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nanamineedstherapy · 2 days ago

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Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Trigger Warnings: (May contain spoilers for the chapter) ⚠️ Severe Dumbassery – Gojo and Haibara exist. That’s the warning. ⚠️Gojo & Nanami Acting Like High School Boys With a Crush – Secondhand embarrassment included. ⚠️ #UnpaidInternMegumi – Babysitting his parents...Again. ⚠️ Haibara & Aviation Crimes ⚠️ Food-Related Manipulation – If a man makes you pancakes, it’s a trap. ⚠️ #LizardmanMegumiConfirmed – Identity Crisis Megumi™ – Is he an alien? A lizardman? A cult leader? No one knows. ⚠️ #NPCGojo – Bugged out of the simulation years ago. ⚠️ #BaguetteDuels – Haibara vs. Reporters – One man. One moustache. One unnecessary conspiracy. ⚠️ #GroceryShoppingWars – Megumi vs. The Snack Hoarders™. ⚠️ #BabyRaccoonAdoptionArc ⚠️ #RiotForNoReason – Why are men™? ⚠️ Public Outrage & Violence – People really need hobbies ⚠️ Trauma Flashbacks – When life insists on being a horror movie. ⚠️ Attempted Assault – Some people can’t handle a woman being successful. ⚠️ #VillainOriginStoryUnlocked – Severe Ass-Kicking Incoming – They poked the wrong bear.

Previous Chapter 12 (alt ending 2.3) - Not Heroes (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 13 (alt ending 2.4) - Burn the Mother of Three

The next morning, you emerged from the guest bedroom dressed to kill—figuratively, of course. Your fitted blazer and low heels screamed, “CEO, who could destroy your entire lineage before lunch.” Your stomach growled loudly, reminding you that, despite your intimidating aura, you were still a mere mortal.

The kitchen counter caught your eye.

Japanese soufflé pancakes.

Did they go and buy it early in the morning?

No Nanami was OCD about them, so he probably made them.

Golden brown, fluffy stacks of heaven sat neatly on two plates. The aroma wafted through the air, warm and inviting—a siren call to your empty stomach. Your feet betrayed you, carrying you closer despite every ounce of willpower screaming at you to walk away.

Damn your pregnancy cravings for Nanami’s cooking.

You eyed the plates suspiciously. Nanami’s meticulous plating was unmistakable—syrup poured in an even spiral, berries arranged like a Renaissance painting. Beside it was Gojo’s plate, chaotic but still oddly charming. His pancakes had a mountain of whipped cream that defied physics, chocolate chips spilling like they’d staged a rebellion.

Your stomach growled again, this time loud enough to echo.

“Fine,” you muttered, glancing around to ensure the coast was clear. The penthouse was eerily quiet.

You picked up a fork, hesitating only for a second before cutting into Nanami’s plate. The first bite melted in your mouth—the perfect balance of sweet and savoury. A tiny moan escaped before you could stop it.

“Goddammit, why does he have to be good at this too?” You grumbled, shoving another piece into your mouth.

One bite turned into two, then three. By the time you came up for air, Nanami’s plate was clean. You stared at the empty dish, mildly horrified. “Well, it’s not like I meant to...”

Your gaze drifted to Gojo’s plate.

“...No.”

Your stomach growled again, louder this time.

“...Maybe just a taste,” you reasoned, reaching for the second fork.

Gojo’s pancakes were equally sinful, though in a completely different way. The chocolate chips and whipped cream shouldn’t have worked together, but they did. A mix of chaos and comfort that made you groan in betrayal.

You demolished his plate, too, wiping your mouth with a napkin like the villain you were.

“Not a word,” you muttered to the babies, who kicked softly in response. Setting the plates back down, you turned toward the door.

Before you could take two steps, your phone rang.

“Where the hell are you?” Megumi’s voice barked through the speaker, a mix of irritation and concern.

“I’m leaving now,” you replied, irritation creeping into your tone. “What happened? Why is there so much wind?”

“What happened?” Megumi repeated mockingly. “Because Haibara and I have been waiting on the rooftop for fifteen minutes. With the helicopter. Which is burning fuel. Because you’re late. Again.”

“Helicopter?” You echoed, already moving toward the elevator. “I didn’t ask for—”

“You never ask for it, but we know you’ll end up needing it,” Megumi interrupted, his tone exasperated. “Otherwise, Haibara and I will be happy to commit reporter manslaughter. Now move before I bill you for the fuel.”

“I’ll be there in five.” You rolled your eyes, disconnected the call, and pocketed your phone as you waddled your human-suitcase self out.

Nanami and Gojo peeked out from behind the pantry door, watching as you disappeared into the elevator.

“She ate it,” Gojo whispered, barely able to contain his excitement.

“She ate both plates,” Nanami confirmed, his voice low but triumphant.

They clinked their coffee mugs together in silent celebration—though Gojo’s was filled with strawberry soda.

Gojo grinning, cheered. “Told you the ‘indulgent pregnancy-friendly’ soufflé pancakes would work. Admit it, I’m THE daddy!”

Nanami rolled his eyes, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. This doesn’t mean she’s forgiven us.”

“But it’s a start,” Gojo cheered, his grin widening. “She couldn’t resist our cooking. That’s progress!”

“MY COOKING,” Nanami deadpanned, “because all you did was annoy me and make it look terrible.”

Gojo looked at Nanami with a pout, resembling a wet kitten. Nanami sighed and handed him another plate of pancakes to ruin with his “artistic endeavours.”

“We’ll win her back,” Nanami said, his tone resolute, determination shining in his eyes.

“And until then, how about more pancake flavours?” Gojo suggested, already brainstorming the next flavour combination.

“Oh, definitely. But let’s not forget about regular food too.”

Unbeknownst to you, Gojo had woken Nanami up at six a.m. for this—not that Nanami was complaining; he had barely slept because he was so excited.

As you approached the rooftop, you spotted Megumi and Haibara near the helicopter. Haibara was casually leaning against the fuselage, while Megumi paced back and forth, arms crossed tightly over his chest, a frown etched on his face. The moment you appeared, Megumi pointed at his watch, mouthing, “Five minutes means five.”

Megumi was dressed like he’d stepped out of a billionaire’s fashion spread: a perfectly tailored charcoal suit with a subtle pinstripe, his tie slightly loosened but still pristine. His hair was slicked back, but the wind from the rotors sent stray strands tumbling over his sharp jawline. He looked like he was ready to murder someone—probably you—if not for the way he immediately extended a hand to help you climb into the helicopter.

“Take your time,” he muttered sarcastically, though his grip would be firm, steadying you with an ease that betrayed his annoyance.

You handed him your handbag smugly, climbing into the helicopter with Haibara’s help, of course. Megumi scowled but followed you in.

Haibara, on the other hand, was the picture of relaxed confidence. He wore a black leather jacket over a white silk shirt, the sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms that probably had their own fan club. His sunglasses hung loosely from the neckline of his shirt, and his messy hair looked intentional, like he’d just rolled out of bed looking that good.

“Good morning to you too,” Haibara quipped, smirking.

You rolled your eyes at him as you settled into your seat.

Haibara had a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he slid into the pilot’s seat. “Bet you didn’t think I could fly this thing.”

“I hope that’s something you’ve at least learned as a spy,” you shot back.

“You’re not even supposed to be flying this thing,” Megumi snapped, securing your seatbelt with more care than his tone suggested. “This is my helicopter.”

“And yet, here I am,” Haibara replied smoothly, flipping switches like he was born to do it.

You blinked, still trying to process how your day had gone from pancake to riding in a private helicopter piloted by an ex-MI6 agent. “I’m sorry, you really know how to fly a helicopter, or is this going to be like the time you said you learned how to ride a bike and Megumi and I ended up with bruises all over? Only this time, we won’t be left to tell the tale.”

Haibara glanced back at you, smirking. “A. We don’t talk about that! And B, what, you think I spent my MI6 years just filing paperwork? Sit back, cookie. I’ve got this.”

His nickname whisked you back to your teenage years when Haibara had just been introduced to you and Megumi. At first, he barely spoke, spending most of his time in bed, suffering from pain and trying to remember his old, forgotten life—like a confused cat trying to figure out how to use a can opener.

During Haibara’s recovery, when he was stuck in bed with casts on his arm and leg, you and Megumi took it upon yourselves to “help.” This mostly involved drawing ridiculous things on his casts—cats, smiley faces, and once, a poorly done caricature of Megumi’s mom.

The nickname “cookie” wasn’t something Haibara came up with randomly. It started during one of those rare moments when he wasn’t drowning in pain or confusion. You’d snuck into his room with Megumi, carrying a tray of burnt cookies you’d tried baking for the first time. Megumi had grumbled the whole way, muttering about how pointless it was since Haibara probably wouldn’t even eat them.

But Haibara did eat them, wincing at every bite yet finishing the entire tray without complaint. “Best cookies I’ve ever had,” he’d said with a small smile that oddly reminded you of Nanami now—even though his voice was strained, and you could tell he was lying. From then on, he called you “cookie” whenever you brought him food or cheered him up during rehab.

Soon enough, he started to mess with you two. Being around Nanami’s age, he was a few years older than you, while Megumi was the baby of the group. Before long, the three of you were like the court jesters to the three musketeers—well, except for Megumi, who was more like the reluctant royal guard you dragged along everywhere.

Before you knew it, he was scouted for MI6. Little did they realize, he had simply wanted to be a spy all along and had cleverly maneuvered his way into that position.

But things weren’t always lighthearted. Haibara’s transition to MI6 came out of the blue, and you and Megumi went from teasing him daily to watching him pack his life into a suitcase. The night before he left, the three of you sat on the roof of Megumi’s family home, sharing cookies and gazing at the stars. Haibara promised he’d come back, and while you believed him, it didn’t make saying goodbye any easier.

After he left, you and Megumi were heartbroken when his communication was cut off during his training. It felt like a bad joke when you realized Megumi, despite his stoicism, had been sneaking messages into Haibara’s mailbox for months just to feel connected. You always wondered what he wrote in those letters.

Soon, Megumi grew quieter, becoming more focused on his work. You threw yourself into your own company, but there was always an unspoken understanding between you and Megumi that something essential was missing.

When Haibara finally returned, he was sharp-eyed, confident, and carrying the kind of secrets that could get anyone killed. Sure, he was a different man, but still the same guy who’d steal your food and roll his eyes at Megumi’s overprotective nature. You had thought the reunion would be awkward at first, filled with sarcastic remarks and side-eyes, but in reality, it didn’t take long for the three of you to fall back into your old rhythm.

“Cookie,” Haibara said again, glancing back at you with a grin. “Don’t fall asleep back there. I need someone to back me up when Megumi starts lecturing me about fuel costs.”

Megumi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t lecture. I state facts.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Haibara teased. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, baby sorcerer.”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

Megumi muttered something under his breath, probably a prayer for patience. His gaze lingered on your swollen belly for a moment, his frown softening just enough for only Haibara to notice.

“We should’ve left earlier,” he said quietly, avoiding your eyes.

“And missed this grand display of alpha male energy?” you teased, though your voice wavered slightly. “Not a chance.”

Haibara chuckled, the sound low and rich. “She’s got a point, Fushiguro. Lighten up. We’re just taking her back to her little HQ, not a war zone.”

Megumi’s glare could’ve frozen lava, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest.

As the city shrank beneath you, Haibara kept up a steady stream of casual chatter, pointing out landmarks and cracking jokes that had you laughing despite yourself. Megumi stayed mostly silent, his gaze fixed on the horizon, though his occasional sharp remarks reminded you he was still paying attention.

“Hey,” Haibara called back, his tone suddenly softer. “You doing okay back there?”

You glanced at him, surprised by the genuine concern in his voice.

“Yeah,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’m okay.”

Now, in the helicopter, you couldn’t help but think of how far you’d all come. Haibara was effortlessly piloting, like he wasn’t the same guy who used to complain about your burnt food. Megumi, even in his tailored suit, still had that same frown he wore when you’d dragged him into one of your schemes as kids.

“Do you ever think about the old days?” You asked, leaning back in your seat.

“Only when I want to feel old,” Haibara replied, his grin widening. “But yeah, sometimes. Like when Fushiguro kept tripping over himself during Hanetsuki.”

“I never tripped,” Megumi snapped, though the faint blush on his ears betrayed him.

“And you?” Haibara glanced at you in the rearview mirror.

“All the time,” you admitted softly, your gaze shifting to the city below. “We were a bane for Megumi’s mom.”

Haibara’s smirk faded slightly, replaced by something gentler. “Still are cookie. Just in a different way.”

Megumi didn’t say anything, but the way he reached out to adjust your seatbelt, his touch careful and deliberate, said enough.

Even now, with everything that had changed, the core of your little group remained the same. A chaotic mix of loyalty, sarcasm, and love that didn’t need words to be understood.

---

The Great Haibara Conspiracy

It was a crisp eleven a.m., the kind of Tokyo morning that looked like a postcard, and Haibara was living his best life while doing what he did best: causing problems with unflappable confidence.

Clad in a jacket, half-unbuttoned shirt—highly inappropriate for work—and Givenchy trousers. He'd accessorized the ensemble with the pièce de résistance: a thin, twirlable fake moustache. For reasons known only to him, he stood outside your building swarming with reporters, clutching a stack of questionably sourced documents in one hand and a baguette in the other.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Haibara announced, flipping his jacket collar up as if he were revealing the plot twist of the century. His fake moustache wobbled dangerously, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I have uncovered the truth. And it’s not what you think.”

The reporters collectively leaned in, pens poised, like they were about to witness history—or a train wreck.

“First off,” Haibara began, slapping a tinfoil-covered clipboard, “Fushiguro Megumi is not human. He’s an alien.”

“Do you have evidence?” a brave soul asked.

“Do I have evidence?” Haibara echoed, scoffing like the question was beneath him. “Do you have evidence that he isn’t?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Exhibit A: He communicates with his dogs through telepathy. Normal humans? We have to yell, ‘Sit!’ five times before they even think about it. Megumi? One glare and his guard dogs are out here doing synchronized stealth assassinations. That’s not training—it’s alien mind control.”

The reporters murmured, equal parts confused and intrigued.

“Exhibit B!” Haibara shouted, pulling out a crumpled receipt from a convenience store. “I caught him buying three cans of tuna and nothing else. Tuna! What kind of human subsists solely on canned fish? That’s astronaut food, people. Connect the dots.”

He slapped the stack of documents for emphasis, sending a few papers fluttering to the ground. “Exhibit C: He’s a loner. Socially allergic. Most humans crave interaction, but Megumi acts like smiling in public is a punishable offence. Textbook alien behaviour.

Exhibit D: He doesn’t use his phone like a normal person. While the rest of us are doom-scrolling at 2 a.m., he’s probably communicating with the mothership via telepathy or something.

Exhibit E: His hobbies are too niche. Who spends their free time researching ancient texts about interdimensional travel? I’ll tell you who—aliens trying to get back home.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, and Haibara smirked, twirling his baguette like a mic drop.

“Exhibit F: His emotional responses are completely out of whack. Laughs at a life-or-death situation but overreacts when you don’t text back quickly enough? That’s not a human. That’s a poorly mimicking lizardman.”

“What about Gojo?” another reporter interjected.

Haibara froze, his eyes narrowing. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a laser pointer, aiming it at a hastily drawn diagram of a stick figure wearing sunglasses. “I was getting to him,” he hissed.

The reporters perked up.

He took a deep breath—the kind you take—before delivering devastating news. “Gojo Satoru isn’t real. He’s an NPC.”

The crowd collectively gasped.

Haibara straightened his moustache with the gravitas of someone delivering breaking news. “He’s too perfect. His hair? Flawless. His sunglass collection? Always on point. His vibes? Unbeatable. No human has vibes that good. He’s a program.

Exhibit A: He grins and stands still in crowds, staring into the void like he’s waiting for a quest to start.

Exhibit B: He knows everything. Like he’s reading from a cheat sheet.

And Exhibit C: His uncanny ability to dodge responsibility is like a bullet in The Matrix.

Exhibit D: His total lack of emotional depth—have you ever seen that man cry? No, because NPCs don’t have emotions.

And Exhibit E: The memes. He responded to a national crisis with a meme. Who does that? I’ll tell you who—someone who’s coded to be entertaining, not real.”

The crowd of reporters was now equal parts sceptical and furiously scribbling in their notebooks.

“Mark my words,” Haibara said, raising the baguette high like a sword of truth. “This is the story of the century. Aliens. NPCs. A secret conspiracy to infiltrate humanity. And I’ve got the receipts.”

Haibara leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “He doesn’t blink.”

The space went silent.

“That’s right,” Haibara said, triumphantly twirling his fake moustache. “I’ve been watching. He doesn’t blink because he’s coded to save CPU power. Wake up, sheeple!”

“But he’s a corporate hero going against the system,” someone protested.

“And so was Clippy from Microsoft Word,” Haibara snapped. “Doesn’t mean he was real!”

He stepped back, holding up his clipboard like it was the Ark of the Covenant. “Aliens. NPCs. It’s all connected. The conspiracy runs deep, and I am the only one brave enough to expose it.”

With that, he turned and strutted away, his fake moustache dangling precariously, leaving behind a bunch of reporters who exchanged bewildered glances, some already drafting headlines, others wondering if they’d just been part of a fever dream.

Later that afternoon, Haibara lounged in a corner booth at a minimalist café, his laptop open and his moustache and sunglasses perched unnecessarily on his face. He looked like a hacker in a spy thriller—or someone pretending to be one for aesthetic purposes.

The screen reflected a cascade of code, his fingers flying across the keyboard with a precision that was equal parts skill and audacity.

“Perfect,” he muttered, leaning back with a self-satisfied smirk that would make even Gojo’s grin look modest.

Hacking into Gojo’s phone was almost insultingly easy. The man could dodge attacks at the speed of light but fell for a phishing link offering a free pastry in under three seconds. Haibara almost felt bad about how predictable it was.

Almost.

Within moments, Gojo’s phone was compromised. His contact list now read like a dystopian NPC roster: Nanami had become “Budget Stranger #47,” Dr. Shoko—whoever she was—was now “Generic Medic Character,” and your name had been replaced with “Main Quest Giver.”

The icing on top? Every incoming call triggered a robotic voice saying, “Loading... Please wait for the script to initiate.”

Pleased with his handiwork, Haibara closed his laptop and took a sip of his overpriced matcha latte, as if he hadn’t just committed cybercrime against the most powerful sorcerer in existence. He then got up, picked up some pastries for you and Megumi, and headed out.

By late afternoon, Haibara was at your office building, slipping through the glass doors with the confidence of a man who had never once been questioned in his life.

A few well-placed whispers and an overheard “accidental” phone call were all it took to set the stage for his next move.

“Did you hear?” he said, leaning conspiratorially toward the receptionist, his voice just loud enough to carry. “She’s dating Alexandr Wang—you know, the billionaire? Youngest self-made only after her, of course. They’ve been secretly meeting in Osaka.”

The receptionist froze, his eyes wide as saucers. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Haibara replied, his expression grave despite the sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “I overheard her talking about their next meeting. Match made in heaven, don’t you think?”

Within minutes, the office was buzzing. Whispers travelled faster than cursed energy, and by the time you arrived for your meeting, the air was viscous with speculation. People kept whispering about your “secret romance” instead of anything work-related.

That evening, Haibara reappeared outside your building—where the reporters camped 24*7 now—his moustache shadow stretching under the glow of a street lamp. He paced back and forth, the energy of a Shakespearean villain radiating from his every movement.

“I challenge you to a duel!” he bellowed, pointing a baguette at the confused group of journalists loitering near the entrance.

One of them stepped forward, visibly done with his nonsense. “What are you even talking about?”

“At sunrise!” Haibara declared, ignoring the question entirely. “Meet me at the park. Bring your sharpest lens and your strongest pens. Only the worthy will leave unscathed.”

The reporters exchanged long, exhausted glances. One of them muttered, “I need a drink,” while another took out their phone, already Googling job openings in less chaotic industries.

Haibara, undeterred, twirled the baguette like a sword and turned on his heel, disappearing into the night with the histrionic flair of a man who believed he was the protagonist in every story.

The reporters watched him go, the silence broken only by the faint sound of someone asking, “Was that guy real, or did we collectively hallucinate him?”

After Haibara turned the corner, safely out of sight from the reporters, Megumi grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Taking a pleasant evening stroll,” Haibara replied, nonchalantly biting into his baguette.

Megumi’s glare hardened. “You know I hate media attention. Why the hell would you start spouting conspiracies about me?”

“Relax,” Haibara said, waving a hand dismissively as crumbs tumbled from his mouth. “I made it so outlandish that no self-respecting journalist would touch it if they valued their credibility.”

“You called me a lizardman!” Megumi’s anger flared.

Haibara grinned like an unrepentant idiot. “Hehe, my bad.” Then his gaze shifted past Megumi, and his expression brightened. "Oh, hey, what are you doing out of your office?”

Megumi instinctively turned to look, finding nothing but empty space.

When he spun back, Haibara was gone.

He stomped away, muttering angrily to himself. “Lizardman… Unbelievable. I should’ve let the reporters eat him alive. So much money wasted to shush the cretins.”

Haibara did not show up for the duel—not out of fear, but because his snores were louder than his alarm. Not that it mattered much; the reporters didn’t show up either.

Soon after, Haibara was perched on a park bench, tossing pieces of what appeared to be homemade food to a group of pigeons. His fake moustache was now slightly peeling at one edge, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Eat up, my feathered brethren,” he said softly, scattering crumbs of Nanami’s homemade food with the flourish of a 19th-century gentleman hosting a soirée. “Tonight, we plot the downfall of our enemies. For the empire, of course.”

The pigeons cooed, pecking at the ground like they understood.

From the rooftop across the street, Gojo adjusted his binoculars unnecessarily, squinting as if the distance somehow distorted the insanity he was witnessing. Not sure why the beholder of the ‘six eyes’ was using binoculars.

“Kento,” Gojo said slowly, “I think we’ve lost him.”

Nanami, still staring through his own binoculars, didn’t reply immediately. His jaw was tight, and his left hand gripped the railing like it was the only thing keeping him from jumping down and strangling Haibara.

“Is he... talking to the pigeons?” Gojo continued, voice a mix of disbelief and morbid fascination.

“Yes,” Nanami replied, tone flat. “And he’s feeding them the food we made for her.”

Gojo lowered the binoculars. “Why are we even using these? We’re right across the street!”

Nanami sighed heavily, lowering his own. “I honestly don’t know.”

The two men descended from their rooftop perch, striding toward Haibara with the determination of men on a mission. Haibara, for his part, continued tossing crumbs to the pigeons, who now seemed oddly attentive.

“My friends,” he said, addressing the birds in a tone dripping with theatrical flair, “these uncultured brutes approach us with their barbaric accusations. But fear not—I shall defend our honour.”

Gojo stopped in his tracks, staring at Haibara like he’d grown a second head. “Did he just call us uncultured brutes?”

“Haibara!” Nanami yelled at him, his voice cold enough to freeze the pigeons mid-coo, “What are you doing?”

Haibara looked up, tilting his head in feigned confusion. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. Do I... know you?”

Gojo’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious right now?!”

“Quite,” Haibara replied, his expression deadpan. He turned to the pigeons, gesturing toward Gojo and Nanami like a Victorian man introducing guests at a ball. “Allow me to present... these strangers. Who are not invited to our gathering.”

“You saw us yesterday!” Gojo wailed.

Haibara twirled his fake moustache between his fingers, smirking. “Must’ve been my evil twin. Or mayhaps... a Mole person?”

“Haibara,” Nanami said, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a headache, “you’re wearing a fake moustache.”

Haibara gasped, clutching his chest as if Nanami had just insulted his entire lineage. “How dare you! You knaves and Nincompoops wouldn’t know a statement of style and sophistication if it smacked you with a whip!!”

Gojo chimed in, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Where’d you get the ‘stash? Do they sell them in white?”

Nanami smacked the back of his half-wit husband’s head. “Focus!”

Startled, Gojo let out an accidental mewling sound that could only be described as a cat in distress. Nanami's eyes widened in horror.

Haibara couldn’t resist mocking him. “Pray tell, are you about to embark on a whimsical chase after yon magical red dots, like a jester pursuing a wayward firefly?”

Shaking off the distraction, Nanami’s gaze returned to the pigeons pecking at the food scattered on the ground. His eyebrow twitched in incredulity. “You were feeding pigeons the food we made for her?! The food she didn’t even get to eat?!”

Haibara was offended. “Lies and slander! My feathered companions can vouch for me. Isn’t that right, Lord Fluffington?”

A particularly fat pigeon pecked at a crumb near Haibara’s shoe.

“Lord Fluffington?” Gojo echoed, his voice cracking. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

Haibara ignored him, leaning down to address the pigeon directly. “Do not listen to these villains, my Lord. They wish to divide us. But our bond—our bond is unbreakable.”

Gojo groaned, pulling out his phone. “That’s it. I’m calling her. You’re done.”

Haibara’s grin widened. “Oh, don’t bother. I already replaced your contacts with NPC names.”

Gojo froze mid-dial, his eyes narrowing. “You did what?”

Haibara stood abruptly, brushing off his pants with a flourish. “Gentlemen, I bid you good day. I must away—Lord Fluffington and I have matters to discuss.”

“Sit down,” Nanami growled, stepping forward.

But when they looked down at Gojo’s phone and then back up, Haibara was gone.

Gojo and Nanami stood in stunned silence, scanning the park for any sign of their wayward companion.

“Did he just...?" Gojo started, gesturing vaguely at the empty bench.

“Yes,” Nanami said, his voice heavy with resignation. “He did.”

On a nearby rooftop, Megumi stood, watching the entire spectacle unfold through binoculars of his own. He sighed, muttering to himself, “This overgrown fool.”

Meanwhile, Haibara crouched behind a hedge, his fake moustache now in his pocket. He glanced at the pigeons that had followed him, nodding solemnly.

“Well done, my friends,” he said. “The mission was a success.”

The pigeons cooed in agreement.

“Now,” Haibara continued, pulling out his phone and typing furiously, “let’s see how they like finding rumours about me being her secret boyfriend on the office bulletin board.”

---

Sometime later, on the other side of town, the room buzzed with anticipation as reporters adjusted their microphones, cameras clicked incessantly, and the collective hum of whispered speculation filled the air. At the centre of it all stood Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento, flanked by their begrudging legal counsel, Higuruma Hiromi, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Gojo adjusted his sunglasses, his signature smirk notably absent. Nanami’s tie was slightly askew—a rare sign of unease. Higuruma stepped to the mic first, clearing his throat.

“This press conference is to address recent events and provide clarity. Please keep your questions professional,” he said, his tone clipped, though he seemed to know that was a futile request.

Nanami stepped forward, his voice steady but heavy. “We deeply regret the events that transpired. Our actions were reckless and caused harm to innocent people. For that, we are truly sorry.”

Gojo leaned in, his voice softer than expected. “We messed up. No excuses. We’re here to take responsibility and make things right.”

The reporters pounced, and the room erupted into a flurry of questions.

“We will address your questions, but keep them relevant and within legal bounds,” Higuruma added sharply, already preparing for the mess. “Anything outside these parameters will not be entertained.”

A reporter wasted no time. “Why did you storm the headquarters? Was it premeditated, or a spur-of-the-moment decision?”

Before either man could answer, Higuruma cut in, his voice icy. “No comment. Addressing this could complicate ongoing legal proceedings.”

“Were your movements during the incident influenced by your involvement with organized crime? Some have compared them to Yakuza or even terrorist operations.”

Higuruma visibly pinched the bridge of his nose, ready to intervene again, but Nanami cut in. “We are neither. Our actions were not criminally motivated, and any insinuation otherwise is baseless.”

“What about the school you’re affiliated with? Jujutsu Tech is shrouded in mystery. Some are speculating it’s a cult. Care to comment?”

Gojo’s grin widened. “A cult? I mean, we’re cool enough to be one. But no, we’re just a very exclusive, very niche educational institution. Sorry, no brochures.”

Nanami added dryly, “We don’t recruit. We save lives.”

Someone from the back yelled, voice muffled. “Mr. Nanami, why do you always wear the same tie? Are you a lazily-drawn Squidward?”

Nanami’s tone was as dry as ever. “It’s called consistency. You should try it.”

“Mr. Gojo! Mr. Nanami! How does your wife feel about your actions?”

“Will she divorce you?”

“Are the rumours true that she’s the one pulling the strings behind your release?”

Nanami’s jaw tightened. “Our wife has no involvement in legal proceedings regarding us. Any insinuation otherwise is baseless.”

A reporter shouted over the others, “Is it true she’s pregnant? How does she feel about raising children with men who stormed her own corporate building?”

Gojo’s smile turned razor-sharp. “I think you should consider what it says about you that you’re asking invasive questions about a pregnant woman’s private life. Next.”

From the back, a muffled voice piped up, “Is your hair real, Mr. Gojo? Or do you bleach it so much because you’re going bald?”

The room burst with stifled laughter. Nanami’s brow twitched, but Gojo’s grin didn’t falter.

“Real hair, real charm, real skills,” Gojo quipped. “And no, not bald. I’ll give you a follicle count if it helps you sleep at night.”

Another question cut through the chaos. “Many are calling you both dangerous and unfit as husbands and fathers. What’s your response?”

Nanami’s expression hardened. “Everyone is entitled to their opinion. But baseless accusations and vile harassment against our wife will not be tolerated. We are pursuing legal action against anyone spreading misinformation or threats.”

Gojo chimed in, his tone laced with menace. “Keep it up, and you’ll hear from our lawyers.” He added to himself, “—or worse.”

The tension shifted as some reporters openly fawned over the two men.

“Mr. Gojo, Mr. Nanami, how does it feel knowing you’ve become global heartthrobs? Many are calling you the most attractive men alive!”

“So are serial killers.” Nanami deadpanned.

Gojo’s grin returned, cocky and unapologetic. “Flattered, honestly. But, uh, taken. Very taken.”

Nanami sighed, adjusting his mic. “Next question.”

The room descended into bedlam again as a voice rose above the din. “What about the rumours of your wife’s affair with Yu Haibara, the ex-MI6 agent? They’ve been spotted together frequently.”

Silence fell. Gojo and Nanami exchanged a quick glance, their surprise poorly concealed. Hiromi smirked behind the bottle of water he was drinking from.

Nanami was the first to speak, his voice calm but firm. “Haibara is a trusted friend and our wife’s bodyguard. Any insinuation beyond that is baseless and disrespectful.”

Gojo followed up, his tone lighter but no less cutting. “If you think a guy who calls her ‘boss’ is her secret lover, you’ve been reading too much fanfiction.”

Laughter filled the room, yet the tension remained palpable.

The mood shifted when a reporter’s voice rose, trembling with outrage. “What about the threats against your wife? The internet trolls commenting about raping her, calling her a sex addict for being married to two men, and those posting pornography of her? Are those real? What’s your response?”

The room fell silent. Nanami’s jaw clenched. Gojo’s smirk vanished, replaced by a chilling calm.

“No, they are not! And to the trolls hiding behind screens,” Gojo began, his voice dangerously soft, “if you think we’ll sit back while you spew your filth, you’re sorely mistaken. We’re tracking every one of you. Every threat, every disgusting comment, every vile video. You’ll hear from our lawyers soon.”

Nanami’s voice was a low growl. “And if you think that’s the worst you’ll face, you’re even more foolish than I thought. Leave her out of this.”

Another reporter hesitated before asking, “What about those saying to burn her and your children alive?”

Higuruma stepped forward, his expression icy. “Any threats against their wife and children will be met with the full extent of the law. Consider this your only warning.”

Gojo leaned into the mic, his grin returning but lacking warmth. “You think you’re untouchable because you’re anonymous? Funny. You have no idea what untouchable really looks like.”

Nanami’s tone was final. “If you value your lives, stop. Now.”

From the back, the same muffled voice chimed in, again. “Are you compensating for something with all these threats?”

Nanami squinted to look through the flashing lights at the reporter who had the audacity.

Higuruma sighed audibly. “Who let them in?”

“What do you say to those who still think you’re unfit to be with her?”

Gojo’s grin was wide and dangerous. “Good thing, it’s not your job to decide.”

Nanami’s words were cold, final. “We protect what matters. That’s all you need to know.”

One asked Higuruma how he felt about his sudden “thirst-trap status” online. Another demanded Nanami share his skincare routine.

Higuruma’s eye twitched, and he stepped forward, effectively ending the conference. “That’s all for today. Any further inquiries can be directed to our legal team.”

As the trio exited, Gojo’s parting words rang out, laced with menace. “Remember, we’re always watching.”

Nanami’s gaze swept over the room, cold and calculating. “Make better choices.”

With that, they left, leaving behind a room full of reporters scrambling to dissect every word and a world more divided than ever. As they walked away, Haibara strolled back to your office in a trench coat, the source of all those ridiculous questions now clear. Yes, all the stupid inquiries directed at the husbands’ insecurities had come from him.

---

“Are you going to divorce us for Haibara?” After work, came an absurd email to your work ID from the Dumb and Dumber Association.

This time, you replied, “I’m not a cheater like you." And blocked them there too.

The automatic doors to the in-HQ supermarket slid open with a cheerful chime. You walked in flanked by your two overly dramatic bodyguards—Megumi, looking like a disgruntled celebrity in his baseball cap and sunglasses, and Haibara, who had pulled his hoodie so low he looked like a Sith Lord shopping for Death Star snacks.

You adjusted your own cap and mask, trying to channel “incognito trillionaire” vibes. Not that it helped. Everyone in this building already knew who you were.

This wasn’t your usual scene. Trillionaire CEOs didn’t typically go grocery shopping. But after this morning’s helicopter fuel argument—where you’d learned that jet-grade kerosene was somehow not a justifyable expense for a snack run—you needed to stretch your legs. And, frankly, the craving for chocolate-dipped pretzels was not something you could ignore.

The brightly lit aisles stretched before you like a sugar-coated playground. Your eyes lit up the moment you spotted the snack aisle.

“Oh my god, look!” you whispered excitedly, clutching Haibara’s arm like you’d just found buried treasure. You pointed at a shelf stacked with chocolate-dipped pretzels. “They’re calling to me.”

Haibara, the chaos enabler, grabbed three bags without hesitation and dumped them into the cart. “We’ll take them all, just in case.”

Megumi, the self-designated killjoy, intercepted like a referee. “Absolutely not.” He plucked one bag out of the cart, flipping it over to scrutinize the label like it contained state secrets. “Artificial colouring, processed sugar, and—wait—is this aspartame? Are you trying to poison her?”

“It’s chocolate, not crystal meth,” Haibara replied, deadpan. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” Megumi snapped, tossing the bag back onto the shelf with enough force to make it bounce. “But if she eats this and it harms the babies, you will be held responsible.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for the pretzels again. “Megumi, it’s one bag. I’m not eating an entire factory.”

“Not on my watch,” he muttered, grabbing the cart and steering it toward the produce section like an overzealous soccer mom.

“Traitor!” you called after him, snatching a smaller basket and turning to Haibara, who was already eyeing the next aisle like you and him shared the same brain cell.

“Alright,” Haibara said, his grin audible despite the hood. “What’s next?”

You scanned the shelves, your eyes landing on a box of brightly coloured fruit chews. “These.”

“Excellent choice,” Haibara declared, tossing two boxes into your basket without hesitation.

Megumi appeared from nowhere, like the ghost of responsible decisions. He plucked the boxes back out with a sigh so heavy it could’ve powered the entire building. “You’re both children. Do you even read the labels?”

“They’re fruit chews, not nuclear waste,” Haibara shot back, grabbing the boxes again and chucking them into your basket with an air of defiance.

“Haibara, if you keep enabling her, I will ban you from this grocery trip,” Megumi warned, his tone colder than a Siberian winter.

“You can try,” Haibara said smugly, tossing a bag of caramel popcorn into the basket for good measure. “But unlike you, I’m an actual employee in this HQ. You? You’re just an honorary guest with no snack-related jurisdiction.”

Megumi groaned, rubbing his temples like a man on the brink of a breakdown. “Why am I even here?”

“To make sure I don’t die from eating a candy bar,” you deadpanned, grabbing a box of frosted cookies from a nearby shelf and tossing it into the basket.

“Put that back,” Megumi said immediately.

“No,” you replied, already scanning the shelves for your next target.

“Put it back,” he repeated, his voice teetering on the edge of despair.

“Make me,” you shot back, grinning under your mask.

Haibara leaned casually against the cart, arms crossed, watching the two of you like it was the best show he’d seen all week. “This is better than TV,” he said, grabbing a bag of sour gummies just to see what Megumi would do.

Megumi stared at him, visibly debating whether it was worth it to keep arguing or just let the bedlam unfold. Ultimately, he chose the latter, as he trailed behind you and Haibara, who were now gleefully raiding the snack aisle like it was Black Friday.

Somewhere, a cashier sighed.

Five minutes later in the dairy section. “Can I have this?” you asked, holding up a tub of cookie dough ice cream.

“No,” Megumi said.

“Yes,” Haibara countered, grabbing the tub and dropping it into the cart.

“Do you know how much saturated fat is in this?” Megumi groaned again, pulling the tub back out and glaring at the ingredients.

“Do you know how much serotonin is in it?” You shot back, snatching the tub and cradling it protectively.

Megumi sighed deeply, muttering something about “ungrateful trillionaires” and “irresponsible enablers” as he stalked off toward the bakery section.

By the time you reached the checkout, your cart was a cluttered mix of fruit, veggies, and an absurd amount of snacks. Megumi was furiously double-checking every item, arguing with the cashier over the preservatives in the granola bars.

“These are organic,” the cashier said patiently.

“They’re fake organic,” Megumi replied, narrowing his eyes at the label.

“Sir, that’s not a thing,” the cashier deadpanned.

Meanwhile, Haibara was busy adding a family-size pack of lollipops to the conveyor belt. “This is for stress. Specifically, mine,” he declared, as if he were stocking up for an impending candy apocalypse.

You leaned against the cart, nibbling on an open bag of trail mix. “Are we done yet?”

Megumi turned to you, exasperated. “Not until I’m sure you’re not eating something that’ll turn your children into glowing aliens.”

“Honestly, glowing aliens sound cooler than those two’s bloodline,” Haibara quipped, earning a glare from Megumi that could have melted steel.

“Are we done yet?” You asked again, already eyeing Haibara’s lollipops.

“No! I will put my foot down here! Get your own!” Haibara looked ready to sprint away with the carton, clutching it like it was the last lifeboat on the Titanic.

“Are we done yet?” You asked Megumi again, your patience wearing thinner than the bag of chips Haibara was eyeing.

“Let me pay,” Megumi sighed, resigned to his fate.

“Oh, it’s within Madam’s monthly credit. So it’s on the house,” the cashier chimed in, clearly amused.

“That much?” Megumi asked, his confusion evident as he stared at the total and the pickup truck-worthy amount of food you’d bought, like a math problem he couldn’t solve.

“Yes, the grocery or snack amount for employees is quite generous here,” the cashier explained, trying to keep a straight face.

“Are we done yet?” You asked yet again.

Megumi was officially done with you.

By the time you left the store, your arms were loaded with snacks, Megumi looked ready to collapse under the weight of your choices, and Haibara was already tearing into a bag of chips like he was preparing for a competitive eating contest.

---

The night was your accomplice, and Tokyo was your playground. Mask? Check. Scarf? Check. Cap? Angled so perfectly you could pass as an undercover K-drama celeb—or at least someone who really didn’t want to run into their ex. The streets hummed with the quiet energy of late-night Tokyo, neon lights casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the wet pavement. For once, you were gloriously, blissfully alone. No Megumi’s guards lurking in the shadows, no overly attentive husbands tracking your every move, and not even the pigeons—Haibara had probably trained to keep an eye on you, presumably on union-mandated breaks.

Your disguise was impeccable. Unassailable. The kind of look that screamed, I am absolutely not suspicious, but also, please don’t notice me, Senpei. You strode with the confidence of a Fortune 500 CEO and the finesse of someone who had absolutely Googled "how to sneak out without looking like you’re sneaking out." Tonight, you weren’t the trillionaire tech mogul, the powerhouse boss, or the supernatural anomaly. Tonight, you were a woman on a singular, sacred mission: KitKats.

The convenience store loomed ahead, glowing like the gates of paradise. Its fluorescent lights bathed the sidewalk in an otherworldly hue, promising flavours you didn’t need but unequivocally deserved. As you crossed the threshold, the automatic doors whooshed open.

The sweet, cloying aroma of sugar hit you like a warm hug. Shelves upon shelves of KitKat stretched out before you in a glorious display of indulgence. Matcha. Yuzu. Sweet potato. Melon. Cheesecake. Even wasabi. Wasabi?! You paused, eyeing the green and white package. Who buys these? Psychopaths, probably. Naturally, you grabbed a box—strictly for research purposes.

“Alright, twins,” you whispered conspiratorially, your hand brushing over your bump. “What are we thinking?”

A soft, decisive kick answered, guiding your gaze to a box of roasted chestnut-flavored KitKats. “Excellent choice,” you murmured, tossing it into your basket.

The strawberry milk Kitkats caught your eye next. “I know, I know,” you said, feeling another gentle nudge. “You’re just like your dad. Sweet tooth for days.”

You wandered deeper, basket filled quickly—Peach parfait? A must. Deep Matcha? Classic. Cookies and cream? Iconic. The Sakura Sake-flavored ones? Let’s be honest, the twins didn’t need to know everything. “Don’t worry,” you assured your unborn audience. “We’ll pace ourselves. Moderation is key.” A nudge from your left side suggested they didn’t believe you.

By the time you reached the counter, your basket looked like the aftermath of a chocoholic apocalypse. The cashier, a sleepy-eyed teenager with purple-streaked hair, scanned your items with the kind of speed that said they were mentally counting down the minutes to their break.

“That’s a lot of KitKats,” they said, raising an eyebrow.

You tilted your head, considering your response. “Fuel for world domination,” you said finally, handing over the cash with an air of practiced nonchalance.

The cashier paused, blinked, and then wisely decided not to engage further.

Bag in hand, you stepped back into the cool night air, your spoils swinging triumphantly at your side. The city had quieted, its hum softened to a gentle murmur of distant cars and occasional footsteps. For the first time in weeks, you felt almost... normal. Just a person in the stillness of Tokyo, chatting with their unborn kids about the finer points of yuzu-flavored chocolate.

As you walked, a thought struck you. You glanced down at your bag and sighed. “We forgot the white chocolate ones,” you muttered. Another nudge, sharper this time. “Fine, fine,” you relented, turning back toward the store. “But this is the last stop. Seriously.”

Once you got them, you wasted no time tearing one open. The wrapper crinkled loudly as you shoved the bar into your mouth, savoring the sweet relief.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” You murmured, patting your growing belly. “Just us. No guards. No drama. No—”

A soft, plaintive cry interrupted your monologue.

You froze, ears straining to locate the source. The sound came again, faint and wavering, from the shadowy alley to your left. Your eyes narrowed as you peered into the darkness, the dim streetlights doing little to illuminate the narrow passage.

“Hello?” You called softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

The cry repeated, a high-pitched whimper that tugged at your heartstrings. Against your better judgment—because let’s face it, this could very well be how horror movies started—you edged closer. Your hand instinctively rested on your bump as you moved, a silent reassurance to your unborn twins that you had this under control. Probably.

As you neared the source of the sound, your gaze landed on a small, trembling shape. A baby raccoon, its fur matted and dull, was hunched over with a plastic bag twisted tightly around its neck. The poor thing was struggling to breathe, its tiny chest heaving with effort.

“Oh no,” you breathed, your heart clenching.

You knelt as best you could, which was no small feat given that you were nearly six months pregnant with twins. The maneuver was awkward, and your knees protested loudly, but you managed to get low enough to see the little creature more clearly. The raccoon hissed weakly as you reached out, its small body trembling with fear.

“It’s okay, little baby,” you cooed, lowering your mask and smiling softly to show you meant no harm. “I’m not going to hurt you. Where’s your mom?”

The raccoon’s dark, glassy eyes stared back at you, unblinking and filled with an innocence that broke your heart. As you scanned the area, your stomach sank when your eyes landed on a larger shape nearby. The raccoon’s mother lay lifeless a few feet away, her body curled against the cold, unmoving. She hadn’t made it through the night.

The baby whimpered again, unmoving but clearly struggling. Every instinct screamed at you to help, despite the little voice in your head reminding you that interacting with wild animals wasn’t exactly advised. But you couldn’t leave it here. It wouldn’t survive the night alone, and calling an NGO would take too long.

“It’s okay,” you murmured again, keeping your voice soft and steady. You reached into your bag and pulled out the least harmful KitKat flavor you could find—probably the roasted hazelnut one. Not ideal, but better than nothing. Tearing off the wrapper and breaking off a piece, you held it out to the baby, keeping your movements slow and careful.

The raccoon sniffed the air hesitantly, its tiny nose twitching. After what felt like an eternity, it inched closer, snatching the chocolate from your hand and nibbling cautiously. You took the opportunity to edge closer, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for the plastic bag around its neck.

At home, Gojo was sprawled on the couch, eyes more like six were trained on your location via his limitless technique. He grinned to himself, watching your progress with unrestrained amusement.

“Stop doing that,” Nanami snapped, his tone clipped. “You look creepy.”

“She’s saving an animal,” Gojo replied, conveniently omitting the part where said animal was a raccoon. Nanami didn’t need that stress tonight—he’d probably hyperventilate and insist on dragging Gojo to retrieve you, which would only result in you getting pissed off again.

“Come eat dinner,” Nanami said after a long sigh, giving Gojo a pointed look. Reluctantly, Gojo let his technique fade and followed him to the table, his stomach reminding him he hadn’t eaten in hours.

Back in the alley, you finally managed to untangle the plastic bag from the baby raccoon’s neck. It stared at you for a moment before surprising you by burrowing into your hand, seeking warmth. Your heart melted on the spot.

“It’s okay, little one,” you whispered, gently scooping it up and tucking it into your inner coat pocket. The raccoon relaxed against you, its tiny body curling into the soft fabric. You stroked its head lightly, murmuring reassurances as you stood—slowly, carefully, because crouching was one thing, but getting up while pregnant with twins was another battle entirely.

Before leaving, you glanced at the raccoon’s mother. A lump formed in your throat as you absently ran a hand over your belly. Pulling out your phone, you quickly texted the local authorities, requesting a burial and, if permitted, some flowers. It wasn’t much, but it felt like the right thing to do.

As you stepped out of the alley, the city lights seemed a little brighter, the night air a little less cold. The baby raccoon purred against your heart, letting out a soft sound of contentment.

“How are you this friendly?” You wondered aloud, smiling down at the little creature. It didn’t answer, of course, but its trust felt like a small miracle in itself.

Then it started subtly—a few glances, hushed murmurs. You didn’t think much of it at first. After all, you were well disguised. But as you quickened your pace, the whispers followed, multiplying, growing sharper.

Behind you, hurried footsteps echoed. A man’s voice broke through the growing din:

“Is that her?!”

Your heart plunged, freezing your steps.

Before you could process what was happening, a hand yanked at your scarf, pulling it loose. Panic surged through you as the cold air hit your exposed face like a slap. Your mask—you’d forgotten to put it back on after dealing with the raccoon.

“Oh my god, it’s her!”

Then came the noise. Shouting. Jeering. The kind of unfiltered rage that burrowed deep into your bones.

You stumbled backwards, instinctively clutching the squirming raccoon baby inside and your own belly. The twins inside you kicked like they used to before, mirroring your panic as if they, too, wanted to escape.

A crowd was forming. Phones appeared like weapons, their flashes blinding you. The whispers turned to accusations.

“Hey, isn’t she the one whoring for those terrorists?”

“What’s she doing out here? Slumming it with us peasants?”

“She’s buying KitKats? Seriously?”

Your breath came in shallow bursts. You tried to pull your scarf back up, trembling fingers betraying you. The voices sharpened, venom dripping from every word.

“She thinks she’s untouchable.”

“Bet her coward husbands send her out for this crap.”

“She’s carrying their freak kids! Like we need more of them in the world.”

The words struck like stones. Your legs felt like lead, every step an agonizing effort.

“Maybe she needs to learn her place,” someone snarled.

Panic flared in your chest, clawing at your lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

The shouts blurred together, a cacophony of rage. You clutched your bag of KitKats tighter to your chest, shielding your belly. Your trembling fingers dialed Haibara’s number.

He picked up on the first ring. “What’s up, cookie?”

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. Your breathing was erratic, panic suffocating you.

“Hey! What happened?” Haibara’s tone sharpened; all business now.

“P…” Your voice trembled, each breath a struggle as your lungs fought against the tightening grip of panic.

“Where are you? Are those morons with you? Never mind—I’ve got your location. I’m coming,” he said, voice steely.

In the background, you heard Megumi’s voice. “Guards can’t find her, but the idiots are at home. We need to crack some skulls.”

“I know,” Haibara replied, already on the move. “She’s on call with me.”

“Do I need to bring a doctor? Just make a sound if you can’t talk,” Haibara urged, concern lacing his voice.

“Pl… Please come, Hai. They… they’re goin… hurt. I’m… scared. I can’t… be..breathe. P-Panic… attack,” you gasped, each word a battle against the suffocating anxiety.

Haibara’s jaw tightened audibly through the line. “Don’t exert yourself. Try to get to a less crowded area. Stay on the call. We’re coming, and whoever’s there won’t live to see another hour.”

You heard Megumi barking orders to the guards to follow as his own car engine roared to life.

Haibara’s voice softened, but the resolve beneath it was unyielding. “Just hang on, cookie. I’ve got you.”

“Please… I’m scared…” you whispered, struggling to keep your voice steady.

Hope flickered faintly through the suffocating dread as you clung to the sound of Haibara’s voice, each word pulling you closer to safety.

Just then, someone snatched your phone from your hand and hurled it across the street. It hit the asphalt with a sharp crack, shattering as a passing car crushed it beneath its wheels.

Your heart sank. Haibara couldn’t track you now. You were on your own.

Panic threatened to overtake you, but you straightened, clutching your stomach protectively and tucking the squirming raccoon baby deeper into the warmth of your coat pocket.

Three lives depended on you. You had to stay strong.

Lifting your chin, you spoke firmly, your voice steady despite the terror clawing at your throat. “Please…, I… I’m not… distur…bing anyone. Just let me… go home. I’m pregnant…this isn’t good...”

“Pregnant?” A man sneered, his lip curling in disgust. “You’re ruining our children’s minds and expect us to care about your worms?”

Another voice chimed in, shrill and hateful. “Why is she even out here? Spreading her unnatural ways in a well-cultured society?”

The first blow wasn’t physical. A half-full can of soda hurtled through the air, slamming into your back. The sticky liquid soaked through your coat, its coldness jolting you. You flinched but kept moving, one hand cradling your stomach, the other gripping your coat where the raccoon baby squirmed, sensing your distress.

“Go back to your country and take your disgusting ways with you!”

“Whore!”

“She thinks she’s better than us because she’s rich. Let’s see how far her money gets her now.”

The words hit like stones, each one stripping away your resolve. Someone threw a half-empty beer bottle. It shattered inches from your head, shards of glass raining down. Another stepped closer, leering, his eyes gleaming with malice.

“Ple..ase,” you said again, voice trembling but determined. “I’m… not here to bother… anyone. I just want… t…home.”

“Home?” A woman spat at your feet. “You don’t have a home here, whore.”

The crowd surged forward, a wall of hostility closing in. A hand grabbed your bag and yanked it violently, the strap digging into your shoulder before snapping. The contents spilled onto the ground, KitKats scattering like fragile little lifelines, crushed under trampling feet.

Panic clawed at your throat. The circle around you tightened, the air thick with anger and cruelty. Someone yanked your scarf again, exposing more of your face. Another shoved you hard enough to stumble, your balance precarious as you tried to shield your stomach.

“She thinks she’s better than men because she has money,” a man sneered, his breath reeking of stale beer. His grin was wolfish, predatory. “Maybe she needs to learn her place.”

Terror coursed through you as a hand latched onto your wrist, squeezing hard enough to bruise. You twisted, trying to pull away, but fear rooted you in place.

“D…Don’t touch… me,” you said, lungs not cooperating.

Your plea only seemed to embolden them.

“Burn her!” someone screamed. “She’s a disease, a stain on this city!”

Hands reached for you from all directions. One grabbed your scarf and yanked it free, sending your hair tumbling loose. Another tangled in your coat, tugging it open, the raccoon baby letting out a panicked squeak.

The world blurred as you stumbled backward, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

“She thinks she’s untouchable,” a voice growled, so close you felt the heat of their breath.

“She needs to learn her place,” another hissed.

Then came the first slap. It landed across your cheek with a crack, your head snapping to the side. Pain bloomed hot and sharp, tears springing to your eyes.

Your knees buckled, but before you could fall, another hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back. You were forced to meet their eyes—faces twisted with hatred, lips curling into sneers.

“Beg,” someone demanded, their voice dripping with venom. “Beg for forgiveness for corrupting our children.”

You shook your head weakly, lips trembling. “Please,” you whispered, barely audible.

The crowd erupted into jeers, their rage boiling over. Another hand grabbed at your arm, another at your coat, exposing your vulnerable, shaking frame. You tried to shield your stomach, your precious twins, the raccoon baby pressed tightly against your ribs, but the blows were coming now—sharp jabs to your back, your arms.

Tears blurred your vision as the mob surged closer, their intentions unmistakable. The world spun, collapsing into chaos. Somewhere in the distance, Haibara’s voice echoed in your memory, a lifeline you couldn’t reach.

And yet, through the fear and the pain, you clung to one thought: You had to survive. For them. For all of them.

The world had dissolved into a blur of clawing hands, jeering voices, and sharp, biting pain. All you could do was clutch your stomach, your arms wrapped tightly around the fragile lives within you as if your trembling body alone could shield them from the onslaught.

They didn’t care.

Hands tore at your coat, nails raking your skin like talons. Someone yanked at your hair, the sharp pain barely registering through the sheer terror flooding your senses.

Then came the first kick.

It landed square in your side—a brutal, calculated blow that drove the air from your lungs. You fell to the ground, instinctively curling around your belly as the mob closed in like vultures.

“Don’t ruin the face. She must be good in bed if she managed to grab two husbands.”

The jeers turned darker, uglier.

“Maybe we can do a favor by helping you lose those bastard children,” someone sneered, their voice dripping with venom. “Do the world a favor.”

Another kick followed, then another. The pain radiated through your body, sharp and unforgiving, but it was nothing compared to the icy terror gripping your soul.

You couldn’t scream. You couldn’t fight.

You were back to being that scared six-year-old again. Frozen.

All you could do was lie there, trembling, as their laughter blurred into a cacophony of hate.

A/N: Alright, so what should we name the baby raccoon? Because apparently, PussyKiller9000 was already taken (tragedy of the century). Accepting all suggestions, but if you say "Bandit," I will personally haunt your dreams. Also, this chapter was a meme goldmine, & if anyone wants to bless the world with fanart, memes, or even a cursed stick figure, I will reblog, worship, and possibly frame it IRL. Bonus points if it captures: The Great Pancake Heist™ Haibara’s baguette duel with the media Megumi fighting for his life in the snack aisle Gojo glitching out of reality mid-sentence Nanami realizing he married into chaos

Next chapter will be out on idk :P

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Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz @thebumbqueen

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lokissweater · 5 months ago

Text

you noticed me ⚾︎

{mlb!megumi fushiguro x f!reader}

summary: megumi fushiguro is one of the best players on the major league baseball team, and when you finally spot him on the big screen after practically dozing off at every game you went to with your girl friend? you were absolutely IN LOVE, but IN DENIAL that he could ever like you back… but he does, and bad.

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, NASTY NASTY MEGUMI, oral sex, SMUT, pussy eating in locker rooms HEH, mentions of drinking but like tiny just once, reader is oblivious to the way megumi wants her, DOMINANT AF MEGUMI PHEWW, cursing, flufffff!!, barely any angst, DIRTY TALK, pet names, aged up characters.

word count: 12.1k (IK IM SORRY ITS A CUTE ONE THO)

authors note: you GUYSSSS i love megumi fushiguro i want him so bad and i LOOVEEE this fic!! i worked like a little worker bee for days and i really hope it makes you guys happy :] MWAH!!

want more? you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

megumi fushiguro was the hottest baseball player you had ever seen in your life.

and you didn’t even like baseball to begin with, dozing off at every game your girl friend dragged you to because her boyfriend was on the major league team— but the one time you decided to open your eyes and pay attention to the big giant screen in front of you?

there he was in all of his emo glory.

number eighteen.

focused, half lidded eyes resembling borderline boredom as he waited for the pitcher to throw, his forehead glistening with sweat, flushed red cheeks, and his jet black hair slightly peeking over his forehead from underneath his baseball cap.

“my god—” your hand flew and you gripped your girl friends arm tightly, your jaw to the fucking floor as your eyes were gorilla glued to the screen, her quirking a curious eyebrow at you as she matched your frantic nature.

“what? what is it? who did you see? whats happ—”

you pointed your finger up at the screen, him swinging and hitting a fucking grand slam as he proceeded to get four runs with one hit, the one thing you knew about baseball besides a home run.

“that’s a— that’s a grand slam!” you pointed frantically, probably looking absolutely insane as you stood and screamed your fucking head off.

your girl friend laughed loudly, “you like fushiguro? megumi fushiguro?”

you jumped up and down, your girlfriend astonished and laughing as this was the first time she’d ever seen you energetic at a baseball game.

“he’s friends with yuji!” she yelled over the hollering of the crowd. “we can go to their locker room after and you can say hi! i heard he’s kind of mean though—”

“no!” you spun around, eyes wide and terrified. “i already know he’ll eat me alive then! i’m a loser, i can’t talk to him i don’t have game i—”

she rolled her eyes. “you’ll be fine—”

“no i can’t!” you shook your head frantically. “please he looks like the type to love bomb me and then leave me i don’t think i can handle that—”

she snorted. “are you sure?!”

you hesitated for a moment, biting your bottom lip as your eyes trailed back over to the screen, seeing megumi breathing a little heavy from running the field, his hands on his hips as he scanned the arena.

you sighed through your nose. “yeah i’m sure!”

“suit yourself!”

a year. a year you spent continuing to tag along with your girl friend to their games, staring lovesick and sad at the big screen over megumi, and standing outside far far away from the locker room once they scored another big win and not going in like you used to, waiting for your girl friend to finish up speaking to her boyfriend as you tried your best to avoid the chance of running into megumi.

she finally emerged from the locker rooms one day, a knowing smirk on her face.

“i told yuji.”

you blinked. “told him what?”

“that you like fushiguro.”

“no!” you gasped, a hand flying and smacking over your mouth. “please no im about to experience the biggest heartbreak of my life—”

“oh relax!” she grabbed your arm and practically dragged you towards the locker room doors. “he’s not even here megumi already left, but yuji wants to talk to you.”

“why?!” you exclaimed. “to let me down easy? to tell me he’s sorry on his behalf—”

your girl friend just about threw you in and went in after you as you stumbled, eyes blown wide as the air became humid and heavy, several of the players lounging about and refreshing themselves as the sound of lockers slamming shut echoed through the space— deep, broad voices laughing filling the room as yuji spotted you, his eyes friendly and polite. “y/n!”

you relaxed and smiled, “hi! you guys played really well today!”

“megumi also played really well today.”

“oh my god—” you groaned, throwing your head back as you spun around, heading straight for the exit.

“wait wait!” he laughed loudly, jogging up to you. “sorry sorry.”

“what do you want with me..” you mumbled.

he gave you a half smile. “i wanted to tell you that megumi’s weird.”

you snorted, “elaborate please.”

yuji threw an arm around your girl friend before continuing.

“you know we support your feelings and what you want…” he began.

your eyes narrowed. “why are you guys talking to me like you’re my parents—”

“but—” yuji cut you off. “i’m just gonna be straight with you. i’ve never ever seen megumi interact with anyone, let alone another woman, besides the team.”

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen him have a proper conversation with anyone on the team besides you actually…” your girl friend muttered to yuji.

yuji winced. “yeah…” he turned back to you. “back when megumi and i first got signed, he was really popular and a lot of girls would come up to him after games for his number or just to talk to him.”

“well obviously he’s a greek god,” you grumbled. “this is hurting me man get to the point.”

he sighed. “he basically scared all of them off. didn’t give a single one a chance and was kinda mean... he would either ignore them or straight up just tell them he wasn’t interested without them even being able to get a word in.”

you stared blankly.

“i tried to tell him that he needs to be nicer but he’s just not interested.”

you kept staring.

“that’s why i’m telling you this because we don’t want you to get hurt and i feel like if you try and talk to him he’s gonna be a dick and it might…” yuji looked at you sadly. “it might be a lost cause.”

you blinked.

“y/n?”

“that’s fine!” you squeaked, hands tight at your sides. “a part of me already knew. i read about it in an article, and i’ve seen his interviews.”

your girl friend looked at you with concern filled eyes. “are you okay?”

“yeah!” you waved them off. “why wouldn’t i be?”

“because your eyes are red.”

“ppffttt!” you blew out. “i’m fine! seriously. i never intended to talk to him anyways, i’m too much of a scaredy cat.”

you extended your arms out and engulfed the both of them, squeezing tight. “thank you guys for telling me though, i appreciate it.”

“y/n…” yuji trailed off.

“i’m gonna take off though, i’ll see you guys later, okay?” you waved and opened the door. “love you!”

and you scrammed, your heart in a million pieces.

it’s not like you didn’t already know. you knew, so why were you sad? why did you feel like you just got ran over by a double decker bus? why did you pathetically feel so sad?

this was the reality. you never stood a chance.

so why were you crying?

you continued walking down the hall and towards the main exit, utterly embarrassed at your sobbing and trying your best to hide it as you navigated through several groups of people, your vision entirely blurry as you were basically drowning in your tears.

you had barely escaped the crowd when you spotted a little secluded area in the lobby, trudging over pathetically and plopping down on the coushy seat as you wiped your cheeks, staring at the wall in front of you— a huge glass casing proudly decorated with the teams trophies and awards, gigantic portraits of the players on the team adorning the walls with megumi’s serious beautiful framed face right in front of you just making you feel worse.

you already knew, but regardless of megumi’s stand off ish personality, you liked it. you had curiously browsed his interviews and quotes in articles, and you always laughed at his responses, him almost every time offending the staff without even trying or knowing, and you found it so so funny, it only making you admire him and want to get to know him even more, even if it was just a friendship.

megumi fushiguro was one of the best players on the team in history, and as you closed your eyes, silent pathetic tears still slipping down your cheeks?

he never felt so out of reach.

“here.”

your eyes opened, but you literally could not see jack shit as your tears were still blurring your line of sight, you completely and utterly mortified that a stranger caught you sobbing as you wiped your face quickly in response.

“put on my sunglasses if you don’t want people to see you crying.”

the voice was gruff and lazy, but you could not care less as you took the sunglasses and settled them over your eyes, the lenses so freaking dark that you couldn’t see a single thing— your sight worse than before.

but it relieved you, as you figured no one could see your bloodshot eyes and therefore thankfully not notice you losing your mind over something so stupid.

“thank you,” you mumbled. “sorry.”

“for what.”

you felt the plush of the bench shift next to you, figuring that the stranger man sat beside you as you refused to look in their direction out of embarrassment.

not that you could even see in the first place.

“for looking like a loser.”

the stranger man snorted. “s’fine.”

you wiped your nose with your sleeve, sniffling.

“how do you see in these?” you muttered softly. “they’re making me claustrophobic i can’t see a thing.”

“that’s the point,” he hums.

“how come?”

“i get migraines everyday. they help.”

“oh i see.” you responded softly. “have you ever run into a wall because of them?”

you hear him huff out through his nose. “i did once, when i first got them.”

you giggled gently. “did you bleed?”

“no,” he spoke calmly. “i got a bump on my forehead.”

you snickered, “what? loserrr.”

you stood up and carefully tried to walk around a little, testing out how to guide yourself through the dark lenses and trying to be careful and not bump into a wall (which was literally impossible), your hands out, feeling around.

“jesus christ i’m just kidding now i feel bad. i think im gonna bump myself into a wall too so we can call it even.”

you couldn’t see, but the stranger man’s lips twitched at your comment.

“don’t do that.” he murmured. “sit back down.”

you listened and started making your way over, feeling him reach out and wrap his fingers around your wrist carefully and guide you to the bench, you plopping down on it once you felt it.

“thank you!” you responded sweetly. “…i’m actually glad i can’t see a thing right now.” you perked up, pushing the sunglasses back up over the bridge of your nose.

“why is that.”

“so i don’t have to look at megumi fushiguro’s big portrait in front of my face.”

the stranger man stopped.

“…why?”

“because he indirectly broke my heart.”

you heard a little audible laugh, and you smiled to yourself.

at least someone is having fun right now.

“how did he indirectly break your heart?”

“my girl friend’s boyfriend is yuji itadori. she spilled the beans against my will about how i have a crush on him, and yuji told me that he’s mean and he’ll basically bite my head off and tell me to scram.”

“did he?”

“uh huh,” you nodded. “they were trying to let me down easy, but it’s not like i was gonna try and talk to him anyways. i’ve gone a year without saying anything i can go on and on and on.”

the stranger man hummed.

“he’s so cool though…” you murmured, dazed. “he’s gonna be a hard one to forget about.”

“why do you like him?”

“i feel like im being interrogated,” you giggled.

you felt the stranger man lean back against the wall. “sorry, just curious.”

you copied him and crossed your arms, “mmm… because he’s really good at what he does. i admire that most of all.”

you tilted your head. “everyone berates him for being mean but i like that he’s supposedly mean for some reason…. he’s just serious about his profession and he doesn’t want to waste time. he’s also the hottest man i’ve ever seen so that definitely helps.”

the stranger man laughed a little.

“i don’t know,” you sighed sadly. “maybe i’m just demented. i am demented.”

“if yuji itadori told you the exact opposite about him, would that have encouraged you to go up to him?”

you sat in thought for a moment, but ultimately shook your head. “no. it’s too embarrassing for me and i’m also a big fat wuss so…”

you slid your fingers underneath the lenses and rubbed your stinging sore eyes. “maybe in the next life if i’m lucky, ill be reincarnated as a cool baseball man too and i won’t have to deal with this shit.”

“cool baseball man.” he repeated, tone seemingly amused.

“yup.”

the stranger man sighed. “is this why i found you crying?”

“maayybeee?” you dragged out shyly, your cheeks flushing.

it was silent for a moment, your vision completely black but his on your rosy cheeks, oddly staring that if you could see right now, you’d probably call him a creep.

“i’m sorry i made you cry.”

you jumped back.

“no not you!” you huffed. “have you not been paying attention? catch up man—”

you felt a shadow reach up and tug the sunglasses slightly away from your face, your eyes constricting against the bright lights of the hall as they tried to adjust.

and when they did?

megumi fushiguro was sitting right next to you, a tiny smile on his face dressed in all black with his teams baseball cap on.

your eyes widened dramatically and you slapped both hands over your mouth, beyond horrified as everything you had thought you were telling a stranger about him, you were telling him directly, your brain short circuiting and your body heating up like a fucking hot flash.

“oh my god i’m so sorry!” your voice was muffled, you shaking your head in absolute denial.

you immediately sprung up and grabbed your purse, slowly backing up further and further away from him.

his smile widened.

oh my god.

megumi fushiguro was smiling, a sight you’ve never ever seen during his games, practices, interviews, articles, or magazines as your cheeks increased in shade— wanting to mentally take a picture and remember forever as you knew you’d probably never see him smile like that again.

but he was smiling.

“pretend i don’t exist!” you stammered, “pretend this never happened i’m sorry this is so embarrassing keep winning your games okay and i’ll keep being an idiot far far away from you—”

“where are you going?” he chuckled lowly.

“—you’ll never see me again i’m going home and i’m going on lockdown—”

he laughed through his nose, his lips in an amused smile.

“you don’t have to do that.”

“yes i do—”

“you don’t have to forget me either.”

“that i definitely do—”

you were halfway out of the main entrance doors.

“hold on y/n—”

megumi stood, his long legs walking over to you and you froze.

y/n?

you slowly turned around, your face pale and afraid.

“how do you know my name?” you asked softly.

“your best friend is dating yuji, is she not.”

you nodded, eyes blank.

“i’ve been seeing you inside the locker room after our games for like… two years.” megumi mumbled.

oh.

oh that’s right.

you didn’t actually notice megumi until last year, when you decided to finally open your eyes for once during a game and that’s how you spotted him for the first time on the big screen in front of you, in all of his gorgeous handsome entity.

“oh.”

he raised a hand and pressed his index finger to your forehead, nudging you softly.

“dummy.”

“s-sorry..” you gave him a wobbly bashful smile, your cheeks pinky as you rubbed your red eyes.

his eyes slightly softened and he shook his head. “s’fine.”

megumi continued to stare at you, a stone cold face that always seemed to scare off the teams entire fan base, but only made you feel numb and giddy all over every single time.

you smiled wider then, and megumi’s lips twitched.

cute.

“i’m— i’m gonna go now.”

“do you have a ride home?”

you stopped. “no i was just gonna call an uber—”

he shook his head and walked past you, his shoulder brushing gently with yours with his hands stuffed in his pockets as you turned and stared at him.

he paused and looked over his shoulder.

“you coming?”

your eyes widened. “coming? w—where?”

he rolled his eyes. “i’m taking you home.”

“no!” you shot your hands out. “it’s okay! really! thank you thank you i appreciate it but—”

he stared lazily.

“come.”

you pressed your lips into a thin line and tipped your head down, taking tiny painful steps as you followed after him to the parking lot.

megumi led you from the public parking area to a secluded section around the back of the arena, one you assumed was for players and crew members only as you nervously gnawed on your bottom lip, feeling absolutely sick.

you both continued to walk down until you arrived to a private parking garage, megumi slipping out his keys from the pocket of his hoodie as you approached a shiny black luxurious car sitting neatly in a spot.

his car was really fucking nice, and you figured so being as he was one of the most popular players and probably had more than enough money in the bank— your fingers trembling as you gripped the passenger side door, settling yourself inside his plush cool leather seats and all black interior.

megumi pressed the ‘start’ button and his engine roared to life, the motor echoing through the structure as you clumsily tried to put on your seatbelt, your cheeks growing pinker with each passing second that you just couldn’t get the stupid damn thing to— click—

he reached over across the console and took the seatbelt from you, pulling it over your body and clicking it secure without a word.

“thank you.” you said softly, eyes trained to your lap.

megumi gave you a small nod and backed out of his parking space, driving around a couple of rows before making his way out with the night air softly breezing through your hair as he drove, his dash illuminated with blue lines that ran smoothly across.

“can you put your address in—”

“oh yeah!” you jumped. “sorry—”

you reached over and tapped in your address on his big touch screen, watching the way the gps registered the location and gave him the estimated time of arrival.

forty fucking minutes.

“megumi..”

his eyes looked over at you for a second before turning back to the road.

“hm?”

“i live kinda far from here and i don’t want you to drive the opposite way from where you live.”

you leaned a little, eyebrows pinched. “i can take an uber seriously, this is too much trouble i—”

“you’re already in my car.” he deadpanned.

“i’ll jump out.”

he pursed his lips, trying to suppress a smile.

“i have child lock on.”

“child lock?!” you gawked. “is this what you think of me?”

“you’re a little helpless… and you’re a crybaby.” he mumbled. “child lock stays on.”

you giggled after, your eyes shining and filled with mushy feelings for him as you nodded. “you’re probably right.”

he looked over at you then, and he smiled, softly.

“what do you do?”

you fidgeted. “h—huh?”

“do you um…” he ran his thumb over the top of his gear shift. “do you work? do you go to school?”

he’s asking you?

“i go to school!” you responded shyly but kind. “i go to a college that’s about fifteen minutes from your stadium. i usually go and meet up with my best friend after class if there’s a game.”

he hummed. “are you a big baseball person?”

you grimaced.

do you lie? do you tell the truth? do you roll down his window and attempt to jump out of the car that way?

you played with a strand of your hair. “i— i um—”

he raised an eyebrow.

“i— don’t?”

he cocked his head. “you don’t?”

you shook your head no, completely ashamed of who you are as a person as you covered your eyes.

“i knoww i suuucckkk,” you whined. “the only things i know about baseball are home runs and grand slams— which you did!”

you pointed at him excitedly. “last year! i remember you hit a grand slam! i got so excited that for once i knew what the fuck was going on and why everyone was going crazy…”

you fiddled with your fingers nervously, your eyes trained to the road. “i felt so included.”

he chuckled, and unexpectedly, reached over and gently ruffled your hair.

you then stared at him as he did so, doe eyes wide and cheeks pink.

megumi was truly just beautiful— his smooth face that didn’t have a single blemish on his skin shining under the moonlight, his black spiky hair peeking from under his cap that you had no doubt in your mind was soft and velvety.

you hated that you’d probably do anything for that man.

“i’m sorry i made you cry,” he repeated, you recognizing his words from before.

your eyebrows furrowed.

he was still thinking about that?

you shook your head furiously, “you didn’t! i swear it’s okay. i’m just crazy.”

he huffed out a laugh.

megumi thought you were odd, but in a good way. he thought everything you did was a little funny, as you were jumpy and clumsy and a crybaby and helpless, but he also took note of how polite you were. he noticed how considerate you were of him even though you were really upset, and you were kind of sweet… really sweet actually, your personality something that was totally different from the usual girls that came up to him.

well, the usual girls that used to come up to him back when he first started.

megumi pulled into your driveway and shifted the gear into park, the doors automatically unlocking.

you opened the door and stepped out before leaning down and peeking your head in.

“thank you for the ride!” you said sweetly, a cute smile on your face. “i’m sorry you had to listen to my confession against your will.”

he shook his head. “it’s alright.”

you went in to close the door.

“y/n.”

you leaned back down, “yeah?”

“are you gonna stop coming to our games?”

you gnawed at the inside of your cheek, your eyes darting around the interior of his car nervously.

“i— i don’t think so.”

“good.”

megumi watched you close his door and walk back a bit, him shifting his gear into reverse as the corners of his lips turned a tiny bit upwards.

“i’ll see you then.”

as you watched him pull out and drive away, his engine roaring down the street, you could not stop or simmer down the way your heart raced against your chest, so much so that you were afraid it was going to burst through your chest and literally kill you.

the next time you went to a game, you hadn’t told your close girl friend yet as she led you through the crowd and down to the v.i.p. lower level seats like always, a kind courtesy of yuji’s that he did whenever he could.

as you watched, you embarrassingly spotted megumi almost the minute you arrived, stars and hearts in your eyes as you watched him do his thing and work magic through the field with his absolutely insane batting, strong and purposeful as he barked orders or observed the opposing team for leads.

once his and the opposing team switched sides, megumi looked up as he jogged, his eyes seemingly scanning the v.i.p. front sections until he spotted you.

he raised a hand and gave you a little wave, and your eyes widened as you timidly, hesitantly, gave him one in return— your cheeks turning pink.

“who are you waving at?”

your girl friend pressed a cheek against yours and looked.

“who is- fushiguro?!”

you looked at her sheepishly.

as you recounted the story to her, her eyes bulging out of her sockets and screaming her head off every two seconds, her head snapped to the field.

“i have to tell yuji—”

“no!” you gripped her shoulders. “it’s literally nothing! he drove me home and he probably just feels bad for me.”

“megumi isn’t the type to make a crying girl feel better or drive her home.”

“it’s because he knows that we know yuji.”

“mm i don’t think so..” she scowled, crossing her arms in eventual defeat as she stared straight ahead.

that’s how it went for about a month.

you would come to their games, megumi would wave at you from the field or you would catch his attention and wave at him, and you would briefly speak to him casually just after his games, your conversations with him usually lasting no more than three minutes as he was often pulled by his coach or a crew member.

but even though the conversations were short, they were really nice, and the both of you never seemed to notice the people around you wanting his attention until he physically had to get pulled away.

but you still refused to go inside the locker room, knowing that was surely the place where you had to talk to him for longer than three minutes. you were too scared, embarrassingly so as you bid your girl friend and yuji goodbye from just outside the door before leaving every time, completely unaware of the way megumi would stare expressionless at you from inside.

when your girl friend invited you to the team’s yearly banquet, you flat out said no, decision firm and unmoving as she begged you over and over and over again.

“please please you have to go! you can’t avoid megumi forever!”

“what is the purpose of me going though?” you sighed, shaking your head with a smile at the sight of her dramatically on her knees over you. “for you it makes sense because you’re with yuji but what’s the excuse for me? i’m not anybody’s plus one.”

“yes you are,” she got back up on her feet and wiggled her eyebrows, “you’re megumi’s plus one.”

“bye i wish,” you mumbled, plopping down on your bed.

“okay you’re my plus one, or yuji’s! so he has two plus ones!”

she walked over and sat down next to you, resting her head against your shoulder as she sighed. “please come. you don’t have to talk to megumi okay? fine. but just come with me, i’ll have a better time if you do.”

you gave her a silly smile and thought for a moment, her sad tone swaying you as you finally gave in.

“only if you swear you won’t force me to talk to him.”

she nodded eagerly.

“i swear!”

so you stood there, nervous and biting your thumb as you frantically looked around, dressed in a pretty black off the shoulder mermaid style gown with a high slit exposing your leg— fiddling with your styled hair as you waited and waited and waited for your girl friend to come back from the dessert table with yuji.

you hadn’t seen megumi yet as you were trying to keep on a look out, because the moment you did see him all dressed up? you were sure you were going to start pathetically bowing for him on your knees in front of all these people and end your social life forever.

finally, she came back and handed you a little pastry, you thanking her kindly and taking a small bite.

“wait no!” she gasped, turning her pastry around. “fuck, i got the wrong one. i meant to get the vanilla one this is coconut.”

“i can get it for you this time.” you smiled kindly, her looking at you gratefully as you patted her shoulder, making your way over to the dessert table.

your eyes lit up like stars at the sight of it, grand and luxurious as any kind of pastry you could ever possibly think of was present— neat and gourmet-like, each adorned with elegant toppings as multiple huge chocolate fountain stations ran from the sides.

“hi.”

you jumped and looked to your right, megumi standing there beside you with a bored expression, clad in a polished black button up and slacks, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

you gulped.

“h—hi.”

“i didn’t think you’d come.”

he lazily picked up a tiny slice of chocolate mousse cake and looked at it.

“i was dragged by my best friend,” you puffed out a laugh. “she said i was her and yuji’s plus one or something like that.”

he nodded, biting his cake slice and swallowing.

“you stopped coming inside the locker rooms.”

you faltered.

he noticed that?

“oh yeah! i just—” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “i’ve been really busy with school so i study right after…”

for some reason megumi eyed you carefully, and your cheeks grew pinker the more he blatantly stared at you as you fidgeted.

“are you—”

“fushiguro!”

you both turned your heads to the source, and you spotted an unfamiliar guy, one who you assumed was on the team with them, smiling enthusiastically and throwing a heavy arm around megumi’s shoulder.

“who’s this? i’ve never seen you talk to anyone besides us!”

megumi only spared him a nonchalant glance before he looked back over at the dessert table.

the unknown man extended a hand out to you, and megumi’s eyes snapped to it.

“hi! i’m takuma!”

you cheerfully took his hand. “y/n!”

“are you megumi’s girlfriend?”

you gawked, guilt and embarrassment already filling your body at the thought of megumi finding that comment uncomfortable and being uncomfortable because of you.

at his own banquet.

“n—no!” you shook your head, eyebrows pinched. “i came with my best friend and yuji.”

takuma unhooked his arm and let it rest beside him. “oh nice! you know yuji as well?”

you nodded, “mhm!”

the rest of the crowd began to take their seats for the awards ceremony segment, and the three of you walked over to your designated table by yuji and your best friend, who’s eyes widened at the sight of you next to megumi.

you all sat, and takuma pointed to the empty seat next to you.

“is anyone sitting here?”

“oh no!” you smiled politely. “it’s empty you can—”

“take mine ino.”

megumi pulled out the chair next to you and plopped down on it, scooting up. “it’s closer to the front.”

huh?

“o—oh!” takuma scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “okay! thanks fushiguro.”

he only nodded in response and stuck his face in his champagne glass, sipping.

and he was right. you watched as takuma navigated through the circular tables before sitting in a seat that was right smack dab in the front.

“that’s really nice of you megumi!” you chirped. “he has such a good view now!”

“mhm.”

your best friend smacked a hand to her forehead with a shake of her head, and you looked at her quizzically.

the awards ceremony was the most fun you’ve ever had, as you were over the moon for all of the players that were awarded prestigious titles and recognitions, and even more excited for yuji and megumi, the both of them combined taking award after award that by the time the event was done, your table was filled to the brim with frames, medals, and trophies.

your doe eyes glowed over megumi’s earnings, pride and admiration bubbling in your chest as you took in the result of his hard work, feeling like he was the most talented person you ever had the privilege of knowing.

he stared at your enamored look.

“you’re so cool, gumi..” you gushed, not even noticing the little nickname you gave him.

but he did.

“cool baseball man?” he responded softly, referencing your words from when you first met.

your eyes snapped to his and you gave him the shiniest smile, nodding quickly. “yeah! cool baseball man.”

megumi looked down at his awards, and after a couple of seconds, picked up a shiny gold medal hung on a baby blue striped lanyard, holding it out for you.

“here.”

your eyes traveled down.

“what?”

“for you.” he pushed the medal forward.

shock crossed your face, and you frantically shook your head, pushing the medal back to him. “no! no megumi that’s yours you earned it—”

megumi rolled his eyes and held on to the edges of the lanyard, effortlessly setting it over your head and around your neck, the medal clinking and twinkling against your chest.

“i have four others. it’s fine.”

“no but—”

he carded his thumbs underneath your hair and gently slid your hair out from beneath the lanyard, setting it delicately over your bare shoulders.

yuji and your best friends jaws were on the floor, but you didn’t notice, too busy ogling over the fact that megumi fushiguro was the kindest person you had ever met, utterly amazed that he selflessly gave you something so precious. you.

your gaze trailed down to the medal, and you softly touched it with the pads of your fingers.

“t—thank you gumi…”

his lips twitched.

you realized then that the music had started and the crowd had already dispersed to celebrate, some dancing in the center while others mingled on the sidelines or hogged the dessert table.

and you spotted your best friend with yuji, the both of them smiling adoringly at each other, laughing and dancing— something bashfully wished for yourself as you grinned softly at them.

megumi followed your gaze, and he huffed an amused small laugh through his nose.

“they met at a party didn’t they?”

you looked to him and nodded, “uh huh! i was with her. she was so scared to talk to him and i literally had to throw her in.”

he scratched his cheek. “i remember. i was there.”

your jaw dropped. “you were?!”

he nodded. “and i remember you too.”

you sat there in silence.

how long had megumi been around in your life without you knowing? how didn’t you ever freaking notice?

before you could press any further, megumi squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to his forehead in pain, groaning softly.

you jumped, “are you okay? what’s wrong?”

he shook his head. “migraine. the lights are fucking with me a little.”

“oh!” you frantically looked around the table and around him. “where are your sunglasses? the dark ones the ones you ran into a wall with!”

megumi snorted and shook his head again, eyes peeking at you a bit. “it’s fine. i left them at home.”

your eyebrows rose, “you left them?”

he nodded and dropped his hand, sitting up straight and trying to open his eyes fully to seem normal, but his lids only dropped again and his forehead fell to rest against the table.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled. “just give me a minute.”

“don’t be sorry gumi…”

you figured the rest of the night was going to be like this, and if megumi stayed, he was going to end up dealing with the dull ache in his head for hours on end and not enjoy his banquet.

but you wanted him to enjoy it. this was his night, and you didn’t want him to spend it pissed off and writhing in pain.

“do you want to leave?”

he turned his head to the side and looked at you.

“we can um—” you fiddled with the medal around your neck. “we can go outside? or we can go for ice cream…”

you tilted your head to the side cutely, and you were oblivious to the way megumi’s cheeks went a little pink at the sight.

“ill pay though!” you smiled sweetly. “it’s the least i can do for the medal you gave me.”

he gave you an endearing half smile and nodded.

your eyes lit up. “really?! okay!— wait let me just say bye to my best friend and let her know—”

you quickly stood and walked over to the dance floor, megumi watching after you before picking up his black blazer and holding it underneath an arm, wondering how the fuck he was gonna pick up all of his awards himself.

“y/n!” your best friend gushed. “you’ve been talking to megumi for hours what the fuck is going on—”

you laughed. “nothing! it was nothing but i’m gonna go get ice cream with him!”

“what?!” her and yuji said in unison.

“did he ask you?” yuji pushed.

“no!” your eyes narrowed. “of course not i’m a big fat loser why would he? i invited him because he has a migraine so—”

your best friend hummed, a smirk on her face. “oh i see... use protection.”

“huh?!” your jaw dropped. “no! that’s not—”

“y/n!”

you turned and saw takuma walk over to you, a big smile on his face. “you enjoying the banquet?”

“oh yes! it’s really great!” you smiled kindly. “the dessert table is absolutely insane.”

“right?!” takuma stepped closer to you. “they go all out every year, it’s what everyone looks forward to.”

“i can definitely see why!”

he chuckled and nodded but then turned to you, speaking quieter. “listen um… i was wondering if you were uh— well if you wanted to dance? with me? y’know… maybe get to know each other better and then—”

yuji shoved his lips to your best friends ear.

“he’s stealing megumi’s girl.”

“i know!” she whispered harshly. “what the fuck do we do—”

“i don’t know!”

“well call megumi over—”

suddenly, a tall broad figure walked in between you and takuma, your vision blocked by his back.

“sorry ino,” megumi stepped to the side a little and placed a hand on the small of your back, ushering you towards the exit. “we were just leaving.”

yuji and your best friend gave each other a low high five before their eyes darted around, putting on false ignorance.

“sorry!— it was nice meeting you takuma!” you called from over your shoulder before the both of you stepped out of the venue and into the cool night air.

megumi’s car was parked right out front, him unlocking the doors with a button just like he had done the last time, you noticing how all of his awards were set neatly in the back seat.

“oh i’m sorry gumi! did you carry these over by yourself? i was gonna help you—”

you sat yourself on his passenger side seat, the leather creaking with every movement you made.

he shook his head. “i had my publicist team do it. it’s fine.”

“oh okay…” you mumbled, still feeling a little guilty that you didn’t help him.

you went to reach for your seatbelt when megumi’s arm flew in front of you and grabbed the strap, pulling it over your frame and clicking it securely before his hands wrapped back around the steering wheel, just like he had done a month prior.

you couldn’t make out his expression, as it was blank and stone-like and not a word was coming out of his mouth as he backed out from the parking space, but you smiled at him cutely nonetheless and thanked him.

the nearest ice cream shop was literally down the road from the venue, and the drive took less than three minutes before megumi pulled in and parallel parked on the side of the street.

you both stepped out and walked inside, the shop colorful and vibrant as what looked like twenty different assortments of ice cream were on display, your eyes launching across each flavor excitedly.

“i haven’t had ice cream in a fat minute…” you murmured as you pressed your hands against the glass.

“me neither.”

“which flavor do you want megumi?” you asked him sweetly, your eyes still glued to the flavors that it made him chuckle.

“um…” he stepped forward and scanned the different colors. “i’ll take whatever you get.”

you looked at him and your eyebrows softened, “are you sure? what if you don’t like it?”

the corner’s of his lips turned upward, the sight making your heart skip a beat.

“it’s okay. i trust you.”

you ended up getting your all time favorite flavor that you never skip— cake batter, one that tastes different depending on who’s palette it is, and something you anxiously thought over as you gnawed on your bottom lip and stared, waiting for him to try it as you both sat on a park bench not too far from the shop.

“why do you look like you’re about to cry.” he snickered lowly.

your eyes snapped to his and you giggled. “i might if you don’t like what i picked out.” you plopped a little spoonful in your mouth, the cold ice cream melting and spreading over your tongue as you swallowed. “cake batter is a hit or miss for different people…”

he hummed, “how come?”

“it’s either too sweet or just nasty.”

“i have a sweet tooth.”

your eyes lit up, “so do i! i’m a big sweets person. i love love desserts and chocolate and ice cream… but i’m not the biggest fan of candy.”

“you’re not?”

“i love candy but not how i love sweets… and i wouldn’t randomly pick it out like at the store because i wanted to. most likely i would get a cookie.”

megumi liked how much you talked.

“have you always had a sweet tooth?” he pressed on, looking at his ice cream cup.

you nodded. “have you?”

“not really,” he shook his head. “i didn’t pick it up until i met—” he stopped. “…my dad.”

met his dad?

megumi spotted your confusion and continued.

“my actual dad disappeared. dunno where he’s at. all i’ve heard is that he had a bad gambling addiction so i’m guessing it had something to do with that.”

your eyes softened.

“gojo is kind of like my dad…” he mumbled. “he’s supported my sister and i financially ever since i was maybe five or six.”

“you have a sister?” you murmured, eyes big.

he nodded. “i do.”

he scooped a bit of cake batter ice cream up with his spoon and plopped it into his mouth, smiling softly. “gojo gave me a sweet tooth. he can’t go a day without it.”

you’d never heard megumi open up so much before, and you felt incredibly lucky and special to be the one to hear about his family and share a precious moment with him over eating ice cream, something you wanted to treat delicately and remember for as long as you lived.

“do you like it?” you asked softly, gesturing to his cup.

“i love it.”

you beamed, and he took in your cute smile for a minute as you ate some more on your end.

“i’m sorry about your actual dad… but i’m glad you and your sister got the support you needed when you were young.”

he nodded.

“did he encourage you to do baseball? or was it you?”

“he did initially.” he shook his head. “he was annoying at first, was a cheerleader at every game and was so loud.”

you giggled.

“but i grew to like it… and that’s what i wanted to do for a career. if it wasn’t for gojo’s funding i wouldn’t have been able to.”

you hummed, savoring the ice cream a bit before swallowing. “that’s really nice, gumi. i’m really happy you got the opportunity to grow your skill out like that…” you swirled the ice cream around your cup with your spoon. “what you have is a solid gift, and i would hate to see it not get the recognition it deserves when you’ve worked so hard to make it what it is now.”

you looked at him. “so i’m really, really glad that it does get it.”

megumi stared at you, face blank and a scoop of yet to be eaten ice cream on his spoon, his cheeks growing hot.

“i don’t know why you think so highly of me.” he murmured.

everyone thinks he’s rude.

your eyebrows furrowed. “i don’t think megumi, i know. you’re not a mean person, you’re honest and serious about the important things in your life. and if the medal around my neck that you gave me selflessly doesn’t tell you otherwise? i might have to kill you.”

he laughed, loud, his eyes sparkling. “you might?”

you bit your lip to refrain yourself from freaking out over his smooth laughter. “i might.”

you subconsciously rubbed your hands over your chilling arms then and megumi eyed it before he put his cup down, reaching next to him for his blazer and opening it up as he gently placed it over your shoulders.

you looked at him like he was the world then, doe eyes big and round and shimmering, and megumi felt like he could do anything with that look as long as it came from you— a permanent red tint on his cheeks that was entirely your doing.

“thank you..” you mumbled shyly, your eyes glued to your now empty cup of ice cream on the bench as you clutched the sides of his blazer, the smell of him wafting in your nose that made you absolutely weak.

megumi timidly, slowly, reached up and moved a strand of hair from your eyes then, and you looked up.

“pretty…” he murmured, dazed even.

his hand fell and landed gently on your exposed thigh from the slit of your dress, but instead of moving it, he let it stay there, his hand smoothing over your plush soft skin as he was completely entranced by your heavenly face, his body pulling his lips closer to yours as megumi’s breath quickened with absolute need the higher up his hand trailed up your yummy thigh.

you couldn’t say a word, he practically didn’t let you as his lips pressed delicately and timidly against your plush ones, his mouth moving so slowly and his tongue parting your wet lips for the purpose of devouring more of you, all while his fingertips reached and felt the side straps of your panties— the material alone making him erratic and desperate while his other hand gripped your waist tightly.

your mouths moved faster now, the sounds of wet smacking and lips separating to reconnect with more greed than before muffling your ears as he breathed heavily through his nose, his eyebrows pinched together in pent up everything as he finally had you with him after months of you avoiding him.

and then you pulled away with a wet pop.

“i—i’m sorry!” you covered your mouth. “i didn’t mean to kiss you!—”

what?

megumi’s eyebrows furrowed, both of your chests heaving as his cheeks and lips were blushed red.

he shook his head, “no i kissed you—”

“don’t cover for me gumiii,” your shoulders slumped, your brain so in denial that he could ever like you back that it tricked you into thinking you were the one kissing and all over him. “fuck i’m sorry… that was so disrespectful and— and weird of me and i—”

megumi’s hands slipped away from your body and he shook his head, his eyes dead locked on yours with his eyebrows pinched together. “y/n no you’re not understanding—”

“i’m the biggest creep on the planet man i understand if you don’t ever want to speak to me again—” you covered your face and leaned forward.

megumi stared at you astonishingly as he listened to you ramble apologies and dramatic insults for yourself continuously, his shoulders slowly relaxing and his lips turning into a soft knowing smile, your random speech starting to make absolutely no sense at all and his heart aching at the fact of how naive you were.

“y/n.”

you stopped. “what.”

he reached over and pulled your hands away from your face. “you’re helpless, you know that?”

“helpless and a creep.”

he laughed and shook his head. “stop it.”

he stood and offered his hand out for you.

“it’s getting late, i’m driving you home.”

megumi decided he would properly speak to you about it the next time he saw you… except he didn’t.

you started avoiding him like the plague again, horrendously horrified about what you believed you had done, thinking that it was better if you stayed away from him and fulfilled your initial task of forgetting him, no matter how much it hurt you.

you didn’t want megumi to ever be uncomfortable or experience what you believed he experienced with you. he didn’t deserve that. he didn’t deserve a pathetic little fan girl that never left him alone and hindered his work on the field, even though you wished so badly you could see him again, as the taste of his lips and mouth never left your fuzzy mind.

you kissed megumi fushiguro.

“oh my god y/n, you’re so stupid.”

“no i’m not! do you really believe megumi could ever like me back? no! absolutely not. i kissed him and i fucked up and that’s it. i’m staying away from him.”

your best friend ran her fingers through her hair and almost tore a chunk out in frustration. “it sounds like he kissed you! he had his hand on your thigh—”

“that was for stability! he—”

“no it was to feel you up!”

you shook your head side to side with your arms crossed. “nope nope nope nope—”

“y/nnnn!”

as for megumi, the next game he had he looked for you while on the field like he always did, looking forward to seeing your precious face and giving you a little wave… except he couldn’t find you. after the game, he went around the stadium and towards the locker room, inside and back out, the parking lot, his parking lot—

and he couldn’t find you.

this went on for a full three weeks of game after game nearly every day him doing the same exact thing— him getting increasingly more confused and a bit upset at your disappearance, going as far as to staying hours after his games still in his sweaty baseball uniform and cap with hopes that you’ll turn up.

except you never did.

and at the end of the third week, he had had enough.

“oh hey megumi!” your best friend greeted him, her hand fixing around yuji’s hair in the locker room after a game.

“hi.”

he stood there and said nothing, and your best friend eyed him skeptically. “…yes?”

megumi shifted awkwardly. “have you um… have you seen y/n?”

she sucked in a breath. “uh yeah. i saw her this morning.”

“this morning?” his eyes narrowed. “is she okay? why hasn’t she been coming to our games with you?”

“because—” she stammered. “well because—”

“is it our place to say?” yuji muttered.

“is it our place to know?” she whispered back harshly.

“i don’t know!”

“let’s just tell him!”

“but what if!—”

megumi rolled his eyes and huffed. “nevermind. please tell her to come tomorrow, i need to talk to her.”

your best friend gulped and nodded, both her and yuji watching the way he walked away and snatched his cap off, throwing it inside his locker and slamming it shut with his foot before picking up his duffel bag and leaving, not even bothering to change out of his dirt covered uniform.

“i’ve never seen him so stressed,” yuji commented.

“it’s because he likes her and she’s being an idiot…” your best friend sighed sadly.

so when she came to you the next day and told you megumi needed to speak to you, she amplified how upset he was to get you to feel bad and feel the urgent need to come to the game tonight, which you of course did.

and you were worried. so so worried and scared that he was finally going to tell you off for kissing him, to tell you that you sucked and that he never ever wanted to see you again in his life and that you were a disgusting human being—

but the roar of the crowd pulled you from your thoughts, the team winning once again as many began to pack their things and take their leave. you were completely and utterly shitting yourself, petrified and already heartbroken over the fact that megumi was officially going to cut you off as a friend when you hadn’t even had the chance to try and win him over yet.

and the way he played on the field tonight was way more aggressive than normal. he was louder, meaner, and didn’t take his eyes away from the ball or his opponents as he nearly got into a fight with another player, yuji and a few others needing to pull megumi apart and set him aside to cool off— the cameras and reporters having a field day in regards to him.

and that bothered you like nothing else. why the hell were they so excited over him getting angry? to amplify the brand that he upholds as the teams meanest player? as if they’ve never had a bad day a day in their lives? what was the point?

and it was all because of you, you realized.

you made him upset.

you covered your face with your hands and groaned, feeling like you wanted to cry.

“y/n…” your best friend patted your back. “it’ll be fine… he just needs to talk to you! you don’t even know what it’s about.”

“i can take a wild guess.”

she looked at you worriedly before picking up her things. “whenever you’re ready babe… i think he’s in the locker rooms by now.”

she left you there to gather yourself, and you sat there for a couple of more minutes before finally getting up and making your way to the locker rooms.

most of the fans had cleared out by now, and the sun was beginning to set as you passed and squeezed through crew members and news reporters, gnawing at your bottom lip as you turned a corner and spotted the locker room, many of the players already leaving.

just as you had reached your hand up to open the door, a firm voice called out to you.

“y/n.”

you froze, retracting your hand as you turned to look.

megumi stood there at the end of the hall, his baseball uniform still on and his cap dangling from his belt loop, hands in tight fists with his chest rising and falling, an agitated look on his face that you had never seen before.

“h—hi-”

“are you trying to forget me? is that what’s going on?”

your eyebrows furrowed.

“what?”

megumi took stride full steps towards you. “you finally talk to me, you confess to me, you disappear for a month, i wait for you, you finally show up at the banquet looking like the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen in my fucking life—”

he stopped in front of you. “takuma tries to steal you from me, i get pissed off, i fall for you at the park, i kiss you—“ he threw his arms up. “and you disappear again!”

your eyes bulge out of their sockets.

fall?

“you what?—”

“so i’m asking you again,” megumi bent his knees to look at you at eye level, his hands coming up to cup your pink cheeks and his face so close to yours you can make out the exact color of his eyes.

“are you trying to forget me? like you said you would?”

you fidgeted.

“i— i was doing it for you—”

“why for me? i never said—”

the feeling of his big hands on your cheeks was making your heart do backflips and trick shots as your wide doe eyes looked at him.

“because when i kissed you i made you uncomfortable and i don’t ever want you to be so i thought it’d be best if i left you alone—”

“okay let’s fix that right now,” his hands tightened slightly around your cheeks and he readjusted his footing, knees still bent. “i kissed you. if anything i should be the one worried if i made you uncomfortable because i put my hand on your thigh like that and for that i’m sorry.”

“no but—”

“yes y/n. i kissed you because you’re polite and you’re sweet and you’re funny, and you don’t see me as rude like everybody else does. and even though you’re naive and helpless sometimes, i like that you are. i like you.”

“but you’re megumi fushiguro…” you squeaked.

“so?”

“and i’m a loser.”

he laughed so cutely and shook his head, his pearly whites fully shining at you so big that it took you back to the first time he smiled in front of you.

“no you’re not you big dummy.”

he let go of your cheeks and placed his palms flat against the brick wall behind you, cornering you in as he let his head hang low, the top of his spiky black hair the only thing in your line of vision.

“i don’t know how else i can make you see…”

he sounded so exhausted, and your heart clenched.

“was it—” you timidly placed your hands on his shoulders. “was it actually you that kissed me?”

he nodded, head still hung.

“and do you actually like me? like— like more than a friend…”

“way fucking more,” he mumbled.

you bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to contain yourself from screaming.

you couldn’t believe it. the megumi fushiguro, number eighteen, the most handsome man you’ve ever seen and the kindest one you’ve ever met… liked you.

“i could’ve sworn i kissed you..” you spoke softly, trailing off.

“you didn’t.” his voice was firm. “i kissed you and i put my hand up your thigh…” his forehead lifted to rest on the crook of your neck as he sighed a deep breath.

“i told— i told takuma to scram at the banquet because i got jealous that you were talking to him more than me. i saw you crying in the hall that first time we spoke and i recognized you and i went up to you because finally—”

he picked his head up slowly, eyes serious. “finally, you noticed me.”

he was so close that your nose brushed gently with his.

“you’re so dense y/n…”

megumi’s eyes flickered to your lips, “i’ve wanted you since the party.”

“the party?” you murmured.

he nodded. “the party where your friend first met yuji.”

your breath hitched as you felt his hands slide down the wall and snake over your hips, holding you tightly against him as the shock of his words made your body numb and tingly.

since the party?

it all seemed to click into place then, every single moment megumi tried to get you to look at him, to talk to him, in his own discreet way that you were completely oblivious to. and you were so fucking caught up in this fog of denial, that a person like megumi could never be interested in a person like you, that it made you push him away for the longest time without even giving yourself a chance.

you were so fucking stupid.

your arms slowly wrapped around his broad shoulders, the rough feeling of his baseball uniform underneath your fingertips and arms as you pressed your nose up against his shoulder shyly, feeling so incredibly bad for avoiding megumi for so long.

“i’m sorry…” you mumbled. “i’m sorry i was so oblivious gumi.”

you felt him shake his head from the crook of your neck silently, the vibration of his heart beating rapidly against you making you sweat and melt at the same time.

“don’t be.”

“i just—” you struggled. “i just thought you didn’t like me like i liked you and i wanted to respect your space…”

“i understand,” he muttered. “but i don’t want you to respect my space anymore.”

you held him tighter.

“and—” your voice was slightly muffled by his shoulder.

“hm?”

“i liked it when you put your hand on my thigh…”

megumi stilled, you playing the night he kissed you over and over in your head again like you’ve done since it happened— the thought making you nervous and timid.

he gripped you tighter.

“did you?”

you nodded, “mhm.”

megumi without parting from you, slipped a hand under your shirt and soothed his fingers over the bare skin of your torso, your breathing stuttering, his rough hand radiating warmth.

“what else do you like.”

you gripped the fabric of his uniform.

“i like… i like the way you kissed me. and how you touch me… like right now.”

your voice was so so soft, practically a whisper as he seemed to shiver under your words, wanting more.

“what else.”

“you,” you mumbled. “your body… your hair… your face… your hands… the way you talk to people.”

“you want me?” he murmured breathlessly.

“more than anything.”

“what else do you like?”

you leaned your head back a little and pressed your lips to his ear. “the way you play ball.”

he hummed, “you like the way i play baby?”

you nodded, your heart hammering.

he lifted his face from the crook of your neck and shamelessly pressed his lips to your cheek, murmuring.

“you wanna see what else i can do?”

“what— what else?”

megumi’s face remained pressed against your cheek as he let both of his hands now snake underneath your shirt and upwards, slowly but roughly groping the cup of your tits over your bra, feeling you up as you gasped.

“uh huh..” he pressed an open mouthed wet kiss to your pink fuzzy cheek. “‘cause i can do a lot more than just be your cool baseball man.”

he roughly spun you around and pushed you up against the wall, his hands coming back up to your breasts to grope you as he shoved and rubbed his hardened clothed dick against your perky ass, your tiny skirt riding up and revealing your pretty pink panties that made him absolutely feral.

“gumi!” you gasped. “s—someone could see—”

“i don’t fucking care.”

megumi buried his nose further into the back of your neck and your hair, him being a little pervert in the most delicious and intoxicating way possible.

he dragged his mouth up against your skin and latched on to the nape of your neck, sucking and biting sloppily against it as he marked you aggressively, no doubt in your mind that a purple bruise would follow soon after as his hands slipped under your bra now, pinching your hard nipples meanly and laughing when you jumped.

you moaned and whined against the wall, your body trembling as you felt your slick arousal slip from your hole and dampen your panties, choked up embarrassment coating your face as he shoved his fingers down your skirt without warning.

“you’re soaked baby…” he whispered. “and all because i grabbed your tits?”

“megumiii…” you whined, and you squeaked as he quickly slipped his fingers in between your pussy lips and pinched your clit.

“gumi,” he corrected. “fix it.”

“g—gumi—”

“good, pretty baby...” he praised, his dick rock fucking solid against your ass at the way his fingers slipped and slid in between your lower lips without much effort, both of your chests heaving and panting as your brains frazzled erotically.

the sounds of footsteps echoed from the end of the hall and you both immediately froze, a gasp slipping past your lips before megumi quickly covered your mouth with the same hand that was just fingering you.

“shh.” he kissed the back of your head.

if anyone were to walk in and see the sight before them— megumi with his crotch pressed up against your ass, a hand pushing your top and bra up, squeezing your bare puffy tit and the other covering your mouth?

they’d drop dead.

without another moment wasted, megumi uncovered your mouth and turned you around, his tongue darting out and licking the patch of wet on your cheek from his fingers before shoving them in his mouth, sucking up your left over juice as he bent down and wrapped his arms around your legs, lifting and throwing you over his shoulder.

megumi was freaky.

your eyes widened as he walked to the double doors of the locker room and kicked it open with his foot, turning around to lock them shut before walking to a corner and setting you down gently on a bench, his palms flat beside you on the smooth wood as he towered over you.

“is— is everybody gone?”

“long gone.” he nibbled at your cheek.

“but— but what if someone wants to come in?—”

he pulled away and got down on his knees. “i’ll tell them to fuck off.”

you panted as he pressed his hands against your thighs and squeezed, spreading them apart slowly with his eyes trained to your drenched cute pink panties.

he slid his hands underneath your thighs and lifted, bending you and pressing your knees closer to you as your back hit the lockers behind you, your hands gripping the bench for dear life.

“has anyone ever seen your pussy?” he gruffed, licking his lips.

you shook your head, embarrassed. “n—no.”

“has any other man touched you the way i’ve touched you?”

“m—maybe in high school?—”

megumi sunk his teeth into your inner thigh and bit you as you yelped.

“thought you liked me.”

“i do!” you sputtered.

“clearly not if you’re being a little whore and letting other filthy men on you.”

your hole clenched.

“that— that was before you!”

he stuck his tongue out and pressed it flat against your pussy covered panties, dragging it slowly and agonizingly up until the tip of his tongue passed and flicked up against your clit, the tip moving around and around your little nub as your thighs shook.

“doesn’t matter.” he let a string of drool fall from the corner of his lips and over your ruined underwear, your eyes fluttering as you felt his warm saliva ooze in between your lips.

“and what about takuma, hm?”

you tried to open your eyes. “ta—takuma?”

“mhm. he was all over you.”

you hiccuped as he wrapped his fingers around the straps of your panties and pulled them down.

“i—”

“bet he wanted to do to you what i’m doing right now…” he hummed. “would you have let him?”

he stuffed his nose into your bare pussy and inhaled deeply, your jaw dropping as you squeezed your eyes shut.

your lack of response caused him to pull away and bite your thigh again, harder.

“would you?”

“n—no!” you shook your head quickly, strands of your hair lightly grazing your face. “i wouldn’t—”

“so who then?” he licked over his bite mark. “who would you spread your legs open for like this and let them see what a nasty fucking girl you are…”

“you gumi!” you hiccuped. “just you—”

“just me?”

megumi finally let his tongue slither itself in between your folds, slowly running over your flaps and clit as your hole continued to squelch out your arousal, pooling on the bench beneath you.

“y—yes!”

he slobbered and spit over your pussy like a starved dog, his face glistening like sugary glazed sweets.

“that’s what i fucking thought,” he hummed. “you gonna try and forget me again?”

“no!” you shook your head. “never! i can’t!”

he gripped your thighs tighter as he absolutely violated your folds then, wet sloshing and slurpings filling the air as he spat and shook his head side to side rapidly on your clit, you squealing and attempting to snap your thighs shut in response, his strong grip not letting you even if you tried.

“i—i can’t!” you cried. “gumi slow please it’s too much—”

“be a pretty baby and stop complaining.” he ran his slimy tongue over your pussy entirely before shoving it inside your hole.

you choked and clasped a trembling hand over your mouth, tears of ecstasy spilling from the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut.

you whimpered and moaned and cried so pathetically, so cutely in his ears that he grinned as he pumped his tongue in and out of you filthily.

“you’re so fucking sweet—” he slapped your cunt and you jumped. “good thing i have a sweet tooth.”

your legs shook violently as you began to see stars, your tight hole clenching and sputtering around nothing as you felt your release approaching.

“gumi—” your hand flew back to the bench and you gripped it. “m’gonna cum! i’m— i’m gonna make a mess—”

megumi’s hand shot up and wrapped around one of your thighs so the tips of his fingers met your clit, his digits proceeding to rub and flick it as you climbed and reached your high, a high pitched scream echoing through the steamy locker room as your pussy leaked your sweet cum on his tongue.

you shuddered and jumped at the way he cleaned up your release and swallowed it, running his tongue soothingly over the bite marks on your thighs before coming back up and wiping his glistening face with his sleeve.

megumi leaned in and pressed a gentle loving kiss to your lips, a complete turn around from the feral beast you had in between your legs— you kissing him back with just as much feel and affection.

he pulled back and got back up on his feet, you watching him ditzy as he jogged over to his locker and turned the lock until it clicked open, him rummaging inside for a little before he shut it and came back with a fresh pair of gray sweatpants.

“put these on baby,” he murmured.

you nodded sweetly and took them from him, you slipping off your skirt and pulling his sweatpants over as you watched him bend and look over corners.

“what are you looking for?” you asked softly.

he perked up then and stuck his hand under a bench, pulling out your wet ruined pink panties and holding them up high like a trophy.

“oh my god—” you covered your mouth in embarrassment. “give me those!”

“nope.” he shook his head and walked over to his duffel bag on the floor, unzipping it before stuffing your panties inside. “these are mine now.”

megumi came back up and wrapped his palm underneath your chin, tilting your face up softly before planting a sweet kiss to your swollen lips.

“and so are you.”

and that you were.

you went on many many dates with megumi after that, each and every single one so incredibly lovely and fun, a genuine connection you felt with him and each other that you had never ever felt before in your life, absolutely enamored by the way he gently treated you and made you feel like the only one that mattered in his life.

your best friend was obviously over the moon for you, squealing like a maniac at everything you told her, and always teased megumi about his lovesick face whenever you came to his games or appeared in the locker room to help him change, sort his clothes, or fix his hair.

“megumi…” she snickered. “your cheeks are a little red! are you like— sick?”

he scowled at her and turned the other way, wiping his sweaty forehead as he watched you bounce down the steps cutely and onto the field after one of his practices, a huge smile on your face that replicated on his.

the minute you jumped into his arms, he peppered your little cheeks with kisses as you giggled and ruffled his spiky hair, asking him how he felt about practice and other things after he set you down.

without anyone noticing, a journalist was on the field, and at the sight of megumi fushiguro’s beaming toothy smile as he watched you run to him, they quickly snapped a photo and published it.

one was a perfect portrait photo of his shining white smile (that later became his signature picture) and the other was a photo of his arms out for you as you ran, the both of them causing an absolute uproar that altered megumi’s image from that day forward.

megumi fushiguro was thought to be the meanest player on the team since the day he got signed.

but when he started taking more pictures with fans, kind of stopped offending the people around him, signed more autographs, and smiled occasionally at the paparazzi— all while your pretty self stood right next to him?

megumi fushiguro was sometimes the meanest player on the team.

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want more? you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

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