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rawjutsu · 1 day ago

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the babysitter

pairing: megumi x fem reader

summary: you babysat little thirteen-year-old megumi once upon a time, but now, ten years later? you spot him at a club looking way too hot to be your awkward kid from the past. you try to play it cool but end up lowkey embarrassing yourself with some accidental flirting. plot twist: he’s actually a new intern at your job, and suddenly the vibe’s all kinds of heat. after a lot of teasing, tension, and some seriously awkward moments, one night the heat finally breaks—and megumi proves he’s way past kid status.

cw: age gap (4ish years), time skips, power dynamics, sexual tension, piv smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, teasing, 7.9k wc

the coffee table was covered in greasy pizza boxes — cheese for megumi, pepperoni for you and tsumiki, who was currently flopped upside down on the couch like a melting popsicle, humming to herself with her slice dangling over her face.

you were cross-legged on the carpet beside megumi, pink nails tapping your phone calculator while he aggressively stabbed his pencil at a multiplication worksheet like it had wronged him in another life.

"this is so stupid," he muttered, brows furrowed. “why can’t i just use a calculator like everyone else?”

you gasped, hand on your heart like he’d just offended your ancestors. “excuse me?! megumi fushiguro, did you just try to commit math blasphemy in front of me?”

he stared blankly. “...what?”

you giggled and leaned over to squint at his half-erased answers. “babe, what is this? did you write ninety-nine for nine times nine?”

his face immediately flushed. “shut up.”

you grinned and, without thinking, ruffled his hair.

he jerked away instantly. “don’t do that,” he said, cheeks flaming.

“oh my god,” you laughed, “you’re so dramatic. you didn’t care when i did it when you were nine.”

he didn’t answer, jaw tense, pencil gripped like he wanted to snap it in half. his bangs shadowed his eyes, and he’d gotten taller since the last time you saw him — lanky, a little awkward, but starting to grow into it. thirteen looked weird on him. it made him seem older than he was and younger than he wanted to be.

“ah, y/n! you have no idea how much we needed this, thank you so much for babysitting last minute,” mrs. fushiguro exclaimed, cheeks rosy—probably from a little too much wine.

mr. fushiguro just grunted in greeting, wandering over to play-wrestle with megumi and swipe one of his slices.

you popped up with a bubbly little wave. “hi! don’t even worry about it, the kids were angels.”

megumi looked personally insulted by that.

tsumiki chirped from the couch, “we made megumi do math and suffer. it was awesome.”

“doing math on a friday night is illegal,” megumi groaned, still hunched over the table.

“you’re just mad you thought nine times nine was ninety-nine,” you sing-songed while slipping on your shoes.

mrs. fushiguro laughed, digging through her purse. “so, y/n, do you have a boyfriend yet? you’re too cute to be single.”

you laughed, flustered. “not yet, i’m focusing on school right now—finals season is killing me.”

mr. fushiguro emerged with a mouth full of pizza. “that’s good. boys your age don’t know their head from their ass.”

you laughed again, but then megumi grumbled something behind him—loud enough to catch everyone’s attention.

“what does she need a boyfriend for? she has me.”

no one said anything for a second. then mr. fushiguro broke the silence by yanking megumi into a headlock and cackling.

“so you’re into older women now, huh? gotta type already, little man?”

“dad, shut up—!”

“oh, megumi,” his mom added, shaking her head with a smile, “i think y/n needs another seventeen-year-old to call her boyfriend. not a middle schooler in minecraft pajamas.”

you giggled behind your hand, careful not to hurt megumi’s feelings. even tsumiki was giggling watching her older brother get oddly flustered.

“speaking of,” his mom continued, “y/n, can you just double check that tsumiki brushed her teeth? i need toji to look at something in the garage.”

toji blinked, pizza still in hand. “i thought we were doing that tomorrow—?”

tsumiki was already tucked in by the time you padded back into the living room. megumi was standing awkwardly by the hallway now, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants, gaze fixed on the floor.

“hey,” you said gently. “you good?”

he nodded a little too quickly. “you’re not gonna come over anymore, right?”

you blinked. “what?”

“my mom said... tsumiki doesn’t need a babysitter anymore.”

you tilted your head, smile softening. “yeah, she’s getting big. you both are.”

he didn’t reply. just scowled at the floor like it had offended him. you reached out and tugged playfully at his sleeve.

“i’m gonna miss you, gumi,” you said, voice bright but fond. “who else is gonna argue with me about math and threaten to burn my worksheets?”

he mumbled something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch.

you leaned in with a teasing grin, smacked a big pink kiss to his cheek, and said, “you better not forget about me, okay? ‘cause i’m definitely not gonna forget you.”

then you were grabbing your purse and heading for the door, heels clicking cheerfully as you called over your shoulder—

“and stop growing! next time i do see you, you might be 2 heads taller than me.”

megumi stood frozen in the hallway, cheeks burning, hand lifting to touch the faint imprint of your lipstick.

ten years later

the club was packed—sweaty bodies grinding to half-broken trap remixes off today’s top hits, the floor sticky with spilled cocktails and too much cologne. you were deep in the chaos, laughing with your friends between flirty little conversations that ended in free drinks. not trying to pull. just dancing. vibing. glowing.

you were tipsy and stunning—lip gloss poppin', hair perfectly messy, dress barely hanging on. living your life.

and across the dance floor—

“...megumi?”

he freezes like you slapped him. blinks once. twice. because you’re not supposed to be here. you live in a memory, in warm pizza boxes and butterfly clips and highlighter-pink hoodies. you are softness and warmth and the scent of strawberry body spray from the early 2010s. but now—

now you're grown. glowing. sultry. moving your hips to the beat in a way that has no business being legal. and your mouth is still glossy, and megumi is not okay.

you light up. slap some poor guy’s hand off your ass and practically trip your way toward him—your heels clicking like fate. he’s standing by one of the high-top tables, drink in hand, frozen like he’s seen a ghost with a bbl.

you fling your arms around his neck without hesitation, your tits fully pressed to his chest like it’s nothing, giggling in disbelief.

“oh my god—you're drinking?! my baby is drinking?! stop itttt.”

he stiffens. “you—you don’t have to call me—”

“megumi,” you interrupt, dramatically clutching his shoulders. “i babysat you when you still had spider-man sheets. i used to wipe your nose.”

“you absolutely did not—”

“i did! you were like—‘math is stupid’—and you had crusty eye boogers, and now you’re here drinking, looking all…” your eyes drag over him and you wiggle your fingers teasingly. “...grown.”

you pull back just enough to really look at him—and your giggle falters.

because oh. oh.

he’s tall. and broad. and sharp-jawed and annoyingly sexy in that quiet, effortless, completely illegal kind of way.

you blink. "you got hot."

megumi’s brain blue-screens.

"no—i mean—you’ve grown up! that’s what i meant. i used to babysit you!"

you don’t seem to realize how close you are. you’re swaying into him, arm still slung over his shoulders like you’ve done it a thousand times. fingers casually toying with the ends of his hair like it’s your right. like you’re not wearing a backless dress that megumi is painfully aware could slide off with one wrong move.

you, still blissfully unaware, play with the little chain around his neck now. “you work out too, huh? i knew you’d be tall. i remember thinking that when you were like thirteen—‘this kid’s gonna grow up and be hot.’” you laugh like you didn’t just casually ruin his entire night.

megumi stares at you, eyes wide, face absolutely flaming, hands clenched so tightly around his drink it’s a miracle the glass hasn’t shattered.

and then—

“y/n!” a voice calls from the crowd. “there you are!”

yuki slides in out of nowhere, arm snaking around your waist like a protective older sister on a mission. her eyes flick from megumi to your hand on his chain to the way you’re basically draped over him and then back to megumi, whose expression is screaming please kill me right now.

she leans in and stage-whispers, “why are you flirting with a college freshman?”

you blink like she just spoke elvish. “what?? i’m not! that’s—megumi!”

yuki’s brows lift. “...uh-huh.”

“i used to babysit him!” you laugh, slapping megumi lightly on the chest for emphasis. “isn’t that so funny?!”

megumi is dying.

yuki smiles. but it’s tight.

poor kid. he's standing there, stunned, blinking after you like you just set him on fire and walked away.

yuki sighs to herself.

he definitely had a crush on you.

still does.

yuki disappears into the crowd with a look that says good luck, kid, and you're already turning back to megumi with a dazed smile.

"sorryyyy," you giggle, fanning yourself a little. "she’s protective. but isn’t that cute? that she thought i was flirting with you?”

megumi makes a noise in the back of his throat. it might’ve been a laugh. it might’ve been his soul leaving his body. “yeah. cute.”

you don’t even hear him. you're sipping your drink and swaying to the beat again, head tilted, body language loose and open like you belong in the music. the lights shift pink, then blue, then strobe white—each flash catching the sparkle of your jewelry, your glitter gloss, the sweat on your collarbones.

megumi is trying not to look. he is failing.

“god,” you huff, “i feel so old lately. but you—” you gesture at him vaguely. “you’re making me feel ancient right now. you were a child the last time i saw you, and now you’ve got arms and stubble and shit? not fair.”

you set your drink down and stretch dramatically, your chest pushing out and tits practically falling out . you don’t notice the way megumi’s eyes drop—don’t notice the flicker of panic on his face as he forces himself to look away and adjust the front of his pants like he’s trying to pass it off as casual.

he clears his throat. “you don’t look old.”

you beam at him. “aw, thanks, baby.”

baby. oh god. he nearly chokes on his own spit.

the way you say it—so casually—makes something in his chest seize up.

"megumi," a voice calls—bright, amused. it’s another guy his age with pink hair, followed closely by an even bigger and muscular guy with a black man bun. "you good, man?"

pink hair’s eyes flick between you and megumi and light up. he elbows the bigger guy. "yo, he’s so not good. look at him. dude’s malfunctioning."

"i used to babysit him," you offer quickly, like that explains anything. like that makes this less weird.

the big guy snorts. pink hair looks delighted.

"cool," pink hair says. "you babysit all your kids like that?"

you shove at his arm playfully, cheeks hot. megumi is still dead silent, jaw tight, hands in his pockets like if he moves them he’ll do something very illegal.

before you can say anything else, yuki materializes behind you, tugging your wrist. "babe, drink. let’s go. enough flirting"

you squawk, "i was not flirting—he’s megumi! i used to babysit him! and he’s, like, twenty-three now!"

yuki glances at megumi—still stiff, still watching you like you’re made of sin—and hums. "right. poor kid."

you let her drag you away, sipping your drink, heart beating a little weirdly fast. but by the time yuki hands you another daiquiri you’ve long forgotten about your run-in with the kid you used to babysit ten years go.

monday rolls around and you’re in the breakroom, adjusting the office keurig like it’s your sworn duty. your mug says "boss babe, brat edition" in obnoxiously cute pink font, and you’ve just finished swirling your creamer in when yuki sidles up beside you, designer sunglasses still perched on top of her head and an overpriced latte in hand.

“god,” she sighs, “i can't wait for the interns to get here. i’m gonna make them do all my paperwork while i take an extra lunch.”

you laugh into your cup. “it’s barely 9am and you’re already planning your escape.”

“self-care,” she shrugs.

a few more of your coworkers filter in, sleep-deprived and carrying folders. you greet them cheerfully, air-kissing a few cheeks and wishing people a good morning like the workplace princess you are. the heels, the lip gloss, the iced coffee—you’re basically the human embodiment of a good linkedin headshot.

you swipe your tablet from your desk and strut your way to the main conference room, where your poor baby interns are waiting for their intro training—which is just twenty soul-sucking slides of hr compliance and outdated office etiquette. it’s tradition. you consider it a hazing ritual.

you push open the door with a practiced smile, ready to greet the sea of nervous college grads with something cute and perky—

and then you see him.

seated near the middle of the u-shaped table setup, black button-up slightly wrinkled, blue lanyard slung around his neck.

no. way.

your heart stutters, and you blink hard like your brain short-circuited. you double-check the clipboard in your hand like it might say surprise! that boy from the club is also your intern now!

but it doesn’t.

and he’s definitely here. megumi fushiguro. sitting tall and tense, jaw tight, eyes wide.

you don’t even realize you’ve said it out loud:

“…megumi?”

the room falls silent. every intern is now watching you two like this is a k-drama scene.

his mouth twitches. he looks like he might simply evaporate into the floor. “...hi.”

you blink again.

hi??

you’re pretty sure your brain melts a little on the spot. this is the same guy you saw at the club three nights ago—the same guy whose biceps you complimented while slurring something about spider-man bedsheets.

and now he’s here.

wearing slacks.

in your intern orientation.

“oh my god,” you murmur. “you didn’t tell me you were interning here.”

“you didn’t give me a chance,” he says, and you swear—he sounds almost smug.

your mouth drops open a little. you blink at him, stunned and pink in the cheeks, and then remember yourself—right, there are ten other baby employees staring at you, and you’re supposed to be the confident one here.

you clap your hands once, forcing your professional smile back on. “okay! welcome everyone, let’s get started, we’re gonna have so much fun!”

you turn to the screen, clicking your little presentation remote like your life depends on it, and you feel megumi’s eyes burning into your back.

and all you can think is:

this can’t be happening.

tuesday

you’re humming to yourself in the elevator, scrolling through your phone, when the doors slide open and bam—in walks megumi.

alone.

you grin.

“well, well, if it isn’t my favorite little intern.”

he visibly stiffens. “you’ve gotta stop saying that.”

“what? that you’re my favorite?”

“that you used to babysit me.”

you laugh and lean your shoulder against the elevator wall, eyes dragging over him shamelessly.

“sorry,” you say sweetly. “i’ll stop... once i’m no longer picturing those spider-man sheets.”

he groans under his breath.

and you? you don’t notice the way his gaze flickers down to your legs, or the way he’s biting the inside of his cheek when you tilt your head just so.

that night, you’re washing your face and trying to unwind when the memory hits you like a truck: the club.

you groan into your towel.

because yeah, tuesday morning you were all smug and flirty in the elevator, but now you’re remembering just how unhinged you were the first time you ran into him again—like three months ago, at yuki’s birthday thing. loud club, slutty dress, way too many tequila shots. you’d been dancing on him. had your hands on his shoulders. called him “grown now” with a wink. maybe even touched his jaw.

and he just stood there all cool and quiet with that unreadable look on his face while you were acting like a full-blown cougar in heat.

“jesus christ,” you mutter to your ceiling. “i babysat him.”

no wonder he looked at you weird this morning. he probably thinks you’re some thirsty, washed-up ex-babysitter with a weird age gap kink.

you bury your face in your pillow and scream internally for a good thirty seconds.

and maybe that’s why, when wednesday rolls around, you start dialing it back.

you were just trying to get coffee. you swear that’s all you were doing.

but then megumi walked in, sleeves rolled up, forearms all veiny and pretty, with his messy black hair pushed back like he didn’t even try—and your brain short-circuited.

the boy you used to babysit is now a fully grown, hot, adult man. and your body is reacting accordingly.

he mumbles a tired “morning” as he reaches past you to grab a mug, and your breath catches because—what the hell. when did his voice get that deep?

you back up a little too fast and end up knocking over the sugar packet holder. classic.

“you good?” he asks, one brow raised.

“yup,” you squeak, scooping up the mess without looking at him. “totally good. just—coffee. haven’t had coffee. haha.”

he watches you for a second, lips twitching like he’s holding in a laugh.

normally, you’d swat at his arm. tease him. call him a brat.

but instead, you keep your eyes fixed on your mug and tell yourself to get it together.

because this is megumi. you used to babysit him. he probably sees you as some weird big sister figure and here you are practically blushing because he said "good morning."

besides—he’s 23. fresh out of college. probably into girls who go to music festivals and do their skincare routines on tiktok. not a tired 28-year-old corporate zombie whose back hurts when she sits down too fast.

even if he is disgustingly good-looking now. even if he smells like sandalwood and makes your stomach do somersaults.

“okay,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than to him. “we’re dialing it back.”

and you do. you don’t touch his arm. you don’t mention his spider-man sheets. you don’t call him baby megumi.

you grab your coffee and walk out like a respectable adult woman.

and megumi watches you go with the faintest frown on his face.

thursday

something’s off.

you’re quieter today. still sweet, still smiling, but... distant.

he’s not imagining it. you used to bump your shoulder when you walked past, used to throw him little teasing jabs, used to light up when he said something dry that made you laugh.

now?

now you’re polite. reserved. a little stiff.

and megumi has no idea what the fuck he did.

he finds himself watching you, trying to pinpoint when the switch flipped.

it’s not like he didn’t notice before—how pretty you are. how funny. how you make a stupid office feel like something warm.

but now, it’s like you’ve put up a glass wall. you’re still right there, but out of reach.

and he hates it.

he catches you in the break room again, smiling too tightly while pouring your coffee.

"you’re avoiding me," he says before he can stop himself.

you blink, startled. “what? no, i’m just busy.”

“you’re not busy right now.”

you glance at him, then look away quickly. “i figured you’d want some space. i’ve been kind of... annoying.”

annoying? he wants to shake you.

instead, he just clenches his jaw and mutters, “you weren’t.”

but you’re already slipping out the door with your coffee, head ducked.

and megumi’s left standing there, wondering if he imagined the whole connection. if he hallucinated your teasing smiles and flirty comments and the soft way you looked at him on tuesday.

he pulls out his phone, types out a text to tsumiki.

her: “wait you saw her again???” him: “she works here.” her: “megumi. omg. did you tell her you had a massive crush on her.” him: “no.” her: “does she still wear the glittery lip gloss???” him: “yes.”

he sighs and closes the thread.

friday

someone in marketing shouts it out first: “drinks after work? to celebrate the new interns?”

everyone’s murmuring agreement. even your boss nods.

you nudge megumi’s arm with your elbow, slowly grinning. “coming out with us?”

he hesitates.

you tilt your head. “come on. you should go.”

“for what?”

“get to know some of us outside our desks and business casual wear”

“i already know you.”

“megumii.”

“…fine.”

later that day, yuki catches you lingering by the copy machine and immediately clocks the way your eyes flick toward megumi when he walks by.

“you good, girly?” she says under her breath.

you wave her off. “fine.”

“you’re not flirting with your baby intern anymore.”

“i was never flirting.”

she arches a brow. “babe.”

you sigh. “he’s just... not a kid anymore. i realized that.”

yuki hums. “and that’s a bad thing?”

“it’s just weird, okay?” you hiss. “he’s 23. i’m almost 28. i used to make him chicken nuggets.”

“okay but now you want him to rail you into next week.”

you gasp. “yuki—”

“tell me i’m wrong.”

you don’t.

happy hour rolls around, and the bar starts filling up with tired salarymen and even more exhausted hourly workers. your office has a long table pushed together in the back, half your coworkers already crowding around with drinks in hand while the rest hover near the pool table.

you chew the inside of your cheek, debating whether or not to get megumi a drink. he’s over by the bar, laughing at something one of the other interns said, posture easy and relaxed.

you weren’t exactly avoiding him. you were just… setting boundaries. for yourself. trying to be normal. professional. and now, being in the same dimly lit bar as him—tipsy and tired and way too aware of how stupid hot he is—feels like a terrible idea.

yuki slings an arm around your shoulder and groans dramatically. “can you please just fuck him already?”

you choke on your beer. violently.

“yuki!” you whisper-shout, eyes wide as you glance around to make sure no one heard your deranged little menace of a friend.

she just takes another swig from her pint and leans in closer, lowering her voice but still way too loud. “what? you’ve been eye-fucking him since before you even knew he was working here. and you're too naive to notice he’s been eye-fucking you back.”

“i have not been—wait, he’s been what?”

yuki deadpans. “are you serious right now? if you would stop spiraling for like two seconds, you’d see it.”

she grabs your chin, gently but with intent, and turns your head toward the bar—right where megumi’s sitting.

he’s looking at you.

his gaze flicks away the second your eyes meet, but not fast enough to pretend he wasn’t staring. his ears go pink. he says something to the intern beside him, but his whole body shifts like he's been caught.

your stomach swoops.

still, you shake your head. no. nope. nothing’s going to happen. first of all, you work together now. that’s inappropriate. second of all, you used to babysit him, which is… arguably more inappropriate. megumi probably thinks you’re a freak. he’s probably this close to reporting you to hr.

so, you do what any sane, responsible adult would do: avoid him for the rest of the night.

you play pool with the accounting team, gossip with the customer service reps, and keep your eyes anywhere but on megumi—no matter how many times yuki throws you the world’s most pointed looks across the table.

eventually, people start trickling out. one by one. then in pairs. then in carpools. you’re settling your tab and sipping on some watered-down coke when someone slides into the seat next to you.

you look up—and of course it’s him.

megumi. looking warm and flushed and slightly buzzed. his hair a little messy. his shirt rumpled at the sleeves.

“hey,” he says, voice soft and low.

you blink. “hi.”

he’s close enough that his thigh brushes yours every time he shifts.

you’re acutely aware of it.

the warmth of his body. the clean, faint scent of sandalwood and laundry detergent. the occasional flex of his forearm as he nurses his drink.

you’re not even drunk. that’s the worst part.

you’re just buzzing. nerves and want and something heavy curling low in your belly.

“can we talk?”

your stomach dips. you nod once, trying to look normal—cool, even—as if you haven’t spent the past week panicking over every interaction you’ve had with this man.

megumi glances around, then tips his chin toward the hallway leading to the back patio. “out there?”

you follow him outside, where the noise from the bar softens into a low hum behind the glass. the air is cooler out here, a soft breeze carrying the faint scent of street food and cigarette smoke. there’s no one else around.

megumi leans against the railing, arms folded, gaze fixed somewhere out in the distance. you wait, heart beating in your throat.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he says finally, quiet but direct.

you blink. “i haven’t—”

“yes, you have.”

you pause. then sigh, leaning your back against the railing beside him. “okay. maybe a little.”

he turns his head toward you, jaw tight. “did i do something wrong?”

the way he says it—so genuinely unsure—makes your chest ache a little.

“no,” you say quickly. “god, no. you didn’t. i just…” you trail off, chewing your lip. “i’ve been trying to be professional,”

“i guess i was just scared i was making you feel weird or something this week,” you continue in a murmur, “with all the teasing.”

megumi nods. “i admit, maybe telling half the office i used to wear super mario underwear was a little much at first, but… it’s you. so it’s okay.”

you glance over. “you sure?”

he looks at you for a long beat. then, quietly:

“i’m not thirteen anymore.”

and oh.

it’s like something in the air cracks. sharp and electric.

you laugh, light and disbelieving, because what the fuck kind of answer is that. “yeah, no shit, megumi. i noticed.”

his gaze drops—slowly. from your eyes, to your mouth, then down to your thighs, crossed tightly under the table.

“did you?” he says, voice low.

your breath catches.

for a moment, neither of you say anything. the bar chatter fades to a background blur. you can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the thrum of something heavy and unspoken between you.

you don’t look away.

“why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

megumi huffs a quiet laugh, one that doesn't reach his eyes. “you really don’t get it, do you?”

“…get what?”

he leans in, just slightly. enough to brush his knee against yours. enough to make your pulse stutter.

“i used to wait up on the couch just to see you when you came to babysit. stayed in my room late on purpose so you’d come knock and say goodnight. i used to think about you every fucking day for years.”

you freeze.

your heart is a runaway train in your chest. “‘gumi—”

he smiles, soft but a little self-deprecating. “i used to have dreams about you when i was, like, fifteen. woke up so hard it hurt. and now you’re here. looking like this. wearing pencil skirts and calling me your favorite.”

you stare at him.

he’s not even teasing. he’s dead serious.

and suddenly you can’t breathe.

you feel hot. your skin prickles with awareness. your thighs clench under the table and you don’t know what to do with your hands.

“is this…” you swallow, trying to keep your voice level, “is this you flirting with me?”

“no,” he says simply. “that was me telling you i want to fuck you.”

your jaw drops. you blink once, twice. you’re pretty sure the earth shifts on its axis.

he glances down, then back up. “if that’s not what you want, just say so.”

you don't say anything.

you can't.

because the truth is, your entire body is screaming yes. every nerve ending has been wound tight all week and now he's just offering himself up like this? looking like that?

you scramble to think, to act normal, to not do something that’ll land you in hr monday morning.

but then he says, softly—

“you’re not my babysitter anymore.”

and that’s the last fucking straw.

you grab your purse.

megumi blinks. “wait—”

“come with me,” you say, voice low and tight.

“…where?”

“away from the bar.”

you grab his arm, weaving through the crowd like you’re on autopilot. the second you step outside, you yank him around the corner into the alley behind the bar—hidden from view but still close enough to hear the bass thumping through the walls.

“y/n, i’m sorry— i didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, i just—”

you don’t let him finish.

your hands fist in the collar of his shirt and you drag him down into a kiss so heated it nearly knocks the wind out of you both.

megumi freezes for half a second—just one. then he’s moving like he’s been waiting for this all night, hands snapping to your waist and yanking you flush against him. you moan into his mouth, high and breathy, already addicted to the way he’s gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

your fingers roam down his chest, tracing every dip of muscle through his shirt until you reach the waistband of his pants.

he shudders. his breath catches.

you break the kiss and pant against his lips, eyes glittering.

“you’re a great kisser, ‘gumi.”

megumi huffs a laugh and presses his mouth to the underside of your jaw. “wish i could say i learned from the best.”

you blush. blush. at him.

looking away, you clear your throat. “do you… wanna come back to my place?”

megumi lifts his head. his eyes are dark. focused.

“i’ll drive.”

the ride to your apartment is tense and silent—at least, on the surface. but his hand stays glued to your thigh the entire time, his thumb stroking just shy of your inner leg. every red light feels like a test. every brush of his knuckle makes you want to drag his hand higher and make him feel how wet you are already.

by the time you unlock your door, you’re trembling. not from fear—but from anticipation. from knowing this is real.

inside, the door clicks shut behind you.

and suddenly, you hesitate.

you falter. your confidence wavers, like the reality of it all is just now hitting you.

“so, wanna drink something?” you murmur, leaning back against the kitchen counter, fingers tapping lightly on the cool surface, heart thudding with that familiar anticipation.

megumi edges closer, voice low and rough, “no, there’s something else i want way more.”

then, without warning, he’s got you caged in—arms wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you flush to him. but this kiss? it’s nothing like that frantic, desperate one at the bar. this time, he’s slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the curve of your lips with his own.

your legs coil around his waist, heels slipping off as he lifts you onto the counter effortlessly.

he nips your bottom lip softly, making you whimper, hands trailing up your skirt, skin warm against your thighs. meanwhile, your fingers fumble clumsily over the buttons of his shirt, eager and trembling.

he hums against your mouth, kisses getting messy and urgent, swallowing your moans like they’re his oxygen.

finally, his hands find the place you crave most—spreading your thighs wider, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. he smirks against your lips when he feels your knees shake under his touch.

you gasp when his thumb grazes your underwear, just barely brushing over your soaked clit.

“fuck—you're soaked,” megumi groans, breath hot against your skin.

you giggle, breathless, “can you really blame me?”

his eyes flash darker. “no. but i want to hear you say it anyway.”

you part your lips, about to answer, but then his fingers slip beneath the band of your underwear and stroke your slit once—slow, deliberate, teasing—and your brain just short-circuits.

“oh—fuck,” you breathe, hips bucking into his hand. “megumi—”

“you’re soaked for me,” he murmurs, nosing at your jaw. “and i haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

“then touch me properly,” you whimper, shameless now, thighs trembling.

megumi lets out a low groan that vibrates against your neck. “don’t tempt me.”

but he does.

he pushes your underwear aside and slides two fingers into you in one smooth motion, the stretch making you keen as your walls clench tight around him.

“fuck—‘gumi—”

he groans again at the nickname, curling his fingers until your eyes flutter. “you always say my name like that?”

you nod, delirious. “only when i’m about to come.”

he smirks. “good. gonna make you say it over and over.”

you cling to him, nails scraping his shoulders as he pumps his fingers steadily inside you, thumb finding your clit like he already knows your body better than you do. you’re panting now, hips rolling into his touch, desperate for more.

“look at you,” he murmurs, watching your face like he’s memorizing every twitch, every gasp. “so pretty like this. s’like you were made to fall apart in my hands.”

you whimper, thighs trembling against the counter as his fingers curl just right inside you.

“you always look this good when someone touches you, or is it just me?” his voice is low, rough, and just the tiniest bit smug.

you don’t answer—you can’t—not when his thumb circles your clit again and your hips jerk, chasing the pressure. but he knows. he can feel your body answering him.

“you’ve been acting so shy all week,” he mutters, leaning in to kiss along your jaw. “thought maybe you didn’t want me. but this?”

he fucks his fingers into you a little deeper. you gasp.

“this says otherwise.”

your fingers tighten in his shirt, dizzy from how fast he’s unraveling you. “megumi, i—”

“i’ve wanted this,” he breathes. “since that night at the club. since the second i saw you again.”

you moan when his tongue traces the shell of your ear.

“wanna hear you say it,” he growls softly. “tell me you want me too.”

you nod frantically, panting, “i do—i do, i just—fuck—was trying to be normal, and—”

“fuck normal,” he mutters, cutting you off with a kiss, all tongue and heat and claiming. “i don’t want normal. i want you.”

his fingers curl again, knuckles deep, hitting something devastating inside you. you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders, your back arching off the kitchen counter.

“you’re so close, aren’t you?” he whispers, thumb rubbing relentless circles over your clit. “been teasing me all week like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. wearing those little skirts. biting your lip. looking at me like you wanted me to ruin you.”

“i wasn’t—!” you try to argue, but your voice breaks into a moan, heat pooling low in your belly like a rubber band about to snap.

he chuckles darkly, and fuck—you feel it more than you hear it. “no? then what’s this?” he presses deeper, watching your thighs tremble.

your breath stutters. “megumi—please—”

and that does it. that makes something snap in him. the sound of his name falling from your lips all soft and desperate.

“go ahead, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. “let go. i’ve got you.”

you fall apart with a strangled cry, legs shaking, his name breaking again and again from your mouth. he watches the whole thing—soaking in every twitch, every breathy whimper, like it's the most sacred thing he’s ever seen.

when your hips twitch from oversensitivity, his touch finally eases—but he doesn’t move away.

instead, he lifts his fingers slowly, admiring how soaked they are, before sucking them into his mouth with a low groan.

your jaw drops. “megumi—!”

he grins, and for the first time since you reunited, you see it—the boy you used to babysit peeking through the man he’s become. all teasing eyes and smugness and deep, aching affection.

“taste better than i ever imagined,” he says.

you blink. “what?”

his smile softens—just a little. “you heard me.”

you’re still dazed, but you manage to breathe out, “you’ve…imagined this?”

megumi leans in again, hand sliding gently to cup your face.

“i’ve dreamed about this night for years.”

your heart stutters in your chest. “you have?”

“every time i ran into someone who reminded me of you,” he murmurs. “every time i walked past some girl wearing strawberry-pink lip gloss.”

his thumb brushes your bottom lip, gaze flicking down.

“but none of them were you.”

you melt—just a little—before he grabs your hand and starts backing toward the hallway.

“come on,” he murmurs, eyes darkening again. “i’m not done with you yet.”

you let him pull you toward the bedroom, heart pounding, thighs still trembling, a little giggly with disbelief.

“megumi—what are you even—?”

he shoots you a look that shuts you right up. “i just made you cum on my fingers. now i wanna do it with my mouth.”

you whimper.

he grins. “yeah. that’s what i thought.”

he peels the rest of your clothing off you, shedding off his own as well, then lays you out gently on the bed like you’re something precious—until he gets between your thighs. then it's like he changes.

megumi kisses down your inner thighs slowly, reverently, hands strong and sure as they wrap around the backs of your legs to pull you closer to the edge of the bed.

“spread for me,” he murmurs against your skin. “wanna see how pretty you are like this.”

you shiver. “megumi—”

“mm-mm.” he glances up through his lashes, mouth just hovering over your soaked panties. “say it again.”

“...megumi,” you whisper, already breathless.

“no,” he says, nosing at the fabric. “gumi. like you did at the bar.”

your breath hitches. “gumi…”

he groans low in his throat, almost like it hurts. “fuck. you have no idea what that does to me.”

and then he’s pulling your panties down in one fluid motion, tossing them somewhere behind him, eyes glued to your dripping pussy like it’s the first real thing he’s ever seen.

“you’ve been wet for me all week, haven’t you?” he murmurs. “bet you were soaked every time i brushed your arm. every time you ran from me.”

his breath fans against you, and you squirm.

“i—i wasn’t trying to tease you—”

he grins, all sharp teeth and dark eyes. “you did anyway.”

and then he dives in.

tongue flat, slow, devastating—lapping through your folds like he’s savoring every fucking second. you cry out, thighs already twitching around his head, but he just groans and presses in deeper, locking your hips down with his arms.

“fuck, gumi—!” your back arches.

he hums against you, and you feel it everywhere. the vibration, the smugness, the feral little edge in it.

“shit—shit—you’re so good at this—”

megumi pulls back just long enough to say, “you think i didn’t practice for this?”

you stare down at him, wide-eyed, lips parted.

“dreamt about this too,” he pants, mouth already glistening. “used to jerk off thinking about how you’d taste. how you’d sound when i had you like this.”

you whimper, hips canting up—and he grins.

“yeah. just like that.”

his tongue circles your clit, soft at first, then rougher, alternating between slow, torturous laps and quick flicks that have you gasping, sobbing, clawing at the sheets.

“you’re—fuck, gumi—you’re so good—nngh—so good at this, holy shit—”

you swear he moans into your pussy, the praise going straight to his cock. one hand leaves your thigh to slide two fingers back inside you, curling just right, stroking you in perfect rhythm with his mouth.

“want you to cum like this,” he murmurs against you. “all over my tongue.”

you shake your head, barely able to speak. “i—i can’t last—if you keep going like that—”

“then cum,” he growls, low and hungry. “fucking cum for me, baby.”

you fall apart with a sob, hips jerking, thighs clamping around his head—but megumi doesn’t stop. he rides you through it, drinking every drop, licking you like he’s memorizing the taste.

when you finally slump back onto the mattress, panting and twitching, he kisses your inner thigh, then your hip, then slowly crawls back up your body.

“still want that drink?” he teases, smirking as he presses his forehead to yours.

you stare at him, dazed. “i’m gonna die.”

he snorts. “not yet. i haven’t even fucked you yet.”

you're still trying to catch your breath, back pressed to the mattress, chest rising and falling with every shaky inhale. your thighs are slick, still trembling from how hard you came, and megumi’s mouth is shiny with you, lips parted as he pants softly against your inner thigh.

he crawls up over you, body caging you in, and you think you might actually melt into the bed with how warm his weight feels hovering there—how safe.

his face hovers above yours, and you expect another kiss, more filthy teasing—but instead, he pauses.

his thumb brushes gently over your cheek. “are you sure you want this?”

the words are soft. careful. not just asking for permission—he’s giving you the chance to change your mind.

and fuck, that nearly ruins you more than anything else tonight.

you nod, voice barely above a whisper. “yeah. i want you.”

he stares at you for a long second, like he’s etching you into memory. then you ask, just as softly, “do you?”

there’s not even a beat.

“i’ve wanted this since forever.”

it’s quiet. barely more than a breath.

and something in you shatters—your heart, your restraint, whatever filter you had left. your fingers grip his jaw and you pull him down into a kiss so deep you feel it in your toes.

“then show me,” you whisper against his lips. “please.”

he doesn’t hesitate.

one hand snakes between your bodies, and he lines himself up, the head of his cock thick and hot as it brushes against your entrance. he watches your face as he starts to push in—slow, deliberate, careful despite the way his jaw clenches from the effort of holding back.

you gasp, arching into him. “megumi—”

“you’re so fucking tight,” he groans. “shit—you feel unreal.”

he buries himself to the hilt in one long stroke, and you swear your brain short-circuits. he’s thick, stretching you just shy of too much, and you swear you see stars.

he leans in, breath hot against your ear. “i’ve thought about this. every night for years.”

you whimper, arms tightening around his shoulders. “you—fuck—you’re really good at this.”

megumi lets out a dark laugh, cock twitching inside you. “i’ve been dreaming about this night since i was sixteen,” he breathes. “no way i wasn’t gonna be ready.”

and then he moves—pulls his hips back and thrusts in deep, setting a rhythm that’s slow but devastating. every drag of his cock is perfect, angled just right, like he already knows your body better than you do.

you choke out a moan. “oh my god—”

“i wanna ruin you,” he grits, snapping his hips a little harder. “wanna fuck you so good you forget every guy before me.”

you whimper, thighs wrapping around his waist. “you already did.”

that breaks something in him.

he growls low in his throat and starts pounding into you, the soft start giving way to pure, feral want. he shifts your legs higher, hits deeper, and suddenly you’re clawing at his back, gasping his name like a prayer.

“mine,” he growls. “you’re mine now.”

“yours,” you sob, head falling back. “i’m yours.”

he sets a punishing pace, the bed creaking under the force of his powerful thrusts. you can only hold on for dear life, nails digging into his flexing biceps as he pounds into you mercilessly. pleasure builds in your core with each drive of his hips.

his hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, rubbing harsh circles that send sparks through your spine. your whole body tightens.

“‘gumi—fuck—i’m gonna—”

“i know,” he grits, never letting up. “give it to me, baby. wanna feel you fall apart around me.”

you shudder.

"i want you to cum inside me," you plead, spreading your thighs wider in clear invitation. "i want to feel you fill me up, ‘gumi. please."

his jaw clenches as he battles with himself for a moment before finally giving in with a strangled curse. it only takes a few more thrusts before he's coming undone.

"fuck, yes," he groans, hips stuttering as he floods your depths with his hot seed. you clench around him, milking every last drop as your own orgasm crashes through you.

you both slump into a sweaty pile, tangled limbs and ragged breaths filling the quiet room. megumi’s fingers trace lazy circles on your back, warm and steady, as he presses a soft kiss to your temple—his lips feather-light against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“you okay?” megumi murmurs against your skin.

you stay quiet, too out of it, your skin still tingling where his hands roamed, thighs sticky and trembling, breath coming shallow and uneven.

“shit, i knew it. i went too far—fuck,” he rushes, sitting up, searching your face for any sign he messed up.

slowly, you turn to him, sore but smiling, eyes shiny with unshed tears, lips swollen and gloss-smudged. you meet his panicked gaze.

“i’m good,” you whisper, voice raw but sure. “really, i’m more than good.”

he exhales shaky, collapsing back against you, nuzzling your neck, lips brushing over his mark. “fuck, you scared me,” he murmurs.

you pull him down beneath the sheets, arms wrapping his neck. he follows, head on your chest, breath warm and heart still racing.

“you know,” megumi says softly after a moment, “when i said i’ve wanted this forever, i meant all of it—the nice, quiet parts, too. just holding you like this.”

you laugh, slipping a leg over his waist, skin sticky and warm, pulling him impossibly close. the humid night air clings to you both, mixing with the faint scent of sweat and his cologne. “well, you’ve got me now. heads up—i’m kind of addicted to cuddles.”

megumi smiles, that soft, goofy grin that makes your heart flutter, the warmth of his chest rising and falling under your hand. “that sounds perfect.”

before sleep sweeps over you both, you add with a teasing smirk, “not bad for a rookie.”

he freezes, blinking up at you. you grin.

“rookie?”

you shrug, biting your lip like you’re holding back a laugh. “cute, a little clumsy, but with a whole lot of fire. lots of potential.”

his jaw drops a little—you catch the twitch in his eye.

“you’re messing with me.”

you sit up a little, brushing your fingers through his tangled hair, cool against his warm skin. “baby,” you tease, voice soft and playful, “remember, i’m older and wiser.”

he blinks again, still dazed.

you lean close, breath ghosting over his ear, warm and sweet.

“and just wait. tomorrow, i’m gonna show you what you’ve been missing out on.”

megumi’s eyes go wide, stunned and utterly captivated—as if you just handed him the keys to heaven.

you giggle, pressing a kiss to his forehead, snuggling deeper into his heat and the soft rustle of the sheets around you.

#icymi <3

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rawjutsu · 2 days ago