaware of every single inch of space between your bodies, of the way megumi’s arm swung a little closer to yours than before. you could feel the warmth radiating off him even through your jacket sleeves.
the convenience store was small and brightly lit, the kind of place that always smelled like coffee and fried chicken and cheap air freshener. megumi went straight to the cooler and pulled out two little cartons of strawberry milk — one for you, one for himself, even though he didn’t really like sweet things.
he just liked drinking the same thing as you, you’d noticed. it was one of his quiet habits.
you paid while megumi stood by the door, and when you walked out together, the sun had dipped lower, painting everything in shades of orange and pink.
you didn’t head straight home. instead, without a word, you both turned toward the small park a few blocks away — the one with the wooden bench under the big gingko tree, the one you’d claimed as yours years ago when you were both too young to really understand what that meant.
the bench was empty.
it always was at this hour, right before families showed up for the evening. you sat down, close but not pressed together, and cracked open your milk. the first sip was cold and sweet, and you let out a small satisfied hum without thinking.
beside you, megumi smiled. it was barely anything; just a softening around his eyes, a slight upward tilt of his lips, but you caught it anyway.
“you’re staring now,” he said, not looking at you, his eyes fixed on the carton in his hands.
“so what if i am?”
megumi didn’t answer. his ears were pink, you could see it in the fading light, the way the color spread from the tips to the edges of his cheekbones. it made you want to reach out and touch, just to feel if his skin was as warm as it looked.
you didn’t, but you wanted to.
the silence settled between you again, but it wasn’t the same as before. it was charged, like the moment right before a storm breaks, when the air gets heavy and everything goes still. you could hear the distant sound of traffic, a dog barking somewhere, the rustle of leaves above you, and your own heartbeat, maybe. it was hard to tell.
megumi set his carton down on the bench beside his thigh. he was sitting sideways now, turned toward you, one arm draped over the back of the bench behind your shoulders.
you turned to face him too, pulling one leg up onto the bench so you were closely angled toward him completely, really close, close enough that you could see the tiny scar on his chin from when he’d fallen off the monkey bars in third grade, close enough to count his eyelashes if you wanted to.
megumi’s eyes dropped to your mouth.
it was so quick you almost missed it, a flicker of movement, but you didn’t miss it. you saw the way his gaze lingered, just for a second, before snapping back up to meet yours, and then he looked away entirely, staring at the gingko tree like it had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world.
your heart was pounding; you could feel it in your throat, in your temples, in the tips of your fingers.
you’d been here before. not physically, not this exact bench at this exact moment, but here — on the edge of something, with megumi’s attention sharp and heavy on you, with the question hanging in the air between you like a held breath. you’d danced around it for years, probably. the almost-kisses that turned into forehead bumps because you both got way too nervous. the moments where your faces drifted close and then one of you would laugh, or sneeze, or suddenly remember a thing you had to do.
you’d never pushed, neither of you, because it had always been enough, just being next to each other, just knowing; you’d grown up together, grown into each other, and the idea of changing that — of crossing some invisible line — had always felt too big to approach.
but you were eighteen now, and you were tired of almost.
“megumi,” you said softly.
he didn’t look at you; megumi’s jaw was tight, the muscle jumping once.
“hey.” you softly reached out and touched megumi’s wrist, the one resting on the bench. megumi’s skin was warm, his pulse beating fast against your fingertips (faster than you’d expected). “look at me.”
he did, reluctantly. his eyes were dark in the evening light, serious and a little scared, and it was such a raw expression on his usually composed face that your breath caught.
“you were staring at my mouth,” you said, not accusing, just stating. “earlier.”
megumi didn’t deny it, he never lied to you.
“yeah.”
“why?”
megumi’s throat moved as he swallowed, and his fingers twitched under your hand, and then, very carefully, he turned his wrist over so his palm was facing up; an invitation. you took it, lacing your fingers through his, and his hand closed around yours like it belonged there.
“you know why,” he said, and his voice was barely above a whisper, rough at the edges.
you did know, but you wanted to hear him say it, or maybe you just wanted to be sure, wanted to hear the words out loud so you could stop second-guessing every single signal you’d been reading for the past year.
“tell me anyway.”
he was quiet for a long moment. the light was fading fast now, the sky deepening to a bruised purple, and the first stars were starting to poke through. his thumb moved across the back of your hand, back and forth, a nervous rhythm.
“i’ve wanted to kiss you for a really long time,” megumi finally said, and the words came out steady even though his hand was shaking slightly in yours. “like, a stupidly long time. maybe since we were fourteen and you fell asleep on my shoulder during that fireworks festival.”
your heart stopped, or maybe it just tripped over itself. fourteen was four years ago; four years of wanting, of almosts, of him sitting beside you with his heart pounding just as hard as yours and saying nothing.
“why didn’t you?” you asked, and your voice came out small, the way it did when you were feeling too many things at once.
he exhaled, a short breath that was almost a laugh.
“because it mattered. you mattered. i didn’t want to mess it up by doing it wrong, or too soon, or—” megumi cut himself off, looking down at your joined hands. “i don’t know. i thought maybe the right moment would just happen. and then it kept not happening, and i kept getting in my own head about it.”
you squeezed his hand. “and now?”
megumi looked up at you, and there was something different in his expression now; something softer and more certain. the fear was still there, but it was buried under something warmer, something that looked a lot like hope.
“now i’m tired of waiting,” he said. “if you are.”
the world went very quiet; the dog stopped barking, the traffic faded. there was only him, only the warmth of his palm against yours, only the way he was looking at you like you were the answer to a question he’d been asking himself for years.
“okay,” you whispered.
his eyes widened a fraction. “okay?”
“okay. yeah. i’m tired of waiting too.”
for a second, neither of you moved. it was like the whole universe was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next. and then megumi’s free hand came up, slow and deliberate, and his fingers brushed against your cheek.
his touch was so light it was barely there, just a whisper of contact, but it sent a shiver down your spine.
megumi was watching your face intently, searching for any sign of hesitation, and when he found none, he let his palm rest against your jaw. his hands were warm; they were always warm, you’d known that for years, but this was different; this was his hand on your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone, his breath fanning across your lips because he was leaning in, so slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.
you didn’t pull away.
you leaned in too, just a little, just enough to close the gap. your eyes were still open, and so were his, and it was almost funny — the two of you staring at each other from inches away, both of you too nervous to blink.
“can i—” he started, and then stopped, his voice catching.
“yes,” you said, before he could even finish. “yes, megumi.”
his smile was tiny and crooked and so, so soft.
and then his eyes finally fluttered shut, and yours did too, and the space between you disappeared.
megumi’s lips were warm, too.
that was the very first thing you registered — the warmth, the gentle pressure, the way he was so careful it almost hurt. he wasn’t rushing, he wasn’t pressing hard or trying to make it anything other than what it was; a first kiss, awkward and sweet and perfect in all its imperfection. megumi’s lips were slightly chapped, and you could taste the faint sweetness of strawberry milk, and his nose bumped against yours at an awkward angle, and none of it mattered.
what mattered was the way his hand slid from your jaw into your hair, fingers curling gently at the nape of your neck. what mattered was the small, shaky breath he let out against your mouth, like he’d been holding it in for years and was finally allowed to let go. what mattered was the way your free hand came up to grip the front of his uniform shirt, twisting the fabric around your fingers because you needed something to hold onto, something to anchor you to the ground.
the kiss lasted maybe three seconds, or maybe five; it was impossibly short and impossibly long all at once, the kind of moment that stretches and compresses until it exists outside of time entirely.
when megumi pulled back, just barely, his forehead rested against yours. you were both breathing a little faster than normal, your breath mingling in the small space between you.
megumi’s eyes were still closed, his lashes dark against his cheeks, and his lips were parted slightly, pink and soft.
“oh,” you said, because your brain had apparently short-circuited and that was the only word you could find.
his eyes opened; they were darker than you’d ever seen them, pupils blown wide in the dim light, and megumi was looking at you like you’d hung the stars.
“oh,” he agreed, and his voice was wrecked, cracked and tender and so full of something you didn’t have a name for.
you laughed. you couldn’t help it — it bubbled up out of your chest, quiet and giddy and a little hysterical, and then megumi was laughing too, not his usual small huff of amusement but a real laugh, low and warm, his shoulders shaking with it.
“that was—” you started.
“terrible,” megumi finished, but he was smiling, really smiling, the kind of smile he only ever gave you. “was it terrible?”
“no,” you said immediately. “no, it was… it was good. it was really good.”
his cheeks flushed, the pink spreading down to his neck.
“it was our first kiss. it was supposed to be, i don’t know, like… smoother?”
“i don’t want smooth,” you said, and you meant it. “i want you. i want this.”
megumi stared at you for a long moment, his expression shifting through about a dozen emotions way too fast to track, and then the young boy leaned in again, slower this time, and more deliberate, megumi’s hand cupping the back of your head like you were something precious.
and, oh well, the second kiss was different.
it was softer, for one thing, and more certain. megumi tilted his head slightly, adjusting the angle so your noses didn’t bump, and the pressure of his lips was firmer now, more confident. you felt it everywhere — in the way your toes curled inside your shoes, in the way your stomach flipped and fluttered, in the way your fingers tightened in megumi’s shirt like you were afraid he might disappear.
megumi made a sound, small and low, almost a hum, and the vibration of it traveled from the boy’s mouth to yours and down into your chest. you responded without thinking, pressing closer, and megumi let you, his other arm coming around to pull you against him.
the bench creaked under the shift in weight, and you almost laughed again but then his lips moved against yours, just barely, just a hint of movement, and all the air left your lungs.
this was kissing.
this was really kissing, the kind you’d read so many times about in books and seen in movies and pretended you didn’t think about late at night when you couldn’t sleep. but it was better than any of that, because it was megumi; it was his slightly chapped lips and his warm hands and the way he tilted his head just so, the way he smelled like soap and autumn air and something that was just him.
megumi pulled back after a few seconds, but not far. his lips hovered over yours, and you could feel him smiling, that tiny private smile that was yours alone.
“okay,” he said, his voice soft and a little breathless. “that one was better.”
you nodded, not trusting your voice.
your whole face felt warm, your lips tingling, your heart doing something ridiculous in your chest.
megumi kissed you again, and again, and again; three quick pecks in a row, each one softer than the last, like he was testing the feel of it, memorizing it. the fourth one lingered, and you kissed him back this time, meeting his mouth with yours, learning the rhythm of it together.
when you finally separated, the sky was almost dark, the first few stars bright overhead. your strawberry milk was probably warm by now, forgotten on the bench.
neither of you reached for it.
megumi’s hand found yours again, fingers interlacing so naturally, so comfortably. his thumb traced small circles on the back of your hand, and you naturally leaned into his side, your head finding its usual spot against megumi’s shoulder; it fit the same way it always had, but somehow it fit way better now, like something had clicked into place that you hadn’t even realized was misaligned.
“we should have done that sooner,” you murmured into megumi’s jacket.
he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, feather-light.
“maybe. but we did it now.”
you tilted your face up to look at megumi, and in the dim light, with his dark hair falling softly over his forehead and his eyes warm and sleepy and so full of you, he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.
“hey, gumi?”
“hm?”
“i love you.”
he went still for a moment, his whole body freezing, and then, so slowly, he relaxed, his arm tightening around you, his cheek coming to rest against your hair.
“i know,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “i’ve known for a while. but it’s nice to hear you say it.”
you poked his side. “you’re supposed to say it back.”
megumi laughed, quiet and warm, and you felt it rumble through his chest.
“i love you too. obviously. i’ve loved you since you threw a shoe at that kid who was mean to me in second grade.”
“he deserved it.”
“he did.” megumi tilted his head down and caught your mouth in one last kiss, sweet and lingering and full of promise. “you’ve always been like that. you’ve always been mine.”
and sitting there on that old wooden bench, under the gingko tree with the last of the autumn leaves drifting down around you, you thought that maybe the right moment didn’t have to be perfect, maybe it just had to be real, and this — strawberry milk breath and clumsy forehead bumps and megumi’s heartbeat under your palm — this was as real as it got.
synopsis: you and megumi are practically married + nobara and itadori's unofficial parents
notes: yk that one tiktok sound that goes 'mama y papa. mama y papa!' or wtv thats this lol
it starts one night in the dorm kitchen.
itadori's sitting cross-legged on the counter, nobara’s painting her nails on the table, and you’re trying to cook dinner with megumi next to you, handing you ingredients like he was born to be your little sous chef.
“you two are like my parents,” itadori suddenly remarks.
you stifle a giggle. megumi doesn’t even look up. “absolutely not.”
“no, but you are,” nobara says, blowing on her wet nails. “you do the cooking and then force us to do the cleaning. you pick us up when we almost die. you get lovey-dovey with each other when you think we’re not looking.”
megumi stiffens. you laugh.
“you are so obvious,” itadori adds, looking at megumi. “you tie y/n's shoelaces for her. you argue over pizza toppings. you sleep in each other's dorm rooms. you're practically married at this point.”
nobara suddenly points a finger at you. “and you always make sure i have advil and a hair tie in my pocket before missions,” nobara grins at you. “thanks, mom.”
“that's stupid,” megumi says flatly, dumping vegetables into the pot with more force than necessary. “don’t say that.”
“what, dad?” yuji says sweetly, eyes sparkling.
“stop.”
“dad, can you pass the salt?”
“stop.”
“daddy~!”
“GET OUT.”
megumi’s ears are red as nobara howls with laughter and you almost drop the ladle as you fold over in giggles.
but despite all his grumbling, megumi can't think of any proper refutes. he knows your preferences better than his own, has stupid married couple arguments with you, and feeds you soup when you're sick. he makes sure to teach itadori about the ins and outs of the jujutsu world before he goes off on missions, and picks up things nobara drops or forgets for her.
you stick your cold feet under megumi at night, cut his fruit into stars and hearts, and leave him little sticky notes with sweet messages on them. you put extra protein into breakfast after itadori had a long night. you hold back nobara's hair and rub her back when she pukes.
and when nobara bumps into you on the way to bed, she whispers with a little smile, “seriously, though, you guys are adorable. fav couple ever.”
you smile.
and later that night, curled up in megumi’s bed while the dorm settles into sleep, you nudge his side gently.
“…they kind of have a point, ay?”
he sighs. “unfortunately.”
but the way his arm curls around you says he wouldn’t have it any other way.
