am i as pretty as a flower?

⌗ ℒOVE ℋANGOVER. ノ angel. 8teen. hot && dangerous. megumi's bad bitch. yuji's sweet princess. gojo's pretty girl.

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...𝒞ALL ℳE ℬACK? ۶ৎ requests are open, but i might not get to them all. inbox is always open, if you want to drop by. all follows come from @heartfushi-main!

it’s a slow tuesday afternoon when the idea first hits you. megumi is focused, hunched over a scroll in the corner of your room with that little crease between his eyebrows that always shows up when he’s overthinking. he’s so easy to mess with—not because he’s gullible, but because he takes everything so seriously.

the “silent treatment” was simple, but efficient.

but by hour three, the silence started to feel heavy.

"did something happen on your mission?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe of your room. you don't even look up from your book, though your heart is doing little flips at how focused he is on you. you just shrug, flipping a page with an exaggerated amount of nonchalance.

megumi frowns, his brows knitting together. usually, the second he steps through the door, you’re a whirlwind of energy—telling him about a cat you saw, what yuji said at lunch, or some new song you’ve been looping. the quiet is unnatural.

"are you mad at me?" he tries again, his voice dropping an octave, sounding a little more uncertain. you just shake your head, still refusing to meet his eyes.

he lingers for a moment, waiting for the punchline or the giggle that usually follows your antics, but when it doesn't come, he leaves to go shower.

it's when he comes back out, hair damp and smelling like that sandalwood soap you bought him, that things start to go "too far." you’re sitting on his bed now, scrolling through your phone. when he sits down next to you, you immediately stand up and move to the desk chair, putting as much distance between you as possible.

the look on megumi’s face is almost painful. he’s not the type to beg for attention, but the sudden, cold wall you’ve built is hitting him harder than any cursed spirit could. he's quiet, but he's sensitive, and his mind is already racing through every interaction you've had in the last forty-eight hours, trying to find where he messed up.

"okay, seriously," he says, his voice a bit tight. "if i did something, just tell me. don't do... this."

you bite your lip, staring hard at your phone screen. you want to burst out laughing and tackle him, but the commitment to the bit is too strong. you just huff and turn your back to him.

there’s a long, agonizing silence. you hear him sigh, a shaky, frustrated sound, and then the bed creaks. you think he’s going to sleep, but instead, you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind.

megumi buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. he’s tense, his grip firm as if he’s afraid you’ll actually disappear if he lets go.

"i'm sorry," he mutters into your shoulder, the words muffled and thick with genuine distress. "whatever it is, i'm sorry. just talk to me? please."

your heart shatters. the prank isn't funny anymore—not when you can feel the way his heart is thudding against your back. you drop your phone and spin around in his arms, seeing the way his eyes are clouded with real worry and a hint of guilt.

"oh my god, 'gumi, no! it was a prank! i'm so sorry," you blurt out, the words tumbling over each other. you cup his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. "it was just a stupid internet thing, i wasn't actually mad at you. i promise."

megumi freezes, blinking slowly as the information sinks in. the worry bleeds out of his face, replaced by a deep, dark flush that reaches the tips of his ears.

"a prank," he repeats, his voice flat. for a second, he doesn't move. then, he lets out a long, shaky breath that sounds suspiciously like a sob he was trying to choke back.

"i'm sorry! you were just being so cute and i wanted to see how long—"

he cuts you off by pulling you into his lap, burying his face in your chest to hide his embarrassment. his arms tighten around you, locking you in place.

"you're an idiot," he grumbles, though the edge is gone, replaced by that familiar, soft exasperation. "don't do that again. i thought you actually hated me."

"i could never hate you," you coo, running your fingers through his messy, damp hair. "you're my favorite person."

he doesn't look up, but you feel the ghost of a smile against your shirt. "shut up. give me ten minutes of actual silence now. i deserve it."

awh you're the sweetest soul ever ilysm! i'm doing great i'm about to leave for a 6 hour drive (help me) (i'm not even done packing) ^^ ahh i'm so sorry to hear about your psych exam but fear not that was me with macroecon.. i failed that shit so hard 😭 but yes!!!! it's over now and we can breatheeee :p

my family and i are meeting up with some family friends and we're gonna be hanging out so yayayay what about you baby <3

missions with megumi are usually quiet. he’s not much for small talk, preferring to focus on the task at hand, his shadows lengthening in the afternoon sun as he scouts the perimeter. you, on the other hand, are the one who fills the silence—bubbly, energetic, and always ready with a joke that usually earns you a tired roll of his eyes.

he doesn’t hate it. he’s never been good at being the one to start a conversation, so he lets you carry the weight of it. he likes the way you seem to vibrate with life, even in the middle of a dingy warehouse or a cursed forest. but lately, he’s noticed something.

it always happens right after a mission is wrapped up. the adrenaline is fading, the curtain of tension is dropping, and you’ll mutter something about needing a snack. you’ll slip away to the nearest gas station or a dimly lit liquor store while he’s finishing up the paperwork or talking to the auxillary managers.

at first, he didn't think much of it. but then he started noticing the faint, sharp scent of alcohol clinging to you on the train ride back. or the way your "bubbly" personality seemed to sharpen, your laughter getting just a little too loud, your movements a little too fluid to be entirely natural.

"you're drinking again?" he asks one evening, his voice low and careful. you’re sitting on the steps of a shrine, the mission finally over, and you’re taking a long pull from a paper bag.

you grin at him, eyes crinkling. "just a little celebration, 'gumi. we survived, didn't we?"

he frowns, looking at the way your hand trembles slightly as you put the bottle back. he wants to say something, wants to tell you that maybe you don't need it, but the words get stuck in his throat. he’s not good at the heavy stuff. he’s better at the small things, like making sure you have water or pulling you out of the way of a stray curse.

he watches you, really watches you, and realizes he’s not sure where the booze ends and you begin. is the girl who laughs at his dry humor the real you? or is she just a product of whatever's in that bag?

later, back at the dorms, you’re practically vibrating, telling him a story about a cat you saw earlier. he’s sitting on his bed, watching you pace the small room. he reaches out, catching your wrist as you pass by.

"hey," he says, his voice surprisingly soft. you stop, looking down at him, your expression melting into something softer. "sit down. you're going to trip."

you huff, but you sink down onto the floor beside him, leaning your head against his knee. "you're such a buzzkill, fushiguro."

"maybe," he mutters, his fingers ghosting over your hair. he doesn't pull away when you sigh, turning your face into his leg. he feels a pang of something sharp in his chest—a mix of worry and a deep, quiet affection he doesn't know how to handle.

megumi doesn't know how to fix this, or even if it’s his place to try. but as he looks at you, finally starting to drift off in the quiet of the room, he knows one thing for sure. whether you're sober or not, whether you're loud or quiet, he’s not going anywhere.

please and thank 🥹🤞

megumi is a man of very few words and even fewer patience for people who don't think before they speak. usually, he can handle it, but you? you’re a special case. you have this way of making everything about you without even trying, and half the time, he doesn't think you even realize you're doing it.

take tonight, for example. he’s just gotten back from a three-day mission that left him with a bruised rib and a headache that’s currently pulsing behind his eyes. he just wants to sit in the quiet, maybe have some tea, and decompress.

"you won't believe the day i had, 'gumi," you sigh, flopping onto his bed and narrowly missing his injured side. you don't notice him wince. "my coffee order was wrong, and then the train was late, so i missed the start of my show. i feel like the universe is actually against me today."

megumi stares at the ceiling, his hand resting gingerly over his ribs. he wants to point out that he spent his afternoon dodging a grade one curse in a damp basement, but he knows it won't land. you’re already onto the next thing, scrolling through your phone and showing him a dress you want to buy.

"it’s cute, right? it would look so good on me for our date next week," you hum, tilting the screen toward him.

"yeah," he mutters, his voice a bit strained. "it's fine."

"just fine?" you pout, finally looking at him. "you're being so moody. i had such a stressful day and you're barely even listening to me. it’s like you don't even care that i'm upset."

he lets out a slow, controlled breath through his nose. it’s frustrating—exhausting, really—how you can turn his silence into a personal slight against your minor inconveniences. he wants to snap, to tell you that the world doesn't stop turning just because your latte was lukewarm.

but then he looks at you. you’re looking at him with those big, expectant eyes, genuinely convinced that your bad day is the most important thing in the room. and despite how much it grates on his nerves, there’s something about your bubbly, self-centered energy that he can't quite bring himself to crush. you're bright and loud and completely unaware of your own gravity, and megumi is just... stuck in your orbit.

"i'm listening," he says quietly, reaching out with his good arm to tug on a lock of your hair. "sorry. i'm just tired."

"i knew it," you say, your mood flipping back to sunny instantly as you lean into his touch. "you're just cranky. anyway, as i was saying about the dress..."

he doesn't interrupt you again. he just closes his eyes and listens to the sound of your voice, letting your trivial dramas wash over him. he’ll never be the guy who demands the spotlight, and he’ll probably always be the one picking up the pieces when your ego gets bruised by the real world.

later, when you’ve finally talked yourself into a nap, he’ll quietly get up to get some ice for his side, careful not to wake you. he’ll complain about your selfishness to his shadows, but he’ll still make sure the blanket is tucked around your shoulders before he leaves the room.

may I request a reader that feels insecure about her intelligence compared to megumi? he’s a smart guy and she feels like she’ll never match up- which leads to some comfort and reassurance from him :))

thank you and take care of yourself !

megumi’s the type of guy who makes everything look effortless. whether it’s some high-level technique or a complex theory in class, he just gets it. he doesn't brag, which almost makes it worse, because his intelligence is just a fact of life—like the sky being blue or his hair being a mess.

you’re currently staring at the same page of your textbook for the twentieth time, the words starting to look like meaningless squiggles. megumi is sitting across from you, flipping through a dense novel at a speed that feels like a personal insult.

you let out a heavy sigh, dropping your pen. it clatters against the wood, loud in the quiet of the room. megumi doesn't even look up, just turns another page.

"you okay?" he asks, his voice low and distracted.

"fine," you mumble, though your face says otherwise. "i just... i don't get how you do it. you make everything look so easy. i feel like i'm running five miles just to keep up with one of your thoughts."

megumi finally looks up then, closing his book with a soft thud. he catches the way your shoulders are hunched, the frustrated line of your mouth. he’s not great at the whole 'emotional support' thing, and he usually finds heavy heart-to-hearts pretty draining, but he can see you're genuinely spiraling.

"what are you talking about?" he asks, his brow furrowing in that way that usually means he’s annoyed, but you know is just him being confused.

"you’re just... smart, 'gumi. really smart," you say, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. "sometimes i feel like a complete idiot standing next to you. like i’m just the loud distraction while you're actually doing the important thinking."

megumi stares at you for a long beat. he hates this. he hates that you think he views you as some lower-tier accessory. he’s silent for so long you think he’s just going to tell you to go back to work, but then he lets out a sharp, frustrated breath.

"you're being an idiot right now," he says bluntly. you flinch a little, but he continues before you can pout. "not because you can't solve some stupid equation, but because you think that’s what matters to me."

he leans forward, resting his chin on his hand, looking you dead in the eye.

"i'm good at the technical stuff because i have to be. it's survival. but i don't know how to talk to people like you do. i don't know how to make someone feel better just by walking into a room," he mutters, his cheeks taking on a faint, barely-there tint of pink. "you see things i completely miss because i'm too busy overthinking. you have a... light, or whatever."

he stops, looking incredibly annoyed with himself for being so poetic. he clears his throat, shifting in his seat.

"point is, i don't want a girlfriend who's exactly like me. that sounds exhausting," he says, his voice returning to its usual dry tone. "i like that you're different. and you're not 'not smart.' you just think differently. so stop comparing yourself to me. it’s annoying."

it’s a half-insult, half-declaration of love. but you can see the sincerity in the way he won't quite meet your eyes now.

you smile, feeling the weight in your chest lift just a little. "so you're saying you need me?"

"i'm saying your brain works fine," he grumbles, reopening his book and holding it up to hide the fact that he's definitely blushing now. "now finish that page so we can go get dinner. i'm hungry."

there's probably very little that i'm not willing to write. i'm totally fine with dark content, and there will very likely be some on my blog. of course, this space isn't completely dark content. i'm pro-fiction/anti-censorship, and i think that anyone can consume/create what they wish to. i'm in no position to tell another what they can/can't do, just as no one is in any position to tell me the same.

i don't write anything that's not character x reader, meaning i don't do platonic relationships.

however, off the top of my head, for smut, i'm not willing to write age-play, race-play, and vore. i draw the line at hard incest, but i'm okay with step-cest.

the characters i'm currently writing for are yuji, megumi, and yuta. i probably won't upload much for gojo, because i already have another blog that's mostly centric for him.

megumi x reader spending a lazy morning in bed?

and make it really fluff

the sun hasn't quite decided to fully commit to the morning yet, but the light is soft, filtering in through the gap in the curtains and painting a warm streak across the bedroom floor. you’re not sure what time it is, but it doesn't matter.

your eyes flutter open and the first thing you see is megumi’s chin, a little rough with the stubble he’s too lazy to shave on the weekends. he’s still deeply asleep, his breath slow and even against the top of your head. you’re predictably a mess of limbs thrown over him, one arm draped heavily across his chest and a leg hooked over his.

he insists on the space, of course, pushing you to the other side of the bed when you first crawl in, but somehow, every single morning, you wake up like this—practically glued. and, as usual, one of his arms is trapped underneath your back, definitely dead by now, but he hasn't moved it.

you smile, a soft, sleepy thing, and snuggle a little closer, nuzzling your cheek against the warm cotton of his t-shirt. you decide you want to wake him up.

“‘gumi,” you whisper, barely a breath, letting your fingers trace the outline of his jaw. “wake up, sleepyhead.”

he groans, a deep, annoyed sound that vibrates in his chest. he squeezes his eyes shut tighter and shifts slightly, trying to pull away from your hand, but that just pulls you closer against him.

“it’s too early,” he mumbles into your hair, his voice raspy with sleep.

“it’s a perfect time,” you counter, cheerful and wide awake now. you lift your head enough to give him a quick peck on the corner of his mouth, which he barely registers. “we should get up and do things. i wanna make pancakes.”

he opens one eye, glaring sleepily at you, and the look says it all: absolutely not.

“why are you so energetic?” he grumbles, pulling you in tighter so your face is pressed against his chest. you can feel his heartbeat slowing back down to its calm, resting rhythm. “just stay here.”

you giggle, but you don't argue, letting your head settle back down. you know he doesn’t entirely understand your need to be doing things, your inherent bubbly-ness, but he’s learned how to counteract it—with soft, quiet demands and the heavy warmth of his arms. you're both silent for a long moment, listening to the street sounds outside and the comfortable, rhythmic thumping of his heart.

you lift your head again, a new plan forming. “fine. we can stay in bed, but you have to tell me you love me.”

megumi’s face flushes faintly, a pink that’s easy to miss in the dim light. he frowns, a small, stubborn wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows, clearly uncomfortable with the overt request for mushiness.

“you know i do, stupid. i love you a lot, for whatever reason,” he mutters, pulling your legs closer and throwing his other arm over your waist, effectively cementing your position. it’s a non-verbal affirmation, a clear, solid declaration without any of those messy, embarrassing words.

you beam, absolutely content. "i know."

She trusts him but can't control her insecurities

💖

it was the kind of insecurity that bubbled up and tasted like vinegar, hot and sharp on your tongue. you knew it was stupid, you really did. megumi was not a flowery words kind of guy, but his quiet actions were louder than any big declaration. he was yours. he was fiercely loyal, and he wasn't going anywhere.

but sometimes, when another girl from his class, maybe with her own easy confidence and a kind of sleek prettiness that you felt you lacked when you were trying to do too many things at once, came up to talk about a mission or an assignment, that little voice in your head would start up.

it happened one day in the common room. you were showing yuji a new filter on your phone—one of the really ridiculous ones—and you were laughing, a little too loud probably, trying to get him to try it too. you tended to be a bit much, you knew, all bright energy and over-the-top reactions. megumi, across the room, was in a quiet, focused discussion with a second-year girl, the two of them bent over a textbook, a serious atmosphere around them.

you watched them for a moment too long. you saw him do that tiny head tilt, the one he only does when he’s genuinely listening, and the way his brow furrowed in concentration. it was exactly the kind of smart, serious focus that first drew you to him.

“hey, your face is stuck like that,” yuji whispered, elbowing you.

you blinked, forcing a smile. "what? no, it's not. it's just… a little warm in here."

the feeling didn't go away. later, when you and megumi were finally alone in your room, the silence between you felt heavier than usual. you were sprawled on your bed, scrolling aimlessly, while he sat at your small desk, reviewing notes. you felt the need to fill the quiet, a habit of yours that usually just made him sigh good-naturedly.

you finally rolled over, sitting up. "that girl you were talking to earlier," you started, trying to sound casual, failing spectacularly. "she’s… really smart, huh?"

megumi didn't even look up. "oh, her? yeah, she's focused. she had a question about the veil boundaries."

"right, right," you mumbled, picking at a loose thread on your blanket. "she’s pretty, too. very put together. the opposite of me, i guess. i’m too loud, always bouncing off the walls, and i forget my notes like, twice a week." you couldn’t help but let the insecurity creep into your voice.

he finally put his pen down, the sound sharp in the quiet room. he turned his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression unreadable. his eyes were flat, a little irritated, but not at you. it was that familiar megumi look that meant he was annoyed by something he didn't quite know how to articulate.

"are you being an idiot again?" he asked, not unkindly, but with his usual bluntness.

your cheeks flushed. "no! i’m just saying, logically, she’s probably a better… fit. for someone like you. you like quiet."

he sighed, a deep, weary sound, running a hand through his hair. "look, i don’t hate that you’re 'loud' or 'bouncing off the walls,' whatever that means. it’s just… i don’t know what to do with that much energy sometimes. it’s not a contest, you know?" he paused, leaning forward slightly, his eyes holding yours. "i’m with you. why is that so difficult for you to understand?"

he got up, walked over, and simply stood by your bed, looking down at you. he didn't say another word, just waited.

you looked up at him, your eyes a little watery now that the floodgates of your self-doubt had been opened. you couldn't control the stupid fear. you just couldn't.

“i just… you wouldn’t be looking at other girls, right?” you finally whispered, the question feeling small and embarrassing.

megumi didn't scoff or roll his eyes. he sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly beneath his weight. he reached out and gently took your hand, his thumb tracing the back of your knuckles, a familiar, comforting motion.

"listen to me," he murmured, his voice low, almost a hush. "you’re an idiot, okay? a complete, overthinking idiot." he gave your hand a soft squeeze. "but you’re my idiot. the one i want to wake up next to, the one who makes me popcorn at three in the morning, the one who never lets me stay completely grumpy for too long."

he let out a small, almost inaudible sigh, avoiding your gaze for a moment before looking back, his deep blue eyes earnest. "i see how bright you are. i see how you treat people. i see you." he nudged your shoulder with his, a small, awkward gesture. "i don't need quiet. i need you."

he brought your hand up and pressed a swift, dry kiss to your knuckles. "i trust you. can you trust me?"

you nodded, a shaky breath escaping you. he didn't try to argue you out of your feelings; he just offered the solid, quiet assurance you needed. you leaned your head against his shoulder, letting his familiar weight and scent anchor you.

"good," he mumbled into your hair. he pulled you closer, wrapping his arm around you, the motion tight and non-negotiable. "now, can we watch that stupid movie you wanted to see? the one with the horrible plot."

"it's not horrible, it's a classic," you countered, already feeling lighter, a small, genuine smile curving your lips.

the apartment was always a little refuge for you both, but especially for megumi. he’d come back from missions and immediately sink into the quiet, letting the low, friendly hum of the refrigerator or the muted traffic outside be the loudest things he had to deal with. he liked your particular kind of presence, too—the way you could fill a room without ever demanding attention. you were bright, he was subdued, and somehow, it balanced.

tonight, though, the quiet felt heavy.

he came back later than usual. you were already curled up on the couch, waiting for him, and the way he walked in—shoulders tight, eyes downcast—told you everything you needed to know before he even spoke. you stood up, moving toward him, but he just shook his head, a small, jerky movement that made you stop.

“i’m fine,” he muttered, shucking off his jacket and dropping it in a pile that was definitely not the coat rack. he walked straight past you, heading into the kitchen, his posture rigid.

you followed slowly. “hey. what happened?”

he was staring at the counter, hands braced on the edge, breathing slowly and deliberately. “i said i’m fine.” his voice was flat, dangerously even.

you leaned against the doorway. “i know when you’re not, megumi.”

he didn’t respond for a long moment. the air in the small kitchen was thick with his unexpressed tension. you knew better than to push right now, so you just waited, a silent anchor. your approach was always gentler than his default setting.

finally, he let out a sharp, ragged exhale. “i messed up today.”

it was the simple honesty of it that made your heart clench. for megumi, admitting fault was a Herculean effort, a crack in his carefully constructed armor. you took a cautious step closer.

“what kind of mess up?” you asked softly.

he finally looked up, and that’s when you saw it—the shimmer in his usually steady eyes, the way his lips were pressed into a thin, white line as he fought for control. the sight of him like this—on the verge of unraveling—made your breath catch.

“i—it was stupid. a miscalculation. a mistake,” he spat the last word like it was poison. he rubbed his eye roughly with the heel of his hand, trying to scrub the moisture away, but a tear still escaped, tracing a wet path down his cheek.

he let out a low, choked sound, a mix of frustration and despair, completely unmasked. the sound was quiet, almost instantly muffled by the hand he pressed over his mouth, but it tore right through you. this was the first time you’d ever seen him truly cry.

you closed the distance between you instantly, not saying a single word. there was no time for flowery reassurances or corny lines. he hated those anyway.

you simply hooked your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek into the solid muscle of his back. you didn’t try to pull him into a full hug, recognizing his need for just a little distance, a little space to stand and hold himself together. you just were there. a warm, solid presence behind him.

he flinched initially, a quick, involuntary jerk of surprise, but he didn’t pull away. instead, his grip on the counter loosened, his shoulders slumping just a fraction. after a moment, he places his hands on top of yours.

“it’s okay, ‘gumi,” you finally whispered, your voice low and completely steady. “it’s just okay.”

it wasn’t a denial of his pain or a dismissal of his failure; it was just a statement of fact about his current safety. it’s okay that you messed up. it’s okay that you’re crying. it’s okay that i see it.

it had been a good twenty minutes of you trying on three different shirts, each one tossed onto the bed with an increasingly frustrated huff. you wanted to look nice for the low-key movie night you two had planned—popcorn and cheap horror flicks—but nothing felt right.

megumi, sprawled out on your desk chair, finally glanced up from the manga he was pretending to read. he wasn’t usually so observant about your clothing choices, but the dramatic sighing was clearly a distraction.

"what’s the problem?" he muttered, not unkindly, but certainly without much warmth. he looked at the shirt you were currently holding up, a cute, slightly fitted band tee.

"i just... i don't know," you mumbled, pulling the shirt down. "i feel like everything makes me look, i don't know. bigger than i am."

you were expecting a quick, standard reassurance. something like, you look fine, or don't be stupid. what you got instead was a dry, off-the-cuff joke, delivered with that trademark blank look of his.

"well, yeah," he said, flipping a page. "you've been inhaling those convenience store pastries all week. what did you expect, idiot?"

it was such a stupid, passing comment, meant to be a teasing barb in the style of your usual banter. he didn't even lift his eyes from the page. but the casual cruelty of it, hitting right on the soft spot you had spent all week trying to ignore, made the air feel suddenly sharp.

you froze, the shirt slipping from your fingers. a genuine, involuntary sting hit your eyes. you turned away quickly, bending to pick up a discarded shirt, hoping he wouldn’t notice the sudden silence or the tell-tale tightness in your chest.

he did.

the lack of an immediate, sassy retort was what finally made him lower the manga. he saw your back, stiff and motionless, and the way you were gripping the fabric in your hands. the dismissive joke he’d made minutes ago suddenly replayed in his head, stripped of the context of your usual teasing, and he realized exactly what he’d just done.

his jaw tightened, a familiar rush of awkward regret washing over him. he wasn’t a bad boyfriend; he just had a tendency to say the first blunt, unedited thought that crossed his mind. and he genuinely didn't know how to backtrack gracefully.

he slowly pushed himself out of the chair, dropping the manga forgotten on the floor. he walked over, silent, until he was right behind you. he didn't touch you right away.

"hey," he said, his voice dropping to a low, quiet murmur you rarely heard, the one he only used when he was genuinely serious.

you didn’t answer, just stood there, still facing the pile of clothes.

he reached out, his hands carefully settling on your shoulders. he could feel the tense knot in your muscles. he turned you gently, forcing you to look at him, even as your eyes searched for the floor.

"i was being an ass," he admitted, the words stiff and difficult, but true. he avoided the vague, sweeping platitudes. he focused on the facts. "i didn't... i wasn't trying to actually be mean."

he kept his hands on your shoulders, his thumbs rubbing small, slow circles on your skin. his gaze was steady, maybe a little panicked at how upset you looked, but sincere.

"look at me," he insisted softly. when you finally did, he swallowed, pushing through his own discomfort. "i like your smile. and i like how you laugh at stupid stuff. and you're warm."

he paused, giving a clumsy shrug. "i just like you. all of you. you don't need to... whatever you're doing. you're so beautiful, okay? you’re perfect." the word 'perfect' felt too big, too corny, even to him, but he meant it anyway.

he then pulled you forward, into a tight, quiet hug, resting his chin on the top of your head. he didn't wait for your response, just held you, his presence a heavy, grounding comfort.

"wear the band shirt," he mumbled into your hair, the words a little muffled. "it's my favorite. now come on. i already made the popcorn, and if we don't start the movie soon, that thing is gonna get cold."

you let out a quiet, watery laugh against his chest, the tension slowly draining out of you.

"you’re such an idiot," you whispered, the usual easy banter already starting to return.

and i was wondering if you could make a fic where megumi reacting to jealous reader please?? thank youu so much b4 & have a great daayy :33 [SORRY FOR MY BROKEN ENG .. TwT]

it’s an easy mistake to make, really. megumi is objectively good-looking—it's just a fact. he's quiet, maybe a little intimidating, and he always manages to look put-together even in the slightly rumpled state of his high school uniform. so, of course, other girls in a normal high school setting are going to notice. and of course, they're going to try to talk to him.

today, it was a girl from the year below. she cornered him right by the vending machines during lunch, her smile wide and a little too bright. she was clearly nervous, twisting her skirt between her fingers, and launching into a long, drawn-out question about the history homework he'd finished two days ago. he was giving his standard megumi response: short, factual, and completely devoid of any real encouragement.

you, on the other hand, were not giving a standard you response. you were leaning against the wall maybe ten feet away, arms crossed, tapping your foot with a rhythm that was way too fast to be casual. you told yourself you were just waiting for him to finish so you could actually buy your iced coffee, but the hard glare you were sending the girl’s way was less about caffeine and more about proprietary irritation.

megumi, naturally, picked up on it almost instantly. he was focused on trying to give the girl a minimal answer so he could escape, but the air around you was practically vibrating with a certain kind of playful, yet potent, annoyance. he'd grown accustomed to your general mood—bubbly, loud, and full of energy—but this was a different frequency. a jealous frequency. he suppressed a tiny smile that threatened to pull at his lips.

finally, the girl let out a relieved squeak, thanked him excessively, and hurried off. he waited until she was fully out of sight before turning to you.

"you done?" you asked, pushing off the wall. your voice was casual, maybe a little too loud, but your eyes were sharp and fixed on his.

"yeah," he replied, already reaching for his wallet. "what were you doing?"

"waiting for you," you mumbled, pulling him toward the vending machine. "i needed coffee, but i didn't want to interrupt your fan club meeting."

it wasn't mean, not really, just a little sour around the edges. that's how you get when you're feeling protective—a little sharp-tongued, a lot of bluster. he knew how much you loved him, and he loved how freely you showed it, even if he didn't know how to handle the sheer volume of your affection sometimes. but this possessive streak, the jealousy, was actually... endearing.

"you could've just come over," he said simply, pressing the button for his usual iced tea.

"yeah, and be all, 'hi, i'm the girlfriend, buzz off'?" you scoffed, though the pout on your face was genuine. "no, thanks. i don't want to be that girl."

he looked at you then, fully, as the machine whirred to life. "you're my girl, though."

it was a quiet statement, barely audible over the clatter of the machine dropping his tea. it wasn't a grand declaration, but the soft sincerity in his dark eyes made your heart do a ridiculous little flip. he didn’t even blush or look away, just held your gaze steadily.

"and i was the one she was talking to," megumi continued, picking up the bottle. he paused, tilting his head slightly. "not that it matters."

you took a deep breath, all the residual tension slowly draining away. "i know," you admitted, feeling a faint blush heat your own cheeks. "i just... you’re mine, you know? and i don't like it when they flock to you. it's annoying."

he finally let the ghost of a smile appear, soft and quick. he reached out and gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear—a tiny, almost furtive gesture he only made when he was feeling particularly fond.

"go get your coffee, idiot," he muttered, using the pet name he usually reserved for when you were being exceptionally silly. his hand lingered on your cheek for just a second too long before retreating. he took a slow sip of his iced tea, his eyes on the vending machine, but the slight curve of his lips didn't vanish.

you melted.

"okay, okay," you grinned, finally punching the button for your coffee. you leaned in close, your cheek practically brushing his shoulder, and whispered, "you know i love you, right?"

Could you write a Megumi fanfic with a reader who's insecure because he doesn't show affection in public?

She gets scared that he might be ashamed of her or something, so she keeps her distance from him (her way of showing affection is through touch, so she tends to be very affectionate).

Thank you for your attention 🩷❤️🩷❤️🖤

it’s strange, the shift in you. normally, you’re all sunshine and immediate contact, a pocket-sized hurricane of energy and laughter that seems to follow megumi everywhere. he’s used to it. he’s used to the bubbly greetings, the incessant texts full of random thoughts and too many emojis, the way you bounce into a room and make it instantly feel... full.

he wouldn’t admit it, but he loves the fullness. he doesn't know how to fill a room like that himself, but he knows he doesn’t have to when you’re around.

then, sometimes, the light just switches off.

it started about three days ago. the bubbly text threads went silent, the 'good morning!' sticker you always sent him at 7:00 a.m. sharp never arrived. he saw you briefly at the cafeteria the first day, you were quieter than usual, picking at your food, and when he tried to ask about an upcoming mission, you just offered a small, almost imperceptible nod and a mumbled, "yeah, sounds good." before slipping away.

today, you’ve retreated completely. you haven’t left your room, and your silence is so loud it's almost physically painful.

megumi stands outside your door, his fist hovering an inch from the wood. he hates this. he hates the uncertainty, the sudden absence. when you’re quiet like this, it’s not peaceful; it feels like a heavy, suffocating blanket. it makes his stomach clench.

he tries to reason with himself. you’re probably just tired, maybe overwhelmed with an assignment, or just need a couple of days to yourself. but three days? that’s too long for a normal you-time recharge.

he knocks, a quick, almost nervous double-tap. "hey. it's me."

silence. the silence stretches out, thick and heavy, and megumi is about to turn away, to give you whatever space you clearly need. he's bad at this—at gentle probing. he's better at just sitting nearby until you decide to talk.

just as he starts to pivot, the door creaks open. you’re standing there, looking like you haven’t slept properly. your eyes are a little dull, and the usual spark is missing. you're wearing his worn-in grey t-shirt, the one you 'borrowed' last month, and he notes the way it hangs loosely on your frame.

"hi," you say, your voice barely a whisper, a stark contrast to your usual cheerful shout. you don't look him in the eye.

"hi," he replies, trying to keep his own voice neutral, even though he's internally cursing at how awful you look. "i, uh… i brought you this."

he shoves a hot cup of coffee and a packet of those ridiculously sweet melon-flavored cookies you like into your hands. he avoids eye contact too, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. it’s not his usual move, this soft offering.

you stare at the items, then finally look up at him. a tiny, weak smile plays on your lips. "thanks, 'gumi."

"are you... okay?" the question is out before he can stop it, blunt and clumsy. he tenses, waiting for you to snap that you just need space, or that it’s none of his business.

instead, you shrug, clutching the coffee and cookies. "i dunno. just... quiet, i guess. it happens." you gesture vaguely with your head, inviting him in without actually saying the words.

he steps inside. your room is messier than usual, books piled on the floor, the curtains drawn. you sink down onto the edge of your bed, not quite looking at him. megumi stands awkwardly for a moment, then sits on the only clean spot left, a corner of your desk chair.

he doesn't push. he just sits, quietly sipping his own coffee. the silence is still there, but now, with him inside, it’s less suffocating. it's companionable, a mutual understanding. he's not good at solving your feelings with words, but he can solve your lack of company with presence. he gets it. sometimes the light just flickers out, and you don’t have the energy to explain why.

a slow, steady minute passes. you finally peel open the cookies and offer him one. he shakes his head. you pop it into your mouth and chew slowly.

"i missed you," you finally mumble, the words muffled by the melon cookie.

megumi’s heart gives a small, unwelcome thud. he hates how soft he is for you. he clears his throat, fighting down the urge to look away. "you're right here, idiot."

"i know. but... my brain missed you." you manage a small giggle, and it’s weak, but it’s yours.

he still doesn't quite know what to say, so he does the only thing he can think of. he walks over to the bed, sits next to you, and carefully places his large hand on the back of your neck, his fingers resting gently against your hairline. he doesn't squeeze, doesn't force you to look at him, just offers a quiet, steady warmth.

he feels you lean into the touch, just slightly, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement that means everything.

"don't shut me out next time," he murmurs, his voice low, only loud enough for you to hear. it’s not a command; it’s a quiet plea.

you twist your head and finally meet his eyes, and he sees a tiny bit of the usual sparkle coming back. "i won't. promise."

he nods, satisfied, then quickly pulls his hand away, retreating to his desk chair, suddenly uncomfortable with the intimacy. he picks up his coffee. "good. now drink that before it gets cold."

I don't know if you're still taking orders...

But it doesn't hurt to try, hahaha

We know that Megumi doesn't like public displays of affection and has that cold and somewhat (or totally) emo

But what if he were with a reader who was insecure about this behavior, feeling ashamed because he was cold or distant in public because "he's ashamed of her"?

So, like a typical crybaby, she feels rejected by him even though they're dating and gets upset with him.

the subway was a mess. not cursed mess, just... people mess. it was packed, and the air conditioning was doing a pitiful job of fighting the late summer heat and the sheer volume of human bodies. you were already feeling a little sticky, and your mood was dipping fast.

you and megumi were pressed close together, not in a cute, romantic way, but in a 'i can feel the edge of your wallet digging into my thigh' way. your hand naturally reached for his, seeking the familiar comfort of his grip.

but before your fingers could properly interlace, he shifted. it was a small, almost imperceptible movement, but it was enough. he adjusted his shoulder strap, stepped half an inch away, and slipped his hand into the front pocket of his jacket, effectively cutting off your attempt at contact.

it was like a little punch to the gut. you pulled your hand back quickly, stuffing it into your own pocket before anyone could notice.

this was megumi. you knew this. he didn't like it when you got too close in public. he was never mean about it—never flat-out pushed you away—but there was always that slight stiffening, that subtle move to create space. no public displays of affection. not even hand-holding.

usually, you just teased him about being too cool for you, rolling your eyes and leaning into him anyway just to watch him squirm a little. you were the bubbly one; he was the reserved one. it worked.

but today, with the heat and the crowds, and maybe a little lingering insecurity from a stupid comment your friend made the other day about him being “too cold,” it just hurt.

is he ashamed of me? the thought hissed in your ear, ugly and immediate.

you knew it wasn't true. you knew he loved you. but the way he always seemed to keep you at arm's length in front of others made the feeling crawl up your throat. it felt like rejection, plain and simple, even though you were his girlfriend.

the rest of the ride was silent. you didn't try to talk. you didn't try to lean against his arm. you just stared blankly at the map above the door, feeling your face warm with a pathetic, childish resentment.

when you finally got off the train, the slight relief of the cooler platform didn't help your mood. you walked ahead of him, your footsteps short and sharp.

"hey," megumi called out, his voice low, a question in the single syllable. you kept walking.

you heard his sigh behind you, deep and weary, like the one he let out when gojo was being particularly annoying. then his strides lengthened, and he caught up to you, falling into step beside you.

"what is it?" he asked, not a lot of emotion in his tone, but the slight tilt of his brow was there, the silent question that always made you melt a little. not this time.

"nothing," you clipped out, avoiding his gaze.

"don't say 'nothing' when you're walking like a robot with a migraine," he countered, dry as a bone. he reached out a hand, intending to grab your elbow, but you pulled away before he could touch you. you didn't even mean to—it was just instinct.

megumi stopped dead. the air between you suddenly felt thick and heavy.

you spun around, your eyes probably a little too shiny. "i just—i don't know, 'gumi. why can't you just hold my hand?" the question was out before you could stop it, pathetic and small. "we're dating. are you embarrassed?"

he stared at you for a long second, his eyes wide and unreadable. he looked genuinely confused, maybe even a little wounded. this was an accusation he hadn't expected.

"are you serious?" he finally said, his voice quiet. "you think i'm embarrassed by you?"

"i don't know what else to think," you mumbled, looking down at the scuffed toe of your shoe. "you always look like you want to run away when i try to touch you in public. it feels like you're ashamed of me."

you waited for him to give you his usual excuse—it's just too crowded, it's unnecessary, i need to be aware of my surroundings. but he didn't.

he let out another sigh, but this one was different. it was a sound of profound frustration.

he reached out, slowly, and took both of your hands in his. he didn't just grab them; he laced his fingers through yours, firm and completely interlocked. his hands were warm, as always.

"i'm not embarrassed," he said, staring right into your eyes. his voice was low, for your ears only. "i don't like public displays of affection. i never have. it makes me feel exposed, you know that. it's not because of you."

he paused, looking down at your joined hands, his expression softening just a fraction.

"i love that you're all sunshine and rainbows," he admitted, the words clearly costing him effort. "i like that you don't care what other people think. i just... i don't know how to be that person. i don't know how to fit in it."

he squeezed your hands once, hard. "i was putting my hands in my pockets because i was feeling cramped and overwhelmed, and i didn't want to snap at you or squeeze your hand too hard when i was trying not to elbow someone. i was trying to keep my head clear."

he lifted his gaze back to yours, and for the first time, you saw that soft, secret thing in his eyes that was only ever there when he looked at you.

"i love you," he repeated, stressing the last word, a clear counterpoint to your insecurity. "i'm proud to be with you. i don't need to hang a neon sign on it for you to know that."

he took a step closer, reducing the distance he'd subconsciously created on the train. his presence was solid, unwavering.

"don't be an idiot," he murmured, a familiar endearment. "i'd love to hold your hand."

he gave your hands another firm squeeze, then finally released one to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"but if you're going to pout like this," he added, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, "i might just do this everywhere just to see you mad."

you couldn't help the small, wet laugh that escaped you. "you wouldn't dare."

"try me," he challenged, the usual gruffness back in his voice, but the warmth in his eyes completely undercut it.