⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ໒꒱ ˖ ࣪ ⊹

and even worse than the girls that draw hearts around you and sukuna’s staff photos next to eachother in the main office, he’s got gojo. gojo, who ships you two and nags him like worse-than a middle school girl. gojo, who shoves you two together for any school event.

“what game do you have planned for tomorrow?” you ask, leaning over to whisper to sukuna as eighth grade awards are called for each subject, timing claps inbetween your words while names are called. you smirk, “how many kids am i gonna have sent my way next time?”

“just dodgeball.” he leans down to whisper flatly against your ear, still staring down a kid giggling in the seating rows of the auditorium and effectively getting him to stop with his gaze.

“your version of dodgeball is basically to the death, i might have to have paramedics in my room on standby.” you joke, turning to smile at him so sweetly. in his mind, this counts as him making you laugh and therefore counts as a win.

he chuckles lightly, just a quick huff of his chest, but essentially the hardest he can laugh if he’s not looking at a kid getting tackled in class. “these kids will toughen up eventually, i am just teaching them to do it early.”

“were you a weak kid that needed to toughen up? i can really only picture you as a big scary dude.”

“i was actually a severely malnourished child due to my mothers impoverished state during her pregnancy.“ he says, truly not realizing how solemn he sounds in his voice even as he means it as a light hearted jest.

you blink at him, face contorted in confusion and awkwardness. he wants to hit himself.

the only thing that saves him from not saying anything stupid again is the end of the assembly, marked by gojo yelling into a megaphone and for kids to round up by homeroom.

the following week he’s still embarrassed to even look you in the eyes. he’s mulling over how stupid he must’ve looked infront of you while sifting through the equipment closet.

he hears steps echo throughout the currently empty gym before he yells out.

“gojo i’m not covering your lunch break, fuck off—” he turns around to not see the usual suspect he finds during his free period. instead, he sees you, leaning against the door in scrubs and white coat clinging to your body. he stills in his motion.

you speak before he can (if he can speak at all in his embarrassed state).

“i understand the confusion, he bothers me all the time too.” you dismiss, smiling at him with your glossed lips he probably thinks about hourly. waitwaitwait, gojo talks to you all the time ? he’s going to kill that lanky fuck. “just wanted to drop these off for yuri in your next period.” you jostle around a pill bottle in your hand, “she can get fainty on gym days so give these to her just in case to help prevent that.” he knows it’s your job and all, but your concern is honestly kinda cute.

“uhh yeah i’ll be sure to.” he nods, right as you drop the bottle on top of a stack of rubber cones by the door before you walk out. and he would just like it to be known he definitely didn’t stare at your ass as you left.

and he typically makes it easier for himself to deny how down bad he is to you, but now, after you spent a week of saved up sick days out last week, he’s kind of craving your voice. so who can blame him when he calls his 6th grade nephew into his office while he’s supposed to be at lunch.

“look, kid. i’m going to need you to do something, and i’m gonna need you to not be annoying about it, kay?”

yuji furrows his brows, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie.

“you,” he gestures to his nephew, “are going to act like you collapsed and let me bring you up to the school nurse. you are then going to be quiet when i talk to her.”

“is it cause you have a crush on her—”

sukuna tenses before cutting him off.

“do a good job acting and i will consider buying you that human earthworm blu-ray. do you hear me, brat?”

yuji’s eyes light up at the mention of the dvd.

“is this impression good enough then?” yuji leans and clutches at his side in fake fatigue while moaning dramatically for help, then immediately straightens up with a smile like he’s waiting for a rating. sukuna shakes his head and genuinely wonders how he’s related to this—in sukuna’s words— pea brained doofus.

he dials your number on his offices phone, sitting tense in his chair while he shh’s yuji. yuji nods and salutes as sukuna continues to roll his eyes.

yuji could’ve sworn he saw him smile when you pick up. he continues to watch sukuna fiddle with the curled wire of the phone as he explains yuji’s apparently dire situation. he can just barely hear the muffled sound of you saying ‘just bring him up and i’ll check him out.” over the speaker of the phone before sukuna hangs up and fixes his hair.

sukuna walks out the door and desperately tries to ignore yuji’s terrible post fainting impression behind him as his nephew follows his step to your room.

just before they step into your room he whispers to yuji as he leans over.

“if you can bring up me being single i’ll take you out for ice cream, brat.”

the spar was fine, really.

you were absolutely not watching his hands—the way his fingers curled and splayed with every summon and command, shadows bending to his will.

you were definitely not watching the way his shirt started clinging to his torso as he moved, sweat darkening the fabric across his chest, his back, the dip of his—

nope.

nope.

you were a respectful partner.

at least right until the spar ended with megumi pinning itadori to the gravel, dust settling around them in the humid air. he had one forearm locked across his classmate’s throat, the other—oh—the other hand twisted tight in his collar, knuckles white. his breathing was heavy, rough pants echoing in the quiet yard. his hair had come loose from its usual spikes, falling across his forehead in damp strands. sweat traced a path down his temple, his jaw, the column of his throat—

oh, you were done for.

megumi released itadori, who was complaining something about ‘unfair pet privileges’, and pushed himself to his feet. he was panting slightly. his chest rose and fell, shirt clinging in ways that should be illegal, and his hands—those hands—were flexing at his sides like he was shaking off residual tension.

long fingers. elegant knuckles. veins. and the way his thumb dragged across his lower lip, wiping away a bead of sweat—

you made a sound.

you hadn’t meant to. it was somewhere between a whimper and a growl, and it had escaped before you could stop it.

megumi's head snapped toward you. his eyes—dilated, still half-feral from the fight—locked onto yours.

oh, you were so dead.

or perhaps... you weren’t. megumi put space between himself and itadori’s sprawled, resting body on the field. perhaps his distance would give you the repose you needed to compose yourself.

except it failed. miserably.

because he was still there, a few feet across the yard, stretching cool-down muscles. arms reached over his head, shirt riding up to expose a sliver of pale stomach. his hands—god—were clasped behind his neck, fingers interlaced, knuckles pressing against his spine like he was trying to crack his back.

and then he bent forward, palms flat on the ground, hips flexing. the line of his spine, the way his shoulder blades shifted, the way the t-shirt was stuck to his skin with sweat, highlighting hidden muscles beneath—

you stood up so fast you knocked over your textbook.

megumi straightened and looked at you.

and smiled. a real smile—soft, private. knowing.

you walked over. you had no choice. your legs were moving on their own, drawn to him like gravity.

“your staring was distracting.” there was no bite to his words.

“me?” you pointed a finger at yourself. “i wasn’t the distracting one.”

he nodded, disbelieving.

“i mean it. i didn’t get any studying done.”

“that’s not good.”

“it isn’t.” you shook your head. “i need to be compensated.”

megumi tilted his head.

“i know, i know. no kissing in public.”

“no,” megumi agreed.

‘shame,’ you thought, ‘so strict.’—until he brought one hand to his own lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles—and then offered it to you.

you stared at his hand.

those long fingers, slightly callused, knuckles still faintly pink from where they’d connected with itadori's jaw. the same hand that had been twisted in his collar moments ago, holding him down with quiet strength.

now it was just... there. offered. fingers relaxed, waiting.

“you just—” you started slowly, brain short-circuiting as you looked from his mouth to his hand. “and now you’re offering them to me?”

“mm.”

“that’s..” you swallowed. “that's, you’re—”

megumi’s eyebrow arched. “you want me to take it back?”

“no!”

you grabbed his hand before he could. you wrapped your fingers around his palm—a little sweaty from the spar, and you didn’t care at all. you cared so little that you lifted it to your own lips and pressed a kiss to the same knuckle he’d just kissed, right where his lips had been. same place. same pressure, deliberate.

megumi’s breath hitched, barely, a tiny catch in his throat that you wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t obsessed with every sound your quiet boyfriend made. you needed more.

“what?” you pulled back, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “you thought one would make up for it?”

megumi blinked. something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or that quiet intensity he got when you caught him off guard.

“i—” he stopped and swallowed. you watched his throat bob, the way his fingers, still in your grasp, tightened just slightly.

“one kiss on the knuckles,” you continued, voice dripping with mock consideration, “for forty minutes of watching you be distractingly attractive? for the lost study time? for the vein crimes?”

“vein crimes?”

“yeah, especially those.”

megumi’s lips twitched in that soft, hidden pull that was threatening to break through, but he was fighting it. losing the fight.

“so,” you said, lifting his hand again, “i think i deserve—”

you pressed another kiss to his knuckles. slower this time, lingering. your lips dragged across the skin, and you felt the faint tremor run through his fingers.

“—at least—”

another kiss. this one to the next knuckle.

“—a few—”

and another.

“—more.”

by the time you’d kissed each knuckle individually, megumi’s hand was trembling. just enough. it was a fascinating contrast—the very hands that commanded cold shadows were now radiating a sweet warmth beneath your lips.

his face—his beautiful, composed, impossible face—was faintly pink. a dusting of color across his cheekbones was creeping toward his ears.

oh, you’d won.

“that’s—” he faltered. “that’s enough.”

“is it?” you asked, sweet. “dunno. i’m still feeling pretty uncompensated.”

megumi’s jaw tightened. his eyes—flustered—locked onto yours.

his free hand came up—and you watched it, watched the way his fingers curled, the way they stopped short of your jaw, wanting to tilt your face up. his thumb traced the air over your lower lip, featherlight.

“i can’t kiss you here,” megumi said quietly. “outside. itadori’s still—”

“wheezing. yeah, i know.”

and then he leaned in—pressing his thumb against your lips, kissing his own finger.

his lips met his own skin, just barely brushing, but you felt it—the warmth, the promise of what he couldn’t do. his eyes stayed locked on yours the whole time, intense and just a little bit flustered.

when he pulled back, his ears were definitely red now.

“compensation,” megumi murmured.

“you—” the word came out strangled. you cleared your throat. “that’s not how it works. you can’t compensate me by kissing yourself.”

“seemed fair.”

you wanted to kiss him so badly it physically hurt. but megumi was right—itadori was finally staggering to his feet, and kugisaki was walking back into the field after taking a private phone call, and your teacher was probably—

the quiet bubble around you both shattered instantly.

“MEGUMIII~II~!”

your soul left your body.

gojo materialized out of nowhere, sunglasses pushed up, eyes wide and sparkling with unholy glee. his phone was already out.

“did i just see that?! did you JUST—kiss your own thumb—while touching your girlfriend’s face—in public—and think no one would notice??”

megumi’s face went from pink to red.

“don’t.”

“don’t what? don’t immortalize this moment for future generations?? don’t show this to everyone at the next meeting??”

“just don’t.”

the man was already cackling, phone held high, spinning in a dramatic circle like he’d just captured the rarest footage known to man.

“this is pure gold. just amazing. the fushiguro megumi, known stoic, emotionless brick wall, kissing his own thumb because he can’t smooch in public?? that’s—it’s art. cinema. that’s—”

before the words even fully left his mouth, megumi’s hands were already coming together, wrists crossing in a lethal motion. the airy-ink pooling at his boots aggressively surged upward, the temperature in the yard dropping a sharp five degrees as a heavy, ancient pressure began to manifest under the sun.

“ah-ah-ah! you wouldn’t.”

gojo didn't even blink, his cackle looping seamlessly into an amused, sing-song warning, but he did take a step back. smart man.

the shadows snapped back into place, deflating as he aborted the summon, scowling and choosing to glare holes through his teacher. you, meanwhile, were trying very hard not to laugh and failing horribly.

“your ears are so red,” you whispered delightedly. “i’ve never seen ‘em this red. it’s my new favorite thing.”

megumi side-eyed you, brows knitting. “i don’t forgive you.”

“you will.”

he finally looked at you—and despite the red ears, the ongoing laughter in the background, itadori stumbling over to ask what was so funny—megumi smiled, small. private. for you. your hands found each other, fingers lacing together.

“you still owe me compensation though.” you muttered.

you stir cutely, calling his name as if to greet him in your dream. megumi kisses the crease between your brows — soothing, attentive. “i’ve got you, let me make you feel good.”

claggy, syrupy sounds cling to the cool night, arousal catching on megumi’s shaft with each pass through your sopping mound. you’ve probably no idea how wet you are, tendrils of sleep woven around your mind — making you pliant and perfect for him. he hisses when you clench around nothing but catch on every part of him, aching to be filled with his length.

the gusset of your soft cotton panties darken in the exchange of slick and precum — the gooey strands forming a strong web where he ends and you begin. much like the rise of your sun and the fall of his moon, the cycle of pleasure is endless and it embraces you even in deep slumber. his hips draw back, pearlescent and slender, and his mushroomed tip slips beneath the scalloped edge of your underwear once more. using nimble fingers and a gentle grip as to not spark any over-sensitivity — fushiguro takes hold of himself, his curved lengthy shaft bobbing in between nimble digits, for better leverage. rubbing his milky oozing head back and forth over your arousal beading nub.

occasionally he dips past the tight ring of your entrance, shuddering at your iron grip — pride tingling within the gap between brain and his skull at how selfishly you lock down on him even when you’re not awake to show the world.

he’ll always count his lucky stars that you’re so eager, so willing to let him have you as he sees fit. awake or asleep your precious pussy belongs to him. in the depths of your consciousness she craves him, it’s obvious in the way your hips canter upwards to meet megumi’s as your high approaches like rushing rapids. the manner in which your back bows towards the night sky — forcing his chest to yours as though you are trying to fuse your heartbeats into one.

“so good to me. so fucking good.” megumi coos under his breath, hidden beneath his aerated moans because he cums not too long after. limbs wobbly with his collapse on top of you imminent. his weight your shaky, sleepy frame is accompanied a shot of translucent, viscous white into the seat of your panties. the flood swirling with heated gush of nectar from your abused slit. all of it smears lewdly through your abused folds, white on your sensitive clit in the form of his signature.

lashes kiss your cheeks and neck whilst megumi steadies himself in the scent of sex and warmth of your skin. his breath shattered and mystified against you.

“i can be even better,” you murmur to him, feeling him flinch in surprise when your fingers curl in midnight locks at the nape of his neck — roused by the cooling mess between your thighs. “if you cum inside next time.”

all megumi can do is groan — hungry and appreciative because you really are always so ready for him.

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