꒰ঌ ໒꒱

Get it together.

“Fushiguro, you’re scowling again,” Gojo's voice called from across the field, teasing as usual.

“I’m not,” Megumi shot back, trying to keep his tone neutral.

Gojo grinned. “Right, because that’s just your face!”

Megumi chose to ignore him, refocusing on the practice dummies in front of him, except his eyes betrayed him yet again, drifting back to you. You were playfully swatting Yuji’s shoulder, and the way you both laughed sent an unpleasant twist through Megumi’s stomach.

He tried to brush it off, telling himself it was nothing. You could talk to whoever you wanted. But then there was that nagging thought in his mind...Yuji said he likes tall women with nice—

He groaned inwardly. No. Stop it.

Just as he was about to drown back into his thoughts, Nobara appeared next to him, arms crossed and her gaze sharp. “Okay, seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” he said a bit too quickly.

“Yeah, that’s what people say when something’s clearly wrong,” she replied dryly. “You’ve been looking at Yuji and [Name] like you want to send them to another dimension.”

Megumi sighed, realizing it was no use denying it. “It’s not—” He paused, the words barely forming.

Nobara raised a brow. “Spit it out, lover boy.”

He stiffened. “I’m not—”

“Oh, you so are,” she said, smirking. “You’ve been doing the heart-eyes thing every time she walks into a room.”

He felt heat climb up his neck. “I don’t do—heart-eyes.”

“Sure you don’t. So what’s the problem?”

Megumi hesitated. His jaw clenched. “...I think Yuji likes her.”

Nobara blinked. “Yuji?”

“He said he likes tall women. And he’s always talking to her. Laughing. Smiling. And she—” He sighed. “She seems to like him.”

For a second, Nobara just stared. Then she burst out laughing.

Still laughing, she managed to say, “Y-you’re an idiot.”

Megumi arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“He doesn’t like her like that! Yuji’s been trying to help her get you to notice her!”

Megumi’s mind went blank.

Yuji… was helping you… get his attention?

“...What?”

“Apparently she’s into emotionally constipated guys with tragic backstories and dark hair. Wonder who that could be.” Nobara winked.

Megumi frowned.

“Oh, come on! Yuji doesn’t like her.!"

He looked back towards the field where Yuji was giving you an exaggerated thumbs-up while you laughed and facepalmed, clearly not sure how to react to his antics.

What is happening?

---

Later that day, you were sitting on the steps of the dorm, scrolling through your phone.

Megumi approached, feeling a mix of nerves and anticipation, like he was facing a cursed spirit that could bite if he got too close.

You looked up, a smile brightening your face. “Hey, Fushiguro. Done training?”

“Yeah,” he replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets, eyes darting around instead of resting on you. “You and Yuji seem… close.”

“Close?” You raised an eyebrow, amusement evident in your tone.

He shifted uncomfortably. “You hang out with him a lot.”

A beat passed before you tilted your head, a smirk growing. “Are you jealous?”

Instantly, he felt warmth flood his cheeks. “No! I just thought—”

You stood up, stepping closer, your gaze piercing. “You thought Yuji liked me?”

He hesitated. “…Maybe.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Well, he’s been helping me talk to you.”

Megumi froze. “What do you mean, ‘helping’?”

With that small, teasing smile you had, you replied, “Because you never notice when someone tries to flirt with you.”

“I—” His voice faltered. “You were flirting?”

You nudged his shoulder playfully. “Of course! I bring you coffee almost every morning."

“I thought you were just being nice.”

“Right,” you said, deadpan. “Because memorizing everyone’s coffee order is just a fun hobby.”

He swallowed, an awkward smile creeping onto his face. “Sorry about that.”

You shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, but he could see the blush creeping into your cheeks. “So, now that you know… what are you going to do about it?”

He looked at you, his expression softening. “I’ll start by saying I like you too,” he said quietly.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, what?”

“I like you,” he repeated, this time more firmly, though his face was still hot. “I just… didn’t think you would ever—”

Before he could finish, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. His entire body froze in shock.

You stepped back, grinning. “That’s for taking your sweet time.”

He blinked, utterly flustered. “You’re unbelievable.” You smiled wider.

“Thanks, and you’re not too bad yourself.”

You turned your head, your eyes narrowing as if your brain was desperately trying to match the face in the dim lighting. Dark hair. Sharp jawline. Shoulders broader than they had any right to be. And those eyes, a gaze that can pierce through steel.

And then he laughed at something his friend said. It was quiet, short, like he didn’t really want to but couldn’t help it. That sound was the final turn of a key in a lock you hadn’t realized was there.

No way. No way in hell.

Your stomach dropped.

Megumi Fushiguro?

You nearly choked on your drink. The boy—no, the man—standing across the bar was the same Megumi who used to share half his snacks with you at recess, the same boy who walked you home from elementary school because you were scared of the dark, the same boy who, without realizing it, had taken your entire twelve year old heart with him when he moved away.

You remembered the day so vividly, running down the block after his family’s car, the tears stinging your cheeks because you hadn’t even gotten a proper goodbye. For weeks afterward, you’d felt hollow.

And now, after eight years of silence, of not knowing where he went or what he was doing…here he was. Looking nothing like the scruffy little kid you remembered.

“Okay, why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?” one of your friends asked, giggling.

You shook your head quickly, trying to play it off, but your eyes betrayed you. They kept drifting back to him.

“Ohhh,” another friend teased, following your gaze. “Who’s the tall and brooding man over there? He’s cute.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “It’s nothing, just—don’t look.”

But Megumi wasn’t just a ghost from your childhood anymore. His hair was still dark, but longer now, with loose strands falling over his forehead. His features had sharpened into something almost unfair. His eyes were framed by lashes too long for any man to deserve. He was tall, taller than you’d expected, with a lean build that spoke of strength hidden under the casual black button-down he wore.

Shit.

Your stomach twisted, the years of childish affection you’d buried bubbling back up. You couldn’t stop staring.

He looked up.

His gaze swept the room lazily, scanning over people without much interest. But then his eyes landed on you. And they stayed there. Your heart skipped so violently you had to grip your glass tighter, afraid you might drop it.

For a split second, his expression didn’t change. He studied you as if he were trying to figure something out. But then, ever so subtly, his brows furrowed, and his lips parted just slightly.

You knew it.

He recognized you.

A chorus of giggles rose up around you; your friends might have noticed him looking at you. Then the laughter cut off suddenly.

Because the very man they were snickering about had just pushed away from his group, sliding his hands into his pockets as he began walking straight toward your table.

Your friends froze. Mouths open and eyes wide.

“Wait—he’s—he’s actually coming over here?”

“Do you know him?!”

“Girl, what did you do?!”

You barely heard them. Your chest felt heavy, your heartbeat too loud in your ears as his figure drew closer, and closer, until the rest of the room blurred into nothing.

“[Name]?”

His voice was deeper now, but you’d know it anywhere.

Your breath caught as you looked up at him. “...Megumi?”

For a moment, the world tilted. The years fell away, and it was like you were twelve again, looking at the boy you thought you’d never see. But instead of the skinny, slightly awkward kid you remembered, this was a man. Taller and more muscular, but it was still...Megumi.

The corner of his lips lifted, just barely, but enough to make your chest ache. “I thought that was you.”

You laughed, a little shaky, heat travelling up your neck. “You—god, it’s really you. I haven’t seen you since…”

“Since I moved,” he finished softly, his gaze steady on yours. “Eight years ago. Almost nine.”

You paused for a second, your throat tight. “I thought you just…disappeared.”

He looked down for a moment, almost guilty. “My dad got a job in another city. We left quickly, I didn’t even get to say goodbye properly.”

Memories flickered through your mind. The days you spent sulking in your room, wondering if he’d ever think of you again.

“It’s been a while,” he said simply.

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah.”

His gaze softened. “You look…different.”

You blinked, trying not to read too much into it. “So do you. I mean, obviously. You’re…” You trailed off before blurting out the truth. You’re hot now. Stupidly hot.

His eyes lingered on you, like he was doing the same thing, taking in how much you’d changed, how much you’d grown. And when the silence stretched just a little too long, you broke it with a grin.

Around you, your friends sat frozen, mouths half-open, exchanging stunned glances like they couldn’t believe what they were watching. But you didn’t care, not when Megumi was standing right in front of you, not when those years of silence had collapsed into this single moment.

Up close, you realized just how much he’d changed. His jaw was sharper, his shoulders broader, his entire presence steadier. Yet his eyes were the same ones that used to glance at you from across a classroom, the same ones that looked at you now with a flicker of something unspoken.

You exhaled a shaky laugh, shaking your head. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

That almost-smile flashed across his lips again. “I recognized you right away.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” you said, your grin widening.

He shook his head, but his gaze didn’t leave you.

And in that moment, in the middle of the crowded bar with music blaring and people shouting around you, it felt like no time had passed at all. Just you and Megumi, back where you’d left off…only this time, things were different.

This time, you weren’t kids anymore.

This time, the crush you’d once buried had a very real chance of sparking into something more.

And judging by the way he was looking at you, like he couldn’t believe you were standing there, you weren’t the only one feeling it.

NOT PROOFREAD

Gojo gasps like you’ve just stolen a national treasure. “You mean my most elite, top-tier hoodie? Betrayed by my own wardrobe.”

He dramatically flops next to you, head in your lap, sunglasses pushed back so you can see the full gleam in his eyes. “Y’know, I’d complain, but you look ridiculously cute in it. I might combust.”

Later, you find two more hoodies — freshly washed — folded on your bed with a note: “Official Gojo gear. Exclusive edition. No returns.” He’ll never take it back. In fact, you stealing his clothes just became his favorite game.

Suguru Geto

You’re lounging on the couch in one of his old temple hoodies when you hear his soft footsteps behind you. There’s a long pause before he speaks — voice low and warm.

“Didn’t expect to see that again.”

You glance up. “You left it, so… I figured it was free real estate.”

He hums and walks over to sit beside you, his hand reaching out to gently tug the sleeve down over your fingers. The way he looks at you — quiet, thoughtful — makes your heart skip.

“You suit it better than I ever did,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your knuckle.

You go still for a second, caught off guard. But you don’t pull away — and neither does he.

Later, when you start to take it off, he gently stops you with a shake of his head. “Keep it. That way, you’ve always got something of mine — even when I’m not around.”

From then on, you keep “finding” more of his things in your drawer. A quiet offering from someone who shows love without needing many words.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji’s eyes narrow the second he catches you walking around in his black shirt — the one you found tossed over a chair. It’s soft, a little faded, and fits you like a dress.

“You been digging through my shit?” he grunts, eyebrow raised.

You shoot him a look. “You left it."

He watches you for a beat too long — eyes lingering on your legs, your smirk, the way his scent clings to you now. You think he’s annoyed, until he tosses another t-shirt your way.

“That one’s softer,” he mutters. “And less full of holes.”

You blink. “Wait, you’re giving me another?”

“Shut up,” he says, already walking away. “I didn’t say you could keep the first one.”

(But he never takes it back.)

Later, you catch him staring when he thinks you’re not looking. like the image of you in his clothes scratches at something deep and dangerous in him. He doesn’t say it aloud, but you know: you’re in his space now.

Kento Nanami

You’re wearing one of his white button-down shirts — sleeves rolled past your hands, collar sloppily tucked — when Nanami walks in after work. He stops in the doorway, eyes scanning you slowly.

“That’s… a high-end shirt,” he says with a sigh. “And dry-clean only.”

You shrug. “It’s comfortable. And smells like you.”

He moves closer, surprisingly gentle as he rolls up the sleeves properly, adjusting the collar with practiced hands. “At least wear it with some dignity,” he mutters.

You smile. “Are you mad?”

Nanami meets your gaze — and something soft flickers beneath his usual restraint. “No,” he says after a pause. “But next time… just ask.”

Later, you find another button-up — folded, freshly ironed — left on your chair. No note. No mention. But when you wear it the next morning, he kisses the top of your head without a word.

That’s his love language: quiet care, woven into pressed shirts and tailored silence.

Choso Kamo

When Choso sees you curled up in his oversized hoodie, his eyes go wide like you just stole something sacred.

“That’s… mine,” he says slowly, standing in the doorway.

You look up and nod, already warm inside it. “Yep. Yours. Now mine.”

He tilts his head, visibly confused. “Why?”

“Because it’s soft,” you reply, “and it smells like you.”

Choso stares for a moment longer, then nods very seriously. “You can keep it.”

He sits beside you, barely blinking as you lean against his shoulder. You feel his fingers brush against the edge of the sleeve — hesitant, reverent.

After that, he starts “accidentally” leaving more clothes at your place. His favorite hoodie. A zip-up you said looked comfy. He never asks for them back.

To Choso, your wearing his things feels like a bond. Like something permanent. He won’t say it — but he’s never felt more wanted.

Ryomen Sukuna

The moment you walk into the room wearing his robe-like haori, Sukuna stills — the air shifts like something dangerous has just been awakened.

“You’re wearing my clothes,” he says, voice low and edged with warning.

You shrug. “I’m keeping it warm. You weren’t using it.”

His eyes narrow, and in two strides, he’s in front of you. Fingers curl around the collar, tugging you toward him until your faces are inches apart.

“You know what that means, don’t you?” he growls. “Wearing this. You’re mine.”

You raise a brow. “And you have a problem with that?”

He smirks, all sharp teeth and fire. “Not at all. Just don’t cry when the whole world knows who you belong to.”

Sukuna is possessive. But when you wear his clothes, he feels claimed, too — in a way that goes deeper than he’ll ever admit. He’ll threaten to rip it off you every other day, but he never does. He lets you wear it. Always.

Because under all that arrogance, the truth is simple: he likes it. Too much.

Megumi Fushiguro

The first time you wear his hoodie, Megumi stares like you’ve just grown another head. His brows twitch, and he awkwardly clears his throat.

“You could’ve asked,” he says, standing there with his hands in his pockets.

You tilt your head. “Would you have said yes?”

“…Probably not.”

You laugh softly and go back to what you were doing, completely unbothered. He hesitates, then walks over and sits beside you — silent, but very much there. His gaze flickers over you again and again, and finally, he mutters, “It looks… good. On you.”

Later, when you start to take it off, he stops you. “You can keep it,” he says quickly. “I mean — if you want to.”

The next morning, there’s another hoodie folded on the edge of your bed. You never ask, and he never explains. But when he sees you wearing it again, his ears turn red, and he lets out the faintest, tiniest smile.

Yuji Itadori

You’re brushing your teeth when Yuji barges in, eyes lighting up the moment he sees you in his bright orange hoodie.

“HEY! Is that mine?!”

You nod, foamy toothbrush still in your mouth. “Mhm.”

He gasps, placing both hands on his heart like you’ve wounded him. “I knew I was missing that one! But — wow, okay. You look so cute, what the heck.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too. “It’s mine now. Deal with it.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” he grins, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “Honestly? You wearing my stuff is, like, a core memory now.”

From that moment on, it’s a running joke — but also very real. Yuji starts leaving his clothes behind on purpose. Hoodies. Tees. Even a sports jacket once.

Every time you wear one, he kisses you like it’s the first time all over again.

“Looks way better on you, anyway,” he says. Every single time.

Gojo, lounging nearby with his blindfold pushed up to his forehead, grinned. “What’s the problem? It’s practically a paid vacation. For two very convincing lovebirds.”

“We’re not—” you started, then stopped. “We’re not actually—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Megumi cut in, calm as ever. “If that’s the mission, we’ll handle it.”

Gojo smirked. “That’s the spirit. Just don’t forget to hold hands, okay?”

You resisted the urge to throw your report binder at him.

-

You tried not to look nervous as you and Megumi walked through the heavy wooden gate of the resort, your bags in hand, your fingers… brushing his.

The hostess greeted you both warmly. "A couple’s suite, yes? This way.”

You could practically feel the secondhand smugness from Gojo all the way back in Tokyo.

Megumi leaned closer as you followed the woman down the hall. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just trying to act normal.”

He glanced at you with a faint, amused look. “You holding my hand like it’s radioactive says otherwise.”

Flustered, you adjusted your grip on your bag. “Sorry, it’s just—this is weird. We’ve… kissed like once. Now we’re sharing a bed.”

“I can switch to the floor if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” you said quickly, then cleared your throat. “I mean. It’s fine. We’re professionals.”

He looked at you again. “Right.”

But his ears were slightly pink.

-

The room was stunning—tatami mats, a private open-air bath, paper lanterns, and yes… one large bed. Thick futon, red silk cover, petals scattered like a cliché.

You dropped your bag and sighed. “It’s like a cursed rom-com.”

Megumi stood at the window, eyes scanning the trees. “I feel something. Weak cursed energy. But subtle. Like it’s waiting.”

“For what?”

“For us to play along.”

You raised a brow. “So what, we pretend to flirt until the curse shows itself?”

Megumi finally looked at you. “Pretty much.”

There was a long pause.

Then you said, “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

You stepped closer, heart pounding way harder than any mission should’ve warranted, and slipped your arms around his waist, resting your head on his shoulder.

He tensed—but only for a second. Then his arms came around you, steady and warm.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I’m cold.”

“You’re not.”

“…Shut up.”

His chest vibrated with a soft chuckle.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then, the lamp flickered.

You both turned.

Shadows twitched in the corners of the room. And a faint, almost imperceptible moan echoed through the walls—long, low, like breath from a mouth that wasn’t human.

Megumi’s jaw clenched. “It’s watching.”

You reached for your weapon. “Let’s give it a show.”

The curse revealed itself—amorphous and humanoid, with tendrils that lashed like tongues of fire. Its mouth split in four, whispering fragments of past lovers’ arguments and confessions like a broken record.

Megumi summoned his Divine Dogs, sending them to flank.

You slipped through shadow, blade in hand, cursed energy crackling in your fingers.

It lunged for him.

You shouted, “Megumi—!”

He turned just in time, deflecting with a shadow shield, but the curse shrieked and split itself in two. You hit the left one, slicing it through with a burst of cursed energy—and Megumi finished the right one with a well-placed strike and a growled:

“Max Elephant.”

The massive shikigami crashed down, shattering the spirit in a tidal surge of force.

The room fell silent again.

You exhaled, heart pounding, soaked from the splash. “That thing seriously tried to third-wheel us.”

Megumi walked over, water dripping from his hair. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, brushing hair out of your face. “Romance curses are the worst.”

“You handled it well.”

You met his gaze.

“Not bad for your fake girlfriend, huh?”

There was a pause.

Then Megumi said, quietly, “You’re not fake. Not to me.”

You froze. “Megumi…”

“I’m done pretending it doesn’t matter. That you don’t matter.”

You stepped closer, letting your hand slide into his.

And this time, you kissed him first.

No cursed energy. No pretense.

Just you and him—and everything that had gone unspoken.

Because this was Megumi. Stoic, sharp, silent Megumi—who knew how to read a room in five seconds but could ignore his own feelings for years. Who never asked for help but was always the first to show up when you needed him. Who was safest when he was distant, and most dangerous when he started letting you in.

And you’d already been let in.

You just hadn’t figured out what to do with it.

-

It wasn’t until a storm rolled in that things shifted again.

You were curled up on the couch in the shared lounge, rain beating against the windows, a movie playing low on the screen—something dumb and not worth remembering. Everyone else had cleared out for the night, too tired from the latest assignment. But not Megumi. He walked in quietly, a towel around his neck again, dark shirt clinging to his still-damp skin from the shower.

You glanced up. “You know, one day I’ll be emotionally strong enough to see you like this and not short-circuit.”

He didn’t smile, but his voice had a softness to it. “You’ve gotten better.”

You rolled your eyes but made room for him on the couch anyway. He sat next to you, not too close—but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint cedar of his soap.

The movie played on, unnoticed.

“Hey,” you said after a few minutes, voice quieter. “What you said… the other night. About liking it when I look at you like I see you…”

He turned his head toward you, brows slightly lifted. He remembered.

“…Were you being serious?”

The silence stretched, but not in a bad way. More like he was choosing his words with care.

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”

You looked down at your hands. “I wasn’t sure if you were trying to mess with me.”

“Have I ever messed with you like that?”

You paused. “No.”

“Then you should believe me.”

His voice had that depth again—that unshakable calm that only made your heart race faster.

“I see you too, you know,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Not just the strong sorcerer part. I see the way you carry everything. The way you protect everyone even when it tears you up. I see all of it. And I still… like you.”

It felt like dropping a stone into still water. Heavy. Real.

Megumi didn’t speak at first. His eyes just stayed on you, dark and unreadable, but there was something raw in them now. Not vulnerability. Not quite.

Just honesty.

He reached out slowly, his hand brushing your jaw, then resting against your cheek like he wasn’t sure if you’d let him hold you—but hoping you would.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know how long I’ve felt this,” he said, voice low, close. “You always looked at me like you knew. Even when I didn’t say a damn thing.”

You leaned into his touch, heart loud in your ears. “Maybe I was waiting for you to catch up.”

His lips curved—not quite a smile. But something softer.

“I’m here now.”

And then—finally, finally—he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that wasn’t rushed or possessive. It was quiet. Steady. Like a truth that had taken its time getting here, but had always known where it was going.

When you pulled back, you stayed close, foreheads touching.

Outside, the storm kept raging.

Inside, for once, everything felt calm. --- Part 4....??? Series..??

taglist: @ehcilhc @amesenseii @vintag3u @obsessivestrawberrysimp @moonymoo1 @arabella0001 @sassymilkshakewitch @sutefa02 @hawkwithsocks @akiducky (I just tagged a bunch of ppl that commented for different parts on other posts)

Megumi was already there, leaning against the counter in a hoodie and sweatpants, hair damp again—either from another shower or just to spite you.

He looked up from pouring tea. “You’re alive.”

You paused like a deer in headlights. “Barely.”

A small twitch of amusement pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You scoffed, walking to the fridge. “That’s dramatic. I’ve been strategically minimizing contact.”

“Oh?” he asked, voice flat with mild interest. “Strategically?”

You shut the fridge with a sigh and turned to face him, crossing your arms. “Can you blame me? You stood there like an anti-social Greek god while I short-circuited.”

“I was just standing there.”

“Shirtless.”

Megumi looked unbothered. “I can’t shower in a suit.”

You groaned, dropping your head back. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“You are. You’re doing that smug, barely-smiling thing like I’m being ridiculous.”

“Because you are.”

You tossed a grape at him. He dodged it like a reflex.

“I’m never opening a door again,” you muttered, cheeks warming again.

He pushed off the counter, walked over, and stopped in front of you with his usual unreadable calm. But this time, his voice was quieter—lower.

“I didn’t mind you seeing me like that.”

You blinked. “W-What?”

Megumi's eyes locked onto yours, calm but serious. “If it were anyone else, I would've been pissed. But you? I didn't mind.”

You stared at him, heart thudding in your ears.

“Not because I want to fluster you,” he added, lips quirking slightly. “But because… I like it when you look at me like that.”

Your throat went dry. “Like what?”

“Like you actually see me.”

It wasn’t teasing anymore.

You didn’t know what to say, so you said the only thing that came to mind. “You’re dangerous.”

“And you’re slow,” he murmured, brushing past you again—leaving the scent of his tea and the heat of that gaze lingering in the air.

You turned around too late. “Hey! What does that mean—?!”

He waved lazily without turning back. “You’ll figure it out.”

You stood there in the middle of the kitchen, grapes in your hand, pulse going insane.

And you knew.

You were so screwed. ---

Pt.3??

There he was. Back turned to you, black uniform shirt tossed carelessly on the bed, towel around his neck, chest damp with sweat from a shower or training—you honestly couldn’t think anymore to figure out which.

Muscle definition, scars, faint trails of water still clinging to his skin. Every bit of him was calm and completely unaware you’d just stepped into cardiac arrest.

You stood frozen like a cartoon character short-circuiting.

He turned halfway when he heard your voice trail off. “Huh—? Oh. You could’ve knocked.”

You were still staring.

“I—uh...yeah. I should have. I mean—I usually do.” You quickly spun around, throwing a hand over your eyes like that would somehow erase the image now burned into your brain.

“Are you good?” he asked, completely unfazed.

“I’m—fine! I just—thought you’d be dressed! Or at least like, not halfway to a modeling shoot!” The words tumbled out before your brain could approve them.

You could hear the slight smirk in his voice. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Yeah, well, Gojo sent me, so blame him. Not me. I’m an innocent bystander who just witnessed you. All of you—well—not all, but you know what I mean!”

Silence. Then a low chuckle.

You risked a glance over your shoulder—and regretted it instantly. He was pulling his shirt over his head, but not fast enough to save you from a final glimpse of his abs.

“I’m dressed now,” he said, voice dry. “You can turn around. Or keep facing the door, if that helps your recovery.”

You turned slowly, face burning. He was now fully clothed, thank god, and had the audacity to look casual while you were internally combusting.

“I’m never living this down, am I?” you muttered.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he said, deadpan. “Depends if I catch you shirtless someday. Then maybe we’ll call it even.”

You blinked. "Megumi!!"

He raised an eyebrow, brushing past you on his way out. “Just knock next time.”

And with that, he disappeared down the hall—leaving your heart hammering and your pride in shambles.

---

Pt2??

“Oh, now you wanna run?” His voice was low, dangerous, hand already wrapping around your throat—not tight, just enough to remind you who the fuck was in control. “You’ve been teasing me all night, doll. You think I wasn’t watching you act like a filthy little slut out there?”

“Megumi—”

“Uh-uh.” His other hand yanked your dress up, bunching it around your waist. “You don’t talk unless I tell you to, babygirl. Got it?”

You nodded, breath stuttering, pussy already soaking through your panties.

“Of course it’s fucking soaked,” he muttered, dragging the thin fabric down your thighs. “This greedy little pussy just lives to get filled, doesn’t it? You really couldn’t wait until we got home?”

He spun you around, pressing your chest to the counter, your ass out, fully exposed to him in the mirror. The way he looked at you—hungry, dark-eyed, possessive—made you clench around nothing.

“Goddamn,” he growled, smacking your ass once, hard. “Look at you. Bent over like a perfect little fucktoy. You wanted this, didn’t you, princess? Wanted me to ruin you right here where someone could walk in?”

“Y-Yes,” you gasped, voice wrecked already.

Another slap. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s my good fucking girl.”

You heard the jingle of his belt, the low hiss of him spitting into his palm. Then the hot, thick weight of his cock dragged along your folds, teasing your dripping entrance.

“Look at you,” he murmured, pressing the blunt head of his cock against your entrance. “So fuckin’ needy. So desperate. You don’t even deserve it, do you?”

“No,” you whispered, clenching around nothing. “Please—please, I need it.”

“That’s right.” His voice was dark silk. “You beg for my cock, doll. You earn it.”

You were just about to sob for it when he finally slammed into you, all the way in one brutal thrust. You cried out, biting your lip to keep from screaming as he stretched you wide, the filthy sound of skin on skin echoing off the tile. He didn’t wait—his pace was ruthless, each thrust pounding into your soaking pussy like he was trying to fuck the attitude right out of you.

“This pussy,” he gritted out between thrusts, “was made for me.”

You nodded helplessly, tears pricking your eyes from how full you were, how good it felt, how fucking deep he was hitting.

“Say it,” he growled, grabbing your hair and yanking your head back so you were forced to look at yourself in the mirror. “Say who owns this pussy.”

“You—fuck—you do, Megumi!”

“That’s right. I fuckin’ own you, darling.”

His hand slipped between your thighs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, tight circles that made you choke on your moans.

“You’re gonna cum for me, like the pathetic little cockdrunk slut you are. You hear me, babygirl?”

“Please—Megumi, I’m—”

“Do it. Cum on my cock, now.”

And you did. You shattered around him, body convulsing, vision going white-hot as your orgasm tore through you. But he didn’t stop. He kept fucking you through it, pace unrelenting, overstimulating your clit until your legs buckled.

“Too much—” you whimpered.

“Oh no, doll,” he breathed into your ear, voice dark and twisted with desire. “You don’t get to tap out yet. You wanted to be a little brat at that party? You’re gonna take every fucking drop I give you.”

He lifted one of your legs onto the counter for a deeper angle, thrusting even harder. Your pussy was spasming, drooling around his cock, slick soaking both your thighs as he chased his own high.

“You feel that?” he grunted. “Feel how tight you’re squeezing me? Fuck, you’re gonna milk my cock dry, princess.”

He slammed in deep one last time, holding you there as he spilled inside you, hips twitching, low moans spilling from his lips as hot cum filled your cunt.

Neither of you moved for a second—your body limp and trembling, his chest heaving against your back.

Finally, he pulled out with a wet, obscene sound, and you whimpered at the emptiness, cum dripping down your thighs.

Megumi kissed your shoulder, hands suddenly gentle as he fixed your dress and wiped between your legs with a paper towel, murmuring soft praises now.

“You did so good for me, baby,” he whispered, planting a kiss on your temple. “Took it like a good little slut.”

You turned to face him, dazed, still floating. He smirked, brushing hair from your face.

“Next time you wanna tease me in public, princess… just know how that ends.”

You thrashed. Kicked. Bit down hard enough to draw blood. But there were more hands. More bodies. The scent of lavender and clove oil filled your lungs, thick and choking.

A voice at your ear. Low. Calm.

“Don’t struggle. It’ll be worse if you do.”

Your vision spun. A sharp pain bloomed at the side of your skull — light flashing behind your eyes — and then:

Nothing. When you woke up, it was to cold stone and the dull, echoing ring of silence. The ache in your skull pulsed with every heartbeat. Your wrists were bound, though not tightly — not enough to cut off blood, just enough to remind you you weren’t going anywhere.

The room was unremarkable. Dusty, unused. A single narrow window high above your head let in a stripe of gray light. There was no fire, no warmth. Only a damp chill and the faint scent of perfumed gloves.

You weren’t sure how long passed before the door creaked open.

But when it did, Lady Hisakawa filled the frame like a painting — perfect and poisonous. Draped in violet brocade, her silhouette was elegant, polished, wrong. Her expression was smooth, almost amused, as she stepped inside and closed the door with a soft click. She moved like smoke — slow, fluid, entirely at ease in her cruelty. Draped in violet silk, her hair pinned in gleaming coils, she looked like something out of a painting. Beautiful. Impossibly composed. And absolutely terrifying.

Her eyes found you immediately, and her lips curled with quiet satisfaction.

“There you are, I was beginning to think you’d die in your sleep.” she said, voice light. “I told you, pretty things don’t last long in this palace.”

You flinched as she approached, the soft click of her heels echoing around the chamber like a clock ticking down. You didn’t speak. Didn’t give her the satisfaction.

She stepped closer, heels clicking like clockwork. Every movement precise. Curated.

“Did you really think you were special?” she asked. “That he saw you? That he would choose you over the kingdom?”

You met her eyes.

And you didn’t flinch.

She smiled wider, but there was a flicker of something beneath it. Something tight. Controlled.

“You’re not from here. You don’t know how this works. People like you — they’re temporary. You were entertaining. A sweet little secret for the Crown Prince to tuck away until it became inconvenient.”

Still, you said nothing. “Ah,” she mused, circling you like a vulture. “The silent martyr. Very noble. But let me tell you a secret.”

She leaned down, voice low and knife-sharp.

“They always break in the end.”

You exhaled slowly. “If I break, it won’t be because of you.”

She straightened. “Oh, but it will. Because this ends one of two ways, my dear — either you disappear quietly, and he forgets you… or you stay, and you destroy him.”

You froze. Lady Hisakawa tilted her head, watching your reaction. “Oh, you think he loves you. I’m sure it feels very romantic — stolen moments, whispered promises. But do you know what happens when love becomes a weakness?”

She stepped closer, and for the first time, her voice turned cold.

“Enemies notice. They press where it hurts. And people die.”

You swallowed.

She smiled again, soft and sweet.

“So, here’s my offer. You stay here. Hidden. Forgotten. No one needs to get hurt. Eventually, he’ll be married...to someone worthy, and this foolishness will be a memory.” You narrowed your eyes. “And if I don’t?”

Her smile thinned. “Then I make sure he never finds what’s left of you.”

She left you in silence.

And for the first time since you came to the palace, you truly didn’t know if you’d see Megumi again. “But here’s the truth no one told you,” she said softly, smiling. “You were never meant to last.”

She stood again, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve.

“You’ll stay here,” she said. “Until he forgets you. And he will. They always do.”

With a final glance — more bored than cruel — she turned on her heel and walked out.

The door shut behind her with a dull finality.

And you were alone. ---

Back in the palace, something was already unraveling.

Megumi’s day began like any other — until the hour passed when you were supposed to meet him in the archives. Then two hours. Then five.

No mark in the ledger.

No flower in the window.

No sign.

At first, he tried to be rational.

Maybe you were delayed. Maybe there was a change in the servants’ schedule. Maybe—

But no. He knew you.

You never broke pattern unless something was wrong. He questioned the servants. The guards. Pulled aside a footman with shaking hands and demanded answers. Some whispered you’d left. Some swore they’d seen you with someone else. But none of it felt right.

And then a slip.

One of the younger kitchen hands, eyes wide with fear, mumbled about seeing you by the greenhouse. Not alone.

Taken.

That single word detonated something inside Megumi he hadn’t known was there.

That night, he didn’t sleep.

He tore through palace records. Rechecked every guard’s post. He sent messages under seal, called in every favor he was owed. Sought out shadows for information too dangerous to write down.

But all trails — all signs — pointed toward one name.

Lady Hisakawa.

And so, when the morning light bled red through the curtains, he did the one thing no one dared suggest.

He went to her. --- The royal conservatory was serene in its deception. Morning sunlight dappled through stained glass, casting prisms across marble floors. Birds chirped in gilded cages. A fountain murmured softly, as if the world hadn’t tilted off its axis. Lady Hisakawa waited there, seated like a queen in an emerald velvet chair, sipping tea that didn’t steam. When he entered, she looked up with a smile that made his skin crawl. “Your Highness,” she said sweetly as he approached. “To what do I owe the—”

“Where is she.”

Not a question. A demand.

She blinked, lashes fluttering. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re not, Where. Is. She.” She tilted her head, smile brittle. “You’re accusing me?”

“I’m stating a fact.”

Silence stretched.

Then she moved — not away, but closer, slow and deliberate. Her voice lowered.

“I understand what you’re feeling,” she said gently. “Truly, I do. The fear. The panic. But she’s not who you think she is.” He said nothing.

“She doesn’t love you,” Lady Hisakawa whispered, stepping closer, her voice like silk slipping over a blade. “She needs you. That’s different.”

Still, he did not speak.

“I know you, Megumi,” she murmured. “I see you. That emptiness inside you. That hollow place in your chest you try to patch with loyalty, with sacrifice. She can’t fill it.”

She was close now — too close. Her hand brushed his arm, trailing upward with deliberate softness. Her fingers lingered at his shoulder, then slid to the front of his chest, palm splayed over his heart.

“But I can,” she said, her voice a slow pour of poison and honey. “I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

Her other hand reached up, the back of her knuckles brushing along his jaw, featherlight. “You deserve more than stolen meetings and secret looks. You deserve someone who understands what it means to be royal.”

She leaned in, her breath brushing his cheek.

Her lips barely grazed the edge of his mouth.

And that was when he moved.

His hand snapped up, catching her wrist midair — not gently.

The crack of bones beneath his grip was quiet.

But unmistakable.

Lady Hisakawa gasped — not in pain, but in shock. The illusion of power snapped like glass underfoot.

“No,” he said, voice like winter frost. “You don’t see me at all.”

He dropped her hand, and it fell limply to her side.

“She trusted me,” he said, each word honed to a blade’s edge. “And you stole her.”

Her expression twisted.

“She’s beneath you,” she spat, mask shattering. “You’d throw away your crown for a nobody?”

He didn’t flinch.

“I’d burn this entire kingdom to ash to bring her back.”

Then — he turned, just slightly, looking at her over his shoulder.

His voice dropped, a whisper sharpened by fury.

“And if you’ve hurt her…”

He let the silence hang like a noose.

“I will make you regret ever being born.”

Lady Hisakawa’s nostrils flared. Her hand trembled as she held it against her chest.

“You can’t threaten me, Megumi.”

“No,” he said, his eyes like ice over black water. “But I can expose you.”

She faltered. Her poise unraveled just enough to show the fear underneath.

“She’s a nobody,” she hissed, desperate now. “She’s not worth—”

“She’s worth everything,” he said.

And then, quieter still — low, certain, absolute.

“She’s mine.”

He walked away, leaving her in silence, cloaked in her own venom.

Furious. Trembling. Alone.

He was bruised.

But not broken.

Not yet.

And suddenly, it was a pattern.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

You told him that, more than once. In the flickering dark of the archives, where lanterns hummed like fireflies and your knees touched beneath the reading table. In the old chapel where no one dared go except ghosts and people pretending not to be in love. In the silent corners of the palace kitchens, hands brushing over teacups and smuggled fruit.

“This is dangerous,” you whispered once, the night his fingers found yours behind the velvet curtain of the observatory.

He didn’t say anything.

He just looked at you.

The kind of look that felt like a vow.

Like if anyone found you in that moment, he’d set the world on fire to keep you safe.

But fire makes smoke.

And smoke draws attention.

The first time you were summoned, it was under the guise of a simple interview. Routine, they said. Just part of an “internal security review.”

You weren’t stupid. You’d seen wolves wear sheep’s clothing before.

They asked strange questions.

How long had you known the Crown Prince? What was your family’s profession? Had you received any… unusual gifts lately?

You lied, carefully. Just enough truth to keep from slipping.

When you told Megumi later — behind the carved wood of a forgotten study — his jaw clenched so tightly you heard his teeth grind.

“They’re watching you now,” he said.

You didn’t ask if he meant they or he — because the answer was the same.

You looked at him, and you saw the storm coming.

He was different now. Not colder, but harder. Like steel forged under pressure. Every move measured. Every glance weighed.

He’d stopped leaving you notes. Stopped appearing in public anywhere near you.

But you still found each other.

In the space between dusk and nightfall, just before the bells rang the final hour, you met in a room that didn’t exist on the official floor plan.

Stone walls. Dust. A broken mirror no one had bothered to fix. It was perfect.

You were already there when he arrived, boots silent on the old tile.

“Megumi..I missed you,” you said, voice barely more than a breath.

“I missed you too. A lot." he replied.

Then his hand was at your jaw. Fingers tilting your face upward. His thumb brushing the line of your cheek like he was trying to memorize the way you existed.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

You didn’t.

So he kissed you.

Not tentative. Not unsure. But like someone whose leash had finally snapped — restrained for too long, now moving like a tide pulled forward by gravity and grief and longing.

It was the kind of kiss that meant something. The kind that leaves bruises behind your ribs.

But when he pulled away, his expression had already changed.

Not regret. Just reality.

“They’re forcing a decision,” he said.

You already knew what he meant.

A political marriage. One that would “strengthen alliances,” “preserve tradition,” “ensure the future of the realm.”

The usual excuses for arranged betrayal.

“Who?” you asked.

“Lady Hisakawa.”

The name made your stomach turn. Not because of jealousy — but because she was cruel in the way polished things often are. Beautiful and hollow. Sharp behind the smile.

“I don’t have a choice,” he said, low.

“Yes, you do,” you whispered.

“No,” he said, and the weight in his voice nearly broke something in you. “I have duty.”

You didn’t cry. Not in front of him.

But you reached out. Held his hand like it might keep the world from spinning off its axis.

“I won’t stay here,” you said.

His gaze snapped to yours.

“If I watch you marry someone else, I’ll lose everything good I’ve ever been.”

Silence.

“Then I’ll never marry.”

You stared.

“I’ll delay. Strategize. Break rules they thought unbreakable. Whatever it takes,” he said. “If they want a performance, I’ll give them one. But I won’t give them you.”

Your chest ached. Every word was a wound and a balm.

“But if they find out…”

“They already suspect. And I don’t care.”

“You will,” you said. “When they come for me.”

His jaw tightened. “They’ll have to go through me first.”

And for once, you believed it.

That night, you left the palace through a side gate no one guarded anymore.In your pocket, you carried another violet. This one dried. Fragile. Pressed flat between the pages of a stolen royal ledger.

It wasn’t a promise.

It was a warning.

Because the palace walls weren’t made of stone. They were made of glass.

And glass only holds until it shatters.

It had now been a few days, the palace whispered.

A tapestry tugged at the seams, delicate threads coming loose under the weight of secrets. Servants changed routes. Guards took new posts. Doors once left ajar began locking behind them. No one said your name, but it lingered in the air like smoke: known, unspoken, dangerous.

And Megumi was more careful now.

Not distant. Never that. But sharper. As if he walked through each day counting steps and knives. As if he knew that one wrong move might unravel everything.

You saw him less, but when you did, it meant something.

A glance across the throne room during an open council. A single brush of fingers beneath a shared parchment in the library. A quiet moment in the garden just before dawn — when the sky was still indigo and the world hadn’t remembered to be cruel yet.

You didn’t speak of the marriage again.

Not aloud.

Not after that night.

But the threat of it hung over everything, a sword waiting to fall.

Three weeks passed.

You kept to shadows, wearing quiet like a cloak. The shopkeeper missed you. The capital streets missed you. But you’d become part of the palace’s undercurrent — a ghost no one saw unless they looked too closely.

And people were starting to look.

Lady Hisakawa was the first to make it known.

She wasn’t subtle. The court never was.

She found you alone in the conservatory one evening, pretending to admire the frost orchids while you waited for a servant to slip you a message.

“Pretty things don’t survive long here,” she said, voice lilting like it was dipped in honey and edged in venom.

You didn’t respond.

She stepped closer.

“You don’t belong, you know. Whatever fantasy you’re indulging in — it ends badly. For people like you.”

You met her eyes. “Is that a threat?”

She smiled, slow and deliberate. “It’s tradition.”

And then she walked away, trailing lavender perfume and poison in her wake.

The message never came.

You didn’t see Megumi again until the Midwinter Gala.

You hadn’t planned to attend. It was too public, too exposed. But the invitation arrived in silence — a single envelope bearing only your name, slipped beneath your door with no seal at all.

Inside, one sentence:

You said you wouldn’t watch. But what if I want you to see me fight?

You frowned, you didn't know what it meant. You wanted to know what it meant.

So you went.

You borrowed a gown from the wardrobe of a sympathetic court musician — deep navy with silver threading, the colors of dusk. You wore no jewelry. No mask. Only your resolve.

The ballroom gleamed. Light caught on ice sculptures and velvet drapery, casting stars on the marble floor. The nobles danced. The royals mingled. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Until he stepped forward in full ceremonial attire — sword at his hip, crown band gleaming like forged moonlight — and walked to the center of the room.

He didn’t call for silence.

He didn’t need to.

The crowd quieted on instinct.

Megumi looked at the gathered lords and ladies, eyes like winter storms.

Then he spoke.

“There’s been speculation,” he began, voice even but edged. “About my intentions. About the future of the realm. About alliances.”

He looked toward Lady Hisakawa, who stood near the dais, already lifting her chin with anticipation.

“There is truth in what you’ve heard,” he continued. “I have made a decision. But not the one you expect.”

A ripple moved through the crowd.

“I will not marry for power,” he said.

A gasp.

“I will not bind my life to politics. I have seen what love becomes when it’s used as currency. I refuse to bleed it dry.”

His voice cut like a blade now — controlled, lethal.

“I will not announce a bride tonight. Because she already knows who she is.”

And then he looked at you.

Not a flicker. Not a glance.

A look so direct, so defiant, it lit the entire room on fire.

You didn’t breathe.

He bowed his head, a silent vow in a room made of silence.

And the court exploded.

You were gone before the storm hit.

You slipped out through the west corridor, skirts lifted above your ankles, heart thundering like hooves on stone. Footsteps followed. Voices. Chaos in the wake of his truth.

But you didn’t stop running until someone grabbed your wrist and pulled you into an alcove.

Megumi.

His breath was ragged. His collar undone. He looked like a man who had just set fire to everything and didn’t regret it.

"You look so beauti-"

“Are you insane?” you hissed.

“Yes,” he said. “For you.”

“You’ve just undone a decade of strategy!”

“They’ll fix it,” he said. “They always do.”

“And what if they come for me?”

His hand framed your jaw again, tender and furious. “Then they’ll find you gone.”

Your breath caught.

“What are you saying?”

“I made arrangements,” he said. “Safe passage. A place outside the capital. No one knows but me.”

“Megumi—”

“If you stay, they’ll use you. To hurt me. To control me. I won’t let that happen.”

“And what about you?”

“I’m the Crown Prince. I can’t run. But I can protect you. Even from here.”

Tears pricked the edge of your eyes.

“I don’t want protection,” you whispered. “I want you.”

He kissed you then.

Fast. Desperate. Like he knew it might be the last.

Then he pressed something into your hand — a key, worn with age and silver-etched.

“There’s a gatehouse in the mountains,” he said. “It’s yours now. Go tonight.”

You stared at him.

And then, slowly, you shook your head.

“No.”

“Don’t be stupid—”

“No, Megumi. I won’t run unless you ask me to.”

Silence.

Then, his hand closed over yours.

“I won’t. Not yet.”

“Then I stay.”

His mouth trembled, just once.

And he let go.

The fallout came fast.

Whispers turned to accusations. Nobles turned on each other. The king grew ill. The court tried to rewrite the story in real time, but the damage had been done.

Megumi stood his ground.

And you?

You watched the kingdom crack beneath the weight of two people who refused to let go of something real.

A dangerous, impossible love.

The kind that shatters kingdoms.

The kind that builds them too.