𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ♡ ／ BARBIE DOLL

Satoru Gojo x reader ft. Megumi Fushiguro

-

“Oh, my little kikifuku is in there right now! I knew that position would work!” 

“Satoru please.” You giggled and brushed your fingers through his hair. He just smiled and kissed around your belly even more. 

“Y/n.” Shoko put her hand on your shoulder. “Promise me to take it easy, if what Gojo's mom said was true when she was pregnant with him is true. This pregnancy will take a lot out of you.” She squeezes your shoulder and grabs a towel to wipe your stomach. 

“That was only because she was carrying the next six-eyed and infinity user. I have no intention of dying before my kid is born.” He kissed the side of your head and grabbed your white haori from the hook. You sat up in the bed and Satoru grabbed your shoes to slip onto your feet. 

“Come on baby, we have to tell everyone the news!” 

You say your goodbyes to Shoko but not before she hands you a roll of ultrascan photos. Satoru took it from your hands and held it up.

“Our baby.” 

“Before we tell everyone, our first baby should know first.” You slipped your arm into his. “But first you need to meet with Itadori and Nanami.” He sighed and kissed the side of your head.

“Please go straight to where everyone is meeting.”

“Sir yes sir.”  You saluted and he laughed. He kissed the top of your head then bent down to kiss your belly. 

“Don’t give your momma a hard time.” 

-

Megumi saw you first and his legs were already taking him towards you. You welcomed him with open arms and he accepted it. His arms loosely wrap around your upper back. 

“Are you okay?”

“Mhm.” He pulled back. “Are you? You’ve been sick.” 

“I'm okay, but me and Satoru have something to tell you later though.” Megumi frowned(more) but nodded in acknowledgment. But he also couldn’t deny that it made him nervous. 

“Y/n!” Utahime shrieked and started running towards you. Your eyes widened and you opened your arms for the woman.

“Utahime!” Megumi stepped to the side and let you two hug. 

“How are you?” She pulled back and kept you at arm's length. “You’re glowing.” 

“We all glow.” 

“Yours is different though.” She squinted at you. “I can’t put my finger on it, it's more natural.” You just had to laugh awkwardly.

“Where’s your husband?” Yaga interrupted, he stood by Principle Gakuganji. 

“Oh he’s taking care of some things, he’ll be here shortly.” You assured him with a smile. And it wasn't long after that when said man appeared running with a cart. 

“Sorry for the wait!” From there everything happened so quickly. All with the not-so-grand or happy announcement of Yuji’s return. Megumi looked at you and Satoru then back at his no longer dead friend. 

You could only give him a sheepish smile and a nod. 

“What kind of plan was that Satoru?”

“It was better in my head.” He shrugged and tossed an arm over your shoulder. “Nanamin knows.” you rolled your eyes and threw your head back.

“Satoru, we agreed Megumi would know first.” 

“I know I know but he was right there.” He bent down to whisper in your ear. “And the ultrasound picture was burning a hole in my pocket baby.” You rolled your eyes but smiled nonetheless. “He congratulates us and says he feels bad already for our baby.”

“Don’t listen to him, our baby will be lucky to have you.” 

“Of course they will, and they’re going to know it because-.” You cut him off immediately.

“Because you’re Satoru Gojo, yes my love we know.” He pouted and poked you in the cheek.

“Meanie.” 

“Mom?” Megumi walked up to you two, hands shoved in his pockets. You bit your inner lip and waited for what was to come. “Did you know about Itadori?” 

“I did, Satoru told me. Please know we had to keep it a secret.” Megumi swallowed hard and shrugged.

“Yeah, I think I do. I'm not mad.” You let out a sigh of relief. “What did you guys want to tell me?” 

“Later Megumi,” Satoru says and the slight seriousness in his voice sparked a bit of anxiety in Megumi. “Find us in my office once you talk strategy with your team.”  The onyx-haired boy nodded and walked back to the Tokyo squad. Fists clenched in his pockets.

-

Megumi was quiet most of the time, only saying something here and there. But his knee wouldn’t stop bouncing and his heart wouldn’t stop racing at an abnormal rate. 

What if you two were getting a divorce? No that can’t be it, you two were happy… or were you? What if it's an act? 

Are you leaving the Jujutsu society? Is Gojo? No, he wouldn’t leave now of all times. 

Were you sick? Like dying sick? You’ve been so tired lately.

Was it Tsumiki? No, there is no way either of you would hold information related to that. 

Was it the Zenin clan? Did something happen and they were taking him? 

Were you two leaving Japan forever and leaving him and Tsumiki behind?

Too many questions ran through his head and none of them were positive.

“Fushiguro, are you okay?” Itadori asks him with concern. 

“Yeah, I'm okay, just thinking.”

“Anything to contribute to us?” Maki asks with hands on her hips.

“It won’t help, now can we finish this?”

-

The whole time to Gojo’s office, Megumi was trying to suppress the urge to cry.

No more bad news, please

He stood in front of the door with his fists clenched.

“Megumi. We can see you.” Gojo says from behind the bamboo door. Megumi's cheeks turned pink and he slid the door open. 

You sat with your legs crossed in Gojo’s comfy expensive chair while Gojo stood behind you with a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” Megumi says and stands awkwardly. 

“Do you want to sit?”

“Are you guys getting a divorce?” Megumi said instantly and you furrowed your eyebrows and Satoru let out a laugh. 

“As if.” The man says and kisses the top of your head.

“It's good news Gumi’, trust me.” He swallowed hard and grabbed a chair to sit in. 

“O-Okay.” He folded his hands in his lap and tightened his jaw. 

“We found something out this morning when we went to Shoko, and we thought it was only right that you knew first besides Shoko herself and-.” You paused and tilted your head back to glare at Satoru. The man laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck. “Anyways Megumi I’m-.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO BE A BIG BROTHER!” Satoru screamed, animated sparkles and lights shot behind him as he pumped his fists in the air. 

Megumi was stunned and his face turned into a look of shock. 

“Oh!? That’s great guys. I'm happy.” He says and he starts blinking rapidly. It was the same action he did when he was struggling not to cry. Mom mode was instantly activated and you stood up to go to him but Megumi stood up as well and held his hand out to stop you. “No it’s okay, I'm fine.” He wiped his eyes and his head hung low. 

“Oh, Megumi.” He didn’t resist the hug. 

“Happy tears, they’re happy tears I swear.” He says and buries his face into the crook of his neck. “How far along are you?”

“Almost two months.” You say lowly to him and kiss the side of his head. 

“Family hug!” Satoru threw his weight over both of you and pulled you guys in tight. Megumi made no act to shove the man away, instead raised his hand and grasped Satoru’s wrist in a tight hold. 

“You and Tsumiki will always be our first kids. Please don’t ever forget that.” 

-

Hope people liked this😅Comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated🩵

he's so pretty my baby boy

'what do u want to draw' 'idk, megumi?'

Day 5 - first day back together

sukuna being the test subject of your lip products | f. reader, s/h prns., crack 'n suggestive (under the cut), estb. rl ؛ ଓ

you don’t ask anymore. you just do.

the moment a new PR package shows up—wrapped in glittery tissue, smelling like candy and capitalism—you’re already rolling up your sleeves and calling, “baby, come here. test dummy time.” sukuna groans from wherever he’s sulking in the apartment (usually the couch, half-asleep with one hand in a bag of chips and the other on his game controller). he pretends not to hear you, but he does. he always does.

“what now?” he drags his feet over. shirtless, pouting, voice gravelly with freshly summoned attitude. “if this is another ‘juicy lip plumper no. 3’ i’m gonna riot.”

you ignore him, your hand snaking around his wrist and pulls him down to your vanity stool like you pay him for this. in a way, you do — you kiss him after, and he’d commit federal crimes for that.

“this one’s called eternal cherry kiss,” you say as you uncap the applicator with a dramatic flourish. “supposed to last through eating and drinking. you’ll be the judge.”

“what the fuck is ‘eternal cherry’ supposed to taste like?”

“eternally cherry, obviously.” you lean in. “now pucker up.”

he rolls his eyes, exhales through his nose like this is such an inconvenience, but he leans in anyway. you swipe the gloss across his mouth in a single fluid motion — crimson and glossy, instantly turning his lips into a billboard ad for ‘kissing season.’

he smacks his lips. frowns.

“feels sticky.”

you pull out your phone and hit record. “and now, we let the wear test begin.”

by 2 p.m., he’s still wearing it. there’s a faint cherry sheen while he raids in world of warcraft, barking orders through his mic with his mouth shimmering like a debutante. his guild doesn’t say anything. they know better.

by 5 p.m., you’ve taken him out for errands, the cashier at the pharmacy doing a double take. sukuna glares at the display of cough drops like it wronged him personally, but he doesn’t wipe it off. not even once.

you hand him a mic for the “after” segment. he’s sitting on the kitchen counter, shirtless again, lips still kissed-stained and glowy.

“so, mr. sukuna,” you say with your best influencer voice. “tell us your final review.”

he glares at the camera as he crosses his arms. the gloss is half-faded, but still there, like a badge of honor.

“it’s obnoxious. it survived a shower. survived battle. survived me eating an entire plate of biryani. and her biting my bottom lip at lunch like a demon in heat.”

you make a peace sign from behind the phone.

“…ten outta ten,” he adds reluctantly. “would wear again. for science. or whatever.”

and in the comments, someone goes, “i want what they have.”

sukuna replies from your account—because of course he has the password—with: “die mad about it.”

but since testing lip products just on the lips is for cowards, you’ve upgraded.

this is science. clinical, methodical, incredibly serious influencer business. and sukuna? well, he’s your canvas. your unwilling, irritable, secretly-over-the-moon canvas. he walks into the room already shirtless—because at this point, he knows—arms crossed over his bare chest, all grumble and menace. “so what’s the experiment today, doc? you gonna write your damn @ on my forehead in pink gloss?”

“don’t tempt me,” you say sweetly, uncapping the new gloss. it’s called kissbomb ultra lacquer, and it smells like peaches. “this one claims to last twelve hours, transfer-proof, fade-resistant, and kink-safe.”

he blinks. “kink-safe?”

“don’t worry about it.” you grab his wrist and guide him to sit on the edge of the bed. “shirt off.”

“already is,” he mutters.

“pants too.”

he raises a brow. “...you testing or tryna get laid?”

“yes.”

you climb into his lap with the confidence of a scientist mid-breakthrough, gloss wand in one hand, determination in the other. you apply it slowly, precisely, like you’re prepping for war.

and then the kisses start.

soft little muahs on the corner of his jaw. one on the bridge of his nose. two on his neck, left and right, where his pulse ticks faster. one on each shoulder, then trailing down the hard curve of his bicep. his arms are crossed still, fists clenched, jaw tight—but his ears? red. his breathing? not as chill as he wants to seem.

you murmur, “don’t flex. you’ll smudge the print.”

“’m not flexing,” he says through gritted teeth. “this is just how i exist.”

you keep going. lips marking his collarbones, his ribs, his stomach. lower. every kiss leaving a little stain in a perfect pink imprint like someone went stamp! stamp! stamp! on your big scary man and turned him into a valentine’s day clearance bin.

“you know,” you say thoughtfully, inspecting your work, “you kinda look like the lesbian flag right now.”

he glares at you. “say that again and i’ll throw you out the window.”

you grin, not even fazed. “oh no. my hot queer ally boyfriend’s covered in lip prints. whatever will i do.”

the whole day, he walks around the apartment looking like a sexy battlefield. every mirror he passes, he pauses—just for a second—checking if they’re still there. (they are. of course they are. you chose a good gloss.)

he’s got one kiss mark on the dip of his spine. two on the inside of his thighs. one perfectly placed behind his ear that makes him twitch every time he catches the scent of peach.

“stop looking at me like that,” he growls at you from across the room, sprawled out on the couch later, sipping water and trying to act normal. “you look like a cat who just knocked over a vase.”

you climb on top of him again. inspect a few faded spots. reapply.

“just touching up my art,” you murmur. “quality control.”

he leans his head back and sighs, but his hands are already settling on your hips. there’s a glint in his eyes that says he’s so pretending to hate this. he’s so full of shit.

and when you post a blurry photo of your masterpiece—captioned “new gloss. 12 hour wear. boyfriend approved 💋”—you wake up the next morning to 4,700 comments and one furious growl from sukuna.

“who the fuck is asking if they can be next?”

you hum, flipping over in bed to kiss him right on the chest. “don’t worry, baby. the gloss may be long-lasting, but you’re the exclusive trial subject.” he grumbles, eyes half-lidded, smug despite himself.

“…damn right i am.”

kiss divider by @uzmacchiato

the perfect pair ⟢ ch. 1 broken cd

satoru gojo x reader ꒰18+꒱ smut, angst, fluff

⟡ pairing . college au soccer player! gojo x alt! reader

› summary . in which opposites actually attract. you're not the kind of girl who seeks validation from anyone as your world is surrounded by indie films, music, and clothing. meanwhile, satoru lives in a completely different world from you. the campus soccer star who practically radiates confidence and popularity. but that doesn't stop satoru from attempting to throw himself at you, with his playful grins and teasing but loving comments. but before you can accept his advances, a certain party exposes who he truly is and now he is left determined to change himself for you.

› warnings ⓘ tags . 18+, fem! reader, smut, angst, fluff, college au (have syracuse university in mind), friends to lovers (reader hates him, he thinks otherwise), slow burn, jealousy, some suguru x reader because he doesn't respect bro code or wtv.

› wc . 1.1k

⟡ taglist . @unreleasedlana11

cd's are actually expensive.

well at least for you actually, only because you happen to listen to artists that are no longer active and have to buy discontinued cd's through sketchy websites that definitely overcharge. you couldn't judge though, easy money for the seller. your bank account disagrees.

you promise yourself that this will be the last cd you buy - till you're financially stable again. the disc nearly cost you 60 bucks plus taxes and shipping, 80.99. that greedy seller. regardless you were happy especially when you got the notification from the app telling you that your order has arrived.

at your college you had to walk all the way towards the front where the school mailboxes were located. the second you stepped foot outside your dorm, which, thankfully you had all to yourself because for some reason you weren't assigned a roommate, you are hit with the sound of cheering. the soccer team has just returned from a tournament.

including satoru gojo.

you knew of the boy. you knew he was the most known player in the school. and i'm not just talking about soccer. in each frat party he has to get in at least two bodies. he has a whole line of girls patiently waiting for their turn to warm up the white haired boys bed.

he's everything.. you hated in a guy.

how do girls go crazy over him? he's deadass the most basic boy you are sure each college in the state has. but you couldn't help but stay a bit to watch as all the boys make their way through the applauding crowd. a new face emerged from the bus, all looking proud. they must've won.

you were pulled away from your thoughts when his face appeared. suguru. he was best friends with gojo. you can't help but stare. his piercings, long hair, style that was different from the rest, just like you. it's hard to not notice him.

you almost don't realize who's looking at you instead. your eyes meet with satoru for a brief moment before you continue making your way to the central mail room, not allowing your brain to even process the eye contact.

as he made his way out the busy, satoru is met with a crowd of students cheering. he smirks as he kept the conversation going with his friends. he knows how attractive he is. not every one is 'blessed' to have a body count of half the schools girl population.

he knows how good he is. so why is it that when his eyes land on you, his heart skips a beat. he's never seen you before, why now? why does he like the way your hair frames your face so beautifully and the way your outfit compliments your body so well?

he felt his world stop for just a second when your eyes finally met his. a split second.

you unlocked your assigned mailbox after reaching the central. other students were there as well looking at letters from their family back at home or the same reason as you, a package. your eyes lit up as you took out the perfectly wrapped cd. .

not wasting one more second, you carefully unwrap it. here it is, finally in your hands after a month of waiting and two days worth of hard labor. the light reflected like heaven itself shining upon you from the glossy surface. you flipped it over, reading through the track list as you locked your mailbox once again not even bothering to check if there's any other letters in your box.

right as you turned, you bumped into something hard, causing your cd to slip from your hands, the sound of it hitting the floor haunting you.

it broke.

and so did your heart.

no. no way.

a month of waiting. money wasted. just for the cd to slip right out your hands.

okay you're being dramatic, it obviously didn't break. but the impact caused the case to open once it fell on the floor. the cd might just have a few scratches. one scratch is one scratch too many though.

"shit, sorry about that."

you lifted up your head to look at the one responsible for this.

satoru.

the satoru himself was in front of you giving you another reason to dislike him. he looked at you with his eyes widening a bit. its you. the girl he saw from earlier. he crouched down, placing his bag on the ground next to his feet to pick up your disc, carefully placing it back in the case. definitely not a band he was familiar with.

he handed it back to you, his hand touching yours slightly.

"here pretty, am sorry again."

your eyes narrowed. "It’s fine," you said, trying to keep your cool. "Not like you can fix it."

his eyes watched you push past him and they trailed past you until you were out of his view.

he finally got the chance to talk to you which he's been wanting to do since he's know you which was only like 20 minutes.

he couldn't help but smile to himself as he opened up his own mailbox, stuffed with fan mail.

a few scratches as you suspected. it shouldn't affect your listening experience.

you placed the now damaged disc in your cd player which was gifted to you by your parents on your sixteenth birthday. the music filled up your room in a nice and warm space.

you sank down on your mattress closing your eyes to enjoy the listening experience. no amount of scratched could ruin this.

they did.

your eyes shot open as the cd started to tweak out not even three minutes into the track list. guess the damage really was done. its all his fault. satoru gojo.

"no..please.." you begged taking out the cd to look at it again seeing that you missed a crack running right through it.

it was all his fault. you barely knew him but now that you had your first ever encounter you had all the reason to despise him. there's no way you will be able to listen to your 80.99 worth cd with there being glitching every other song.

you couldn’t shake the image of satoru standing there, his awkward attempt at helping, the way his gaze had softened for a brief moment. you'd make him buy you a new one, that being if the discontinued cd was even out there anymore.

what if you bought the last one ever?

you groaned into your pillow.

that's it you're throwing a bf.

a bitch fit.

very niche drabble from my drafts but honestly i would die without posting anything new in a day so i hope y'all will like this and see the vision LMAO, will have different parts <3 since lyra have pointed it out, just saying now that the reader is the cashier :D

isekai'd as game protag nerdjo x isekai'd as saintess npc reader, fluff.

the sunlight catches in your hair again.

satoru doesn’t mean to look. really. he doesn’t. but it’s kind of impossible not to when it glows like that—when every strand shimmers gold in the light of the descending sun like threads spun from divinity itself. it’s almost offensive, honestly. like the devs knew exactly what they were doing when they coded your idle animation to lean forward with a hum and tuck a loose wisp behind your ear just so.

he shifts his weight from one boot to the other, arms crossed, mouth tight, trying to look casual and not like he’s completely entranced by the way the snow melts before it even touches you.

he shouldn't be staring. he shouldn't want to.

because he already has a crush.

back home—real home—there’s a girl who works at the little corner store where he always buys his merch and energy drinks and plastic gacha keychains. she wears cute earrings. remembers his name. slips extra digimon stickers into his bag when she thinks he’s not looking.

he can’t seem to recall what she looked like, probably because of this whole isekai thing but he was sure about one thing. he was going to ask for her number, eventually. probably. maybe. someday.

but still he could not peel his gaze away.

you’re kneeling by a bed of bluebells—early bloom, thanks to your passive skill, blessing of spring. soft petals brush against your fingertips as you gently trace the outline of each flower, humming a song he’s pretty sure isn’t in the game’s ost. a small smile plays on your lips. the world around you feels alive in a way it never did when he played this on his old console—birds chirp too realistically, snowflakes glint too sharply, the wind carries your voice just enough to tease at the edge of his hearing.

and he’s just standing there. holy sword at his side. cape slightly crooked. heart lodged firmly in his throat.

“you’re staring again,” their rogue probably says behind him. maybe it’s their archer this time. he doesn’t hear. or rather—he refuses to.

because how the hell is he supposed to focus on defeating the demon king when you smile like that?

he’s the hero now. the chosen one. satoru gojo, level 99 celestial knight. maxed-out stats in everything that mattered: strength, speed, light magic resistance, charisma so broken it’s been nerfed twice since launch. and yet here he is—still taking psychic damage from the way your lashes flutter when you blink at him.

he’s been here for weeks ever since dozing off in a middle of some cutscene. isekai’d straight into his favorite game—celestial hearts: divine war of fate—which was absolutely not supposed to be a dating sim. it was about strategy and honor and battle mechanics. not about feelings or pretty saintess girls in glowing white cloaks and soothing voices who keep patting his head when he looks tired.

“sir gojo?” you say gently, glancing over your shoulder at him, smile soft and patient.

your eyes catch the light and sparkle—sparkle, literally sparkle. like someone turned the shader settings all the way up just for you. “you look flushed. are you feeling alright?”

“y–yeah,” he says, cracking audibly. god. why did his voice do that. he clears his throat. straightens up. resets his face to what he thinks is a neutral, knightly expression. “must be the sun. y’know. too hot.”

you blink. your lips part in polite confusion, and you glance up at the sky.

“but it’s snowing.”

“…right.”

his hands twitch at his sides, fingers flexing restlessly in his gloves. damn this game. damn the developers. damn their incredible, stupid attention to detail. your hands—bare, of course—hover over the flowers again, cupping one like a tiny offering. your sleeves fall past your wrists, white and gold embroidery catching the breeze. he knows your bio by heart: “saintess of the divine spring, miracle maiden of light,” the usual npc flavor text. maxed healing. high affinity scores. probably a tragic backstory somewhere in your questline.

but none of that mentioned how your laugh sounds like windchimes strung across heaven’s gate.

“sir gojo,” you say again, standing now, brushing imaginary dust and flower petals from your skirts. your movements are dainty, practiced, but your brows draw slightly inward with genuine concern. “you’ve been standing still for a while. are you sure you’re not overheating?”

his cape flutters awkwardly in the wind. his fingers go rigid. he can’t even blink.

girl. please.

he opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again, as if maybe this time something normal will come out.

“maybe i’m…” his voice trails off as he wills his brain to function. “overheating from your… divine radiance?”

the words leave him like a spell miscast.

a pregnant pause.

then—your eyes go wide. your lips twitch. and you laugh.

not a dainty giggle this time, but a laugh. soft and delighted and surprised all at once, curling from your throat like a melody no bard could replicate. you lift your sleeve to hide your smile, cheeks faintly pink—not blushing, no, the game probably just coded you to respond to compliments with a heat shader—

he’s going to die.

he’s actually going to drop dead right here in the middle of a flower field over a non-playable character.

somewhere deep in the forest, a bowstring snaps with unnecessary violence. someone—probably the mage—lets out a strangled, exhausted noise of pure despair.

satoru barely notices. he’s busy fighting for his life.

you’re still smiling at him. the wind rustles the bluebells. your hair glows like god’s personal sunbeam. the scene is perfect. it looks like a damn cg cut-in. he expects text to pop up any second with your name and some sappy line like “i’m glad you’re here, brave knight.”

but instead you just say, softly, with an amused little tilt of your head, “you’re strange, sir gojo.”

“i get that a lot,” he mumbles.

and somehow, impossibly, you smile brighter.

he has to beat the demon king. return to his world. back to traffic, vending machines, anime reruns, and microwaved curry. back to a life without hand-drawn skies and snow that melts against your skin and the way you say his name like it’s a blessing.

but you’re looking at him now like he’s the one glowing.

and satoru thinks—maybe. maybe just a little longer.

a few more days of fumbling compliments, of you laughing at his dumb jokes, of trying not to combust every time your hands brush his.

a few more days of your soft voice calling him “sir gojo” like you don’t even realize you’ve already enchanted him more deeply than any demon ever could.

Hi, can I request a yandere ranpo x reader obsessed with puzzles and (ranpo) the reader doesn't stop until the puzzle is finished? But the reader can sometimes be very stupid and absent-minded, for example, that a crossword puzzle or a sudoku is difficult for him and that cooking is difficult for them

Yandere!Ranpo x Reader

Ranpo stared at the board, blinking once. Then twice. His usual smug smirk faltered, the lollipop in his mouth tilting precariously.

"I lost?"

Across from him, you leaned back in your chair, fingers interlaced behind your head. "You did" you confirmed, tilting your head with a satisfied grin. "Fair and square."

The room, once filled with the quiet murmurs of spectators who had gathered to witness the so-called ‘Greatest Detective’ effortlessly crush yet another opponent, had now been reduced to stunned disbelief. It wasn’t just a puzzle contest—it was him against you. And he had lost.

Ranpo’s gaze flicked between the board and your expression, scanning for any sign of trickery, deception, an explanation for this anomaly. But all he saw was the calm confidence of someone who had outplayed him.

The moment you stood up, stretching as if this was just another casual game for you, Ranpo made a decision.

He had to know.

And so, he followed you.

At first, it was subtle—watching from a distance as you went about your day, noting every little habit. The way you absentmindedly traced patterns with your fingers while reading, how your eyes scanned rooms as if cataloging every detail.

By the third day, he was practically glued to your side.

"You're fascinating, y'know that?" he hummed, walking backwards in front of you, hands tucked behind his head. "I've solved cases in minutes, unraveled conspiracies, read people like open books—but you? Hah, you’re like a puzzle I haven’t finished yet."

You raised a brow, adjusting the bag slung over your shoulder

Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he beamed. "Hey! Come hang out at the Agency with me! We have tons of puzzles there."

You narrowed your eyes. "You just want to figure me out."

"You are a mystery worth solving, after all."

And Ranpo hated unsolved mysteries.

Walking into the Armed Detective Agency felt like stepping into a room full of people who had just seen a ghost.

"…Ranpo, who’s that?" Atsushi asked hesitantly, blinking between you and Ranpo, who had a triumphant grin plastered across his face.

"My new favorite person" Ranpo announced proudly, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "They’re really good at puzzles."

"You brought them here… just because they’re good at puzzles?" Kunikida adjusted his glasses, already rubbing his temple as if anticipating a migraine.

"Hey! I bring valuable people to the agency all the time" Ranpo pouted. "Besides, they beat me in a contest. Me. That’s gotta mean something, right?"

Dazai let out a low whistle, resting his chin in his palm. "You lost? Now that’s a rare sight."

You rolled your eyes at the attention but smirked at Ranpo. "Told you it wasn’t a fluke."

"You still have to prove it wasn’t luck" Ranpo teased back.

Before the banter could continue, the atmosphere shifted with the sharp ring of the agency phone. Kunikida answered, his expression growing serious.

"A murder case" he said after a moment, glancing around. "And it’s… strange. The police can’t make sense of the crime scene."

Ranpo’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

You could feel the moment he made the decision before he even said it.

"Y/N's coming with me" Ranpo announced, pointing at you.

"Wait, what?"

"You're already here. And you love puzzles. It’ll be fun!"

"That’s not—!"

Too late. He was already dragging you toward the exit, his grip surprisingly firm.

"Ranpo!" Kunikida shouted.

"Don’t worry, we’ll solve it in no time~!" Ranpo sang, waving over his shoulder.

And just like that, you were thrown into a murder investigation.

The crime scene was bizarre.

A locked-room murder, but instead of the usual grim chaos, the place was meticulously arranged. The body lay in the center of the room, surrounded by neatly placed puzzle pieces. Scraps of paper with half-finished riddles were scattered across the table. The walls were adorned with cryptic messages, some in different languages, some in numbers.

Ranpo let out a low whistle, crouching near one of the riddles. "Whoever did this really went all out. Trying to turn a crime scene into a game?" He glanced at you, a slow smirk forming. "Sounds like your kind of thing."

This wasn’t just some puzzle game—it was a murder. But you couldn’t deny it: the challenge intrigued you.

"This is gonna be fun."

And for the first time since stepping into this case, you couldn’t help but agree.

The room felt suffocating.

Even with the windows open, a chill clung to the air, heavy with something wrong. The crime scene had long since been cleared of the body, but the echoes of violence remained. Blood had soaked into the wooden floorboards, forming patterns.

You and Ranpo sat in the center of the room, surrounded by dozens of puzzle pieces.

Each piece was a fragment of a Polaroid, stained at the edges, some speckled with blood. A single letter was scrawled on the back of each in spidery handwriting. The police had given up, calling it ‘incomprehensible.’ You and Ranpo? You lived for this.

Your hands trembled slightly as you connected another corner. A distorted image was beginning to take shape.

A face.

Or at least, what used to be a face.

The photograph showed the victim’s head—stitched together, their mouth twisted into an unnatural grin, eyes removed and replaced with buttons.

"This is sick."

Ranpo, sitting cross-legged beside you, popped a lollipop into his mouth, eyes fixed on the puzzle with unsettling fascination. "It's art," he mused. "A very, very deranged kind, but art nonetheless."

"That’s not funny."

"But it’s true," he said simply. Then he tapped at the letters forming a rough circle around the grotesque image. "Now, what do you make of these?"

You hesitated, scanning the pieces. Your mind worked instinctively, arranging and rearranging in your head.

"It’s an anagram"

Ranpo leaned in as you rearranged the letters in your head, mouth moving silently before you whispered the answer.

"Find the next piece."

Ranpo grinned. "Oh-ho~ This just got way more interesting."

By the time the case was wrapped up, you were exhausted.

Days of unraveling cryptic messages, following trails that led to dead ends, and confronting the kind of darkness most people spent their lives avoiding had taken its toll.

You barely managed to stumble into your apartment before collapsing onto your bed, not even bothering to change. Sleep pulled at you instantly, mind clouded with half-formed riddles and the echo of Ranpo’s voice teasing in your ears.

The Armed Detective Agency was unusually quiet the next morning.

"Has anyone seen Ranpo?" Kunikida asked, flipping through his notebook with an exasperated sigh.

Atsushi frowned. "He wasn’t here when I came in…"

Dazai, leaning back in his chair, grinned lazily. "Maybe he found something more interesting to do."

Fukuzawa, usually calm, let out a small sigh. "Knowing him, he’s up to something."

And they were right. Because while the ADA was wondering where their detective had gone, Ranpo was already at your front door.

With a bag of snacks in one hand and a smirk in place, he knocked.

"Oi~ Open up! I know you’re in there."

You groaned, shoving a pillow over your face.

He knocked again. "C’mon, don’t make me deduce my way inside."

You threw the pillow aside with a sigh.

Ranpo just grinned wider as you cracked the door open, eyes still groggy with sleep.

"Morning, bestie~!"

You stared. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He held up a bag of your favorite snacks. "Bribing my way into your apartment. I figured since we bonded over that lovely murder, we should hang out more!"

You groaned, rubbing your temples.

And yet… as much as you hated to admit it, the idea of pushing him away didn’t even cross your mind.

Ranpo had made himself far too comfortable in your apartment. Feet propped up on your coffee table, his bag of snacks nearly empty, he was lazily tossing random questions your way—questions that, in your half-asleep state, you barely registered.

"What do you think is the best way to disappear without a trace?"

"Mmh."

"Do you think Dazai would look better in a detective hat or a clown wig?"

"Sure."

"Okay, but if you had to choose between getting locked in a room with a serial killer or letting me eat the last of your snacks, which would you pick?"

"Whatever."

Ranpo pouted. "Rude."

You barely reacted, eyes fluttering shut as you curled deeper into the couch. He clicked his tongue, scanning your bookshelf before suddenly perking up.

"Oh? What’s this?"

You cracked one eye open just in time to see him holding up a small, intricately designed puzzle box.

Your drowsiness evaporated instantly.

"Wait, where did you get that?"

Ranpo grinned, spinning it in his hands. "It was just sitting there, waiting for me~ You like these, huh?"

You barely heard him, already snatching it from his grasp. Your fingers traced the carvings along the edges, the weight of it familiar.

This was a real puzzle. A mechanical challenge, gears hidden beneath the surface, secrets locked inside.

You were hooked immediately.

Ranpo watched, scowling as you became utterly absorbed, twisting and turning the pieces, eyes gleaming with focus.

"Oi."

No response.

He poked your cheek. "Hellooo?"

Still nothing.

"You’re ignoring me," he muttered, arms crossing. "I brought that for you and now you won’t even look at me?"

You mumbled something incomprehensible, fingers still working at the puzzle’s hidden mechanisms.

Ranpo sulked. He had specifically come here to spend time with you. You. Not some dumb wooden contraption!

He was starting to hate that box.

And yet, as evening crept in, you still hadn’t solved it.

Ranpo’s mood lightened when you finally sighed and set it aside, stretching with a groan.

"Okay," you mumbled. "I need a break. I’ll cook something."

Ranpo blinked. "You can cook?"

"...I can try."

What followed could only be described as culinary carnage.

Ranpo watched in horrified fascination as you fumbled with the ingredients, nearly set something on fire (twice), and somehow managed to make instant noodles taste like regret.

"You’re a genius at puzzles but this is beyond you?" he snickered, dodging the halfhearted attempt you made to smack his arm.

"Shut up, I don’t do this often!"

"Clearly."

Just as he was about to tease you further, his phone buzzed.

Ranpo sighed dramatically before answering.

"Ah, what is it this time?"

"Ranpo, we have a problem."

A gleam of excitement flickered in his eyes.

"Perfect timing. I was getting bored."

Before you could even process what was happening, Ranpo had already grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward the door.

"Wait—what about food?!"

He waved off your concerns. "Who cares? Side quest time~!"

"I care!"

But it was too late.

With an empty stomach and a very bad feeling, you found yourself dragged into yet another mystery.

You had been expecting something serious.

A murder. A kidnapping. Some complex conspiracy that only Ranpo could unravel.

What you hadn’t expected… was a missing cat.

"You dragged me out for this?" you panted, hands on your knees.

The old woman who had called for help wrung her hands nervously. "I-I'm sorry for the trouble, but my dear Momo has never run off before! She’s a precious girl, so well-behaved, I just—"

Ranpo cut her off with a lazy wave. "Yeah, yeah, no worries, ma’am. We’ll find your little furball."

You shot him a glare. "We?"

He grinned. "Obviously. You’re part of the team now!"

You groaned.

The search turned out to be far more exhausting than expected.

Momo was no ordinary house cat—she was an absolute menace.

She had led you both through alleyways, rooftops, and somehow, at one point, an underground bar (don’t ask). You had climbed over fences, gotten chased by an angry shopkeeper after Ranpo ‘borrowed’ some fish, and nearly faceplanted into a pile of garbage when Momo darted out of reach.

By the time you finally caught the tiny devil and returned her home, you were done.

"Never again" you wheezed, leaning against a lamppost, trying not to collapse.

Ranpo, perfectly fine, patted your head like you were some exhausted puppy. "Good job, partner~"

"I hate you."

"No, you don’t."

"…Give me five minutes, and I might."

He only laughed.

The night air was cool as you sat at a small food stall, finally finally getting something to eat.

You slumped over the counter, barely able to hold your chopsticks.

Ranpo, as lively as ever, happily slurped his noodles. "Y’know, for someone so good at puzzles, your stamina sucks."

You sent him a half-hearted glare. "Not all of us are built for running an obstacle course for a cat."

"Excuses, excuses."

Despite his teasing, he nudged an extra skewer toward you.

You took it with a grumble, too hungry to argue.

That was when you felt it.

A prickle at the back of your neck.

Subtle, but unmistakable.

Someone was watching you.

Your fingers tightened slightly around your chopsticks.

You scanned the street casually—nothing seemed out of place. Just pedestrians, workers, and the occasional couple enjoying the evening air.

You barely turned your head, but Ranpo noticed.

He took a casual sip of his drink before murmuring, "Don't react. Just act natural."

"So I am being watched" you muttered under your breath.

"Oh, absolutely," he whispered. "And whoever they are… they’re not just a random stalker."

Your grip on the skewer tightened.

"Guess this means the real game is starting~"

The next morning, the eerie sensation of being watched was gone.

Just the usual bustle of the city, people moving about their lives as if nothing had happened.

But something still felt off.

Maybe it was the fact that Ranpo was being even more insufferable than usual.

"You're walking too far ahead" he complained, suddenly grabbing your wrist and pulling you back beside him.

"Since when do you care about walking distance?"

He huffed, swinging your arm slightly as he held onto it. "Since you started getting distracted by other things when I'm right here."

You scoffed, shaking him off. "You're acting clingy."

Ranpo gasped dramatically. "Me?"

"Yes. You."

He pouted "Well, maybe someone should appreciate how much I care."

The agency had already noticed his shift in behavior.

Ranpo was always eccentric, but today?

If anyone so much as greeted you, he would cut in.

Atsushi had tried to ask about the case from yesterday? Ranpo answered for you before you could get a word in.

Dazai had made a casual joke about inviting you out for lunch?

Ranpo laughed, but the way he stepped in front of you was anything but playful.

Even Yosano, who usually didn’t care for Ranpo’s antics, raised an eyebrow when he quite literally dragged you away from Kunikida’s work desk before the man could assign you anything.

"Ranpo, I can talk to other people, you know."

"Nope."

"…Nope?"

"You’re mine today."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me~"

You stared at him, waiting for some kind of follow-up. Maybe a joke, maybe a smug ‘just kidding.’

But no.

He just continued on, casually snacking on some sweets, as if what he said was perfectly normal.

----

The morning felt... strangely peaceful.

No Ranpo clinging to your side. No smug remarks. No insistent dragging to whatever nonsense he decided was your business too.

For the first time in days, you could actually breathe.

Maybe he got busy.

Maybe he finally got bored of shadowing your every move.

You weren’t sure if that idea was relieving or unnerving.

Either way, you decided to take advantage of the rare moment of freedom—grabbing coffee alone, wandering through the city without someone constantly pulling at your sleeve, and even stopping by a bookstore to browse puzzles at your own pace.

But that peaceful feeling shattered the second you got home.

The door was slightly ajar.

You knew you had locked it before leaving.

Slowly, cautiously, you pushed it open.

Your apartment was exactly how you left it. No overturned furniture, no broken windows, nothing missing.

You stepped inside, heart pounding as you scanned every inch of your space.

Drawers had been opened.

Books had been shifted.

Your desk, usually neat, had its contents disturbed—papers moved just slightly out of place.

Whoever had been here wasn’t after valuables. They weren’t looking for money.

The police arrived quickly, investigating the break-in with their usual procedure—dusting for fingerprints, asking if you noticed anything strange.

"Nothing was stolen?" One of the officers asked, flipping through his notes.

You shook your head. "Not that I can tell."

"That’s... unusual," he admitted. "Break-ins like this typically have a motive."

"So, what? This was just to send a message?"

The officer exchanged glances with his partner.

"We can’t say for sure, but… be careful. If anything else happens, let us know immediately."

As they left, the unease in your chest didn’t fade.

You tried not to dwell on the break-in.

Nothing was stolen. Nothing was damaged.

The police had done their part, and aside from the unsettling feeling that someone had been there, there was nothing else you could do.

So, life went on.

Eventually, you decided a fresh start would be best.

A new apartment. A quieter part of town.

For a while, things were… peaceful.

You didn’t avoid Ranpo, exactly. But he had stopped appearing in your daily life like an ever-present shadow.

Maybe he finally lost interest.

Maybe he had other mysteries to chase after.

It was better this way.

Until the night everything changed.

A frantic knock shattered the silence.

You glanced at the clock—past midnight.

No one visited you this late.

Approaching the door cautiously, you hesitated before unlocking it.

The second you cracked it open, Ranpo shoved his way inside, slamming it shut behind him.

"Lock it!" he ordered, breathless.

You startled but obeyed, twisting the bolt shut.

"Ranpo, what the hell—?"

His usual smug, lazy demeanor was gone. His clothes were slightly disheveled, his hair messier than usual, and his chest rose and fell rapidly as if he had been running. His eyes darted around your apartment before finally landing on you.

"You need to leave. Now."

"What? Why?"

Ranpo grabbed your wrist, "We need to go."

You had never seen him like this.

"Ranpo." You yanked your wrist free, stepping back. "Tell me what's going on."

He exhaled sharply, frustrated. "There's no time!"

"Then make time!"

For a split second, his eyes locked onto yours, then just as quickly, he was moving again—grabbing a chair, pushing it up against the door.

"Someone is after us," he muttered, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "I don’t know how they found you so fast, but—"

knock

Both of you froze.

Three soft raps against the wood.

Ranpo inhaled sharply through his nose, and for the first time since he’d arrived, you saw it.

Fear.

You didn’t want to look at the door.

Didn’t want to move.

But your body betrayed you.

Step by step, you approached it, barely able to hear over the pounding in your ears.

Then—

A piece of paper slid under the door.

A single, neatly folded note.

The knock had stopped.

You hesitated, then crouched down, hand trembling slightly as you picked it up.

Unfolding it carefully, you read the single line scrawled across the page:

"You solved my last puzzle. Now solve this one."

Ranpo was beside you in an instant, snatching the paper from your hands.

His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes scanning the message with a look you had never seen before.

"I should’ve known they'd come for you next."

"Who?"

He crumpled the note in his fist.

"Someone who doesn't play fair."

Another knock.

This time, harder.

Ranpo grabbed your wrist again, yanking you toward the back door.

"No more questions. We're leaving. Now."

And this time, you didn’t argue.

Ranpo practically dragged you out the back door, the cold night air bit at your skin as you stumbled onto the empty street, your mind racing.

Whoever had left that note—whoever had been knocking—was still inside your apartment.

“Where are we going?” you demanded, struggling to keep up.

“Somewhere safe,” he muttered, barely sparing you a glance.

The city blurred past as he led you down alleyways, side streets, weaving through the darkness like he had planned this route a thousand times before.

“Ranpo, slow down—”

“Can’t.”

“Damn it!” You yanked your arm free, chest heaving. “What the hell is going on? What was that note? Who’s after us?”

He turned on you fast. His eyes gleamed in the dim streetlights, something unreadable swirling in them.

“Why do you keep asking questions you don’t want the answers to?”

Hours Later.

The safe house was an old building on the outskirts of the city, abandoned and isolated.

Ranpo had led you inside, locking the doors, checking the windows, making sure no one had followed.

And now, you sat in the dimly lit room, your pulse finally slowing, trying to piece it all together.

Everything that had happened.

The break-in.

The missing stalker.

The note.

Your entire life had been upended in a matter of days.

A creeping unease slithered into your thoughts.

“Ranpo. You never answered me.”

“About what?”

“Why were you running?”

The pieces were coming together, whether you wanted them to or not.

“You knew exactly where to go”

Ranpo didn’t reply.

“And that note—” Your fingers clenched into your sleeves.

“Ah,” he murmured, tilting his head. “And here I thought I’d get to play just a little longer.”

“Ranpo,” you said, “What did you do?”

He sighed, stepping forward, completely relaxed, as if this was just another game to him.

“Did you really think some random stalker was after you?” he mused. “That some unknown threat was breaking into your home, following your every move?”

“You never even questioned why I was always one step ahead.” he continued.

“It was you.” Your voice was barely audible. “It was always you.”

“Of course it was.”

“Why?” The question escaped before you could stop it.

“You wouldn’t stay,” he murmured, “You kept slipping away. Distracted by other things. Other people.”

He took another step forward, and this time, you had nowhere to go.

“But I knew how to keep your attention,” he said softly, tilting his head. “You love puzzles, don’t you?”

The words felt like ice in your veins.

“I gave you one.”

Your breath hitched.

“I was your puzzle.”

“And now? You’re finally paying attention to me.”

The game wasn’t over.

It had only just begun.

You felt sick.

Ranpo’s words echoed in your mind, rattling inside your skull like a cruel joke.

"If you want to leave, then alright—"

"But you must solve one last puzzle."

Then he had left.

And now, you were alone.

The room was empty, save for a single wooden desk shoved against the farthest wall.

Your first instinct was to check there.

Nothing. No notes, no hidden drawers, no conveniently placed riddles waiting to be solved.

You scoured the rest of the space, searching for something. A pattern. A clue. Anything.

But there was nothing.

For the first time in your life, a puzzle had no pieces.

Frustration burned beneath your skin.

Ranpo had never left you without a lead before.

Not even when you were competing against him, not even when he wanted to win.

So why now?

Ranpo had turned himself into a puzzle, left himself as the only answer, and now he was making you do the work.

Making you chase him.

One thing was clear: the answer would lead you to the next location.

Your eyes scanned over the place to find some blood-red markings and that’s when you saw it.

Beneath the cryptic symbols, hidden in the mess of strokes, was something else.

A drawing.

A bridge.

But not just any bridge—you recognized this one.

The bridge loomed over you, empty and silent under the dim glow of streetlights.

The wind howled through the metal beams, a lonely, ghostly sound.

A figure stood at the center of the bridge, just barely visible under the flickering light.

"That took you longer than expected"

"Cut the crap. What do you want?"

"Another game, obviously."

With a dramatic flourish, he pulled something from behind him.

A puzzle box. Dark wood, intricate carvings.

It looked simple at first—just a standard mechanical puzzle with moving pieces.

"You solve this, you win" he said, stepping closer, holding it out to you. "And if I do?"

"Then this ends."

"Exactly."

You snatched the puzzle box from his hands, ignoring the way he watched you, amused, expectant.

This would be easy.

Or so you thought.

Because the moment your fingers moved the first piece—

It locked.

You frowned.

Ranpo grinned.

"Aww, did I forget to mention?"

"I rigged it."

"You what—"

"Oops." His expression was nothing but smug satisfaction. "Looks like you can’t win after all."

Your grip on the puzzle box tightened, anger bubbling beneath your skin.

"You—"

Before you could finish, Ranpo took a step back, slipping just out of reach.

"You’re sooooooo close" he teased, voice almost sing-song. "But I guess you’ll just have to stay with me a little longer to figure it out."

This wasn’t about solving a puzzle.

This was about trapping you in his game.

And he was never going to let you win.

Your fingers dug into the puzzle box, nails pressing so hard against the wood that they nearly left marks.

You loved puzzles. They were pure—logic and reason wrapped into a perfect solution. A challenge, but always one with an answer.

But this?

This was an insult.

Ranpo had rigged it. Not as a test, not as a real challenge, but as a way to trap you.

You felt the anger rise in your chest like a firestorm.

"You’re mocking it" you hissed, gripping the box so tightly your knuckles turned white. "This isn’t a puzzle—it’s a joke."

"Don’t be mad," he cooed, tilting his head. "I think it’s fun."

"You ruined it."

"You’re adorable when you’re angry" he mused, taking a lazy step forward.

You instinctively stepped back.

Wrong move.

Ranpo’s eyes lit up.

"Oh?" His smirk widened. "Are you scared of me now?"

You weren’t.

His amusement took on a new edge.

"I thought you liked puzzles" he murmured, voice dropping just slightly. "And yet, here you are, acting like you don’t want to play anymore."

Your jaw clenched. "Because this isn’t one."

He hummed, taking another step forward.

You forced yourself to stay still.

"Isn’t it? Then why are you still holding on to it?"

He was right.

Your grip on the box was tight, unwilling to let it go—even though you knew it was a trick.

"See? You’re still playing my game."

His fingers brushed yours.

"Why fight it?" he murmured, leaning in just a bit more. "You love this. You love me."

Your head felt fuzzy.

Your grip on the puzzle box loosened—just slightly.

Ranpo was always on your mind.

Just like a puzzle—taunting, unsolved, endless.

At first, you thought you could figure him out.

You wanted to.

He was a challenge unlike any other.

He was never just one thing.

One moment, he was playful. The next, eerily perceptive. One moment, he was leading you along like a game piece. The next, pulling you in like he had been waiting for you all along.

And it was exhausting.

You exhaled, shoulders slumping. "I don’t get you, Ranpo."

Your fingers tightened around the rigged puzzle box. "The more I try to understand you, the less I actually do."

For once, he was silent.

Then—

He laughed.

It unsettled you more than anything.

"You finally get it," he mused, tilting his head. "That’s why you can’t leave me alone."

Your brows furrowed. "What?"

"You love puzzles, then what’s better than one you’ll never solve?"

"I know. It’s frustrating. Confusing. But isn’t that what makes it fun?"

You barely realized it when your grip on the puzzle box finally loosened.

"You’re obsessed with me," he said simply. "And that’s okay."

And the moment you did—

Ranpo caught it.

And you.

"You’re tired" he said "Then don’t think anymore."

like it

megumi fushiguro x reader, smut

megumi couldn’t wrap his mind around why.

why you were here, in his dorm room, in his bed, on his lap.

he never would’ve imagined the night turning out like this. you, the girl from his intro to psych class, walking back with him after a house party.

and now, you were on him—fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer. his hands gripped your waist, guiding your body against his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

he swore he was dreaming.

but he could feel every soft inch of you and that’s how he knew he wasn’t.

your parted lips released soft breaths as his brushed your neck, just below your jaw. you made the prettiest sounds and he never wanted them to stop. but it was hard to focus when your fingers tightened in his hair like you needed him closer, like the space between you wasn’t small enough.

megumi’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. he wasn’t used to this—wasn’t used to wanting like this. every shift of your hips made it harder to think, and thinking was already near impossible with the way you were looking at him, like he was the only thing that mattered.

was this really happening?

were you, the girl he’d been obsessed with since freshman year, really staring at him like he was the only guy in the world?

he couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

but one thing was crystal clear—he couldn’t fuck this up.

and if this was all he’d get—just tonight, with you—he was going to give you everything.

his mouth met yours in a heated kiss, all urgency and need, like he’d been holding back for years—and maybe he had. his hands roamed your body like he was trying to memorize every inch, every curve, every tremble you gave him in return.

your legs were straddling his waist, thighs snug against his hips, so when he shifted—spreading his legs slightly for better balance—yours parted with them, effortlessly, instinctively. the motion was subtle, but the tension it created crackled in the air between you.

he paused for a second, pulling back just enough to look at you—really look. your lips were kiss-swollen, parted just slightly, chest rising and falling a little too fast. but it was your eyes that got him—pupils blown wide, almost swallowing the color of your irises. hungry. dazed. needy.

yea, that told him everything.

you were probably soaked already, and the thought alone had his fingers twitching at your waist, craving more contact, more of you.

then he kissed you again, deeper this time—like he was trying to say what his heart had been screaming for years, every quiet feeling that had built up, all poured into the press of his mouth against yours.

and while you were caught in it—lost in the heat of him, in the way his lips moved with yours—his hands drifted lower. slow, careful, like he didn’t want to startle you. until finally, they slipped between your thighs.

your breath hitched—you gasped, body tensing for a split second.

but megumi didn’t let you pull away. he swallowed the sound, kissed you through it, deepening the moment with a hunger that left no room for hesitation. like if he kissed you hard enough, maybe he could keep you a little longer. maybe you’d stay.

his hands gripped you beneath your short black skirt, fingers splayed wide as if trying to hold on to every inch of you. his palms were warm, grounding, almost completely covering your waist like he was made to fit you there. one thumb rested just above your pubic bone, teasingly close—close enough to make your breath catch.

just the smallest shift of his hand, the faintest pressure of his thumb, and you were unraveling in his lap. your body trembled, heartbeat thudding so loud it drowned out everything else. your fingers, still tangled in his hair, began to shake, struggling to hold on—not just to him, but to the moment, to your own slipping composure.

megumi felt it—all of it. the way your body responded, the way you melted into his touch like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.

“sensitive, huh?” he whispered against your lips, the corner of his mouth twitching with something between awe and smug satisfaction. “I barely touched you.”

“shut up,” you huffed, pushing him away playfully. but despite your teasing demeanor, the way you looked—eyes half-lidded, breath coming in soft, shallow gasps—it was driving him insane. he wanted more. needed more. and judging by the way you rolled your hips against him in response, so did you.

and if you wanted something, he’d give it to you. he’d give you everything.

his eyes never left your face, locked onto every shift in your expression as his thumb drifted lower—slow, deliberate—until it was pressing gentle, teasing circles over the fabric covering that sensitive spot between your legs.

he watched, completely entranced, as your eyes fluttered shut and your teeth sank into your lower lip, trying—and failing—to hold back a moan.

megumi refused to blink. he wasn’t about to miss a second of this—of you—your gorgeous face twisting in pure, unfiltered pleasure, all because of him.

his thumb moved in slow, steady circles, applying just enough pressure to drive you insane but not enough to give you relief. he could feel the way your thighs trembled, the way your hips shifted instinctively toward his hand, chasing more.

“you like that,” he murmured, almost to himself, voice low and reverent. “I can feel it.”

“megumi,” you whined, your voice thick with need, every syllable soaked in desire.

“please,” you breathed out, barely more than a whisper—but it was enough. enough to make his control slip, to make his pulse spike, to make him ache.

hearing you beg—for him—nearly undid him.

his jaw clenched, muscles tensing as he fought the urge to just take. you had no idea what you were doing to him—how your voice alone had him harder than he’d ever been, straining against the fabric of his sweats like it physically hurt.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath, hand flexing at your waist. “you don’t even know what you do to me.”

but the look in your eyes told him maybe you did. maybe you knew everything. everything he felt about you.

but before he could get caught up in his own thoughts, your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. that desperate little sound you made—it was doing something to him, unraveling every thread of restraint he had left.

megumi’s gaze darkened, something primal flickering in his eyes.

“let me show you,” he said, voice low and rough, like a promise.

he shifted beneath you, one hand moving to grip the back of your thigh as he leaned in to kiss you again—slow this time, deliberate, as if he was savoring the taste of you. his other hand kept working slow circles against you, pressure building, teasing you right at the edge.

you whimpered into his mouth, the sound so soft, so wrecked, it made his hips buck up into yours before he could stop himself.

“feel that?” he murmured against your lips, breathing ragged. you nodded, eyes glazed, mouth parted as you struggled to catch a breath. your whole body was trembling, caught somewhere between desperation and disbelief. he knew exactly where to touch you—how much pressure to apply, how slow to move. and it was maddening.

you were already so close, too close, and all he’d used was one hand.

“megumi,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your hips bucked into his palm, chasing friction, chasing that release he was expertly keeping just out of reach.

his eyes were locked on your face like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. his thumb circled tighter, lower, and your back arched. a sharp cry left your throat, muffled as he caught your lips in another searing kiss, swallowing every sound you made.

“let go,” he murmured against your mouth, thumb never faltering. “come on, baby. i’ve got you.”

your fingers clenched around the fabric of his shirt, nails digging into his shoulders as the tension coiled tighter and tighter inside you, ready to snap. his voice—low, coaxing, almost reverent—pushed you closer to the edge with every word.

and then it hit you all at once—a wave of heat and pleasure crashing over your body so hard it stole the breath from your lungs. you gasped, cried out his name, your whole body going rigid before melting into him. your thighs trembled around his waist, your grip in his hair loosening as your head dropped to his shoulder, overwhelmed.

megumi held you through it, his hand gentling but never fully stopping, dragging out every last ripple of your high. he pressed soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“atta girl,” he murmured, voice thick, almost in awe.

you could barely respond—your body still twitching with aftershocks, chest heaving against his. but still, you lifted your head, eyes meeting his, and leaned in.

the kiss you gave him was soft—unrushed and tender. a quiet confession. your lips moved with his in a way that felt intimate, like you were letting him in deeper than before.

you hadn’t meant for it to turn him on.

but oh it did.

the moment your mouth brushed his, megumi’s blood surged, pulse roaring back to life. your kiss might have been sweet, but to him, it was addictive. dangerous. the kind of kiss that made him want to lose himself in you all over again.

his hands gripped your hips tighter, thumbs digging in slightly as he shifted beneath you, the pressure between you both undeniable now.

he surged forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was nothing like the last. this one was hungry, urgent, all sharp edges and raw need. he pushed until he was above you now. his hands slid up your back, under your shirt, desperate to feel your skin again—like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t have enough of you.

you gasped into his mouth as he rolled his hips into yours, the friction sparking heat straight through your core, even after everything he’d already given you. it made your nails dig into his shoulders, your thighs tightening around his waist.

“take this off,” he said against your mouth, tugging gently at the hem of your shirt. his voice was low, wrecked, filled with a kind of reverence that made your heart stutter.

you nodded, breathless, pulling the shirt over your head and tossing it aside without a second thought. the second it was gone, his hands were on you again, roaming your sides, your back, cupping your chest like he was trying to memorize the feel of you.

“fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, each word pressed into your skin as his lips trailed down your jaw to your neck, then lower. every kiss burned. each one a silent confession—I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted you.

and he didn’t stop there.

his mouth moved lower, slow and intentional—over your collarbones, across the swell of your chest, down the soft curve of your stomach—leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“wait,” you panted, fingers gripping his shirt in an attempt to stop him, but he intertwined your fingers and pinned your hands to the bed instead.

then he continued his path downward, until he was there, kneeling between your thighs, his hands letting yours go to grip gently but firmly, spreading you open for him.

his eyes flicked up, meeting yours—dark, focused, filled with something close to worship.

“still with me?” he asked, voice husky, thumb brushing circles into your inner thigh.

you nodded, lips parted, breath coming quick and shallow. “yes.”

“good,” he said, more to himself than to you, and then he lowered his head, mouth meeting you over your soaked underwear.

the groan that rumbled from his chest vibrated against you, and you gasped, back arching slightly.

“taste even better than I imagined,” he muttered, and before you could even process the words, he was pulling the fabric to the side, tongue sliding over you slow and sure—like he had all the time in the world to ruin you.

and to him, he did. he would worship you for the rest of his life if you let him.

the first slow drag of his tongue had your breath catching in your throat, hips twitching beneath his grip. megumi held you steady, thumbs pressing gently into your thighs, grounding you as he worked—patient, precise, like he was learning you by taste alone.

he groaned again, deeper this time, like he couldn’t believe this was real. like you were real.

“fuck,” he breathed against you, lips brushing your skin. “you’re so wet for me.”

you whimpered, fingers threading through his hair, tugging instinctively. he took it as encouragement, diving back in with more pressure, more purpose. his tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, circling your clit before flicking lightly, then repeating the motion, building you up piece by piece.

your thighs threatened to close around his head, but he just tightened his grip, keeping you open for him, keeping you his.

he glanced up at you, eyes hooded, mouth glistening. “you gonna come for me again, pretty girl?”

you couldn’t even form words—just a shaky nod and a breathless moan as he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling over it like he was already addicted to the way you tasted, the way you reacted.

and he didn’t let up. not even as your body started to tremble, your moans getting higher, breath getting shorter.

“come on,” he murmured, voice dark and low, lips brushing your soaked skin. “fall apart for me. I need to feel you lose it again.”

and with the next swirl of his tongue, you did—your whole body arching, a cry ripping from your throat as the pleasure crashed over you, raw and consuming.

your back arched off the bed, fingers clutching at megumi’s hair like it was the only thing tethering you to earth. his name spilled from your lips in broken gasps, over and over, as your body shook beneath the weight of it all.

and megumi didn’t stop.

even as you trembled, even as your legs tried to close around him again, he held you open—his mouth relentless, greedy, pulling every last wave of pleasure from you like he couldn’t get enough. like the sound of you falling apart was his new favorite song.

only when your body sagged back into the mattress, chest rising and falling in uneven, ragged breaths, did he finally lift his head. his lips were slick, chin glistening, eyes dark and half-lidded as he looked up at you.

“look at you,” he whispered, breathless. “still so fucking beautiful when you come.”

you tried to speak, to say something, but all that came out was a quiet, shaky laugh—completely wrecked, completely blissed out.

megumi crawled back up your body, kissing his way up your stomach, your chest, your neck. he hovered over you now, but his eyes didn’t meet yours. almost like he was turning shy again.

“i’ve never wanted anyone like this,” he murmured, voice raw. “not like I want you.”

oh.

his confession made you finally find your voice. soft and hoarse, you whispered back, “then have me.”

that pulled his gaze back to you, eyes locking with yours as a bright, almost boyish smile tugged at his lips. your cheeks flushed under the intensity of it, warmth blooming across your face as his eyes drank you in like you were the most stunning thing he’d ever seen.

which you were.

your blush deepened under the weight of it, and megumi couldn’t tear his eyes away.

he couldn’t believe this—you. you, lying in his bed, looking at him like he was something special. like he was wanted. chosen. it didn’t make sense in his mind. you were out of his league in every way—so far out he’d never even let himself fantasize about this, not really.

you were the kind of girl people noticed when you walked into a room. confident. gorgeous. charismatic. funny. the kind of girl who had options—so many options—and somehow, you were here, looking at him like he was the only one that existed.

“quit looking at me like that.” you whispered, voice soft, playful.

he leaned down, brushing his nose against yours, lips ghosting over your own but not connecting. “I like looking at you.”

you scoffed, giving his chest a playful shove.

“yeah, you look,” you said with a teasing smirk, “but you never say anything.”

his brows shot up, clearly caught off guard. he blinked, lips parting like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite figure out how.

you noticed?

had he really been that obvious?

sure, maybe he stared a little too long in class, maybe his eyes found you at every party, maybe he lingered in conversation just to hear your laugh—but he didn’t think it showed.

but apparently , it did.

megumi ran a hand through his hair, suddenly a little flustered.

“I didn’t think it was that obvious,” he muttered, half to himself.

you laughed softly, the sound making his heart stutter. he groaned, hiding his face in your neck for a moment, his cheeks burning.

you grinned, fingers playing with the ends of his hair. “no. it was kind of cute, actually.”

that made him lift his head, eyes narrowing playfully. “cute?”

“mhm,” you said with a smirk. “like you were crushing. hard.”

he rolled his eyes, but the small smile on his face gave him away. “yea, well… maybe I was.”

“was?” you echoed, arching a brow.

his smile turned softer, more serious. “still am.”

and something about the way he said it—quiet, certain—hit you right in the chest.

suddenly, all the teasing faded, replaced by something warmer. something foreign to you.

sure, you’d had plenty of guys confess their feelings before—sweet words, nervous smiles, hopeful eyes. And you’d always let them down gently, kindly, because it never felt right.

but megumi… this was different.

this feeling was new—deeper, quieter, heavier in your chest. Like it had been building for a while, waiting for the right moment to make itself known.

And now that it was here, you weren’t sure you ever wanted it to leave.

he wasn’t just a fling. not just a night. he felt like more.

you didn’t say anything right away—just looked at him, really looked at him, and let the weight of his words settle between you.

still am.

your fingers traced a slow line down his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. it was calm now, no longer frantic, but steady—strong. just like him.

you leaned in and kissed him gently. it was sweet, passionate. no longer fueled by lust.

his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close until there was no space left to fill. and as sleep crept in, your bodies tangled together under the sheets, he let himself believe—maybe just for tonight—that this was the start of something real. that you’d still be here in the morning.

・゜(。┰ω┰。).・゜